Avatar of Roman

Status

Recent Statuses

10 mos ago
Current Ribbit.
4 likes

Bio

Watch out.

The gap in the door... it's a separate reality.
The only me is me.
Are you sure the only you is you?


DON'T TOUCH THAT DIAL NOW, WE'RE JUST GETTING STARTED

Most Recent Posts


| NAME: |
Minavita Ripole​

| ALIAS(ES): |
'Minnie Ripper'
H.E.L.P. Agent Fieldname: Not yet given​

| PLACE OF BIRTH: |
Portland, Oregon​

| NATIONALITY: |
American, Caucasian/African American. Possesses duel citizenship with Canada.​

| D.O.B. |
5th April, 1992​

| AGE: |
22​

| SEX: |
Female​

| SEXUALITY: |
Bisexual​

| HEIGHT: |
5'5"​

| BUILD: |
Slim​

| WEIGHT: |
105lbs​

| EYES: |
Brown​

| HAIR: |
Brunette​

| H-CLASS: |
Juno​


| ABILITIES: |
Minnie possesses the ability to manipulate the biology of certain animals - at this point, dogs and some birds - and induce mutation, forcing them to become larger, more monstrous, and allowing their aggressiveness to surge. This mutation is temporary, but with concentration, also allows Minnie to have complete psychic control over their actions and behavior.​

| LIMITATIONS: |
Minnie needs extended, uninterrupted contact with the animal she has chosen to induce, and inducing multiple Monsters requires more time and harder concentration - attempting to induce too many animals too quickly will exhaust Minnie, and can cause collapse or even coma. Her psychic command over Monsters also grows weaker and more difficult to maintain the more Monsters she is attempting to control. The inducement of a Monster only lasts for a certain time, directly related to the amount of concentration and effort put into both the inducement and the psychic link.​

| WEAKNESSES: |
Obviously, Minnie's ability has little use outside of a combat scenario, and Minnie herself has little self-defense capabilities without her Monsters - and having her Monsters further depends on animal presence. If Minnie has her Monsters, she still requires concentration and strength to make and maintain the psychic command - and a sufficient distraction will loose the Monsters on friend, foe, and Minnie alike until their inducement wears off.​

| APPLICATIONS: |
Minnie's most obvious application of her ability is the sheer combat power it affords her, allowing her to savage her enemies with Monsters and beasts. However, her psychic command allows Minnie to use her Monsters for more than just aggression - smaller Monsters can scout a building through vents or cracked walls, while others can use their mutations to form cover or smash through obstacles to gain access to restricted areas. As Minnie's command grows stronger, her Monsters will also allow her to have multiple self-presence over large areas, fetching objects, people, lending aid, and performing recon.


| HISTORY |
"Just be glad 'boogeyman' isn't a classifier."

Born in the beginning of April, 1992, to Martha and Joseph Ripole, the unfortunately named (in her opinion) Minavita Ripole came into the world screaming but burning with passion, arriving in Portland, Oregon, just south of the Canadian border - and, unknown to both her parents the child herself, a member of an emerging new species: Homo Viruim, or Hyperhuman. It wouldn't be until Minavita grew to 19 years old that anyone would know what she really was.

Martha Ripole died in 1997, when Minnie was 5. The family - Mother, Father, Daughter - were in the family car, heading to the beach on a warm and lazy June weekend, when they were caught in a head-on collision caused by a Hype incident. Martha, who had been unbuckled, turned around in her seat to entertain Minnie with silly faces, was thrown against the windshield, smashing her head and causing internal bleeding in the brain. She died three days later in hospital, and Joe became a single dad.

Minnie's father was good to her. He loved her and supported her, and though they lived in a small house with little luxuries - Joe's job as a tradesman offered little in the way of exorbitant wealth - they lived happily. Minnie missed her mother and Joe missed his wife but they were content with each other. Joe put Minnie through school, and she made friends easily, keeping herself upbeat and friendly, not allowing the maternal gulf in her life to define her. Instead, she became a maternal figure herself, taking on a sense of responsibility far beyond her years - she looked after her friends, and the animals that she found herself increasingly drawn to.

Minnie graduated high school at 18, a punk girl for the last three years - she'd fallen for the sound and the aesthetic, appreciating that both were things even she could comfortably afford, and she was drawn to the core concepts that Punk stood for - acceptance and freedom, regardless of creed, race, or in Minnie's case, financial situation. She lost herself in the gritty, dirty riffs, the chaotic drum beats. There was something near-natural about the music to hear, animalistic and instinctual. She sang along where she could, and wrote her own lyrics, filling up notepads - pads she shared with her friends, who immediately span dreams of bands and stardom. A punk-band pipe-dream, but one the group held on to throughout their adolescence nonetheless.

After graduation she quickly moved out to a shared apartment with several of the friends she'd made in high school. Her father let her go with his blessing, both anxious about her stepping out into the world, but both happy that she'd made it. She found a job and paid her rent, enjoying her new life, her new home, and her new housemates. They drank, and joked, and jammed, and one night, when the two were done in unison, formed the punk band they'd always talked about but never acted on, hoping to spur the dying music into a second life. They called themselves Calling Jupiter, and began to write and play.

Calling Jupiter didn't allow the resurrection they'd hoped for, but it did give them freedom, and paved Minnie's path. They didn't tour, but played in grimy pubs and bars and small halls, making small amounts of money. They had fun, and were happy with that - after all, fun, not monetary gain, was the point of Punk. And then it all collapsed.

Minnie was the band's frontman, the lead vocals and personality of Calling Jupiter, strutting about the stage and belting words with ferocity and power. She had her own stage name, 'Minnie Ripper', and she wore it like a badge, transforming into an idealistic version of herself, becoming on-stage who she could never be off it. She was attractive and filled with passion and attitude, suggestive and aloof, a wry smirk and a cocked eyebrow. She was admired. She was desired. And when the guitarist's advances were first ignored and then rejected, Minnie was nearly raped. That was when she performed her first inducement, a stray dog mutating into a fanged, spiked-skinned Monster and tearing her attempted-rapist's throat out. That was when she found out she was a Hype. That was when she fled to Canada.

Canada didn't seem like the obvious choice, but it was Canada that was known best for its tolerant attitude toward Hypes, Canada that had a fledgling academy dedicated to the shelter and education of Hypes, Canada that was close enough to use to flee from murder charges. Minnie was found by a SHIFT strike team, and given safe harbour and enrollment in PRCU. She fought off the charges levied against her with self-defense as her main case, and secondary manslaughter as her back up - thankfully, the first stuck. No longer needing the safety of a border between her and the law, Minnie's father invited her home - but, as much to her own surprise as her fathers, she elected to stay at PRCU, studying and training. They had been a home to her to a time of crisis, and she felt safe - something she was in desperate need of now.

Now, Minnie is 22, the punk aesthetic gone but not forgotten, shed in favour of something that doesn't remind her of that night. She exchanges letters with her father and practices her abilities, accepting of her inclusion in this new, emergent species, but a little less pleased with her status as a monster maker. Right now, there are staff that are eager to push her into SHIFT, as her abilities make her a serious contender as a SHIFT enforcer if harnessed properly - but frankly, she's fine with not using them. Doesn't mean she doesn't practice, though. She does see something cute in her creations.​


SUPPORTING CAST:
Joseph Ripole:​

Minnie's father, a kind and aging soul, ever-grieving for the loss of his wife but dipping in such immense joy for the life of his daughter. Despite a Hype incident causing Martha's death, he strives not to harbour resentment or hatred, and his efforts towards tolerance were only bolstered by his daughter's public entrance into the Homo Virium species. Joe Ripole is a simple man with a simple job, but he is warm, open-minded, and enjoys a cold can of beer after a hard day's work.

Martha Ripole:

Minnie's mother, sadly torn from the world after being caught in a pile-up that was caused by an unfortunate Hype incident. Her death left an irreparable hole in the lives of Minnie and Joseph, but neither allowed their grief to consume them; Joseph allowed his love of his daughter to save him, while Minnie herself became the maternal figure she would have otherwise missed.

Rudy Foster:

Drummer of Calling Jupiter, Minnie's post-high school punk band. Tall, strong, and well aware of both, he was nonetheless friendly, and almost gentle, if a tad clumsy. He drinks a lot but rarely feels it, and smokes a lot and always feels it. He's been a good confidant to Minnie, although there are some secrets she likes to keep.

Henry Jones:

Guitarist of Calling Jupiter. An arrogant, short-tempered man, but with an absorbing confidence and an aura of fun that made him engaging and approachable. He was Minnie's go-to-guy for a good time, and often the life of what little 'after-party' there was after a Calling Jupiter pseudo-gig - but his illusion was brought down after his romantic intentions upon Minnie were ultimately rejected, and he sought to force his desires upon her. Fortunately for Minnie and Earth at large, her Hype status awakened, and Henry was soon de-throated by a monstrous was-dog. He was Minnie's traumatic entry into her true heritage, and the nightmarish beginning of her new life.

Poggles:

A pug assigned to Minnie after her initial arrival at PRCU as a therapy dog during her follow-up treatment after being targeted in an attempted rape. Greatly adored by Minnie, he soon seized a fast loyalty to her, helped no end by multiple inducements and psychic connections due to Minnie's innate abilities. Despite her therapy being two years behind her, Poggles remains distinctly Minnie's dog, and stands steadfast beside her, protecting her, comforting her, and becoming a vicious, six-legged, many-fanged monster when Minnie needs slight more protection.​




| NAME: |
Taro, Child of Ash

| ALIAS(ES): |
N/A

| PLACE OF BIRTH: |
Planet VJDE-4J54-JH, Sector 37D

| SPECIES: |
Martrax

| D.O.B.: |
Summer

| AGE: |
Five Cycles

| SEX: |
Male

| APPEARANCE: |
Taro is a young Martrax in the prime state of his lifespan, a lean and ruthless predator. Taro, like all Martrax, is a quadruped, walking on four legs. His biology is similar to that of Earth felines, although much larger (reaching over six feet in length) and with distinct fur - short-haired, but light gray with a silver sheen, with a longer, darker mane. However, a Martrax's most distinctive feature is their tail - segmented, carapaced, and highly mobile, it ends in a vicious stinger.


| ABILITIES: |
Taro possesses two extraordinary attributes that, while standard to his species, allow him to become something far greater than a simple feline predator on the strange planet of Earth - his psychic abilities, and his tail.

Taro's psychic abilities arise from his race's method of communication between both each other and themselves and other species. Incapable of verbal communication beyond basic, animalistic sounds, Martraxi instead 'talk' via implanting images, emotions, and intents into the minds of others, their 'speech' often abstract in nature but clear in message. This psychic is, by default, 'always-on', allowing quick response to threats to the pack or to a pack-member in danger - but on Earth, it allows Taro to feel the mind-states of those around him, allowing him to pinpoint those in trouble, those looking to cause trouble, and feel out the current emotional state of his surroundings.

Taro is also able to emit a powerful psychic 'shout'. Due to the innate lack of psychic talent in the average Homo Sapien, the human brain has not needed to learn the necessary abilities to filter, or outright block, psychic signals and messages in order to protect the psyche. Taro can use his own natural psychic nature to take advantage of this by emitting a sudden burst of a particular emotion or feeling, causing this broadcast to overwhelm any humans in the area and override their current mind-state for a few minutes.

Taro's tail, meanwhile, is strictly physical, and strictly offensive. Tough, strong, and mobile, it makes for a hefty club, and its stinger tip allows for many laceration- and/or impaling-related injuries to be suffered upon his opponents when Taro finds himself in the midst of combat - however, the stinger is also loaded with a potent, naturally-produced toxin that, upon injection, can cause severe paralysis and an intense, burning pain within minutes, if not seconds.

| SKILLS: |
Taro's own notable skills are, foremost, his talents for hunting, tracking, and surviving, as well as his physical aptitude - all necessities learnt during his years as part of his pack. A natural predator, Taro possesses keen hearing and night-vision (a result of eons of Martrax adaptation to their planet's long nights), as well as a considerable sense of smell. He's also brimming with trim, toned muscle, built for purpose and practicality entirely. Taro is agile, and smart in combat, not afraid to swipe at weaker targets first or to wear down a tougher opponent, and he holds no anxieties about using his claws, teeth, and tail all to the best of his ability.

| LIMITATIONS: |
While Taro is naturally a deadly predator thanks to the great tuning centuries or evolution provides, he is neither perfect, nor in his natural habitat. This is most obvious in how uncomfortable Taro finds him in the colder climate of Earth - his home planet, with its twin stars, is a constant bath of heat, causing the fur of the Martraxi to grow short and sleek. Earth, being further away from its sun, and having both a steady day/night cycle and more cold months than warm, is unsuited to Martrax life - and Taro finds his residence uncomfortable, his body often too cold to perform to its best standards.

Further unsuited to Taro's biology is Earth's own atmosphere - thinner in oxygen than his homeworld, Taro's muscles are partially starved of oxygen, putting his body under unusual strain to keep up in performance. As a result, Taro's strength and stamina are not true to their proper potential.

| WEAKNESSES: |
Taro's most potent enemy in his new life on planet Earth is, right now, the terrestrial microbial life - bacteria, viruses, fungi; anything alive that can enter Taro's bloodstream poses a major threat as his immune system encounters a completely new and completely alien attacker, with no existing way to defend itself - after Taro's first meal on Earth, he spent the next day weak and vomiting as his body rejected the foreign substances that naturally resided within the meat he'd consumed. Taro's body is slowly building resistances and creating antibodies, but right now, any microbes can cause serious illness.

Additionally, Taro's psychic abilities do not offer him solely boons - whilst a Human does not naturally possess any psychic powers and therefore no refinement or control of their incoming signals, they have also never had to refine their broadcasts, and as a result, are 'always-on' to Taro, who, still not familiar enough with this new pattern of psychic brain-waves, is unable to successfully and completely block them from his own mind. While this is manageable in a situation where numbers remain low or distance remains high, Taro can still be overwhelmed, causing a 'short' in his own psychic abilities, a debilitating migraine, and robbing him of his ability to focus on anything but ridding his mind of the invading signals.| ABILITIES: |
Taro possesses two extraordinary attributes that, while standard to his species, allow him to become something far greater than a simple feline predator on the strange planet of Earth - his psychic abilities, and his tail.

Taro's psychic abilities arise from his race's method of communication between both each other and themselves and other species. Incapable of verbal communication beyond basic, animalistic sounds, Martraxi instead 'talk' via implanting images, emotions, and intents into the minds of others, their 'speech' often abstract in nature but clear in message. This psychic is, by default, 'always-on', allowing quick response to threats to the pack or to a pack-member in danger - but on Earth, it allows Taro to feel the mind-states of those around him, allowing him to pinpoint those in trouble, those looking to cause trouble, and feel out the current emotional state of his surroundings.

Taro is also able to emit a powerful psychic 'shout'. Due to the innate lack of psychic talent in the average Homo Sapien, the human brain has not needed to learn the necessary abilities to filter, or outright block, psychic signals and messages in order to protect the psyche. Taro can use his own natural psychic nature to take advantage of this by emitting a sudden burst of a particular emotion or feeling, causing this broadcast to overwhelm any humans in the area and override their current mind-state for a few minutes.

Taro's tail, meanwhile, is strictly physical, and strictly offensive. Tough, strong, and mobile, it makes for a hefty club, and its stinger tip allows for many laceration- and/or impaling-related injuries to be suffered upon his opponents when Taro finds himself in the midst of combat - however, the stinger is also loaded with a potent, naturally-produced toxin that, upon injection, can cause severe paralysis and an intense, burning pain within minutes, if not seconds.

| SKILLS: |
Taro's own notable skills are, foremost, his talents for hunting, tracking, and surviving, as well as his physical aptitude - all necessities learnt during his years as part of his pack. A natural predator, Taro possesses keen hearing and night-vision (a result of eons of Martrax adaptation to their planet's long nights), as well as a considerable sense of smell. He's also brimming with trim, toned muscle, built for purpose and practicality entirely. Taro is agile, and smart in combat, not afraid to swipe at weaker targets first or to wear down a tougher opponent, and he holds no anxieties about using his claws, teeth, and tail all to the best of his ability.

| LIMITATIONS: |
While Taro is naturally a deadly predator thanks to the great tuning centuries or evolution provides, he is neither perfect, nor in his natural habitat. This is most obvious in how uncomfortable Taro finds him in the colder climate of Earth - his home planet, with its twin stars, is a constant bath of heat, causing the fur of the Martraxi to grow short and sleek. Earth, being further away from its sun, and having both a steady day/night cycle and more cold months than warm, is unsuited to Martrax life - and Taro finds his residence uncomfortable, his body often too cold to perform to its best standards.

Further unsuited to Taro's biology is Earth's own atmosphere - thinner in oxygen than his homeworld, Taro's muscles are partially starved of oxygen, putting his body under unusual strain to keep up in performance. As a result, Taro's strength and stamina are not true to their proper potential.

| WEAKNESSES: |
Taro's most potent enemy in his new life on planet Earth is, right now, the terrestrial microbial life - bacteria, viruses, fungi; anything alive that can enter Taro's bloodstream poses a major threat as his immune system encounters a completely new and completely alien attacker, with no existing way to defend itself - after Taro's first meal on Earth, he spent the next day weak and vomiting as his body rejected the foreign substances that naturally resided within the meat he'd consumed. Taro's body is slowly building resistances and creating antibodies, but right now, any microbes can cause serious illness.

Additionally, Taro's psychic abilities do not offer him solely boons - whilst a Human does not naturally possess any psychic powers and therefore no refinement or control of their incoming signals, they have also never had to refine their broadcasts, and as a result, are 'always-on' to Taro, who, still not familiar enough with this new pattern of psychic brain-waves, is unable to successfully and completely block them from his own mind. While this is manageable in a situation where numbers remain low or distance remains high, Taro can still be overwhelmed, causing a 'short' in his own psychic abilities, a debilitating migraine, and robbing him of his ability to focus on anything but ridding his mind of the invading signals.


| WEAPONS: |
While Taro possesses no objects, his tail, teeth, and claws make ample weapons enough to allow him to hold his own in any close-quarters situation he cares to picture.

| TOOLS: |
N/A

| ATTIRE: |
Taro wears the fur he grows and nothing else - although, with the colder climate of Earth, he is beginning to understand the need for the various odd coverings Humans tend to throw over their bodies.


| BACKSTORY: |
Taro was born as the Summer of his planet began its terrible peak, and the first leaves of the treetops began to catch the fire of the twin suns; Taro's first memory, clear in his mind, was that of great flames bursting from the branches of the trees around him and above him, his mother seizing him by his scruff in her jaw, his parents rushing towards the caves where the rest of their pack waited, the caves that would offer shelter from the fire that would soon engulf their world. The light was great, and the heat intense, but the caves held cooler air and soft shadows, and it was in those caves that Taro grew, suckling at his mother as the pack hibernated, surviving another summer cycle.

When his pack emerged, Taro was a young cub, a mewling infant no longer, instead growing larger and stronger, with the energy and rambunctious nature of a mischievous child. His first sight of his planet was that of an ash desert, the burnt remains of the jungle he was born in, vast swathes of speckled grays with shrubs and weeds still surviving, seeds from the great trees destroyed beginning to sprout and begin a new cycle. Taro was entranced, and in his play he stained his fur the colour of the ash; as he grew, his fur eventually mellowed from its newborn brown into the gray of how his planet had welcomed him, and thus Taro was dubbed a Child of Ash, like his father before him.

~

Taro aged for three cycles before the first sign of his Martrax maturity began to manifest - his tail's first secretions. A Martrax was never born with their venom, and only a rare few with a stinger at all; most had their barbs form as they tail grew, the chitinous carapace forming the distinctive wicked point as a Martrax reached two or three cycles, and only then would the glands, growing along with the cub, begin to manufacture the venom that would become their most potent weapon. Taro was excited when his secretions began, eager to enter the new phase of his life and become a true member of his pack - and his pack wasted no time in putting the newly mature Martrax to use.

Taro was quickly taught how to hunt; how to find prey and select a target, how to stalk the potential meal, how to get so close that you could hear its heartbeat, and how to remain so invisible that you wore the dark on your fur - and it was then and only then that Taro was taught how to strike. A silent whip, the slight sound of puncture and a whimper from the prey and then the toxin took hold, seizing up the meal's joints and stopping their heart, and then Taro would pounce and tear out the throat, blood dripping from his maw. His first kill was eaten heartily, sampled by the Alpha as per Martrax mandate, and only then shared with the rest of the pack.

~​

At four cycles, Taro did something no Martrax at his young age had ever done: he challenged his Alpha.

Bovay, Child of Fire, was an aging Martrax, old and ungraceful, alive for 26 cycles with seemingly only a few more to come; he had challenged his Alpha at ten cycles, and won a decisive victory, securing himself as new Alpha. His leadership had been fair and just, and as he aged, his decisions grew wiser and more tempered - but now Bovay grew too old, and his choices for his pack were becoming scattered and unnecessary. Taro saw the need for a new mind in his place, a Martrax stronger and less burdened by the decline of years, an Alpha that could lead his pack into its new generation, Taro's generation. Taro saw himself as that Alpha, and challenged Bovay.

The two fought for hours, and above them their planet's parent body floated across the sky like a watchful god. Eventually, Taro's claws found Bovay's already battered legs and Bovay yielded, surrendering the position of Alpha over to Taro. Taro was excited, but suddenly anxious; the pack waited on him, and he was now the one they looked to for guidance - and so began the rule of Taro, Child of Ash, Alpha of his pack.

His leadership was not unsatisfactory, but Taro was young, and it was plain to his pack. They did not question him, for he was Alpha, and Taro sought advice from the deposed Bovay, who told him that a firm leader was better than a liked one. Taro found this troubling, as he felt insecure in his hold as Alpha, but acted regardless - he moved his pack from their erstwhile home, setting up a new home some distance away, closer to one of his planet's coasts; while his pack was displeased with the unfamiliar territory, they were now further from a rival pack who they had been contesting hunting grounds with, and slowly Taro's pack began to realize that their new home was a positive change - with easy access to water to cool them, they could hunt longer into the Summer before delving below to hibernate in the coastal cave systems, and the oceanic life gave them a new source of food that no other pack could contest. Taro was accepted unanimously as Alpha, and all his worries of being challenged dissipated as his pack began a new, better life.

~​

Then Taro was abducted. A highly-advanced species from a neighbouring system had been observing the semi-sentient Martraxi for many cycles, and Taro's recent movements had interested them: such a young Martrax challenging the Alpha, winning, and then moving his entire pack to new territory - activity like this was unheard of by those who were aware of the Martrax, and the Martraxi themselves. An amoral sect desired further study of the Martrax and their culture, and devised an awful method of research.

They waited until the peak of the next Summer, when Taro led his pack into the coastal cave systems for their hibernation, and then enacted their plot, sending a ship down to brave the fire and the heat to abduct Taro as he and his pack slept and survived. Taro was placed into a research pod and put into stasis, and the abductors watched as his pack woke after the Fire with no Alpha, no leader. At first there was chaos - the stronger, older Martraxi of the pack immediately brawling for the position, before Bovay, still alive but dangerously weak, instated himself once again. In his final act, Bovay lead the pack to another, and entreated the Alpha that Bovay's pack merged with his, explaining his circumstances, the Alpha that was missing, his pack's past and his own. The Alpha accepted, and just like that, Taro's pack, Taro's family and legacy, was gone.

~

Stasis is a peculiar state of being. The body is frozen in time but still very much alive, heart beating and blood pumping and organs functioning but nothing aging, nothing dead. The mind dreams. A Martrax doesn't dream. A Martrax rarely sleeps, staying awake for most of the period they're not hibernating, taking perhaps five or six rests a cycle. Hibernation forces a shut-down, closes off even the Martraxi psychic waves. But stasis isn't hibernation, and Taro dreamed, psychic waves still active, still searching for another Martrax to connect to, searching for companionship and comfort. Taro's mind didn't find anything, but it still felt the activity of its pack from the planet below, however faintly. Taro dreamed of his pack spilling its own blood, of the return of the past, of a great movement - and then Taro dreamed of his pack fading away into nothing, enveloped and swallowed up by another, something similar but fundamentally different.

Taro woke up.

Alarms went off immediately. Stasis was not supposed to be breached from the inside. The ship went into security mode and Taro burst from his pod, angry and frightened and confused, lashing out at those who had taken him from his family and delivered him such dark dreams.

Somewhere in the fracas the ship sustained major damage, causing an overheat and subsequent malfunction in its hyperdrive systems. The ship flung itself furiously through space, ending up in a galaxy known to its local intelligent species as the 'Milky Way'. Taro, bathed in both his blood and his assailant's, tail dripping toxin from rapid, repeated use, had little time to brace himself for the impact as the ship's engines and hyperdrive failed completely, dropping the ship directly into the atmosphere of the planet 'Earth'. The ship crashed, and Taro spent the first three days on his new home wounded and unconscious amid rubble and debris, what was left of the ship resting in a smoking crater.​

~

Since Taro's destructive relocation, he's survived, hunting lesser life-forms alone, living on the side of Old Stone Mountain and avoiding being spotted by the local residents, odd two-legged creatures that he has seen in mighty abundance, and assumes to be the planet's dominant lifeform. While his lessons in early cycles about the value of silence and shadows have not gone unheeded, he has still be unable to completely escape notice - but, thankfully, he has been mistaken more than once for a similar beast that shares the territory of the mountain, and even when noticed as something rather more peculiar than the local wildlife, stories of 'manticores on the mountain' are rarely listened to.

The recent rain has interested Taro though, as has the psychic response from the mass population that lives below his mountain home. The wreckage of the ship he came in on is still there and still undiscovered, and Taro still wishes to return to his planet and restart his pack. Taro is still the Alpha, and he still holds his responsibilities.


| HOME PLANET: |

Planet VJDE-4J54-JH, Sector 37D, is home to the Martrax race, who are the 'dominant species' of the planet, but with no real structured society, they are really little more than alpha predator.

VJDE is a satellite planet, its parent body a far larger planetary mass, scorched and dead. Its most distinctive feature is its twin stars, which it orbits in a figure-of-eight pattern along with its parent body. The near-constant light has given way to thick and verdant plant-life that covers most of VJDE's landmass, which, combined with the eternal heat, creates a lush rainforest. This light is only broken twice for each complete cycle of its orbit, when VJDE reaches one of the two farthest lateral points of its path, and its parent body comes between it and its two suns, causing a planet-wide period of darkness that lasts for 4-5 months before the eclipse is broken as VJDE continues its orbit.

While dark, and the closest VJDE gets to a 'winter', the planet still remains relatively warm. This heat ramps up as VJDE reaches the first of its two 'summers', the point in its orbit where it comes between both of its suns. The sheer heat of both stars combined causes mass bushfires planet-wide that burn away most of the larger plant-life, leaving only smaller weeds, shrubs, and the seeds of the larger trees left alive. Because of the danger of the fires, and the danger of the heat itself, most of the wildlife, including the dominant Martraxi, hibernate for the summer period, burrowing underground or delving into cave systems that offer shelter from the direct sunlight and slightly cooler temperatures, re-emerging when VJDE begins to pull away from one of the suns and temperatures fall again, allowing the plants to spring back to life and flourish through the ash-desert to create new forests, beginning another cycle.

~​

Martraxi are a quadrupedal feline race, similar in shape to terrestrial lions and tigers, but usually far larger, the smallest adult Martrax still reaching six feet in length and coming up to a human male's waist at least in height (from ground to foreleg shoulder). Their fur is often colourless, coming in varying shades of white, grey, and black, with long, sleek manes that are distinct in colour from the main coat.

All Martraxi have long, segmented, prehensile tails covered in a tough carapace that extends partially up the spine and back of the Martrax, which ends in a vicious stinger - sometimes split into two or three separate tips - that is loaded with a dose of highly toxic venom that can paralyze an unfortunate victim within minutes, if not seconds.

While Martraxi are not capable of speech, and any verbal communication is in the form of purrs, growls, roars, or chuffing, they are capable of psychic communication. Mostly achieved through imagery and emotion imprinted into another's mind, 'speech' in this manner is often abstract, and while there are no words 'broadcast', the intent of the message is clear. Martraxi are, by default, 'always on' to psychic communication, which allows quick response to threats or danger as well as ease of communication, but they are capable of blocking out psychic signals.

~​

While intelligent, and capable of communication (both inter- and intra-species), the Martrax do not live in a 'structured' society like the Homo Sapiens of Earth, or other celestial sentient beings. Instead, they live wild in the rainforests of their planet, in pack structures similar to those of terrestrial canines, despite their feline-like biology. A Martrax pack will consist of four or five 'bloodlines', families of Martraxi that fall into line under an 'Alpha'.

An 'Alpha' is defined by power alone - male or female, a Martrax only becomes Alpha of his or her pack when they challenge and depose the current Alpha. While challenges are a serious affair, they are not common, and Alphas can rule their 'pack' for several decades until challenged, at which point they will engage in a fair fight to defend their place - however, never to the death. A challenged Alpha will fight until one party yields: if deposed, an Alpha will be respected for his or her time as leader of the pack until their death by natural causes, and will be cared for by the new Alpha; if the challenger is defeated, they will be commended for their efforts, and welcomed to challenge once more when they grow stronger. Due to the 'no-kill' nature of an Alpha challenge, Martraxi will not use their tails in this kind of combat - indeed, to kill the challenger is to be deposed by default, and to kill the Alpha is to be ostracized by the rest of the pack.

The strict rules of combat in challenging an Alpha are mostly due to the long life-span and low birth-rate of a Martrax - a Martrax is a powerful predator late into their cycles, and a pack is stronger the more members it has. If a member were to be killed every challenge, a pack's number would dwindle quickly, and be forced into extinction shortly after. Martraxi mate for life, and produce perhaps only one or two offspring in their lives. Males and females share the burden of childcare equally until the cub is capable of sustaining themselves, and as hunting for food for the pack is often regarded as as much leisure as it is necessity, those who go is often rotated each hunt.

A pack will always fall respectfully in line beneath an Alpha who has proven themselves, and an Alpha needs only do it once to remain Alpha until challenged again - however, many Alphas rule fairly, concerned with the wellbeing of the pack as a whole, as a Martrax survives only as well as his or her pack does, and challengers rarely take on an Alpha unless they are prepared to shoulder the responsibilities.

Martraxi possess 'second names' in the form of descriptors that intend to mark their belonging to a particular generation, mostly decided by the general time of their birth but also influenced by the colour of their fur - for example, a Martrax born during one of their planet's nights will often grow to have darker fur, and will be dubbed a 'Child of Dark'. These second names are as close are Martraxi get to different races within their species, and packs usually consist of one or two families all from similar generations - it is rare to find a Child of Dark residing within the same pack as a Child of Fire.


| NAME: |
Rustin Wolfe

| ALIAS(ES): |
Rust; Detective Wolfe

| PLACE OF BIRTH: |
New Lillith, East City

| SPECIES: |
Homo-Sapien

| D.O.B.: |
September 12th, 1982

| AGE: |
32

| SEX: |
Male

| SEXUALITY: |
Heterosexual

| APPEARANCE: |
Often scruffy, Rust's staple clothes are cloth blazers, tight shirts, and skinny ties. He owns a coat for rough - or cold - weather, and it's been seeing a lot of use lately, but Rust dislikes the restriction of movement. His hair is wavy and unkempt, brushed up and out of his face with a grubby palm. Rust scowls a lot - an occupational hazard - and his skin is rough, collecting grime in its creases. Rust dresses pragmatic and light, with a revolver on his hip and a badge in his pocket.


| SKILLS: |
Despite Rustin's lack of 'superpowers', he does possess several notable talents that make him a valuable - if zealous - asset to the CCPD, as well as a dangerous individual. Most obvious is Rust's zeal: his sheer passion in the pursuit of justice, and the determination that allows him to succeed where many of his colleagues simply abandon a case to the cold locker. This persistence allows him to pour over what he knows and what he has in the hopes of finding something new, and more often than not, he does just that, using quick and wily intelligence to make previously unnoticed connections. In the field Rust is light on his feet and quick to analyse his surroundings, keeping himself on his toes and ready to react however is necessary - skills the city taught him through sheer necessity during his time as a beat cop.

Rust has also spent time at the HQ's range, honing his aim and learning how to remain calm and in control under pressure and in the middle of an intense situation. While he's not formally trained in any hand-to-hand combat, he is well-learned on how thugs prefer to fight, and he's thrown more than a few punches in his time on patrol.

| LIMITATIONS: |
As Rustin doesn't possess any powers, his limitations come only in the varieties that restrict him in his line of duty. While Rustin is usually unimpeded in the apprehension of the killers he pursues case-to-case, occasionally the corruption of the system he works in, or the sheer power wielded by the various gangs and crime families of Crescent City, prevents him from moving further with a particular case, or interferes with one of the many processes of criminal justice - usually preventing arrest, detainment, or sentencing.

However, there are times when the law itself gets in the way of Rustin's ability to administer due justice, and there are times when he feels his job as phantom shackles chained around his wrists - due diligence is necessary in enforcing judicial law, but more often than not, it only combines with the state of Crescent City as a corrupt institute to pervert the course of true, natural justice - and frustrates Rustin to all ends.

| WEAKNESSES: |
Rustin's notable weaknesses are best summed up as thus: he is Human, and fragile. With no supernatural endurance, no kind of precognition, no extraordinary combative talents, Rustin is as vulnerable to the common fist as any other Homo-Sapien, to say nothing of weapons, whether they be blunt, sharp, or projectile. His defenses do nothing against the criminal affairs that plague his city, and he survives in Crescent City by sheer luck and guile alone.


| WEAPONS: |
Rustin's only weapon is his force-issued firearm: an H&K USP .40 cal. While Rustin is not SWAT trained, due to his time on the HQ Range he is capable of effectively firing both a Remington Model 7615 Semi-Auto Rifle, and an M4 Carbine Automatic Rifle.

| TOOLS: |
As a plain-clothes detective, Rustin carries little in the way of police equipment or accessories - the most he keeps on his person are a pair of handcuffs attached to his belt in case of needing to make a quick and clean arrest and restraint. In terms of personal items, he only carries his wallet, which contains a few cards, his driving licence, and some cash bills, and his smartphone.

| ATTIRE: |
As a detective, Rust has plain-clothes privileges, provided he wear something appropriate. As a result, both on the job and off, Rust wears light cloth blazers with small shirts, dark ties, and pants to match, usually rumpled and unkempt. He occasionally dons a thick peacoat for warmth against the weather, but dislikes the weight of it. He has been known to wear a true suit - even a tux - for the odd rare special event, but these wild sightings are few and far between.


| BACKSTORY: |
Rustin's father, Paul Wolfe, led an unremarkable childhood. Paul's own father was a long-serving and loyal military man, and his various stations kept his family mobile and never settled; Paul and his two brothers quickly grew used to the lifestyle, and the daily regimens of life on a military base or encampment - even to civilians - quickly became ingrained in them. When the three men came of age to enlist, they did so immediately; in part to follow their father and to gain his approval, and in part because military life was all they really knew.

Paul and his brothers were all enlisted and serving in time to be stationed in Vietnam during the US occupation of the country; Paul's service in those hot jungles lasted from 1967 to 1972, during which time he fought, killed, wept, and lost both of his brothers as well as several squadmates, friends he'd forged in the fire of war and violence. He came back a shell of a man, suffering PTSD and disillusioned with the military institution as a whole, unable to shake the horrors he'd both seen and committed. Regardless, Paul still felt the desire to serve and protect, but in a way he knew was for the good of the people, rather than a way that the state only told him was good. To this end, he volunteered for an ex-soldier rehabilitation program that landed him a job as a beat cop in the Crescent City Police Force. The work was hard, and jarring to Paul - but slowly and surely, he regained control over his life.

Paul's new independence couldn't have come at a better time. A squadmate who had survived the war alongside him suddenly sied due to complications from an old war wound, and Paul attended the funeral - a sad day indeed, but a day he would always remember as the beginning of his new life, and the day he met Andrea. Andrea was the widow, and the pair bonded in their loss and their grief and comforted each other in the coming weeks and months, eventually starting a new relationship. Two years in, they married, and sold their individual estates and pooled their funds to buy a new house in East City, using the property and their new home as a chance to start afresh, free from their old lives and attachments. They were happy.

In 1983, at 35, Paul and Andrea had Rustin, a wiry child who grew quickly and displayed a keen cleverness that his father quickly picked up on. Paul guided Rustin's mind, feeding it knowledge and allowing him to devour information from any and all subjects - but also focusing on Rustin's natural guile and sharp wit, ensuring he'd be smart in more ways that academically. He involved Rustin in his work with the CCPD, encouraging Rustin to be inquisitive and molding him to follow his father into the police force; this molding worked. Rustin grew up with a strong sense of justice and right and wrong, and after graduating high school with high grades quickly joined the force at the bottom of the ladder.

Rustin quickly proved himself a capable cop, fierce in the chase and unrelenting in the apprehension and charge. He became a problem for the gangs and crime families of Crescent City, his sharpness becoming an issue as he began patrolling known centres of gang activity. In an effort to deal with the problem in a new, intelligent, non-violent manner, strings were pulled and Rustin's smarts were recognized by the higher authorities of the police department: Rustin was promoted to a plain-clothes detective and tucked away in Homicide, investigating cases where the crime families had already gone through with their business, and were able to set up a patsy to keep Rustin at bay.

Rustin continues to work as a Homicide Detective to this day, solving murders efficiently and refusing to let a case go cold, even taking unsolved folders out of the records office to pour over at home. He is perfectly aware of the why of his position; but he refuses the corrupt forces of Crescent City to tuck him out of the way of their business - and the gangs and families are well aware of how Rustin continues to be a thorn in their side. Rustin plays a dangerous game; but he is recognized, and respected, as a dangerous man - by all sides.
H E X M O T H E R

'A A V A A R K H A M' F E B R U A R Y 1 9 9 0 ( '2 9' ) 'F E M A L E'


▼ A P P E A R A N C E:

//STATS:
◼ HEIGHT | 5'6

◼ WEIGHT | 110lb

◼ BUILD | Lean

◼ HAIR COLOR | Black

◼ EYE COLOR | Black

//DESCRIPTION:
A short, yet slender, woman, Aava's otherwise traditionally attractive features - cheekbones, jawline, strong eyebrows, and piercing eyes - are marred by the cumulative result of several years of globetrotting and intense research and study into magic, and the mysterious, seemingly-alive force that seems to govern it. Her eyes are vicious and otherworldly, her gaze hinting at deep, forbidden knowledge; her brow and cheek sport large, jagged scars, received from those who could not bear witches; her head is sheared, and the hair that remains pulled tight and back, occasionally sporting streaks of colour.

While her frame has no heavy musculature to boast of, her skin tells stories of its own; several clean patches are burnt, or pulse dark grays and purples beneath the surface - other, larger portions, such as her right arm, left hand, or her scalp, have had flesh ritualistically scored and carved out into runic patterns and channels. To the uninitiated, Aava tells of her time with forgotten tribes, and the lengths she went to in the name of trust and respect; to the wiser, she need not tell any tales at all. All together, Aava seems older than her years, scarred and beaten, and unappealing.

Generally, she wears practical, robust clothing; tough jeans, long-lived boots, and a form-fitting top that won't restrict movement; on top of any ensemble, she wears her jacket, a brown aviator-style with a warm, fur-lined collar. She carries many beads and amulets upon her person, some around her neck, others attached to her belt or her satchel. Occasionally, she wears fingerless gloves, though these can often stifle her runes and inhibit her magic.

▼ B I O G R A P H Y:

Aava was born into a bloodline with a long history of involvement with magic, although her family had not practiced in many generations, and indeed this aspect of their line had been forgotten. However, this failed to deter Aava from breaking the pattern of ignorance later on in her adolescence.

Aava spent the first three years of her life with her mother and father, until her mother died and her father disappeared; beyond that, she grew in the care of her grandpa, who treated her strict but fair, and loved her all the same. It was not until Aava turned twelve that she was told of the ultimate fates of her parents, and it was a year later, as she grew steadily more curious about the circumstances of her father's disappearance, when her father died, and she felt this loss through some as-yet unknowable force; she began to research her family history, and finally learned of the latent power than pulsed through her veins, dating back in her bloodlines to centuries past. It was 14 when she began her research into magic, and her practice of magic, in earnest, and while she made slow progress, it was progress nonetheless - power her family had forgotten, awoken by one inquisitive mind.

For four years, Aava read, studied, and researched, going through the motions of education and home-life as she began to see the worries of those around her as mere petty nonsense, the routines of school and work as a mortal grind that was slowly growing more and more beneath her. She left the educational institution at eighteen, and left home, beginning her long journey around the globe in search of deeper knowledge and greater power.

In the decade of absence, Aava hardly missed her city, her home; instead, she crawled across ancient ruins seeking scrolls and runic tablets, delved into forgotten tombs in search of answers and further questions. She deepened her expanse of knowledge and understanding of Magic, and used this knowledge to enhance her power, practicing the manipulation and starting to learn how to cast spells in earnest, weaving power about her person to destroy, create, bolster...but her progress, while far more rapid than anyone could hope, due to the latent attunement in her bloodline, was still unsatisfactory for the dreams and desires Aava held within her. She sought shortcuts, cheats, ways to enhance her wielding while skipping the years of practice necessary to naturally weave magic about her person; it was an old, unknown pyramid-like structure deep within a thick, humid jungle that gave her the answers she sought. Ancient carvings of great leaders and powerful mages, all with skin intricately hewn and scored...runes and incantations etched into the own flesh of mages. A powerful ritual, one that Aava had uncovered. She studied the carvings for days, sketching their designs, their patterns. She scoured the ruins for a powerful relic she knew to be there - and when she found it, an old, vicious knife, carved from obsidian crystal and as sharp as the day it was forged, she made her own carvings.

Not long after that, Aava stumbled out of the jungle, leaving death and smoke and annihilation behind her. She had lost time after the ritual, and she smelt death on her. Now, she traveled across the world to learn of control, not freedom, to flee, not to learn.

In the tenth year of her leave, she felt that old force once more; this time, her grandpa.

It was time to return home.

▼ A B I L I T I E S / S K I L L S:

//ABILITIES:
◼ MAGE | Aava's bloodline has always been 'comfortable' with Magic, the mysterious mystical force that flows through all space. Because of this, she has been able to harness that power with more ease than most, and she is a natural mage.

However, displeased with the slow speed of her progression, Aava took it upon herself to research and enact 'artificial' ways of enhancing her power and her magical abilities; to this end, she has carved - both physically and magically - runic patterns and channels into her very skin, allowing her own flesh to be used as a conduit for magic to flow through, making it easier to manipulate and allowing her to cast spells beyond her training.

Naturally, she is a mere apprentice of magicry, and her power is capable of simple elemental destruction, as well as some spells of protection and healing; however, her channels elevate her power to near-mastery, bolstering her destructive magic while offering greater wards, the magic to soothe wounds, and transfiguration, able to turn one material into another, or disguise her form.

Since the carving of her flesh, Aava has found that there are periods where magic seizes her without her beckoning, and seats itself deep within her skin; at times like these, she must exert immense focus and control, lest it take her mind and turn her into a true conduit, the magic manipulating her in order to flow free and raw. This has only happened once before; Aava became a naked, featureless doll, wreathed in black flame, her channels exuding a dark aura, her eyes two glowing pits. She massacred a village and became a portal for dark creatures. She has not lost control since.

//SKILLS:
◼ CUNNING AND FAST | While not strong, Aava is quick, and capable of turning an attack away from herself before creating space to run or unleash her own magical offense.

◼ RUIN RAIDER | Aava is a capable runner and climber, able to scale ruins and gain entry to ancient castles, and is also practiced in parkour.

◼ SCHOLAR MAGE | Aava's research has left her well-versed in occult history and mankind's knowledge of magic, and she has a great understanding of Man's hidden history with mages and other practitioners.

◼ THE STOIC | As a requirement of the proper harnessing of her magic, as well as controlling the magic when it seeks to harness her, Aava is able to exert great control over her emotions, remaining balanced, calm, and logical nearly all of the time.

◼ SURVIVAL INSTINCT | Aava's time in places best left uncovered has instilled a survival sense in her - she can keep herself fed, watered, and rested, and almost intuitively senses when something is not to be found, or if she needs to leave immediately.

//LIMITATIONS:
◼ TROUBLED MIND | Aava's channeling of magic requires focus and intense calm; a flare of emotion, in whatever form, alters her psyche and the magic she wishes to use, twisting its power in whatever way her emotions dictate. Therefore, to use her spells to their best effect, she must remain calm and grounded at all time, and avoid distractions and outside influences - something easier said than done. A troubled or panicked mind can simply fail to cast.

◼ DISPEL MAGIC (3RD LEVEL SPELL) | Anything that inhibits magic, or the casting of spells, also inhibits Aava's power, and forces her to either flee, or become more creative in engineering a solution.

//WEAKNESSES:
◼ OPEN CONDUIT | While Aava's prowess has been enhanced by her channels, she has also opened herself up to magic, and anything else that influences it; as such, if another, stronger mage - or someone in possession of a powerful relic - were inclined, and able, they could infuse her channels with their own power, and essentially enslave Aava; not in mind, but in body.

◼ HALF-MAGIC | Having turned herself into a conduit of sorts, Aava has also put herself at a greater disadvantage to that which dispels or attacks magic; such anti-magic offense not only cancels out her casting, but can also disorient, destabilize, or even damage Aava herself. Aava has no 'off' state, and is always 'communicating' with magic even on a base level. This communication is also 'two-way' - should she lose control of herself, or of the magic flowing through her, then she faces the risk of being overwhelmed by magic, becoming a puppet of raw magic, with goals, powers, and a mind-state alien to what she knows of Mankind.

◼ WALKING EMP | The magic that flows naturally through Aava's channels creates a near-constant low aura. While this has little effect on people and animals, unless they are magic-sensitive themselves, she has a lot of trouble with electronics and other such devices.

M A T T H E W M U R D O C K 0 7 A U G U S T 1 9 9 2 ( 2 5 ) M A L E
"How do you know the Devil and the Angel inside me aren't the same thing?"

▼ A P P E A R A N C E:

//STATS:
◼ HEIGHT | 5'11

◼ WEIGHT | 190lbs

◼ BUILD | Muscular; Boxing Middleweight

◼ HAIR COLOR | Dark Auburn

◼ EYE COLOR | Clouded

▼ B I O G R A P H Y:

"There are time when the law...isn't enough."
Born to a nameless mother, Matthew grew up with his father, Jack Murdoch, a semi-pro underground boxer for Hell's Kitchen and its underbelly. Jack had a penchant for getting back up off the mat despite however many broken bones he'd picked up, and this trait seemed to pass to Matthew, who would treasure it in later years; for most of his childhood, however, Jack tried to keep his only family hidden from the violence that plagued the downtrodden Manhattan neighborhood and instead directed Matthew's attentions to his studies, making sure he kept up in school until Matthew started to excel by himself. Jack was proud that such a bright child could be called his, and he foresaw an escape from Hell's Kitchen for his son - an escape that would not find Matthew; at nine years old, Hell's Kitchen put in its claim to the child. A traffic accident and a courageous, reckless act, caused a truck hauling chemical waste and toxic run-off to crash and overturn, spilling its cargo across the road and onto several bystanders - including Matthew. Caught in the spill, the chemicals burnt his eyes irrevocably. Jack and Matthew's lives changed forever - Matthew bound to the abilities that would reveal themselves over the next few months and years, and Jack bound to dealing with a disabled son who displayed abnormal reflexes and sensory overload.

Matthew spent his formative years learning his new place in the world, refining the senses he had left and continuing his studies. Jack continued boxing, losing and winning when the local mob told him to, until eventually - as he realized Matthew's abilities and intelligence were beginning to pull him to greater things - he took a final stand, winning an against-all-odds boxing match in Round 9 against 'Crusher' Creel, despite being instructed to stay down in the fourth. Jack Murdock never made it home. Matthew fled Hell's Kitchen the same night, cursing the criminals that had shaped his life and ended his father's. He found refuge in an nun's orphanage for a time, until his abilities took the notice of a blind man who called himself 'Stick'; Matthew left with Stick to train his mind, senses, and body, and he never (figuratively) looked back.

Many years later, Matthew returned to Manhattan to pick up where he had left off in his education; securing a place at Columbia, where he met Foggy Nelson, and going on to secure a Summa Cum Laude Law Degree from Harvard Law, with Foggy attaining a Cum Laude Law Degree alongside him. Taking a cue from Harvey Dent, an admired peer Murdock had met at university, Murdock moved back to Hell's Kitchen with Foggy to become New York's newest ADA, a high profile judiciary position that gave Murdock quick access to the information he needed to start cleaning up his home. However, Matthew soon found that courtroom law was far from the 'justice' he sought for the people of Hell's Kitchen. At first, it was those in his immediate vicinity; a blindfold and dark clothes for the domestic abuser in the next building over, the cop taking bribes from the local dealer to keep him operating on student corners. Beyond that, Matthew moved his scope to the broader picture, donning padded athletic wear and a more stylized 'mask' to take on gambling rings and amateur human trafficking. Soon enough, Matthew saw too much in court to stand by without action any longer. It was time for the suit, to combat the massive crime organisation that underpinned the criminal everyday of Hell's Kitchen.

It was time for Kingpin. It was time for Daredevil.

▼ M O T I V A T I O N / O B J E C T I V E:

"I do not seek penance for what I have done. I seek forgiveness...for what I am doing to do."
This is a Matthew Murdock who, instead of helping bleeding hearts and the unfortunate, still has dreams of being a big city lawyer. He's high profile and works high class cases, directly taking on the mob on both his civilian guise and during the night when he dons the horns to become Daredevil. It is more important than ever to keep his dual life secret, as he becomes a bright target to the underworld on both sides of the law. Far from 'Marvel's Batman', DareDevil is a complicated, conflicted individual, with important roles on both sides of his life, and an internal struggle to stay level within himself while doling out his retribution without giving in to his darker impulses.

My Murdock is entirely obssessed with deposing Wilson 'Kingpin' Fish from his throne at the peak of New York's criminal underworld, and unbeknownst to him, this singular fixation will impart deeper risks and tragedies upon both himself and those he loves, changing everybody's lives irrevocably.

▼ A B I L I T I E S / S K I L L S:

"Darkness only responds to darkness."
//ABILITIES:
// SUPERHUMAN SENSORY SYSTEM After the accident that caused Matthew's blindness, his other senses began to compensate far past what was expected of them, and with Stick's later training, Matthew has honed these remaining senses into the superhuman, unlocking extraordinary abilities.

SUPERHUMAN TOUCH | Matthew's sense of touch is so acute that his finger can feel the faint impressions of ink on a printed page, allowing him to read by touch. The rest of his skin is equally sensitive, enabling him to feel minute temperature and pressure changes in the atmosphere around him. Even with his senses of smell and hearing blocked, he can feel the presence of a person standing five feet away from him simply by his or her body heat and disturbance of air, which he can use to predict the movement of people nearby.

SUPERHUMAN HEARING | Murdock's sense of hearing enables him to detect an acoustic pressure change of one decibel at a pressure level of seven decibels. He can hear a person's heartbeat at a distance of over twenty feet, or people whispering on the other side of a standard soundproofed wall. He is also able to focus on a particular sound, however quiet, and block all others out. Matthew's hearing also allows him to use incoming acoustic information to map out his environment in 360 degrees.

SUPERHUMAN SMELL | Matthew's sense of smell is so acute that he can distinguish between identical twins at twenty feet by minute differences in smell. He can detect odors from even the smallest concentrations in the atmosphere. Furthermore, his ability to remember smells enables him to identify nearly any person by their natural odor alone, and he can use this to track a mark across a large distance, even through a crowd.

SUPERHUMAN TASTE | Matthew's ability to identify and remember tastes in incredibly tiny quantities enables him to determine every ingredient of a food or drink he tastes, and even taste particular vapors in the air.

//SKILLS:
◼ PEAK PHYSICAL CONDITION | Having undergone several kinds of rigorous training across his lifetime, Matthew has achieved a human body at peak physical performance, with his strength, speed, stamina, endurance, agility, and reflexes all at the absolute upper limits of human capability.

◼ PEAK MENTAL ACUITY | Matthew is incredibly gifted, having studied hard and achieved great academic success in his civilian life, and honed that intellect into some more practical talents for his vigilantism. Skilled in detection and problem-solving, Matthew also has a fantastic working knowledge of criminology and psychology. Furthermore, Matthew is able to detach himself from emotional response when necessary, able to turn to logic and rationality and focus entirely on his goals, suppressing emotion completely.

▼ N O T E S:

//SUPPORTING CAST:
▼ FRIENDS
FRANKLIN 'FOGGY' NELSON | Matthew's partner in law as Assistant District Attorney and lifetime best friend, the two met at Columbia Law and have been inseparable ever since. Foggy is Matthew's walking conscience and moral compass, always there to guide Murdock back towards the light when the Devil strays too far into the dark.

KAREN PAGE | A beautiful blonde hired by Foggy to be his and Matthew's assistant, Karen is tenacious, intelligent, and a little too morally upstanding to be safe in Hell's Kitchen. She enjoys a fiery chemistry with Murdock, although he refuses to let anything come of it.

ELEKTRA NATCHIOS | Matthew's girlfriend, a New York socialite with deep coffers of family money and an alluring enigmatic nature that Matt finds irresistible. The two challenge and electrify each other daily and though their relationship is difficult, they both find it fulfilling.

STICK | A martial arts master with supersensory abilities even more advanced than Murdock's, he recognized Matthew's condition at the orphanage and took him away for training. He is mysterious, stoic, and guarded, but nonetheless a strong ally of Matthew.

JACK 'BATTLIN' MURDOCK | Matthew's father, a semi-pro boxer in Hell's Kitchen who raised Matthew as a single father. He did well, teaching Matthew to be a kinder and better person than Jack was, and after Matthew's accident, still encouraged him to pursue his studies. Tragically, he eventually crossed the mob of Hell's Kitchen while Matthew was still young, and Matthew has been trying to do his father proud ever since.

▼ ENEMIES
THE KINGPIN | The unquestioned head of nearly all organised crime in New York, with an iron grip on Murdock's neighborhood of Hell's Kitchen, and an intellect to match his physicality. Ruthless, violent, intelligent - there is no criminal in New York who would cross the Kingpin. But there is a Devil waiting to face him.



P E N N Y D R E A D F U L

P E N E L O P E B O Y L E O C T O B E R 2 0 0 1 ( 1 7 ) F E M A L E H E T E R O S E X U A L

"Go away. No, I'm not being funny. Please leave. Look, I even said please. Go. Away."

▼ A P P E A R A N C E:


"No, I didn't fall from heaven, these are Earth Pants not Space Pants, and I don't take Chem 101. This is embarrassing."
//STATS:
◼ HEIGHT | 5'2"

◼ WEIGHT| 110lbs

◼ ETHNICITY| Caucasian

◼ EYES | Dark brown

◼ HAIR | Bright orange, but dyed to be subdued

//DESCRIPTION:
Penelope is pretty; undeniably so. She matured earlier than a lot of her peers and has comfortably become an attractive woman in a few short years - but she refuses to show it off, wearing baggy, form-hiding clothes to hide her hourglass shape. She is cold and intentionally distant, physically closing herself off to those around her with a furious glare and defensive body language.

▼ B I O G R A P H Y:


"Don't give people the chance to hurt you. Nothing dreadful about protecting yourself."
To say Penelope's upbringing was conservative would be a fair estimation. Her mother struggled to conceive a child, and when they did, Penelope was a pale, sickly child, and her birth almost cost her mother her life - the family's doctors sternly advised against conceiving any more - so Penelope's parents took every precaution to cherish the only child they had; 'cherish' being a subjective term. Penelope's father was religious, and made sure his wife and daughter were penitent as well. With her mother not working, her father making a meager salary, and Penelope herself ill, or worried about becoming ill, she spent little time socialising, her parents often forcing her to take 'sick days' from school out of fear, and opting to hometeach her instead. Eventually she was pulled out of Elementary entirely in favour of her mother and father's tutelage, and she lost what few friends she had managed to acquaint herself with.

By the time Penelope aged out of elementary education, she had also aged out of positive relationships with her parents; her father was a strict, authoritarian figurehead to her rather than a dad, and her mother was a meek, unsure mouse of a woman who was more an extension of her husband's will than an individual person of free thinking and ambitions. Out of sheer frustration on her father's part, Penelope was enrolled to Mather's Memorial High just to ease the consistently-tense atmosphere of the house for eight hours a day, and thus she was forced to re-enter public education, and face her peers. They were not kind.

Already in possession of a dubious reputation for her disappearance from Elementary, and the general disdain that her parents publicly held for a lot of their neighbours, Penelope's entrance into High School was not well-received. When she started growing and maturing earlier and fuller than her peers, the jealousy and insecurity of her classmates mixed with whispered rumours and She was the victim of locker pranks, gum on her notes, snapped pens and pencils, lipstick-written warnings, hair pulled, projectile food in the cafeteria. Penelope was bullied, to put it simply, and she took this stress home with her, only worsening her relationship with her mother and father, who often grounded, isolated and berated her further. With no support network, Penelope dealt with her struggles through the only avenues left to her; a mix of volatile retaliation and a hard, structured shell. She constantly crossed between a short-fused and unpredictable hellion-child and a sullen, icy, and near-mute stone wall of a woman. Her newfound defensive mechanisms put a quick end to the more ostentatious bullying, but it earned her a new nickname that she was almost exclusively referred to by: 'Penny Dreadful'.

Penelope accepted the nickname, the snide comments, and the behind-the-back whispers gracefully, all things considered; to her, it was clear that she was not destined to be a sociable girl regardless, so public opinion of her didn't matter. She occasionally picked up attention from boys who didn't know better - which could not be helped given her attractive features - but they soon learnt, either from classmates, or from Penny herself, that she was neither worth the effort nor recipient of the advances. Penelope was terse, aloof, and stand-offish, and she was well-known among her academic year, although certainly not for the 'right' reasons. Everyone knew Penny Dreadful, and if you didn't, you'd see her coming soon enough, with a stare to freeze steel and a fierce temperament to back up her words.

Perhaps the only boon Penelope gathered from her tumultuous high school years was the ability to study un-distracted by the usual smattering of social gatherings and activities that her classmates were often partaking in. With no party invites, no mall hangouts, no summer barbecues, Penelope's free-time was used academically, and academically only. Her grades, previously suffering from the stress of her victimization, now began to soar. It was a small reward for an ultimately far greater cost - but Penelope was thankful for the rare positives she could cling to. A bright and intelligent girl, if socially stunted, Penelope looks towards leaving Mathers Memorial, and all of Crestwood, far behind her. Perhaps then she will make some true friends - if she learns to break down her walls.

▼ A B I L I T I E S / S K I L L S:


"My bite is far worse than my bark. Back off."
//ABILITIES:
◼ AUTOBIOKINESIS | Penelope possesses the ability to freely warp her own genetic makeup on-the-fly to make immediate and drastic changes to her body's physiology. She is able to turn her hand into a brutal appendage of spiked or bladed bone, split her mouth to her ears and open a mouth full of fangs, sprout new eyes, push barbs through her skin and become thorned head-to-toe, re-route her stomach acid through her saliva glands...with full mastery, she will be a warping monster of flesh and bone, adapting quickly to incoming threats and turning herself into a flurry of teeth and bone.

//SKILLS:
◼ ACADEMICAL ACHIEVEMENT | Quite simply, with nothing else to do with her time, Penelope has managed to accomplish quite the academical record, with high and consistent GPA, extra-curricular activities, and excellent coursework and exam results.

◼ STONE-WALL AND ACID TONGUE | With her history of bullying, Penelope is quite blase about any attempts to 'get her goat' as it were, able to let insults, rumours, snappy asides, and all kinds of verbal unpleasantness slide right off her back, and reply quickly in an equally vicious manner.

//LIMITATIONS:
◼ SOCIAL INABILITY | With the only friends she's ever had far, far behind her, Penelope has never had the real, proper opportunity to learn how to make and keep friends, and with her past, what she has learnt is how to manage quite the opposite effect. She's not great in a social situation, and would rather avoid it altogether.

◼ BAD REPUTATION | Everyone knows about 'Penny Dreadful', and how she earned the moniker; there are few willing or capable of interacting with Penelope for fear of damaging their own social standing.

◼ CONSERVATION OF MASS | With the laws of physics in play, Penelope cannot materialize bio-matter to manipulate - she must change or transfer what is already there. A leg can change shape or form, but she cannot sprout an extra pair out of the blue.

//WEAKNESSES:
◼ INSECURITIES | With her early-developed body a frequent target for mockery and slander in her early Mathers Memorial years, Penelope has developed a fear of her own body, believing her impressive figure freakish and undesirable. She is sensitive about her appearance, and has debilitating body-image issues that she cannot face.

◼ MONSTROUS, NOT MUSCULAR | Penelope can sprout teeth, talons, thorns, eyes, mouths - all manner of assorted horrors straight from eldritch tomes - but she cannot make herself hardier, faster, tougher than she already is. Skin and bone is only as strong as skin and bone can be, regardless of where that skin and bone may find itself. She cannot command her muscles to withstand more damage than muscle can be reasonably expected to withstand; she must rely on agility and quick wits to avoid punishment while delivering her own.

▼ N O T E S:


//SUPPORTING CAST:
▼ ALLIES
DANIEL BOYLE | Penelope's father, a terse and faithful man, with a strained relationship with his daughter. He maintains a paternal bond with Penelope, but their personal relationship is frayed and fraught with tense and heated arguments about her manner, belief, future, responsibilities...both Penelope and her father imagine it would be easier to list what they don't argue about, as opposed to what they do.

MATHILDA BOYLE | Penelope's mother, a pale, meek woman, rarely speaking and often too quiet to be heard when she does offer some words of advice. Struggling since Penelope's birth with physical weakness, and then struggling mentally with the stress of Penelope's upbringing and personal troubles, she seems firmly sequestered within her own self, walled away to an even greater degree that what her daughter has learnt to do.

▼ FRIENDS
NONE | Yet, Penelope hopes, but she isn't helping her own cause.

▼ ENEMIES
PENELOPE'S PEERS | Penelope's reputation and past haunt and cling to her to this day, and she rarely walks down a hallway these days without some verbal jab speared in her direction. Physical altercations have long since ceased, but the icy air that surrounds her is still waiting to clear.

//STOMPING GROUNDS
◼ MATHER'S MEMORIAL HIGH SCHOOL | Where Penelope spends the majority of her time, often even on weekends. She studies in class, eats alone at lunch, remains after school in any number of extra-curricular activities - ranging from elective study hall to assistant administration work - and then returns home to eat, sleep, avoid her parents, and return to Mathers Memorial the following day.
Popping in to say work is kicking my ass this week as I've just had one of my members of management taken from me due to internal politics at another site and I'm also having to panic prep for my half-year review which was dropped on me at the weekend. Also got a close friend's birthday tomorrow and seeing IT: Chapter One and Two double bill Thursday night. Those aren't work obligations but they are 'keep me sane' obligations.

Girlfriend is away all weekend from Friday morning so if I can get past Thursday and my review I don't have anything in my way and I can get Matt up and hopefully John issue 2.

I don't anticipate work to get easier for at least 4-5 weeks, depending on what some of my peers can offer me for support due to this political situation, so I'm STILL IN but I may need to really use all of the 2 weeks between posts. Sorry wraith and the general public too.
Previously...
Next...

Season One: All The Rest Of Us
Issue One: Departure


John Constantine’s room is a shithole.

Wall-to-wall, the floor is visible only in scraps, littered with garbage that feels like aggressive white noise in its hostile repetitiveness. Beer can, discarded food packet, dirty laundry, beer can, discarded food packet, dirty laundry, beer can, scrap of carpet. Foil sheet, emptied of pills. Beer can. Empty plastic bottle of six bob voddy. Beer can. Laundry. Beer can. Beer can. Beer ca-

John wakes up. His neck hurts, and he knows this is because he has no pillow, but he is inwardly angry anyway, resenting his body for being damaged by his own poor caretaking. He rolls over onto his stomach, and the physical exertion makes him feel nauseous, and he reaches for a plastic carrier bag to vomit into. Nothing comes up, but John tastes bile in the back of his throat and spits thick saliva into the bag. He throws the bag away, another movement he immediately regrets, and while it lands atop one of the scarce few bits of carpet left, John tears rapidly through the closest pile of rubbish and fag-butts to find at least one smokeable cigarette. He comes up empty, and now his hangover, a fetid miasma of migraine, nausea and muscle ache, begins to crash in waves against him, and his scorched throat begs for further lashings.

Ignoring both, or at least ignoring the ever-increasing urge to vomit, John sits up on his mattress. His duvet, thin with no sheets, falls off his torso quietly, the change in temperature barely noticeable. He splays his legs out in front of him, kicking aside empty cans and paper wrappers with his heels as he waits for the dizziness to subside. John rubs his eyes. He stands, legs cold and shaking, and then makes a quick trip to the bathroom across the hall, where the nausea overcomes him and he empties his stomach and his bladder in quick succession.

It is while John washes his hands, mouth, and face under the cold tap in the sink that he thinks of his stash. He finishes off, patting himself dry on a stained, ragged old towel that he scoops from the floor and then returns there, and crosses the hall again back to his room. His stash is hidden behind his chest of drawers, and he has to move a pile of laundry before he can move it, but when he does he can see the cracks in the wall almost instantly. He can't remember the last time he used his stash, but to his nicotine starved mind, behind that small section of pull-away wall hides John's earthly salvation: a small white box, adorned with a simple purple square.

John feverishly works his finger into the small hole carved into the wall and pulls at the section. It is stiff but comes loose without much effort, and John quickly pushes his free hand into the compartment. His fingers find no box, but instead touch glossy paper. John seizes the object and pulls it out for inspection.

He barely glances at the old photograph before he drops it reflexively and casts his gaze away, his whole body flinching before going rigid. He is dumbfounded, all thought function seizing up and clattering to a halt. His vision swims and his heart-rate and breathing speed up involuntarily, as his surroundings seem to swell against him and push upon his skin. He places a hand on the chest of drawers to steady himself, and screws his eyes shut tight enough to hurt. His blood pounds in his ears, drowning out all other sound, and though John breaths he is asphyxiating, his chest feeling like a clockwork spring with its key being wound; tighter and tighter, twisting his innards into a tense ball that grows smaller withe very turn, every gasp for air a new threat that it would burst and punch a hole clean through John's torso, killing him and letting loose every demon and insecurity, every bad though he'd ever had, for everyone to see and point and judge and laugh and ostracize and -

And then it's over. The coil unwinds, slowly but gently, and John's breath and vision come back to him. He lets go of the drawers, his knuckles brilliant white and his hand aching, and carefully, slowly, picks up the two pill boxes that stand alone atop the unit, pulling a foil rack from each and pop-pop releasing the pills from their containers. John reads the words 'citalopram' and 'clozapine' with glazed-over eyes as he swallows the tablets dry, and then takes some deep, steady breaths as he bends down to retrieve the photograph, holding it with both hands as he stands back up.

The photo is of a young girl, center frame, water behind her and the light of the sun reflected off of it to illuminate the girl from behind, giving her an ethereal golden outline. John is almost moved to tears just looking at the picture.

Instead, he tears his eyes away from the smiling face of the girl and sets the photo down next to his pills. He looks around his room, allowing the true scope and meaning of the filth to sink in, and then dresses himself in the least-smelly pair of jeans and top with the fewest stains. He pockets his pills, and then carefully folds and pockets the photo as well.

Downstairs, John pads quietly from the hallway to the kitchen in search of water and food. He drinks from the tap and takes a half-empty packet of digestives from the cupboard, and then makes his way to the front door. Behind him, through the hallway into the living room, he can see Thomas Constantine - a father to the letter of the law and no further - sound asleep on his worn and rotted old armchair. A can of lager has fallen from his hand and spilled across his lap and the floor. From here John can smell piss as well. He nervously eyes the small mound of empty cans beside Thomas, and can't help but picture the cans on his bedroom floor upstairs.

John turns around. Thomas' jacket is hung beside the door and John does not hesitate to pilfer the wallet from the inside pocket and empty it of the cash within. He turns, putting a hand on the handle of the door, and hesitates only long enough for his other hand to touch a finger to the photograph of his sister in his pocket - and then he leaves.

---


John was ten, Cheryl fourteen. Summer in Liverpool, as much as Liverpool could allow, and the sky was covered by a pallid shroud of grey clouds. They were collecting change - running through the streets, spotting shrapnel on the floor, on abandoned tables, in phoneboxes and ticket machines. John's pockets rattled melodically with coins as he joked, jostled, teased and cracked wise. Cheryl downplayed her amusement but could not stifle a chuckle here and there.

At a dockside cafe, Cheryl distracted the owner with meandering, protracted questions about the menu, while John took the opportunity to dip his hand into the tip jar and came up with a few more silvers than he had gone in with. Cheryl had ordered cola and sandwiches and the pair ate outside; when the owner turned to serve another customer, the pair had ran, laughing at themselves and each other as the frustrated shouts grew quieter and quieter behind them.

Back on the high street they ducked into a Boots and found a disposable camera; John emptying his pockets into Cheryl's outstretched hands so that she could count out their collection. They had only scrap left after their purchase, but they left the coins and the plastic wrapping of the camera on the counter behind them as they left with their prize. They filled the camera roll in only a few short hours, and then returned to Boots to develop the film. The lady behind the counter huffed and puffed as they turned out their pockets to pay the fee, and eventually, just waived it entirely as their performance grew too tedious to deal with any longer.

John and Cheryl sat on a street bench in the fading sunlight, thumbing eagerly through their envelope of photographs. Many were unfortunately marred by poor lighting, lens glare, or even intrusions from John's clumsy fingers as he had played with the camera. But one picture stood out: Cheryl, standing center frame with the Royal Albert Docks behind her, smiling and laughing at the John behind the camera. The clouds had opened up in a moment of serendipity to stream sunlight down onto the water, and it bounced off the surface of the docks to light up the photo from behind. To John, the photo was remarkable, perhaps the greatest accomplishment of his young life so far; it held a paradoxically fleeting and infinite moment of serenity, and seemed to capture an angelic quality about Cheryl. The photo was a gleaming representation of John's sister through John's eyes; he loved it, and her, and they spent the rest of the evening delaying their return home any way they knew how.


---


John sits on his arse on the kerb outside of Leicester central station, staring at the creased photo of Cheryl he holds out in front of him. The cash in his father's wallet got him from Liverpool to Nottingham, and dodging the ticket man had gotten him from Nottingham to Leicester, and here he had been caught and summarily ejected when he was found unable to pay the fine.

The sun he sits in is suddenly blocked by an approaching figure, who casts a large shadow across John as he stands watching. John looks up, squinting against the sun that shines behind the man.
"What do you want." John demands, his back bristling on habit alone. Liverpool didn't teach him to be friendly.
"You look lost."
"What's it to you, geez? Shove off."
The man chuckles, and this both irritates and disarms John.
"Thought you might need a hand."

John pauses, hesitant. This stranger's forward nature unsettles him. He is not used to kindness.
"I'm fine. Shove off." The man does not move. This annoys John. "You bored?"
"What's that photo?"
John stands up, and pockets the photo. The man is taller than John, and wider, and John is cold and hungry, but John has anger and a wild, nervous energy building inside him. John thinks he could take the man if he had to.
"None of your business." He responds, looking the stranger directly in the eyes and locking his jaw. He waits.

The man steps back, and without the sun behind his head John can see him clearly. He has a friendly face, and in his eyes is a look of genuine concern and empathy. The man holds both his hands up before putting them back in his jacket.
"Fair enough. Bad start.” He steps forward, only slightly, and extends a hand to shake. John does not take it. “Francis Chandler.”
John does not offer his name. Instead, he sits back down. Francis stays standing. After a long pause, John explains.
“I’ve come from Liverpool. Trying to get to London to visit an old friend. Cash ran out at Nottingham. Narcs caught me here. Now I’m stuck.”

Francis rubs the messy stubble of his chin and sits down next to John, taking off his flat cap.
“Well, that’s a fair bit of luck to get from Nottingham to here.” He days after a moment of deliberation. John murmurs an unenthusiastic agreement. “And I reckon you got chucked just in time too.”
John frowns and looks at Francis. He smiles, a wry little smirk that forces John to like him a little. “I’m leaving back to London today. Just escaped a visit to my ogre of a ma. Car’s parked at the station. Saw you first, though. Lucky bugger, don’t you think?”

John stares at Francis, his face conveying all manner of emotion: incredulity; confusion; distrust; disbelief; hope. He doesn’t know how to respond, or whether he should. Most of him thinks Francis is playing a cruel joke.
“If you get your jollies being a cunt I reckon you’re done for the day with this one.” He finally says, and Francis laughs. John waits for a response, but Francis doesn’t reply. “Why?”

Francis shrugs.
“You look like you could use some help.”
“I could be about to take you for all you’re worth.”
Francis laughs again. “You’re welcome to, got fuck all anyway. I’d let you drive away with me in the boot if it got me away from my mother.”
“Why do you want to help me so bad?”

Francis stands up, John does the same. Francis stands across from John, regarding his skinny frame in the sunlight.
“I’ve got a nose for good hearts. Good people. You got an aura about you. I can tell. You just need a break.”
John could cry. Francis has compassion he hasn’t felt since...that he hasn’t felt in a long time. He clears his throat.
“I think you’re full of shit.” He pauses as Francis chuckles. “But I could do with a break.”
John extends his hand to shake. Francis takes it firmly.
“John Constantine. Nice to meet ya, Francis.”
Who even IS 'Luke'?!
© 2007-2025
BBCode Cheatsheet