DOT said the overall length was 38". Which is 3 feet 2 inches long. And since it's the overall length, that includes the 13.5 inch head. So the handle is only 2 feet and half an inch long. If the spear in the picture is supposed to be a representation, that means his character should be less than 3 feet tall.
But it does say short spear in the actual description, so I guess the picture probably has no bearing on it at all. 3 feet just seemed really short to me, even for a short spear.
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Most Recent Posts
Name: James White/Titan
Random Descriptors:
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Age: Old
Height: 2 meters
Weight: 500 kg
Hair Color: Dark Brown (eyebrows)
Eye Color: Icy Blue
Tier: High
Character Type: Active Multiverse Participant.
Physical Description:
Personality Description:
Character History:
Abilities:
Equipment:
Random Descriptors:
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Age: Old
Height: 2 meters
Weight: 500 kg
Hair Color: Dark Brown (eyebrows)
Eye Color: Icy Blue
Tier: High
Character Type: Active Multiverse Participant.
Physical Description:
Bald and light-skinned, James is a brute of a man with a physique that would not look out of place in a comic book, tightly corded slabs of muscle overlaying bones that have never once been broken, covered by skin that all but ignores the impact of any conventional weapon. The suit he most often wears into combat is dark grey in hue and designed with carbon nanofibers that mimic the position and function of his natural muscles, allowing him complete freedom of movement while still being able to withstand the punishment he puts it through.
Personality Description:
No data available (I'd prefer to let this play out in the writing).
Character History:
James was born a healthy young boy, to parents Arthur and Jenna White of Jacksonville Florida, in the year 1924. At the age of sixteen, he enlisted in the army under false pretenses in order to fight the nazi's, and served with distinction for the following two years. It was this exemplary service that caught the eye of his superiors and got him recommended to an experimental super-soldier program being conducted by the military's most dedicated scientists. He accepted the offer without hesitation, and over the course of the next few months was conditioned for what he had assumed would be a series of stimulant injections, as he had heard rumors of the nazi's experimenting with such methods.
He could not have been more wrong. When he arrived in the "augmentation room", it was half a dozen men he had never seen before that greeted him, rather than the scientists that had been observing him thus far. When he lay on the table for the procedure and was strapped in, there were no needles or syringes brought out for the injections he assumed he would be receiving, but rather the men began to chant and wave their hands at him. When those hands began emanating a dark red energy he realized this was not actually what he signed up for and began to strain against his bonds, though to no avail.
When the energy touched his skin, it felt like fire and ice all in one, driving a scream from his throat that he was sure no one heard as it seeped deeper and deeper until it permeated his entire body. Then the pain grew worse. It felt like his insides were being twisted and torn and burned and frozen as the energy coursed through him, filling his head with nothing but pure agony. Off in some distant corner of his mind, some small part of him wondered how he was still conscious, until finally the sweet release of darkness claimed him.
When he awoke, the first thought in his mind was relief. He wasn't dead. But the thought was quickly replaced by panic when he remembered why not being dead was relieving to him. What had they done to him? How many others had they done it to? Questions whirled through his mind at a rate that made him dizzy, and he laid back down on the bed, unaware of even sitting up in the first place. When the room stopped spinning, he sat up once more and looked around. It was a small room, no more than thirty feet wide, with gurneys lined up along one wall and refrigeration units set into another. Was this a morgue? Why was he in a morgue? With a start, he realized that he too was sitting on a gurney, his lower half covered by a sheet. Had he been dead? If they'd killed him, how was he alive now?
The gurney creaked as he shifted his weight and stepped off it, not bothering to pull the sheet with him, and took a few tentative steps toward the middle of the room. He felt fine, and everything seemed to be working, apart from feeling a lot lighter than he had a few hours ago. Or could it be days? How long had he been out? It didn't really matter at the moment. The first thing he needed to do was find some clothes. He carefully made his way over to a row of drawers on the far wall, hoping it was where the personal effects of the deceased were kept. It was. A pair of pants was easy enough to find, though he had to go three sizes larger than he used to and they still didn't reach all the way to his ankles, but every shirt he tried ended up ripping over his chest, which he now realized had become considerably more muscular, along with his arms and legs. Not only that, but he was pretty sure he'd gotten taller too. At least six inches taller.
He forgot about the shirt when he heard voices outside the doorway, and panic set in once again when he realized those voices were not speaking english. He'd heard enough german to recognize it, even if he couldn't understand it most of the time. Quietly, he moved to the door and listened carefully for a moment before slowly opening it and looking outside. The hallway was empty. Intrigued, he strained to listen once more and there the voices were, just as clear as before. He stepped out and closed the door behind him, then began making his way down the corridors, looking for the source of the voices. He found it in an office halfway across the building, two officers and a grunt conferring over a map of the compound. All three german.
He pushed lightly against the door to open it slightly and get a better view, but it seemed to have other plans and swung open wide at the slight push he gave it. They looked up in surprise at the half-clothed man standing in the doorway, filling it almost completely with his large frame. The grunt was the first to react, raising his MP40 and opening fire on the american soldier.
James watched the bullets come, each one standing out as if they were moving as slowly as snails, then stepped aside to let them pass. It was as easy as avoiding a charging child. He had little time to wonder at the impossibility of what he'd just done though, as both officers now had their sidearms out and were beginning to open fire as well. He avoided their bullets too as he stepped through the door and into the room, then slammed his palm into the grunt's weapon, tearing it free of his grip and slamming it into the wall in a mangled wreck. A chop to his throat, meant to incapacitate the man, left a gaping hole and James' fist covered in blood. His eyes went wide at the sight of what he'd done, and he didn't bother to notice the bullets impacting his bare flesh from the remaining officers. He recovered quickly and turned to them just in time to catch a bullet headed for his face, then stepped forward and snapped their necks one-handed, very nearly tearing the heads from their bodies.
What the hell did they turn him into?
It didn't take long to free the rest of the compound from its german invaders, and in the weeks and months that followed James resentfully resigned himself to his new fate as America's greatest weapon. He'd signed up to become a better human, not a god that could crush tanks in his hands and level cities just by looking at them. the dark reality of war set in hard as he was ordered to engage in increasingly immoral assignments, and when he destroyed the cities of hiroshima and nagasaki, forcing the japanese to surrender, he had become as cold and ruthless as his country had needed him to be.
Following those events, he attempted to resign his commission, but when his superiors would not allow it simply went AWOL instead, leaving his world behind as he tracked down a feeling that had been nagging at the back of his mind since he'd awoken. The feeling led him to a portal, and the portal led him to another world.
He could not have been more wrong. When he arrived in the "augmentation room", it was half a dozen men he had never seen before that greeted him, rather than the scientists that had been observing him thus far. When he lay on the table for the procedure and was strapped in, there were no needles or syringes brought out for the injections he assumed he would be receiving, but rather the men began to chant and wave their hands at him. When those hands began emanating a dark red energy he realized this was not actually what he signed up for and began to strain against his bonds, though to no avail.
When the energy touched his skin, it felt like fire and ice all in one, driving a scream from his throat that he was sure no one heard as it seeped deeper and deeper until it permeated his entire body. Then the pain grew worse. It felt like his insides were being twisted and torn and burned and frozen as the energy coursed through him, filling his head with nothing but pure agony. Off in some distant corner of his mind, some small part of him wondered how he was still conscious, until finally the sweet release of darkness claimed him.
When he awoke, the first thought in his mind was relief. He wasn't dead. But the thought was quickly replaced by panic when he remembered why not being dead was relieving to him. What had they done to him? How many others had they done it to? Questions whirled through his mind at a rate that made him dizzy, and he laid back down on the bed, unaware of even sitting up in the first place. When the room stopped spinning, he sat up once more and looked around. It was a small room, no more than thirty feet wide, with gurneys lined up along one wall and refrigeration units set into another. Was this a morgue? Why was he in a morgue? With a start, he realized that he too was sitting on a gurney, his lower half covered by a sheet. Had he been dead? If they'd killed him, how was he alive now?
The gurney creaked as he shifted his weight and stepped off it, not bothering to pull the sheet with him, and took a few tentative steps toward the middle of the room. He felt fine, and everything seemed to be working, apart from feeling a lot lighter than he had a few hours ago. Or could it be days? How long had he been out? It didn't really matter at the moment. The first thing he needed to do was find some clothes. He carefully made his way over to a row of drawers on the far wall, hoping it was where the personal effects of the deceased were kept. It was. A pair of pants was easy enough to find, though he had to go three sizes larger than he used to and they still didn't reach all the way to his ankles, but every shirt he tried ended up ripping over his chest, which he now realized had become considerably more muscular, along with his arms and legs. Not only that, but he was pretty sure he'd gotten taller too. At least six inches taller.
He forgot about the shirt when he heard voices outside the doorway, and panic set in once again when he realized those voices were not speaking english. He'd heard enough german to recognize it, even if he couldn't understand it most of the time. Quietly, he moved to the door and listened carefully for a moment before slowly opening it and looking outside. The hallway was empty. Intrigued, he strained to listen once more and there the voices were, just as clear as before. He stepped out and closed the door behind him, then began making his way down the corridors, looking for the source of the voices. He found it in an office halfway across the building, two officers and a grunt conferring over a map of the compound. All three german.
He pushed lightly against the door to open it slightly and get a better view, but it seemed to have other plans and swung open wide at the slight push he gave it. They looked up in surprise at the half-clothed man standing in the doorway, filling it almost completely with his large frame. The grunt was the first to react, raising his MP40 and opening fire on the american soldier.
James watched the bullets come, each one standing out as if they were moving as slowly as snails, then stepped aside to let them pass. It was as easy as avoiding a charging child. He had little time to wonder at the impossibility of what he'd just done though, as both officers now had their sidearms out and were beginning to open fire as well. He avoided their bullets too as he stepped through the door and into the room, then slammed his palm into the grunt's weapon, tearing it free of his grip and slamming it into the wall in a mangled wreck. A chop to his throat, meant to incapacitate the man, left a gaping hole and James' fist covered in blood. His eyes went wide at the sight of what he'd done, and he didn't bother to notice the bullets impacting his bare flesh from the remaining officers. He recovered quickly and turned to them just in time to catch a bullet headed for his face, then stepped forward and snapped their necks one-handed, very nearly tearing the heads from their bodies.
What the hell did they turn him into?
It didn't take long to free the rest of the compound from its german invaders, and in the weeks and months that followed James resentfully resigned himself to his new fate as America's greatest weapon. He'd signed up to become a better human, not a god that could crush tanks in his hands and level cities just by looking at them. the dark reality of war set in hard as he was ordered to engage in increasingly immoral assignments, and when he destroyed the cities of hiroshima and nagasaki, forcing the japanese to surrender, he had become as cold and ruthless as his country had needed him to be.
Following those events, he attempted to resign his commission, but when his superiors would not allow it simply went AWOL instead, leaving his world behind as he tracked down a feeling that had been nagging at the back of his mind since he'd awoken. The feeling led him to a portal, and the portal led him to another world.
Abilities:
Enhanced Body - Simply put, James is two hundred times stronger and tougher than even the strongest and toughest of humans, as well as two hundred times more capable in every other way. He is capable of lifting seventy-five short tons with relative ease, and shrugging off blows from beings of equal strength. This level of physical capability is more than sufficient for James to throw punches that reach several times the speed of sound, clap his hands together with enough force to produce shockwaves that can destroy wooden buildings, and move at speeds of up to mach 2 in combat. This physical enhancement also affects the speed of his perceptions, allowing his eyes to easily track objects moving as fast as he can, even in close proximity. With regards to durability, he is so tough that no conventional weapon can harm him, though those forged of powerful magic or created from the most potent technologies are still a genuine threat to him, capable of leaving him wounded, unconscious, or dead should they inflict sufficient damage. Due to his nature as a being remade and sustained by dark energy, he also requires no sleep, air, food, or water to function, and abilities relying on the manipulation of the energies of the seen universe have a reduced effectiveness on him. Psychics detect no mind to read or control, and those who attempt to manipulate his life-force will find nothing but an empty void. Other users of dark energy, however, will find their spells and manipulations to be just as effective as they otherwise should be, barring his extreme overall resistance to damage.
Galdhr Manipulation - His intrinsic connection to the energy of the dark universe also allows him to apply the force of his will to subtly affect the world around himself, allowing otherwise comparatively frail objects to be lifted by his immense strength without crumbling around his hands or breaking under their own weight, and preventing the ground from simply collapsing beneath him when he exercises the full power of his physique. It is also this ability, via the manipulation of his own matter's inertia and momentum, that allows him to fly, willing himself to defy the constraints of gravity. With enough focus he can increase his speed to achieve orbital escape velocity.
Galdhr Beams - Emitted from his eyes, these beams are composed of millions of particles of dark matter propelled by dark energy at speeds sufficient to generate an impact force equivalent to 5,000 tons of TNT. This impact force can be varied from its full power to a mere half-gram of TNT.
Phasing - By temporarily converting the matter of his body into dark energy, James is capable of passing his form through any solid material or potent form of seen energy. This takes focus, however, and cannot be used instantaneously (requires one prep post). The amount of time he can remain in this form is limited to roughly 30 seconds (6 combat posts) before his mind and body begin to dissolve into the nether. Any attacks made with dark energy will affect him normally even while in this form.
Sixth Sense - Another side effect of his creation at the hands of his earth's most powerful practitioners of the dark arts is his ability to sense the energies of the dark universe around himself, in a radius of roughly 300 kilometers. In the case of powerful focal points of dark energy, such as the portals between universes, the range of this sixth sense is increased a thousandfold (this is based on Skalla's description of the Galdhr sense, impression, and insight abilities).
Immortality - Due to the fact that he is no longer truly alive, James can never die of non-violent causes, and even the violent ones have thus far proved ineffective. On its own, his tremendous ability to sustain damage has been enough to weather nuclear explosions and punches from beings as powerful as he is, but even his durability has its limits. In the case he encounters a force that can harm him, such as highly advanced weaponry or powerful magic, his body is capable of repairing itself far faster than that of an ordinary human, with superficial cuts healing in seconds and deep wounds in hours.
Galdhr Manipulation - His intrinsic connection to the energy of the dark universe also allows him to apply the force of his will to subtly affect the world around himself, allowing otherwise comparatively frail objects to be lifted by his immense strength without crumbling around his hands or breaking under their own weight, and preventing the ground from simply collapsing beneath him when he exercises the full power of his physique. It is also this ability, via the manipulation of his own matter's inertia and momentum, that allows him to fly, willing himself to defy the constraints of gravity. With enough focus he can increase his speed to achieve orbital escape velocity.
Galdhr Beams - Emitted from his eyes, these beams are composed of millions of particles of dark matter propelled by dark energy at speeds sufficient to generate an impact force equivalent to 5,000 tons of TNT. This impact force can be varied from its full power to a mere half-gram of TNT.
Phasing - By temporarily converting the matter of his body into dark energy, James is capable of passing his form through any solid material or potent form of seen energy. This takes focus, however, and cannot be used instantaneously (requires one prep post). The amount of time he can remain in this form is limited to roughly 30 seconds (6 combat posts) before his mind and body begin to dissolve into the nether. Any attacks made with dark energy will affect him normally even while in this form.
Sixth Sense - Another side effect of his creation at the hands of his earth's most powerful practitioners of the dark arts is his ability to sense the energies of the dark universe around himself, in a radius of roughly 300 kilometers. In the case of powerful focal points of dark energy, such as the portals between universes, the range of this sixth sense is increased a thousandfold (this is based on Skalla's description of the Galdhr sense, impression, and insight abilities).
Immortality - Due to the fact that he is no longer truly alive, James can never die of non-violent causes, and even the violent ones have thus far proved ineffective. On its own, his tremendous ability to sustain damage has been enough to weather nuclear explosions and punches from beings as powerful as he is, but even his durability has its limits. In the case he encounters a force that can harm him, such as highly advanced weaponry or powerful magic, his body is capable of repairing itself far faster than that of an ordinary human, with superficial cuts healing in seconds and deep wounds in hours.
Equipment:
None Currently.
The spear is only 3 feet 2 inches long?
*pokes the wastes with a stick*
Anybody still alive in here?
Anybody still alive in here?
Just to make things completely clear: The man I mention recognizing near the end of my post is the one whose head Mordem was holding, not Mordem himself.
"Polo."
David Smith stepped into the room with the air of a man that felt no fear. A man that knew both himself, and the world around him. Knew how to harness and manipulate them both to his best advantage, and never had a single doubt as to the outcome. He wore a dark grey business suit tailored for a man of his height and slender build, and a four-button vest to match, with a blood red tie contrasting both the dark suit and the white silk shirt he wore beneath. The only part of his wardrobe that spoiled the billionaire businessman look was his shoes. Designed to both be comfortable and maintain excellent grip on most surfaces, they resembled a cross between climbing and running shoes, light and agile. How he came to be here, dressed like that and with no visible weapons, was anyone's guess.
There were three things that stood out to him as he entered the dojo-looking arena, and the first was too obvious for anyone to miss. He was not alone. There was one man standing smack dab in the center of the room, and another had revealed himself by speaking the first line of the ever-popular children's game. He was off to David's right. There were others, his instincts told him, but as yet they had deemed it necessary to remain hidden.
The second thing was the realization that his first opponent, the one in the center of the room, was not alive. Not in the typical sense at least. The knowledge came to him at the first look he had of the man, but it took him a few moments more to reason out why he knew it. It was the breathing, or rather the lack of it. He stood stock still, immobile as a statue, without his chest rising so much as a millimeter. No living being could manage that, apart from an insect, and the being before him was not an insect. At least... he hoped it wasn't an insect. He really didn't feel like pulling an Agent K.
The third thing was even more subtle than the second, and it was the fact that he'd been here before. He'd been to dozens of rooms almost exactly like this, but until now he'd never encountered the same room twice. A small smile curved his lips as he slid a finger across a small knot in one of the posts.
He was beginning to glimpse the beginnings of a pattern.
Now he just had to get through these goons and figure out the rest of it. Which was probably easier said than done. The one to his right had come in carrying a head, and Smith recognized it from an encounter not more than two hours before. The man had been skilled, at least enough to manage an escape from a mob of three just before they ran into the slender man in the business suit. That particular meal had been very filling... But getting back to the point, the man to his left was obviously no slouch in combat. Even so, he ignored him for the time being and walked directly up to the statue in the center of the room, stopping just far enough away that if it were to hold out its sword directly at him, the tip would just barely press against his tie. He wasn't a fool, after all.
Then he just stood and stared back at the thing, wondering what it was that made it tick.
David Smith stepped into the room with the air of a man that felt no fear. A man that knew both himself, and the world around him. Knew how to harness and manipulate them both to his best advantage, and never had a single doubt as to the outcome. He wore a dark grey business suit tailored for a man of his height and slender build, and a four-button vest to match, with a blood red tie contrasting both the dark suit and the white silk shirt he wore beneath. The only part of his wardrobe that spoiled the billionaire businessman look was his shoes. Designed to both be comfortable and maintain excellent grip on most surfaces, they resembled a cross between climbing and running shoes, light and agile. How he came to be here, dressed like that and with no visible weapons, was anyone's guess.
There were three things that stood out to him as he entered the dojo-looking arena, and the first was too obvious for anyone to miss. He was not alone. There was one man standing smack dab in the center of the room, and another had revealed himself by speaking the first line of the ever-popular children's game. He was off to David's right. There were others, his instincts told him, but as yet they had deemed it necessary to remain hidden.
The second thing was the realization that his first opponent, the one in the center of the room, was not alive. Not in the typical sense at least. The knowledge came to him at the first look he had of the man, but it took him a few moments more to reason out why he knew it. It was the breathing, or rather the lack of it. He stood stock still, immobile as a statue, without his chest rising so much as a millimeter. No living being could manage that, apart from an insect, and the being before him was not an insect. At least... he hoped it wasn't an insect. He really didn't feel like pulling an Agent K.
The third thing was even more subtle than the second, and it was the fact that he'd been here before. He'd been to dozens of rooms almost exactly like this, but until now he'd never encountered the same room twice. A small smile curved his lips as he slid a finger across a small knot in one of the posts.
He was beginning to glimpse the beginnings of a pattern.
Now he just had to get through these goons and figure out the rest of it. Which was probably easier said than done. The one to his right had come in carrying a head, and Smith recognized it from an encounter not more than two hours before. The man had been skilled, at least enough to manage an escape from a mob of three just before they ran into the slender man in the business suit. That particular meal had been very filling... But getting back to the point, the man to his left was obviously no slouch in combat. Even so, he ignored him for the time being and walked directly up to the statue in the center of the room, stopping just far enough away that if it were to hold out its sword directly at him, the tip would just barely press against his tie. He wasn't a fool, after all.
Then he just stood and stared back at the thing, wondering what it was that made it tick.
If you can get a CS posted before the four of us make it through the first round of posting, I don't see why not.
Vordak said
Though tomahawks might be worse against leather and cotton, as they chop, not slice. No pulling motion appliable.
That's what the sharpened spike on the back is for. Nice and stabby. ;)
I was just having a go at what Green said about it. I can pretty easily switch to a sword though, if ya'll think I might have too big an advantage with the tomahawks. ;)
Oh? Why does that surprise you?
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