Spoopy Scary

The Spoopiest Skeletons

@Maxx's Red Sun universe

Wizzlebee de LaShtüp

Name: Wizzlebee de LaShtüp
Age: 160
Gender: Male
Species: Gnome
Kingdom of Origin: Ostracus
Physical appearance: At a daunting and considerable 3'01” (har har), LaShtüp is something of an out-of-the-ordinary gnome, if only for a few more reasons than being an inch above the average height. Perhaps in his youth he bore a rosy-cheeked smile with a fine complexion, but as he stands today, he looks too worn down to manage more than a stroll through the woods. Not that this is something he'd lend on, as even for his age, is surprisingly spry and energetic, but nothing like he was back when he was a young'n. His face has garnered wrinkles and age has pronounced his laugh lines. His large trademark nose, a distinguished feature among gnomes aside from its beak-like curvature, has done little in the ways of following his shriveling skin and receding hairline, allowing it to stick out from his face as his most noticeable feature. One of the biggest peculiarities howe'er, lies in his resemblance to humans. Have no doubt that he is a proud gnome, but replacing a gnome's childlike features is a bolder, and more pronounced face.

In addition, unlike most gnomes as well, LaShtüp's skin color lacks as much pigment that contributes to the gnomes' copper skin. His own skin is quite pale in comparison, but manages a similar hue if nothing else. If there is one thing that LaShtüp shares, it is his slicked back widow-peaked black hair. Then again, that could just be dye, because there is nary a gray hair to be found on top his head. As you would expect, he is not very strong, even by gnome standards. He weighs about 65 lbs soaking wet, and is a feeble old gnome reading books as large as a human's memo pad after all. Despite his kind usually have a short and stocky build, his limbs are pretty thin. There is not a tremendous amount of meat or muscle that sits between his skin and bone, but he has a gut that many a hearty gnome would be proud of. In this respect, he isn't as thin and weak as he could be. Given how many years he's pushing, he considers himself pretty lucky. LaShtüp has long, brittle fingernails that has turned black through a particular use of magic, but nobody would ever know, because they've been painted mint green.

Attire: Our favorite gnome dresses to impress. As a first layer, black silk vestments adorn his body, and over that, a black vest. This vest has been trimmed with gold leaf and three brass studs are on either side of his color. Three large buttons go down the center of the vest. Over this, he wears what appears to be a sage green toga, where the sinus that drapes over his left shoulder is held together by golf-leaf coated brass clasp. This particular article of clothing is what indicates him as his city's alchemist, so that he is not mistaken for any priest or sorcerer, but it does not detract from his appearance of a noble. Were it not for his short stature as a gnome in a human society, there'd be no telling what he could get away with.

He has a few accessories on his person. Like the aforementioned painted fingernails. He wears a pair of black formal slippers, with white cotton socks. While they ease right on and off of his feet, they are fairly secure around them and is difficult for them to fall off by accident. However, it is not uncommon for him to relax with his feet free, and then, there you would find that his toenails are painted a similar color to that of his fingernails! And unlike his fingernails, appeared to be kept in good shape. He has a number of rings, many of which contain secret compartments for certain herbs or powders for emergency alchemical improvisation. He has one gold loop earring on both his ears.

Personality: The eccentricity of gnomes is not lost on LaShtüp – that is to say, he is no exception to that rule. He, during the early years of his life, had shared the race-wide suspicion that had made up a great deal of their quirkiness, but as the years had gone by, that attitude tempered. He was already unlike many gnomes as he stood, and he was aware of the global view of gnomes and this had brought forth some embarrassment. This has influenced his perception of other races a little bit as he came to realize that it was the gnomes who were considered to be the absurd, different major race among races. This had half to do with luring him out from his homeland and to travel through the major kingdoms, eventually stopping at Nepharie, the largest kingdom, as it had exposed him to more of the world's culture than any other place, and where he got to meet the most people from all over. Since moving in, he's been regarded as generous, insightful and fun. At heart, he is a very dedicated and studious individual that doesn't stop when he sets his mind to a task.

As a gnome magi and alchemist, and all of his years of experience, there is no denying Wizzlebee's brilliance and creativity. As far as others are concerned, his most notable skill is his practice on the alchemy bench, where he develops some of the most refined potions a man has ever seen. However, his eccentric personality can distract others from that aspect of him. He is ridiculously cheerful, almost to naïve extremes. His mind-numbing optimism makes him appear almost oblivious to the world around him and to all of the issues plaguing the world or his own situation. He comes across as a sensitive old gnome whose feelings can be easily crushed if taken the approach of pure and unadulterated evil, but otherwise, playground-esque meanness would simple inspire him to coddle you.

Further undermining his actual intelligence is his apparent inability to grasp the bartering system in Nepharie. It doesn't help that there are different languages and cultures for every race that passes through, but the dominate bartering system was such an extreme learning curve for LaShtüp compared to how it was back home at Ostracus. He is, what has to be, the worst barter in the kingdom and has screwed himself out of so many deals without even knowing. His relationship with the locals is strange as well, as they don't seem entirely aware of the methods of gnomish flirting. Especially among the humans, specifically the men, they're not quite sure how to respond to an old gnomish man whose going on and on about how they should compare their wardrobes. The day and age of this land isn't entirely receptive to his sexuality just yet.

There does seem to be something else about the gnome, though, that sets him off from the others. An abnormality even among gnomish eccentricity. He proclaims an ethical and moral code, but there is almost something there to suggest that he doesn't entirely mean it. It could be possible that he does, and that he simply doesn't take matters of injustice or controversy very seriously, but there is an air of secrecy to him. It is something difficult to pick up, but it is there. Where he gets his ingredients from, what ingredients he actually uses, where he got his training, and how good at magic he is. He never gives a direct answer, and he seems to talk as though he knows something you don't. At his worst, LaShtüp can be narrow-minded and selfish.

Hobbies/interests: As an alchemist, botany is a no-brainer. Studying plants and flowers and their alchemical properties has always been an interest. Just figuring out how life works. The study of fungi and their spores is also a topic of interest. Fashion and jewelry are staples for a luxurious life, and he knits in his spare time, although he isn't any good at it. However, here we get into dubious matters where the ethics become taboo. LaShtüp also possesses an interest in death and undeath. The inspection of corpses and fresh cadavers are made, inspiring him to consider the possibility of becoming a mortician, but figured his current position to be a better guise for his suspicious practices.

Skills: An exceptional alchemist, though he sells only potions and non-lethal poisons, there is just a few recipes outside his reach. Though his skill in alchemy is not to be ignored, the power of his potions also lends credit to the ingredients he uses, often harvested from the dead in secrecy. His willingness to tread where others dare not even speak of gives him an edge in the potency of his product, as well as his flexible capability. He is also good at braiding hair. He can usually sense the motives of others, but very rarely applies the knowledge he gains to his advantage.

Backstory: LaShtüp must have been born under an odd star or something, to have differed so from his cousins. An only child among gnome households was an absurd circumstance, and to be the only child of a Ostracian noble house would be to doom him to a life of upholding standards and expectations. As would be predicted, his nose was pushed to the grindstone in regards to his formal education. The goal, as it were, would be to direct LaShtüp to the head of house and to wed a gnome gal and continue the bloodline. The actual reasoning for pressing such a matter is to be the LaShtüps' trump card. The house itself was Machiavellian, unscrupulous. They also held a close relationship to the royalty. Enhancing Wizzlebee's education to prodigious levels would allow him the skill and know-how to create awe-inspiring potions that would make history. Revolutionizing the alchemy scene would lend credit to the family and their newfound favor would put them next in line to the royal family. The next step was to stage a disaster.

Hiring mercenaries, the next part of the family plan was to have the royal family assassinated and pin it on the Nepharian military. His human-looking face would perhaps allow him to make more effective diplomacy and ally agreements with Talbor. This in turn would appoint the LaShtüp family as the new ruling bloodline and Wizzlebee would have been appointed the new royalty, and Talbor having Ostracus' back when Nepharie retaliated. Wizzlebee himself never found out about this plan, but the pressure of all the burdens and expectations placed upon him became too much and he escaped Ostracus at age 60 before ever performing such alchemical feats. As a result, the Ostracian monarchy expatriated Wizzlebee and renounced his citizenship. Without a home to go back to, Ostracus never bore witness to his future feats of alchemy and his family never got to hire the assassination that would bring the LaShtüp house to be the ruling bloodline. Never to return, and the house never bearing another child, the LaShtüp house had died off, ending a thousand years of history. Talbor never went into war with Nepharie.

Wizzlebee's path was unclear. He decided it was best for him to follow the road into Nepharie and settle the Nepharian and Ostracian rivalry the best as he could, and to become a respected member of their society. There he could perhaps set up shop in alchemy and help its poor. Over his black and gold clothing he wore a sage green toga to exemplify his new beginnings as an artisan, or skilled labor, but kept his black and gold vestments as an indication of his noble roots, since history was something that should be embraced. Irregardless, the fact stood that nobody in Nepharie appeared to understand the color coded indicators of his old status and simply took him for a noble by the way he had dressed so nicely, which in itself was erroneous and became problematic when people were asking him for lower taxes.

His first experiences in Nepharie was complicated in several other regards, such as the human bartering system that was dominant in the city. For some reason, Wizzlebee just could not wrap his mind around it and ended up giving high-grade potions and elixirs for nearly free, from a few copper pieces, to a couple silver pieces, and sometimes he completely drove away customers by demanding too much. Much to his chagrin, his lack of awareness when it came to barter was taken advantage of for a period of time before a local bill was passed that kept him, and merchants and artisans like him, from being taken advantage of to such a degree. This didn't stop everyone though. Even to this day, he still struggles with the trade, but he has gotten better with it than he was before.

His skill was often credited in making potions, and that much is true to be sure, but there was a lot more behind the scenes than his patrons realized. The unscrupulous house in which he was raised did a lot in order to make sure his potions were of the highest quality. Refined. Devoid of impurities. This is, of course, nearly impossible, but he has reached a small percentage of impurities in his potions. Skill was important, but so were the ingredients – and the trick was to use life around one to create a truly wondrous elixir. He was brought up without the moral constraints of “respecting the dead”. He took body parts from leftover cadavers and corpses, received deliveries from agents who had gone into the morgue and harvested body parts. The quality of potions that occurred after was astonishing, thus spearheading his interest in the nature of the dead, and the alchemical properties of the organs of mortal creatures. A heart was ideal if one wanted to create an exceptional healing elixir.

He got to staying in that city for quite a while and built up his own reputation as that “skilled but quirky alchemist down the alley”, managing to hide that taboo secret of alchemy of his from the locals when he learned that they respected their dead, and that grave-robbing was punishable by execution. A couple years in, and somewhere between 90 and 100 years of age, he began practicing his magic some more. Some time during that ten years, he made a raw trade with some shady looking fellow for a couple of valuable potions. The item he received was an old tome, as the binding itself was starting to come apart and the pages were turning green with mildew. He was assured that the book was worth the price, and Wizzlebee naïvely believed him. What he discovered in the book was nearly illegible, a language he had never seen before. During that ten years, he spent countless hours collecting other books and tomes from other cultures filled with different language, trying to cross-reference the grammar. As he began to learn, the old tome he had traded with appeared to be the root to many of these different languages such as human english, orcish, elvish, but did not include his own gnomish tongue. He came to identify a word that helped to explain a lot of the tome's origins: Fairfolk.

The Fairfolk were not unheard of, and they certainly exist in this day and age, but a book of such age and of such origin was absurd. An unfamiliar word came out of a phrase, “complex element”, appearing to reference to the pre-existing four as the prerequisites for this element's mastery. An unfamiliar phrase: aether, or the “quintessence”. It was described as the element that had filled life and the surrounding universe. It sounded queer to even the strange little gnome, but it was something he had to at least try. His practice in light magic was already exceptional, he himself already powerful, but his abilities fell short of mastery. Wizzlebee devoted much of his magical practice to studying this supposed fifth element, despite his short comings in the other elements. As the tome predicted, studying the nature of life without fully understanding its container would bear to be fruitless. This did not trouble Wizzlebee one bit though. He sought to break the boundaries of the container, or at least, see through aether's nature without its container being the defining or influential aspects of his study. He felt he knew enough about the other elements to at least supplement his understanding of quintessence.

Thinking outside the box, like gnomes are wont to do, Wizzlebee realized he had resources in which he could study this more directly: the magical effects of potions. Half of it was science, of course, but it contained magical properties that, as Wizzlebee realized, did not actually connect with earth, fire, air or water, or even the emotion-based power that dark magic stemmed from. It affected life directly, thus, responded to aether. Using rats and guinea pigs, he observed the magical effects that took place. Eventually, whether through hallucination by repetitiveness and exhaustion, or getting high off the created fumes (really, it was difficult to tell), the gnome could practically see the effects being taken place and the energy that affected his test subjects. Controlling invisible energy is exceptionally difficult, this presumably goes without saying. The old book mentions only a few wizards capable of controlling aether, even fewer mastering the element. The fact that this gnome, who had hardly considered himself a master in anything, was able to touch upon this element, it brought great pride to him... but never did he share this knowledge with anyone. He doubted most people would be able to begin to understand it, but he did acknowledge the potential power the magic of aether. Letting it get into the wrong hands would be disastrous.

The first aether spell he had ever performed was leading the life forces through his body, letting it pass through him in waves with each breath, then letting it occupy his mind – the resulting effect would be the ethereal glowing of his eyes, and through his eyes, Wizzlebee could see the aether. Like wisps filling and encapsulating every life-form, keeping everything bound together. It was like seeing what made up a person's or creature's spirit. And speaking of spirits, this spell was what led to his first discovery of them. However, as it stood, communication was impossible until Wizzlebee later learned how to “read” the aether, as the energy fluctuated according to expression and behavior.

Talking to spirits had contributed greatly to his interest of the dead, and he sought to learn much from the nature of death from these spirits, as well as history. As he took his first steps into aether magics, it inspired him to take his interest in death to the next level. We're now talking about the next decade or so, 110-120 years old, so he's about middle aged and has seen his fair share of experiences. Having stepped into the realm of aether magic and his own power of enchantment, death became to appear as a subjective topic. Using his enchantment powers to create golems, vessels, and using the littlest amount of aether to supplement his power, Wizzlebee has been able to – wait for it – raise the dead. Granted, without a soul, this was mindless undead. A corpse that is simply being animated and controlled by the puppeteer's will. His power alone wouldn't work on flesh, but with aether, necromancy, which was once thought impossible, became the gnome's reality. His interest in death and undeath was bolstered, and so he sought to look into aether magic some more. Less to control the world around him, but to delve further into the forgotten taboo art of necromancy.

The following thirty years has been quite a roller coaster. It was difficult hiding his experiments and rituals, his necromantic art. Though risky, it was found the best location was in the cellar beneath his alchemy shop, where he was best able to control who goes in and out. Recycling and reusing the bodies became the regular. Animating the dead also made it easier to harvest choice cuts and organs from the cadavers. The basement was filled with sage and lavender to hide the smell. At 150 years of age, Wizzlebee came into contact with a spirit that claimed to have been a noble defender of the public, and wanted to come back to enrich and impart his knowledge of the history of those of this day, and to use his power to aid those in need, and the little gnome fell for it hook, line, and sinker. He agreed to use the spirit's aether to animate a corpse. This was, of course, his first time doing. In retrospect, using a skeleton wasn't the best idea, since then the defender couldn't go out and impart his wisdom unto others. Not that it mattered; as it turned out, the spirit had lied. The spirit actually had belonged to his father, and Wizzlebee had gone and used his spirit to ensoul a skeleton.

Bartleby de LaShtüp also happened to be the grand master of the LaShtüp house's plot to becoming the new royal house. Of course, now being a live skeleton, Bartleby was unable to go anywhere or do anything by himself without risking getting caught. Despite his unfathomable plotting and unruly behavior, Bartleby was indeed proud of his son's accomplishments. Why, he might have not yet made a miracle potion, but he raised the dead for goodness sake. That has to count for something.

The past ten years have proceeded little. He raised the bar on his alchemy as he learned how to get access to more “special ingredients”, and he became more attuned to aether, though nothing close to mastery. He came into contact with a young minotaur. A warrior by heritage, a thinker by heart, and heard his story of his affliction. Wizzlebee intends to devote the rest of his remaining life to coming up with a cure for this debilitating ailment, but he worries that his years are beginning to run short. At 160 years of life, a gnome doesn't have much left to go on. Even if this minotaur does not survive that long, the cure could at least be made for future sufferers of this magical poison. His father, Bartleby, on the other hand, has accepted his condition and grew quite accustomed to being an undead skeleton. He often makes fun of Wizzlebee and the predicaments he finds himself in, and takes every opportunity to find a bone or skeleton pun. Hey, you gotta amuse yourself somehow when you're spending eternity in unlife.

Family:
Father, Bartleby de LaShtüp – 155 (deceased)(undead)
Mother, Glenna de LaShtüp – 172 (deceased)
Uncle, Bao de LaRouge – 112 (murdered)
Cousin, Trish de LaRouge – 54 (murdered)

Relationships:
| Bartleby de LaShtüp| Reconciling | Father | “As an undead skeleton, pappy doesn't have much to lose. He's a vulgar old man and doesn't hold back on his snark. We've been working out our differences, though. He still holds a grudge about how I brought him back as a human skeleton”. |

| Calder, the Minotaur | Concerned | Once-customer | “I've only dealt business with him before, but I did learn of his condition. Quite odd, really, yes. A weird magic infected him, I am still looking into it. I will probably be looking at it until I die, but I might as well try. I hope I can find a cure before, uh... the worst happens.” |

| Tooth-In-The-Sea | Good | Part time supplier | “A little odd, but, shucks, I suppose I'm not in any position to talk about that. Sweet lizard sells me ingredients for my alchemy! Sometimes I get rare stock from him too. Always has something interesting in store for me. He gives me good prices for them... I think...” |

Weaponry: Large weapon: A willow wood staff; Medium weapon: light magic, specializing in gnomish enchantment and aether; Small weapon: blowgun with needles, oft coated in a home-brewed concoction.

Abilities: Wizzlebee, in almost all circumstances, would avoid combat at any cost. He's a pacifist as heart, you see. If combat cannot be avoided, he'd more like shift the responsibility onto another while he fled for his life. Which in itself is hard for an elderly gnome to do. If there is no one around, then he could raise one or two undead from the ground and use them to cover his escape. Mindless undead will often fall over after enough distance between them and their conjurer has been made. Ensouled undead are considered intelligent undead and will remain as long their conjurer remains alive or if their body stays intact.

Despite Wizzlebee's reluctance to fight, if he really applied himself, the little old gnome would be an awe-inspiring adversary when you consider that his potions are top of the line, and remember that, despite his clumsy appearance, he is also an outstanding wizard. Even without aether, he holds a degree of control over the elements that would at least put other prodigy wizards at odds with his own skill. And when you consider his penchant for aether, that alone gives him an edge since others have likely never heard of the lost fifth element. He applies this element in indirect methods, but assuming he gives it a shot, he could probably perform a good deal of damage using it as an offensive ability.

Weaknesses: As an eldery little gnome, he doesn't have much physical prowess going for him. Nor can he run with ease. He'd rather avoid fighting if he can help it, and while he is powerful in his own right, he isn't actually a master in any field. He is also allergic to eggs.

Companion: Bartleby de LaShtüp, a bitter and pun-making skeleton. Also happens to be Wizzlebee's father.

Other: Wizzlebee is hella gay.

Kane Bounevialle

Name: Kane Bounevialle
Age: 28
Gender: Male
Species: Human
Kingdom of Origin: Talbor

Physical appearance: With the stature and body of a soldier, and the disposition and appearance of a noble, it is a little difficult to put a finger on Kane by appearance alone. A life of hard work has done well for him and his growth. Kane stands at a solid six feet in height and weighs in at about 160 lbs. A good deal above the average human height, he finds himself looking down on most people in the literal sense. Pair with his height a variety of sharp features such as his jawline, high cheekbones, squared-off chin, blond hair, and dinaric nose, his overall appearance is striking. His aforementioned blond hair is a pale color, and is cleaned and well-kept. It is of medium length as the hair does not fall below his shoulders, but is still long enough to curtain and frame his face, although it is generally combed back in a wind-blown style.

Constantly on duty, his face is often stern, maintaining his official status and regal appearance. His skin lacks the tan a man would usually have if he spent all day under the sun like he does, but his naturally pale skin has at least since darkened in tone, and sits in-between those shades. These colors provide little contrast with one another, but blends, and amber eyes contribute to that. Sharply-angeled eyebrows frame his eyes, and with his often stoic expression, gives him a cold and calculating appearance in the presence of his warm color scheme, especially when those eyes trail your every move. Even the sound of his voice, unexpected of a soldier, sounds cool, clam, and collected. Though as a soldier, he is still capable of conjuring the booming force and projection of an officer.

Devoting his life to the sword and liberty of the people, in addition to his early days of farm-work, his physique is sublime, even if it falls short of peak human conditioning. His grueling days of training back when he was a cadet was thorough: crunches, push ups, leg training, being pelted by rocks – every part and aspect of his body was pushed in the training to be a Knight of the Ram. As expected, his body, hands, and feet are riddled with scars, but there is nary a scar to be found on Kane's face. He was of the opinion that a knight's acceptance was affected by charisma and presentation, as it would be his face that'd be leading his people.

Attire: In the most basic of adornments, Kane wears an off-white linen shirt with sleeves down to his wrist and the neck left unstrung. A similar color of linen pants is paired with it, along with woolen socks. Over these are leather boots that are strung up to the calves. Only in the most humble and modest of situations are these worn among others. In more formal advents are more presentable clothing pieces donned. A black leather saberist jerkin, for instance. The jerkin itself is sleeveless, allowing Kane's white sleeves to feed through. The buttons on the jerkin are entirely on the left side of the article, and can be buttoned all the way up, or save a couple to leave a flap – which is entirely for the sake of fashion (the latter is more frequently done to reflect Kane's “proper” appearance). In unison with this, breeches – or more often, jodhpurs – are worn. The wool breeches are gray whereas the jodhpurs are a black leather. The dark color scheme contrasts heavily with Kane's brighter, natural colors, but is there for the sake of making dirt and such to be less visible, and a leather outfit provides at least some protection in the event of an emergency spur-of-the-moment conflict.

In preparation for battle or duty, however, the color scheme returns to bright and noble colors. The suit of armor Kane dons is shined and polished, detracting from the scratches that decorates the armor. The suit of armor is heavy and bulky. We're talking full-on plate armor with chainmail lining wherever there are joints, with an aketon underneath the suit. The breastplate and backplate are of course large plates of armor that protects most of Kane's organs, and are sleek in their design. The breastplate and backplate are actually divided into two separate parts. Two plates of armor overlap, allowing the knight to breathe with his chest and move his chest around. The armor plates slides against each other and is so close together and tied tightly enough that a sword slipping through the plates would be highly improbable. In addition, a couple pieces of armor are in place that retracts the need for a full gorget. The pauldrons he wears are large. The cover his shoulder down to the middle of his biceps, and there is an extension to the top of the pauldrons that raises up and flares out to protect his neck. On these pauldrons, there is a gold leaf trim where they flare up around the neck and three gold-leaf coated studs on the armor where the flares are bolted to the pauldrons. There is a half-sized gorget that acts as little more than a throat guard. The gorget itself is highly decorated in what appears to be a design resembling a fleur-de-lis, which is entirely coated in gold leaf.

That is all there is for the most notable aspects of his armor, where the rest are greaves on his calves, cuisses on his thighs, and so on. The only other areas of his armor trimmed with gold leaf is around the fan-plates over his knees, the top of his sabatons, and along the vambraces of his gauntlets. Kane opts to forgo his helmet, a fluted armet, most of the time as he often finds himself planning and leading a charge, and consequently needing to get a good view of the field and more effectively calling out his commands.

Personality: The core of Kane's motivations is “the sake of liberty and law for the people”. Truly, he embodies the principles and ideals of soldiers and guardsmen, and has upheld these ideals since the beginning of his aspirations. While many people become knights and guards for the esteem, the money, or for the thrill, Kane has wanted to do good and protect others back when he was a boy. Those ideas were attributed to and represented by knights and guards and soldiers, which thereby inspired him to follow that path. He, amidst his virtues, recognizes he is not without flaws, and works hard to compensate for those negative aspects of his character. He has a soft spot for the vulnerable and poor, but he has little tolerance for domination, prejudice, and corruption. He even goes as far as to root it out from wherever it may be hiding, for the sake of protecting the greater good. At his best, Kane is selfless, loyal, and compassionate.

Despite his altruism, Kane's disposition is something of a hindrance to those who wish to approach him. He is a highly disciplined knight after all, shaped to a soldier's protocol. As a rule of thumb, is not allowed to become emotionally invested lest he lose his cool demeanor. Keeping a level head is crucial in being a Talborian Knight of the Ram. His discipline, however, also lends to him a degree of tenacity quite unlike the typical soldier or guardsman. This stubborn rigidness gives him the “never give up” code and quick-to-act reflexes he carries with him even to this day. Kane has often been credited among his troop that, should they ever have to fight one another, he might win just by outlasting them all through sheer willpower. Granted, he is also credited to being the biggest stick-in-the-mud of the team, and very rarely does Kane drop the sense of duty and stoic temperament.

The knight is also intelligent and carries with him a certain charisma. The intelligence is due to the education that he had received in his training to be a knight, since no respectable high-ranking soldier can serve the royal court and be deemed a fool or moron. His intelligence is well applied to practical use. Among his cadet class, Kane was among the top ten percentile for strategy and tactics. His charisma factor is a different story, and has very little to do with his training. It is a sort of noble selflessness that Kane has held close to heart since he was a young teen. His capability for empathy and his devotion to others allows him to carry the flag of command and inspire others, or calm the angry. Being a talented fighter and strategist, he can be very calculating in the midst of a fight or spar. This calculating behavior influences other aspects of his life as well.

However, his charisma is not all that it is cracked up to be. Despite being able to inspire in the heat of the moment, Kane still possesses the predisposition to be intellectually oriented. The aforementioned calculating behavior detracts from his appearance as being compassionate. He comes across as unmoving and stoic; cold and uptight. You would think the man has never had the heart to live it up some, as one could see when considering that Kane regards music as a distracting novelty, and being overall oblivious and unmindful in the area of romance or sex. Also, one of the quirks that was often made fun of back at the barracks was how picky of an eater he was. If he looked at the plate of food and thought he wouldn't like it, he wouldn't eat it – or even touch it. Granted, if he were starving, this would change, but he'd accept it reluctantly. While he is generally open-minded, he can be a little black and white if he sets his mind on one thing for too long. At his worst, Kane can be distant, stubborn, and evangelical.

Hobbies/interests: As a knight-turned-guardsman who is very much dedicated to his duty, he has little time to do or think about much in the ways of hobbies or interests. As he was once a knight of the highest prestigious order, he got somewhat involved in the political field. While he is by no means talented in the area, he possesses a mild curiosity in politics. If he were to lead, and lead effectively, this is surely something he should look into, right? He has a natural curiosity when it comes to people as well. He seeks to protect them,their freedom, and their ideas, regardless of what they are. When Kane has nothing to do and cannot sleep at night, he writes unaddressed letters.

Skills: Kane was once a farm boy, so he has a natural inclination to perform any farm activities with little struggle. He worked specifically on a grape vineyard, which in itself is a little different from other produce, but he'd likely get the hang of it. He has an understanding of survival techniques and therefore can get by in the wilderness for a period of time and set up a camp. And while nothing exceptional, being a picky eater forces him to learn how to cook for himself. As one a Knight of the Ram cavalry, he is an expert on horseback and understands basic animal husbandry when it comes to horses. Being an inspiring captain and field commander, Kane is an exceptional orator. He happens to be something of an amateur calligrapher due to his nights of aimless letter writing.

Backstory: He was born on a Talborian vineyard to a pair of farmers. They were by no means from any noble bloodline, and their ancestry can be traced down to nothing more than a couple of men and women with a patch of dirt to their name. However, the acres of land under Bounevialle's name has proliferated since those days. The Bounevialle vineyards are by no means the largest vineyard, nor are they the most expensive. Their vineyard was just a few twelve acres or so on a small patch of fertile soil in the midst of the rocky, mountainous region. The end product was a mid-price concord grape, and was difficult to find in most breweries and taverns. When Kane became of working age, and as his father and mother were wearing down, he'd spend most of his days tending the vineyard and harvesting the grapes. This often brought him home with hands bloodied by the thorns and littering them with scars and calluses. While the Bounevialle family were considered what was essentially middle-class, they were still too short on money, and especially too short on time to invest in Kane's education.

Kane has a sister six years younger than he, and with her birth, brought on the early stages of his protective side. When he'd come home from laboring a long day in the vineyard, he'd come home and watch over his sister while his parents went off into the market. He'd cook her and himself some supper, often a potato and carrot stew, with small chunks of meat floating about in the broth. It was nothing fancy, but it was easy to please a toddler as long as you assured them it was something tasty. They never had grapes available though. What couldn't be locked up in a barrel was taken to market to sell. Almost always there was a buyer, and on those super rare occasions that there were grapes leftover, there wasn't much left that could be put into a crepe, but there were almost always some blueberries to put in that could supplement the lack of grape filling.

In between those years and the day he left home, he'd find himself fighting bullies that were harassing his sister. It almost seemed like every other week – it didn't matter how outmatched he was, Kane always fought them. An angry big brother who spent his days working on farms was usually enough to at least chase those kids away.

Years pass, and at the age of 14, Kane brought up the prospect of becoming a knight. Not just any knight however, but a Knight of the Ram, in direct service to the country. His parents agreed to his requests, of course. It was a noble calling, and Kane's sister was old enough to help with farm work. In fact, looking up to Kane all her life had inspired her to help him pick grapes even when she was little. The thorns never scared her off. Kane had walked off to the Talbor capital of Maceron a couple miles off and stopped the castle barracks front door. They had initially turned down his request to enter as a squire, as he was already far over the age of 10 and was ineligible to become a page, but he didn't so much as walk five feet away. Not wanting to walk home as a failure, he stayed there. He'd ask again and again, every time the door opened. It was a “no” every single time. Kane still remained there, and squatted in that spot for two days without anything to eat or drink. At that point, Kane was desperate and resorted to begging. When the head of the order, Sir Fallon, found a starving boy groveling near the steps, he took him in and fed him. Gave him water. A bed for a night or two. Then he turned him back loose.

Kane repeated the process. This time, he was out there for three days, asking to be made a squire. It was less easy to sympathize with an illiterate farmboy the second time around when he starts begging. Sir Fallon resigned and permitted the boy to walk into the barracks. After his recuperation, he'd begin his days as a squire where he will first be educated and then he will perform his duties in his services for the the Knights of the Ram.

His days as a squire were not easy. He first had to receive an education if he were to become of such a noble order, and he crunched hours day in and day out taking in as much as he could. He learned how to read and to write, he learned arithmetic, some science and chemistry, and of course, extensive lessons in history and the finer arts, such as dance. It was expected of a noble knight, as strange as it was. It took a while in all of that, but with hard devotion, he got it all done in two years, putting to rest all doubts amongst the order that there'd be no hope for a teenager that didn't even know how to read yet. At sixteen, his real chores were only beginning.

As an arming squire, he was appointed to a knight and was required to perform all duties and services the knight requested. His knight's name was Sir Raleigh Cruz. A simple if not humble man, and surprisingly modest for a noble. This duty involved taking care of the knight's horses and his armor, dressing the knight in his armor, running chores and messages, waiting the knight's table, guarding him as he slept, and even accompanying his knight to the battlefield. There hardly seemed to be more time for anything else, but amidst all that, he was expected to train in the use of weapons, including marksmanship, exercise to develop their bodies, climbing, athletic, and swimming skills, and horsemanship. He was also required to learn the code of chivalry and rules of heraldry if he were to become a knight. It was also his duty to enter the social life of the castle and learn: courtly etiquette, jousting, music, and dancing.

All of this had a huge impact on Kane's discipline and triggered him to form rigid schedules that left little to no time for himself. At the end of these hard and trying days, when he would stay awake to watch his knight's sleeping hide, he'd write letters. Given the amount of time available to him, he'd write slowly and carefully, allowing him the time to pick out the best words possible and write in the best and neatest way possible. He'd begin writing letters to his little sister. Letters that she'd never read because the family wasn't literate. Still, every night he would do this, writing a letter for his sister, finish it, and then stare at the end product for a while and sigh before he puts it away in his strongbox. There are countless letters in his box, and it has gotten to the point where Kane's handwriting is among the finest and neatest in the castle.

Martial training was something Kane thoroughly enjoyed whenever his knight would allow him to spend the day training instead of accompanying him, but it was exceptionally harder than anything he ever had to do on the farm. With the thin mountain air, he often found himself on the verge of unconsciousness. Amidst that, he learned how to use swords and shields, he learned how to carry his armor and how to wear it properly, he even learned crossbow shooting. Though it was one of the more difficult skills for him to learn, proper aim was still important to learn as a knight. During his spar sessions with the other squires, often using dulled swords or wooden swords, he found himself best suited when both were using only longswords. Contrary to popular belief, these fights did not last very long. It doesn't take a long time for someone to land a hit on the other person, and in the case of sparring circles, the squire who won the match must get into position as the next squire in line entered the circle comes in to replace the loser. Among the squires, Kane landed in the top fifteen percentile for martial skill.

There was also the thinking side of military training. The squires had to practice tactics and strategy extensively if they were going to be any more useful than disposable fodder. While a steadfast and protective fellow, and by no means a slouch in the physical department, Kane truly shined in the area of tactics and strategy, and it was where his introverted nature functioned at its best. He wasn't a prodigy among his peers, but what he did have over the others was his determination to succeed and his devotion to the cause of knighthood. He developed a strategy in one of the board games, inspired by a type of polearm, like that of a corseque, or ranseur, or even a spetum – a triple spearhead. It was similar to that of a spearhead assault. The problem with spearheading an assault is that is leaves a risk for being taken advantage of and being flanked. With the triple spearhead, it takes advantage of that risk, and eliminates flanking enemy units, and also acts as two smaller spearheads on either side, further separating the hostile army.

Among the squires, Kane landed in the top ten percentile for strategy.

Top twenty percentile for history.

He, however, suspiciously did not make it into the top twenty percentile for comprehension of the code of chivalry and courtly behavior. It was outrageous to him! To consider all the years he has spent devoting himself to chivalry and acting accordingly amidst the goofing and playing of the other squires. His serious disposition offered contention to dissenters. An explanation was later provided to him that an earlier accusation made against a court noble after alleged corruption via acceptance of bribery – and that, to maintain favor with the court, was forced to remove Kane's score from the board regardless of the truth. Kane begrudgingly followed his knight's word.

His squire training and duties was supposed to last seven years, as it does for all squires. Considering how he crunched years of education that was supposed to be learned as a young page in two years, and started his training and duties at age 16, this would mean he wouldn't become a knight until he was 23 years old, 2 years after some of his class had already become Knights of the Ram. At the age of 19, three years into his training, a castle watch guard sounded the alarming signaling for an impending bandit raid. All of the guardsman and even the Knights of the Ram were awakened in the dead of night to prepare. The raiding party was still a bit far off and provided time for planning. However, with most of the real strategists off abroad, there was none in the immediate vicinity that could think clearly just minutes after being awoken. As Kane was strapping Sir Cruz's armor on, he pitched his idea: the triple-spearhead. There were objections to using an untested tactic, of course, but Kane continued. The present Knights of the Ram would lead the initial charge and spearhead the raiding party, as they were the most skilled and experienced and could fend off the majority of bandits and outlaws. The following two waves would follow, consisted of soldiers and guardsmen, and would cover the knights' flank and assault two other sections of the party.

There were still some dissent among the present party, but with no time to waste, a couple of the knighthood agreed to his strategy and thereby pulled the support from the remaining soldiers.

When the defense relocated outside the gate, the got into positions. Kane was mounted on Sir Cruz's horse along with him, riding right behind, armed with a spear. Here, his equestrian skills were tested. Mounted on the horse's flanks, holding a spear, right behind Sir Cruz who bore a sword and shield. The shield gave cover to both him and and Kane, and the sword to eliminate close threats. He and the Knights of the Ram, along with their squires, led the charge, with their relief force on standby and prepared to follow in pursuit. As soon as the knights broke through the raiders' charge, the relief force began their own charge. The Knights of the Ram, the undefeated Talborian cavalry, pierced into the heart of the enemy army and plowed all that stood in their way. Before they had a chance to come around and swallow them in a flank, the second wave of soldiers cut down the barbarians while their backs were turned. It has later been referred to unofficially as the hurricane tactic, where a devastating wave would sweep in, and the enemy would falsely consider that the defense - the eye of the storm - and then another wave returns.

In the following battle, Kane had shed his fair share of blood, and ended a couple of lives by his own hand. Not a single Knight of the Ram had perished, and there were but two casualties among the soldiers. Kane's tactic had caught the enemy off guard, resulting in five decimations of the raiding party and the total unconditional surrender of the remaining attackers – a decisive victory.

A ceremony the next day celebrated the bravery and skill of the Knights of the Ram and the Maceron guard. Kane received an honorable mention and, as a reward for his bravery and instrumentality to defeating the enemy with minimal casualties, was permitted to ascend into knighthood early. Shaving two years off his years as a squire, he'd be a Knight of the Ram along with any other passing squires.

Two years later, he was knighted as a Knight of the Ram as Sir Bouenevialle by nobility themselves. Most knights were knighted and serve either a lord or a king, but in Kane’s case, a lady. He was knighted by Lord Ericur Tolkien (an androgynous noble with massive pastures filled with sheep) and was to protect their land, and as a full-fledged knight of the order, he himself was now considered of noble blood. Quickly sending royal servants to the Bounevialle vineyard to help his family and to give his little sister an education that she wouldn’t have otherwise received. There is, suffice to say, a little more Bounevialle wine on the tavern shelves, but it was still a rather rare kind of wine when you compare it to the likes of the cheap Chardonnay or the finer, more expensive wines. Regardless, Kane was granted a plot of land of his own. Given his inclination to be working within the city and sleeping in the barracks and Knights of the Ram headquarters, he aimed that grant toward the Bouenevialle family. While the day of his knighthood was a day of celebration, his true hardships were only beginning.

Work started the next morning, bright and early. He was deployed along the Talborian border to assess the conditions of the nearby forts, and to assist in whatever way he could. With the Wilderness in the north, Kane often engaged in border control, often with only one or two guards to accompany him. Most of the trouble was the occasional skirmish of bandits, brigands, and outlaws. With the many hard years of training, the martial skill of wild men looked to be child’s play. This was often his job, patrolling the border, escorting trade caravans, and escorting nobles, ambassadors, and diplomats. Staving off highwaymen and assassins alike, it felt as though the childhood nightmares of mean men on the countryside had been turned upside down, as they were but small babes wielding toys in comparison to him. The longer he remained a knight, the less important he felt his role, as his duties were summed down to be a glorified bodyguard. Even in the presence of nobility, standing amongst the court in official business, he didn’t quite feel like he was serving the common people as he expected to be.

These were just small missions. As a newly inducted Knight of the Ram, and with less time of training than the other squires, they were still testing Kane’s reliability. His flawless execution of his appointed tasks assured his superiors of his skill. The missions he took up were gradually bore greater and greater risks and higher reward. The tasks themselves, more prestigious. As a knight, another part of his duties was to administer justice. Missions included personal requests from his lord and barons, and on rare occasions, the king Draco Ferdinand. During peacetime, this often involved plundering bandit camps, rescuing hostages, or investigating kidnappings. This also meant patrolling around the crime-ridden capital of Maceron itself, with a blue and gold tabard dressing his armor, on top of a high horse. This in particular he was especially recognized for, as he did not only just subdue perpetrators - as many knights and guards did not due whether out of apathy or laziness - but also took those shifts as an opportunity to engage with the people. He took their pleas upon himself, whether it was talking down a lord from raising a poor family’s land tax, or paying a broke farmer’s debt off with his own. From settling disputes, tackling pickpockets, to escorting nobles and engaging in battle or honorable combat, Kane was respecting by the people he served. He was the only one that defended them even against other guards and knights… a risky action in itself.

Despite his preference to not get involved, he took part in tournaments to maintain and hone his skills. These tournaments were often international, and Kane was one of the few Knights of the Ram to take part in then. As a particularly trained and undefeated noble cavalry, as was expected of his order, his mere presence was enough to unnerve his competitors. Having won each of his matches - as mere soldiers and regular knights were mildly challenging at best - he took his winnings and invested them in public affairs in Maceron. Of his many opponents, that most challenging had to have been a king’s knight from central Nepharie, a senior glacial knight from the Northlands, and a peculiar camel-mounted orc from Jikari - though the challenge of the latter likely had much to do with his height advantage of sitting on a camel’s hump. It made jousting with him… interesting, to say the least. His experiences in tournaments provides him with insight in dealing with different kinds of obstacles, and has helped him learn to be adaptable.

One of the biggest events in the career of his knighthood was another, yet very different, and much more sensitive hostage situation: rescuing one of the barons. The cause of the event was unclear, but what was certain was that they were holed up in an abandoned fort and demanded two hundred thousand reon, which in itself would damage a huge chunk of the country’s coffers. So it was a decision between agreeing to their demands, or risking the life of a baron, which in itself would reflect badly on him and of the rest of the knighthood - in the long run, it would damage the welfare of the people. It challenged Kane’s stance of not compromising with outlaws. Kane was nothing if not honest, but in a circumstance such as this, there were perhaps people that did not deserve his honesty. With that conclusion, Kane formulated a strategy that’d show the world that Talbor does not compromise and that its people are not to be trifled with.

Through courier, it was established that it was a one-sided negotiation. They were not interested in dead-drops, debts, foreign currency, or anything of the sort. Cold, hard reons are to be delivered in person or the baron gets a scarlet neck tie. The business was to be made inside the fort. The fort overlooks the jigsaw river by about twenty feet at the base of the main tower. Kane agreed to their terms and brought a caravan carrying sacks upon sacks filled with reons, escorted by only himself and two guardsmen. As a show of faith, he appeared without his armor; just his boots, jerkin, and jodhpurs. There was his sword, of course, as it was customary for any noble or knight to carry it with him anywhere, but it was tied to his sheath with a strap of leather. After carrying the sacks of gold into the fort himself, and the guardsmen inconspicuously leaving the field in which the abandoned fort stood, going back into the forest some distance away. The bandits weighed the reons with a scale - it matched what they had expected from the ransom, according to their math. They returned the baron, who fled outside and mounted the horse provided to him.

With Kane and the baron riding away in the caravan at full speed, the baron couldn’t help but point out a peculiar smoke pillar rising from the forest. The sound of several wooden clunks followed, and with a sharp whistle, a giant, flaming, tar-coated boulder flew from the forest at great distance. Unyielding, Kane rode the baron and himself through the field, and the projectile had struck the tower at perfect trajectory with an explosion of dust, rubble, and fire behind him. With the caravan penetrating the treeline, they stopped at the side of the road and took a detour through the forest where Kane had met up with the two guards he was with before. With them, a giant trebuchet, already reloaded with another boulder coated in gooey, black tar, and a torch in one of the guardsmen’s hands.

“How’s our aim, sir?” One of them said smugly.

“Perfect.” Kane assured. “One shot was all it took. But while you’re at it… destroy whatever is left of the fort. We don’t need it anymore.”

“Yes sir.”

Another launch, and the fort walls went crumbling down. Another few and all that would remain is a pile of gravel. Kane and the baron returned to the caravan where he will return him to safety. Thus goes the story of one of the most successful critical-risk missions ever completed. In one fell swoop, a Knight of the Ram rescued the baron and maintained Talbor’s uncompromising image to the world. It was at the cost of a large chunk of the monarchy’s coffers that ultimately went to nobody, but with the stunt pulled, surely there’d be no one stupid enough to risk Talbor’s anger again. The rescued baron honored Kane’s bravery and cunning, and among the three hundred cavalry in the Knights of the Ram, he had been issued a captain at 25 years of age.

He was in command of his own regiment, a team of four skilled knights. Among them were: Sir Sten Vellen, a pretty abrasive man, sarcastic, generally mean, but his motivations and heart are all in the right place. He was particularly skilled with crossbows. There was Sir Oscar Gene, who had the heart of bard more than he did a knight. Numbingly cheerful, he loved dancing and music, but was also the phalanx among them - his armor was heavy, and he bore a tall tower shield, a lance, and a gladius. Sir Alexander Xerxes, a half-orc, and was a particular curious case among the Knights of the Ram, as they often took only humans. His martial skill was incredible though, and paired with two war axes and a tall morningstar, only Oscar seemed capable of defending against his strength and fury. The fourth was a fresh knight, new to the order, Sir John March. He appeared naive and humble at the surface, much like a young boy, but the truth is that he became a knight earlier than many did, at the age of 20, because of his own skill and bravery. Put what looks to be a shy young man on the battlefield, and you’ll see him taunting and laughing at his opponents as he gave in to the thrill of battle. He bore a classic shield and longsword combo and was an exceptional jouster.

Despite the absurdly diverse team of knights at his disposal, who Kane himself contributed to with his stern and uptight demeanor, they came to be more like brothers than they were his subordinates. An inseparable team that, when working together, seemed to be unstoppable as they played upon each others strengths and weaknesses. Further, as miracles would have it, they all shared the same aspirations as Kane. These four knights in particular seemed to have been inspired by Kane’s oaths as he entered knighthood, that they too took up the ideals of liberty and justice, performing duty and services for the people and the people alone. Only on one drunken night of revelry did they admit that, if ever given the opportunity, would work with Kane. The miracle of being paired up with men like himself appeared a little less magical at the discovery that this arrangement was made out of requests, but it was heartwarming to realize that the superiors agreed to it.

Years later, after countless missions and adventures, and patrolling the city making a name for themselves as the knights of the people, things took a turn for the worse. On a lone night patrol through the city of Maceron, he stumbled upon candlelight emanating from inside a warehouse. Peering through the window to investigate, he spotted the baron he had saved from years ago in a conversation with a noble, and couple of other dirty men; shady types. He became alarmed when he noticed two orcs covered in rags, scarred and gagged. Slowly and carefully, he moved the window until there was but a crack and he could hear what they were saying.

To sum up what’s been heard, the noble employed mercenaries and slavers. The two orcs on the ground were supposedly warriors from Jikari. The baron himself was being bribed to allow the noble’s activities to continue - a process which had been going on for quite some time. From the sounds of it, even years. With the involvement of the baron and a noble, Kane feared the worst. He left the scene before he was discovered and returned to the barracks where the Knights of the Ram were stationed to talk to the headmaster of the order, Sir Fallon.. Sharing his concerns, about his fear of corruption in Talbor’s government. Fallon appeared solemn. For a few minutes he was speechless, but finally returned to Kane with a grave warning: to keep his nose out of business that didn’t concern him.

Kane, mortified, returned to his quarters as well as the quarters of his men. He shared everything he learned about corruption among the royalty and the nobles, and even Sir Fallon of the Knights of the Ram. His men instantly rallied behind him and began attempting to figure out a plan about how they were going to handle this. They all knew what had to be done, but none wished to say it aloud. A coup d’etat was in order, but the five men, Knights of the Ram or not, weren’t capable of doing it alone. So their goal was to risk going around and talking to the other knights of the order and try to persuade them to follow their cause. Kane, concerned first and foremost for the people, didn’t want to involve them in anything that might result in their harm. Perhaps, in his heart, Kane always knew there was something wrong with the monarchy. The people were said and distrusting of the guards, nobles, and knights.

Unfortunately, their coup didn’t go far. Foiled in the early stages of their plan, one of the contacted knights had contacted the Sir Fallon and told him about the stratagem Kane’s regiment was up to. The next time when the team was together, the Knights of the Ram stormed around Kane’s regiment with spears and swords circling all around them. The headmaster followed after, and informed Kane and his crew of his awareness of their scheming. They were taken away, tossed into the dungeon, and was scheduled for execution the next day. There were no words between the five men that night. Just solemn, dismayed glances and broken spirits.

The next morning, they held true to their word. His majesty, King Draco Ferdinand, had been buttering up the crowds and the people with words of their treachery and selfishness. When the priest of Adreal sung his prayers, Ferdinand asked Kane for his final words. He shouted into the crowd claims of corruption. About how he found the baron and nobleman, and the slavers and orcs in the warehouse the previous night. How the nobility was unscrupulous and corrupt, accepted bribes and perpetuated slavery. He shouted his experiences with the people, about how the nobility took advantage of the poor, and the number of debts Kane had repayed for them, the inordinate taxes he relieved them of. His reminders of all the things he has done for the people seem to have hit the crowd’s soft spot as indicated by how their demands for his execution and yelling traitor died down to nothing but silence. His noble actions apparently went unaware to even Sir Fallon, who solemnly looked away from Kane as he issued his last words.

Without so much as a suiting final phrase of goodbye, Kane went silent and accepted his fate. Instead, Ferdinand waved his hand for the executioner to stand by. He responded to his last words hesitantly. He expressed his shame in this misunderstanding. While Kane’s skill in oration served him well here, Ferdinand has had more experience in doing so - but even then, Kane could tell his words were insincere. The misunderstanding, he explained, had much in part to do with corruption among the nobles. A cunning choice of words on his behalf, as admission of fault made the argument more credible if one would willingly proclaim something that made a bad appearance of himself. He explained how he didn’t have full control over the land’s nobility. He explained that Kane must have misheard the conversation at the time due to his anxiety over the situation. That they had in fact rescued those two orc warriors from another noble’s control and were already released to return to Jikari.

In fact, that nobleman’s execution was scheduled to follow Kane’s and his regiment.

Guards escorted a well-dressed man up onto the headsman’s platform, cuffed and gagged. As a boot pushed him to kneeling onto the platform, he turned to face Kane wide-eyed with fear. This nobleman was, in fact, the same one he saw from last night.

The king continued. As a result, he would pardon the regiment as a token of forgiveness and understanding. Their goals, after all, were noble and for the welfare of the people. They could not let something as a coup go off so easy however. Each knight involved in the attempted coup were stripped of their knighthood and were demoted to simple guardsmen. But because of their skill and talent together, they will be permitted to work together as a separate division of the guard, G-2, of which Kane will be the captain. Kane and his men were subsequently released, and as they had done so, the headsman swung his gargantuan axe, and decapitated the nobleman’s head.

“Slavers,” the Ferdinand said, “and all those who tread on the rights of others… do not have the right to any last words.”

The crowd cheered wildly, and Kane and his men were escorted to their old quarters to pack all of their things, get proper food and rest, and then move to the new barracks where they will be stationed for now on. As Kane and king Draco Ferdinand went their separate ways, they met each other’s gaze. There he saw the truth. The stern expression and eyes of the cobra met Kane’s indignance, and amber eyes shone ferocity like a mongoose. It was at that moment they both knew that this battle was far from over.

It has been three months since that day.

Family:
Horace Bounevialle, Father, 50, location: Bounevialle Vineyard
Amelia Bounevialle, Mother, 45, location: Bounevialle Vineyard
Irene Bounevialle, Sister, 22, location: Unknown (traveling)

Relationships:
| Sir Fallon | Traitor | Ex-master | “I used to respect and admire this man. When I was a boy, I aspired to be like him. Honorable. Chivalrous… but he is a traitor to everything we are supposed to stand for, and I’ll never find it in my heart to forgive him for his treachery.” |

| Morag-Nog | Respected | Honored citizen | “This woman is a highly talented inventor. Orc or not, I am honored to have such an individual within the walls of Maceron and it is my pleasure to serve such an artisan. I only wish I could do more to curb the prejudice her kind faces within Talbor." |

Weaponry:
Large weapon: A spontoon, otherwise known as a half-pike, is a 6-7 foot spear. Kane's in particular is almost 7 feet in length, and has the spear-head of a pike.
Medium weapon: A bastard sword, otherwise known as a two-handed longsword. The length of the sword is such that, while capable of being used one-handed, and also has a long handle, so its capabilities are maximized when used with two hands. Kane's in particular has a black leather grip on the handle, a conical shaped pommel, and a long blade. The sword itself is about 4 feet in length.
Small weapon: A dagger. The dagger that Kane possesses is nothing special or extraordinary. It is simply an emergency back-up in case he has been disarmed of his other two weapons. He keeps it hidden in his boot.

Abilities: As once being a Knight of the Ram, Kane possesses martial prowess equal to that of ten soldiers. Capable of carrying out missions and objectives single-handedly that’d normally take a squad of infantrymen to perform. His technique with a wide variety of weapons lends to him a flexibility that’d be useful in most combat situations, though his greatest prowess comes from the use of spears, pikes, and swords, keeping his enemies at a distance while taking the advantage of his superior reach. Even if the enemy gets around his reach, he can use his spear much like he would use a staff and use the shaft of his weapon to pummel the enemy away. He is exceptional with his bastard sword, a two-handed longsword. His skill with the blade, maneuverability, and strength are acknowledged by his peers and would outmatch any adversary without extensive training in combat. He also carries his armor well, and knows how to shift his weight just so, that he can maneuver in it to compensate for his lack of speed inside it. He is an expert equestrian.

His training has done more for him than just his skill in arms and armor. Extensive training exercises and workout routines in the Knights of the Ram are some of the strictest and most rigid to be found. The order of undefeated cavalry also train up in the mountains where the air is thin. So not just their muscular strength, but their endurance as well, is tested to absurd extremes. Pelted by rocks and struck by wooden swords has risen his pain tolerance to a degree where anything short of being slashed by a real blade would do little to slow him down. Being a knight, he also wears his heavy plated armor on a regular basis - where I will leave you to simply wonder how strong the man is.

In addition to his physical attributes, both knights and noblemen receive excellent educations. This means that Kane probably knows a fair deal more than the common man or woman. He knows his history, is literate, understands mathematical skills and applications, taught extensively in politics and courtship, and other fields of education befitting of a noble (such as dance). While not necessarily an ability, Kane does possess a leader’s charisma. Whether or not he is everyone’s favorite person isn’t the issue, but he can inspire and encourage others under his banner. It is a combination of good will, passion, and sincerity that garners the trust of others and makes people want to believe in him.

Weaknesses: Naturally, Kane is only human. He shares all of the same mortal weaknesses as we do. We don’t necessarily like hot or cold environments, despite our ability to adapt to it. We’re pretty squishy without armor, our strength pales in comparison to the likes of orcs and minotaurs. Kane’s particular weaknesses does come from the fact that he does wear armor. Despite him moving very easily in full-on plated armor, it still slows him down, which would mean an unencumbered opponent can take advantage of that. Being skilled in all sorts of weapons makes finding a duel that is weighted in his adversary’s favor something of a challenge, and while he is exceptional using his sword and spear, he isn’t a master swordsman nor is he a master with a spear.

His biggest weaknesses have nothing to do with physical flaws, or flaws in his skill however - he excels in those areas, and he is also a strategist. The best thing to do is to take advantage of his character. This does often involve delving into unscrupulous territory, but it does get the job done. Kane, being naturally self-sacrificing and altruistic, will put himself on the line for others. Taking advantage of that will put him at risk at either injury or death, for instance, jumping in front of an arrow or trading the custody of an innocent with himself. Even in non-combat circumstances, this can be taken advantage of if you wish to take someone’s money within the law.

Always wanting to see the good in everybody and believing most people are capable of redemption, that can be taken advantage of. But Kane does have an intuition for sensing motives, so if not of Kane, then his mercy, as it has given you another opportunity. You can definitely take advantage of the people around him since people tend to believe in his word. He also abides by honor and the code of chivalry. Work outside of that for an unfair advantage. The best way to combat him and undermine him is to target his allies. If you apply the pressure and don’t give him time to think or strategize, and demand quick decision making, he can either cave in to your requests/demands, or he may lose his clear head and become sloppy.

Companion: Kane has a shire horse as his steed; a tall, strong, dark brown shire horse with its signature white fur flaring around her hooves and a black mane. This tall and mighty horse is named Edna. Along with Edna, Kane is the captain of the elite G-2 “outcast” regiment of the Talborian guard, all of whom were once Knights of the Ram like himself. He has 4 men under his command: Sten Vellen, Oscar Gene, Alexander Xerxes, and John March.

Other: It's really important to me that you understand that this guy can bust some sick moves on the dance floor.

Miscellaneous High Fantasy

D&D 5e (Homebrew): Hungwar

Name: Hungwar
Race: Gnoll
Class: Barbarian
Level: 3
Background: Outlander

Attributes:
16 STR
16 DEX
16 CON
8 INT
12 WIS
10 CHA

HP: 21(?)
AC: 16

Skill Proficiencies:

Athletics (+5)
Intimidation (+4)
Perception (+5)
Survival (+5)

---

Features and Traits:

Ability Score Increase - +2 Dexterity and +2 Constitution (Already allocated)

Skill Bonuses - +2 Intimidate, +2 Perception

Languages - Can speak and read Common and Gnoll, can understand Abyssal

Size - Medium (6'5")

Speed - 30 Feet (Average)

Scent - Can detect opponents within 30 feet by sense of smell. If the opponent is upwind, the range increases to 60 feet; if downwind, it drops to 15 feet. Strong scents, such as smoke or rotting garbage, can be detected at twice the ranges noted above. Overpowering scents, such as skunk musk or troglodyte stench, can be detected at triple normal range. When a creature detects a scent, the exact location of the source is not revealed—only its presence somewhere within range. The creature can take a move action to note the direction of the scent. Whenever the creature comes within 5 feet of the source, the creature pinpoints the source’s location.

Bone-Crushing Jaws - You gain a bite attack that does 1d6 damage and you are proficient in it. If used in a full attack round, it can be used as a secondary attack, and you add your BAB -5, and the damage bonus is half of your Strength modifier rounded down.*

Claw Fighter - Use vicious claws as weapons with 1d4 damage each. Consider them light blades for the purpose of powers and feats. You are proficient with them. If used in a full attack round, it can be used as a secondary attack, and you add your BAB -5, and the damage bonus is half of your Strength modifier rounded down.*

Rampage - Upon reducing an enemy to 0 health, you may use a bonus action to move up to half your speed and make a 1d4 bite attack.

Carrion Eater - Even buried corpses and bones can satisfy a gnoll's appetite. You gain a +4 feat bonus to saving throws against poison and to Constitution checks against disease.

*At the expense of missing out on some Barbarian starting equipment:
• (a) a greataxe or (b) any martial melee weapon
• (a) two handaxes or (b) any simple weapon

Barbarian Features and Traits:

Unarmored Defense - While you are not wearing any armor, your Armor Class equals 10 + your Dexterity modifier + your Constitution modifier. You can use a shield and still gain this benefit. (Already allocated)

Reckless Attack - You can throw aside all concern for defense to attack with fierce desperation. When you make your first attack on your turn, you can decide to attack recklessly.
Doing so gives you advantage on melee weapon attack rolls using Strength during this turn, but attack rolls against you have advantage until your next turn.

Danger Sense - You gain an uncanny sense of when things nearby aren’t as they should be, giving you an edge when you dodge away from danger. You have advantage on Dexterity saving throws against effects that you can see, such as traps and spells. To gain this benefit, you can’t be blinded, deafened, or incapacitated.

Rage - In battle, you fight with primal ferocity. On your turn, you can enter a rage as a bonus action. While raging, you gain the following benefits if you aren’t wearing heavy armor:

• You have advantage on Strength checks and Strength saving throws.
• When you make a melee weapon attack using Strength, you gain a bonus to the damage roll that increases as you gain levels as a barbarian, as shown in the Rage Damage column of the Barbarian table.
• You have resistance to bludgeoning, piercing, and slashing damage.

If you are able to cast spells, you can’t cast them or concentrate on them while raging. Your rage lasts for 1 minute. It ends early if you are knocked unconscious or if your turn ends and you haven’t attacked a hostile creature since your last turn or taken damage since then. You can also end your rage on your turn as a bonus action. Once you have raged the number of times shown for your barbarian level in the Rages colum n of the Barbarian table, you must finish a long rest before you can rage again.

Path of the Totem Warrior - Beast Sense (Ritual Spell), Speak With Animals (Ritual Spell)

Spirit of the (Wolf) Hyena - While you're raging, your friends have advantage on melee attack rolls against any creature within 5 feet of you that is hostile to you. The spirit of the hyena makes you a leader of hunters.

---

Lore: "I was born in Musclegore's last litter, the pack leader of one of many nomadic clans of the Butcher's Brood, gnoll clans that worshiped the demon prince, Yeenoghu. I was the youngest pup of one of the most powerful gnolls in the rolling plains. Not many gnolls survive infancy, because after just a few days of being born, we pups fight and devour one another until there's no more competition for food or shelter. In most litters, there's the victor, and there's always at least one runt... but in my case, every pup I shared the litter with, I gobbled up! I impressed Musclegore! He gave me a namesake from "hunger" and "war", hoping that I would eventually lead the clan to great hunts and slaughters. My four elder brothers from past litters, Ygrash, Manglemane, Rakdr, and Festerchew, all victors, were ignored because of the promise that I, the youngest, showed for the good of the pack. I guess you'd say they were jealous!

They raised me like any other gnoll in the clan, but more was expected of me. I don't blame them. If I could distract the pack leader so much as a pup, then I damn better not show signs of weakness. The Brood likes fury and chaos, savagery and brutality. Any mercy and nice things, and they exile you or kill you... but there was one night when everything went wrong. I dreamed, and my dreams were filled with blue butterflies, everywhere! Then they eventually still and make a bare-skin's face, and it spoke. It said it was a voice of Desna. Said it was The Great Dreamer. A goddess of freedom and luck. It said she brought liberation, revolution, and exploration. It's breath smelled like a fruity odor and it kept speaking. Said she wanted to reclaim the domain of beasts from a... I then awoke, not remembering the name. But I also felt something strange. It felt like it forced change in me. Something was different. Nothing since then was the same.

I was less brutal and Musclegore blinded himself to it in light of my strength, but my brothers noticed things. At first, things were little. Little things like hunting alone, and bringing back prey with little struggle marks. They were quick kills, bites to the neck. No chunks of flesh missing. I was only hunting, not trying to make deer suffer. No point. Then it got bigger. When I'd challenge a pack mate's strength sometimes, I'd tell them that they'd kill the clan's slaves because they were too weak to keep pace with the pack. And we'd fight, and I'd beat them, but I let 'em live. I claimed it wasn't mercy, but a greater victory to let them live humiliated than killing 'em! My brothers would come and kill the loser, say there is no room for weakness. But the greatest crime they saw me commit, was when a slave insulted me to my face in private, and I did not punish it. I walked away.

Despite the mantra, "for the good of the pack," my brothers stalked the camp and invaded Musclegore's space and slaughtered our father and pack leader in his sleep out of revenge and anger, because he gave me special treatment, and they think I'm a disgrace. They said they punished him for weakness. But pack mates who followed me, who believed in my strength, called my brothers weak. If they told the truth, then why did they not try to kill me instead? Prove my weakness and not Musclegore's? Pack mates that follow my brothers claim they also saw my weakness. It was my brothers who let me choose between exile and death. Ygrash, the new self-made pack leader, knew that my numbers split the clan and threatened "the good of the pack", but though I was strong of body, they refused me because they said I was weak of heart. I accepted exile and denounced the Brood, say they're disgusting for their traditions. Some gnolls left me after, but what few stayed were still loyal to strength and did not worship Yeenoghu very strongly, and fewer still with brains. But we migrated to Plain's Edge where it touched the forests, and we made it our hunting grounds.

I wanted to create a new pack that defied the traditions from the Brood clans. We are predators, that will not change. Gnolls will forever love to hunt and track, but we will not slaughter. No attacking villages without being provoked. We'd hunt beasts over civilized creatures. We could even trade and maybe barter our service, though I don't care much for the bare-skins. That was a big change next to the style of life we were used to, but as long as I could keep to the pack's hunting tradition and keep 'em in line, it should have ended well for us. We would've shown that we were stronger not just in body, but heart too, if we could swallow our savagery. But that never happened. My brothers came with a hunting party in the dead of night and tore my clan to shreds. We were deceived the day we were exiled into thinking that the clans could live without ever seeing each other again, but we were tracked down and slaughtered for our betrayal.

I barely escaped with my life that night. My old clan devoured the one I just made, and then took me prisoner, made me a slave. Clapped me in irons and whipped me until my old Brood clan was ready to watch me die. They gave me a choice: true exile, if I survive the pit. They starved me first, and my first fight was against two hyenas. Cruel, that, to have me kill our own companions. They wanted to prove myself a traitor and exile in their slaughter. I did kill them, and then they walked out their strongest dire hyena, and I killed it too and claimed its head. But the last round was one of the pack itself. Manglemane was one of the strongest, second to Ygrash. Either they didn't want me to live, or they'd first make me kill my own brother before I was exiled. I felt no love for the bastard, and my heart wasn't so weak that I wouldn't rip out his neck and eat him at first chance. I killed my brother. Left no body - I ate all of him. Then I limped away into exile to lick my wounds. I vowed to return eventually to finish the job, to destroy my other three brothers and the rest of the Brood.

Nowadays I bide my time. Explore world, be free! Eat food, hunt! *I* think I'm fun. I laugh and I know what I want. Make things exciting. A little *ruff* around the edges, maybe, and I don't respect bald-skin authorities much - too controlling. But I made some allies, and I treat 'em like my pack. My first pack with non-gnolls, but they manage it okay. Bare-skins make great drinks, but they can't hunt or track worth dung, so I must care for them like runt pups... but I... appreciate them. They understand what I have to do one day. I don't want to set 'em bad examples, but they are small bare-skins to me, and I'm not a tall gnoll."

Baybridge: Old Ghosts [COMPLETED]

<Snipped quote by tsukune>

Well

Every character is terrible.

Except for mine, they're the best.

@Mr Allen J

Jaska.

The Spoopiest Skeletons

Will gradually add more. These characters are subject to edits at any time as I deem fit, or so as to conform to a roleplay I wish to use them in.

@Mr Allen J's Black Fall universe

Reyna Baker

Basic Information

Name:

Reyna Baker

Nickname/Alias/Etc:

“Big Buff Cheeto Puff”, “Rain”, “Rey (or Ray)”, “Sweaty”

Gender:

Female

Age:

23

Height:

5'6”

Weight:

135 lbs.

Home District:

From outta town

Appearance

Hair Color:

Natural red head

Eye Color:

Gray-green.

Ethnicity:

Irish, French, Norwegian

Physical Appearance:

The worst mistake you could ever make about Miss Baker is that she would fit the modern expectation of the “ladylike” stereotype. While she still appears to fit the part of a young lady, there's an underlying layer of tomboyishness. Reyna is athletic, and it shows in her body. Her arms and legs are toned well, and she's even got a trace of abs outlined on her torso. She isn't super tall, standing at the modest height of 5'6”, 28F, and she weighs in at just over 130 lbs. While she might be heavier than some girls her age, which clearly attributed to her fit condition, she still is no heavyweight. Her body has as just pinches of fat which adds minimal padding over her body. She has a sturdy frame, just a few curves around her waist and back, but by no means should anybody see her feminine features and exclude the possibility of her punching you out. She packs a lot of strength in her figure, and you can see her confidence and pride in her poised posture.

If a person made the mistake in misjudging her, it was likely due in large part to her face. Button nose, thin eyebrows, and very faint hard-to-tell-they're-there freckles on top of her pale skin (a result of genetics as opposed to being sickly or house-locked). Her soft facial features are sometimes tarnished by a scowl – which is not her standard go-to disposition like her enthusiastic and full of life demeanor, but is often the product of circumstances which urban environments typically put her in. When you do get to see her when she is excited, you witness the emboldening her green eyes and the stretching of her lips to form a toothy grin that shows well taken care of teeth. Her natural bright red hair (or ginger, if you insist) is fashioned into a curly faux hawk, and is well groomed. There is little oil that naturally accumulates in her hair, so it often remains lightweight.

She has scars over her knuckles from the various fights she has gotten herself in, on her fingertips from climbing on rock, bricks, and concrete, but overall, doesn't have too many. She tends to recover well.

Attire:

Most of her clothes look like they come from the boys' section. Her favorite set of apparel goes as such: she wears a slim-fit, red unisex tank top made from the same material used by thermal shirts, which goes down to her hips, where it meets her baggy camouflage pants (providing immense comfort and rustic charm), which is fastened by a black fabric belt to her hips. These pants seem rather faded from use, but is still strong and can withstand many more months of use. The ends of the pant legs are either lazily tucked in or lazily sleeved over, or caught into her black combat boots that crawl up over her ankles. They are, of course, steel toed Naturally, not feeling the impact of such a kick is pretty neat. The shoe laces on her boots are always tied tight so that the boots are firm and comfy on her feet. Over her tank top is a black leather jacket. The bottom half of the torso appears to have been torn and goes down to just her waist, although the sleeves and rest of the jacket are fine. The apparent damage seems to be more for the style of it than some horrific scissor accident.

She has a couple of accessories, which compose mostly of piercings.. She has two piercings on her left outer brow, one tongue piercing, and half-ring nipple piercings (but nobody knows about them and nobody is ever going to have the opportunity to see them while she still draws breath). On her right shoulder blade is a simple tattoo of a compass, which she got without her mother's knowledge when she was 14 (she still does not know to this day). It's somewhat special for her. It has part to do with her love of adventure and part to do with, despite its simplicity, loving the design. She has a military-style backpack; good for hiking and carrying necessities and whatnot. She has stored quite a bit of dried fruit in it, and a number of other camping equipment in it, lugging stuff around with her that you would normally think is a bad idea (a gas lantern, utility hand ax, skinning knives, live .22 rounds and shotgun shells [curiously without owning any guns, likely for collection purposes] – the works). She has three hemp necklaces which are hopelessly tangled together, and on each one, is a thin silver-colored steel heart. On one, it says Merry, on another, it says Mia, and the third depicts a raised fist symbolizing empowerment.

Personality

Innate & Outward Personality:

She is as sharp and unwieldy as as you'd expect from a double-sided meat cleaver, and much like using one, will have as much of a detriment to herself as it can be to others. She's the real firebrand among firebrands, and doesn't really have a winning personality when it comes to handling other people; she doesn't really make friends easy with ordinary people. She's loud and boisterous to the extent it can simply repel others from wanting to be near her. She's snarky, sarcastic, abrasive, and at times, insensitive. On the contrary, she is nothing if not known for her virtues: naturally a determined, valiant woman, she has set her nose to the grindstone through all of her labors and has built herself a sturdy foundation on which she has built her character, and so her heart has been thusly hardened by various trials. Her standoffish disposition earns her enemies, and while carrying the appearance of being unapproachable, she also carries a curious energy: she naturally gives the impression of synchronous intimidation and reverence. She earns her trait of intimidation through tongue and scowl, and her trait of reverence through action and expression.

This is not to imply Reyna isn't a happy individual, but rather she finds her peace outside the contact of the common folk. This is also not to say she dislikes people as a whole. She is very confident in social situations, and her attitude stems mostly from her expectations of people and how their words or actions can easily rub her the wrong way or be taken as a slight, and at the same time, her boisterous disposition, bluntness, and view on others being too sensitive can similarly end conversations before they begin. Much of this stems from growing up in inner cities where being tough meant survival. When appealed to her interests however, she reacts in what many would consider almost an exaggeration of her excitement. For example, she is an explorer at heart. She loves discovery and – surprisingly enough for a city girl – enjoys nature, especially at sites of caves or cliff faces or rivers and streams, or a remote location untouched by mankind.

There also exists a fascination for bugs, fossils, artifacts, and bones. When these interests are appealed to, she shows a complete change in character: her eyes light up, a toothy grin from ear to ear, and her stern voice is replaced with what turns out to really be a talkative, excitable girl who still looks to be a child. This child-like giddiness often offsets anyone who is not wholly familiar with her and has only met with her abrasive side. This side of her is not often displayed in front of strangers.

Further, as one would expect from not just a young woman, but from also her personality, Reyna is very proud and competitive. She is proud of herself and of her accomplishments, and minimizing that, disregarding that, or invalidating that can wound that pride, and it also happens to be a one-way ticket to making her your enemy. Her pursuit in remedying that damage is unrelenting and unquenchable until she has reached an achievement or milestone that can satisfy that gap which often involves the conquering of her roadblock. This is not to say this is the end of her aggression, as a lasting disdain would lead her to brag over that victory in order to validate herself and her accomplishment. This often puts her at odds with her extended cousin, Mia.

Her decision-making leaves much to be desired, and habitually fails to think ahead of time. Her apparently inability to plan ahead is exemplified by her decision to purchase a motorcycle as her first vehicle in contrast to a car, which makes groceries, passengers, and so on more difficult to travel with. She might pack some interesting wilderness books in her backpack in lieu of a toothbrush out of forgetfulness. The only thing that might keep her from getting trapped in the woods with nothing to survive with might be the years of reading the damn booklets over and over again.

As it may have already been suggested, it takes a stubborn, tenacious, and headstrong personality in order to meet her goals. Repeated failure to meet them warrants breakdown and the destruction of her spirit... but instead of relenting or hesitating, she meets her fear of failure with determination as her method of avoidance, as opposed to passive idling. Unsurprisingly, the only celebrity of any kind whom she idealizes is the MMA fighter, Ronda Rousey, because of her fierce determination, take-no-prisoners attitude, and her ability to arm bar into submission every bitch who ever walked into the same octagon as her. So for another person to earn her respect, they would have to display similar traits such as a strong sense of individuality, determination, strength of character, pride, optimism, and so forth. Behaving like a victim to garner her sympathy is not how you'd attract such a person.

Taking all this into consideration, know still that Reyna does possess a soft spot for her family and for the vulnerable. While by no means a vigilante, seeing crime and strife as of no concern to her for the most part, she is very close to her relatives and and threatening them can bring out the nastiest possible side of her. In conjunction with this, while it may be hard to garner her sympathy, it is easier for her to freely lend it out to the weak and vulnerable on their last legs and without the means to defend themselves. This includes children, the sick elderly, the malnourished homeless – she might not actively search them out to help them, but if she does come across any of these folks during her travels, she finds it difficult to say no.

Hobbies/Interests:

Adventures, exploring, nature, and competition are all things that Reyna finds interest in. Like mentioned previously, letting her loose in the wilds is the best way to see her in her best condition. A wide-eyed, child-like curiosity overtakes the reigns and shows you an entirely different girl than when you met her. It is also a reckless curiosity. Take that curiosity and combine it with her natural determination and athleticism, and you get a girl who would try to scale up a sheer twenty-five foot cliff face without rock-climbing gear or cables, or even a helmet (although that alone probably won't save her life if she were to fall). Most of the time though, she miraculously conquers such daunting tasks and relishes in the thrill of it.

Competition is another of Reyna's weaknesses. Everything is a race or contest, and it all gets her blood flowing when winning is on the line. In many circumstances, she can take a defeat in stride as long as she recognizes it was something she wasn't particular strong or talented in. However, in the subjects and areas she does excel in, she competes rigorously, and it is in those events that if she were to lose, she does not take the defeat well. A lot of it comes from pride in her talents.

Skills/Talents:

Okay, so there are a couple of things that she is obviously good at, so let's get out of the way so I don't act like it is a big surprise later: Reyna brings on the pugilism. She has a thing for boxing and kickboxing. As long as it has an octagon and she can wear big gloves and is allowed to punch people, she gets excited. This should not come as such a huge surprise; for an active and competitive girl like her, this comes naturally. Fighting is essentially the epitome of competition, and whoever comes out on top is the true victor, standing over the defeated – the experience of such a defeat being inescapable – and proclaiming dominance. Western martial arts is obviously a much more aggressive style than defensive eastern martial arts, which suits Reyna perfectly. Over time, her style has come to more closely resemble MMA.

Now, more alarmingly, her other skills are a lot gentler. Her knowledge of reading survival books as a kid, and fascination with nature and exploration, she could get lost in the woods for a month and come back alright - she knows her shit. She is also an artist. At least, to some degree. She has talent in it, and she is confident, but not so confident that she'd consider herself as a professional or would be ready to make a career out of it. But her work is good, there's no doubt about it. She wants to be good enough so that she can give tattoos to people, and to be a reliable artist to do so. Though there is some hesitation in using her own body as a practice canvas, obviously. Otherwise, she can draw, paint, sketch, both traditionally and on a digital format.

While not terribly gifted in the music and whimsy department, she does have a terrific singing voice from the years of practice of singing her sister to sleep – if only she could seriously partake in that activity in public and not shut down if put on the spotlight. This is the only area where she isn't confident and suffers from stage-fright, and she'll fake or pretend terrible singing otherwise as though it were a joke. If it is only her, her sister, and her cousin, then she feels comfortable to sing her heart out.

In order to purchase her motorcycle, she got a job back in Maine at a fireworks store. Long story short, she knows how to make a couple of different kinds of fireworks, knows some trivia about fireworks, she loves it, and she can easily tell what kind of explosion one is when she hears it. Reyna also had the bad habit of forgetting her keys, so she was forced into the position of learning how to pick her own front door's lock way late at night.

Goals/Motivation:

Reyna would never admit this to anyone, but she is something of a lost soul who doesn't know what she wants out of life. She travels around looking for thrills, but doesn't think ahead to her later years in life and think "what do I want when I'm older". Part of her just wants to get what she can out of life and spend it having fun and not being bored, but acknowledges she can't get far in current society with a life of only that. The other part of her languishes for some drive to be something more accomplished, despite not understanding what it might be. Despite her acknowledgement of this issue, she rarely does anything to address it, and would be happier sooner ignoring it in lieu of going bungee jumping. In addition to her thrill and experience seeking, she is fiercely protective of her little sister, but since she won't be in Baybridge, that aspect of her will not likely come into play.

History/Bio:

Reyna was born to an unmarried family in Maine, a product of an accident to be honest, but they agree to birth her in the end. It was a typical babyhood at first, but with the dynamics in the family being rather conflicted, the relationship wasn't able to work and her mother left the house when she was young. Despite the disagreement between her parents, they never tried to separate her from either of them or alienate her. They mutually encouraged respect for both parents. Though being a single parent was a little rough on her father, they managed to truck right through the hardships, even though the father was never really certain on how to raise a girl the traditional way. So he rose her as he would any child, or what would be typically considered befitting of a boy. Being raised this way, she was never told to shy away from what was considered to be boys' toys or clothes or whatnot, and through all that, still maintained her “femininity” as typical people would call it.

During that time, her mother found another man, married, and had another child two years after her own birth. Her new half-sister was named Merry, and her surname, Bennet, took after her father's. Naturally, having already visited her mother every weekend, Reyna got to meet Merry at a very young age and got to spend much of her time growing up with her. Her young life went this pattern for a very long time. Every night she got to spend with her sister, she'd spend it singing lullabies until Merry fell asleep. It was a typical pattern. The next biggest change in her life was the year Reyna turned 13 years old and her powers developed. It was noticed when she was able to perform physical activities for a long period of time without wearing out, and that she'd easily dehydrate but perform greater feats of strength. She decided to take up boxing as a way to help cope with the energy she had and to better control herself and her power – though another large part of it was that Reyna thought it would be fun, which explains why she didn't choose any eastern martial arts which were less aggressive and would have made more sense.

That same year, Reyna's father introduced her to her extended cousin – their closest related family member being their great grand-mother – Mia, after convincing them to come into town. Her father knowing that Mia came from a town that was highly populated with meta-humans thought it would be good for his daughter to make friends with her. A crucial difference was that Mia came from Mendel, Louisiana, which meant a much dirtier and more crime-ridden city, which had an influence on Mia and her disposition, despite her kind demeanor. The relationship was a little tense at first due to their conflicting personalities, but they managed to befriend each other in due time. Mia made it a point to visit Maine often, for about a week or two every two or so months, even as cold as it was compared to the southern heat. She fortunately had the money to do so since both of her parents owned their respective tourist traps. They eventually grew to be inseparable. When all three could get together, they sung and played music together, fought together (or with each other), ate, slept, the works. When Mia missed one of her visits, and came by the next round blind in one eye, Reyna shared her rage – though it didn't seem to do much to hold Mia back when Reyna tries to instigate sparring matches with her.

With the coming season, all three decided to go on vacation via a cross-country road trip in Mia's pickup truck. The plan was to start taking I-95 down to New Jersey then riding on I-80 all the way to California. You know, a crazy long trip with several mishaps, a couple break downs, dozens of near accidents, and many stories to tell. Unfortunately, the plan has since shattered due to Merry's family not agreeing to the trip and Mia thinking that it wouldn't be the same without her. Reyna, in a fit of disappointment, wanted to get away from her hometown and spend a little while on an escape. One of her first stops in California was the condemned city of Verthaven. She did a little bit of exploring, but it eventually started feeling a little too creepy and she high tailed it out of there. Word is, there was another meta-city up north, where many of the Verthaven refugees had gone after the Devil incident. Wanting to check it out, she made adjustments to the original plan, and rode her bike north to the city of Baybridge in Washington.

Relationships

Family:

Father: Connor Baker / Alive
Mother: Vivian Bennet / Alive
Half-sister: Merry Bennet / Alive
Extended cousin: Mia Jones / Alive

Dynamics:

N/A

Abilities

Power Class:

Super System (Biological)

Power:

Reyna possesses minor enhancements to her physical performance, such as strength, endurance, speed and so forth – as expected from someone with a power under the super system power class. They are only minor, however, and these factors do not appear to affect her appearance as they exist in a supernatural medium as her metahuman energy. These are just simple modifications as a result of her energy and does not constitute as her power. They serve to supplement Reyna's actual strength.

Reversed Effects of Lactic Acid (Passive): Build up of lactic acid in normal people produces fatigue, but in Reyna, it is like a caffeinated steroid. Essentially, the mutated lactic acid in her body is a corticosteroid that energizes her muscles, dampen immune responses, and reduces swelling. The longer you're active, the more lactic acid build up there is, and Reyna has the potential to have her strength and stamina snowball.

Augmented Adrenal System (Passive): Reyna's adrenal glands are swollen to greater sizes than regular people. This means the glands are able to produce more adrenaline in a shorter amount of time. But the power is not so simplistic as this – the adrenaline itself is more potent than usual – by about five times. Regularly, adrenaline can increase an adult's strength by about 30%. This means that at Reyna's peak, she is 150% stronger than usual. Which means if she can bench 220 pounds under regular circumstances, she can bench 550 pounds at her peak. This doesn't necessarily put her on the same playing field as dedicated strength-based powers, but adrenaline serves to do more than simply make her stronger.

Adrenaline also allows Reyna to run faster, have sharper reaction times, ignore pain, and the ability to make split-second decisions in intense, high-pressure situations. This means she can race with a greyhound, shrug off an assailant stabbing her arm with a pocket knife, and keep her ground, dancing toe-to-toe with three different guys at a time provided that her glands keep pumping her with those delicious hormones. Adrenaline also helps to stave off other ailments that may effect your body, such as hunger or exhaustion. Summed up: her adrenal glands are turbo-charged and all bodily inhibitors are turned off. When in conjunction with her lactic acid, it would serve her enemies well to avoid any long-duration encounters with her.

Body Furnace (Passive): Adrenaline affects her body in many different ways, but there is one part of her system that seems particularly affected by it. When in an adrenaline rush, her body temperature spikes. The temperature doesn't seem to stop, though, and will keep on rising and rising until it begins to plateau at a certain point – 525 F, where her skin is as hot as a cast iron skillet kept on a gas stove set on high. At this point, she can deliver burns on touch, whether or not it was intentional. As one can discern, reaching this temperature requires Reyna to possess a good deal of heat resistance for her to even function properly. To her, it feels as though she's just working out on a hot summer's day. In addition to her immense heat resistance, she can go out for a jog comfortably on a snowy day, since all of that internal heat keeps her toasty.

This high body heat does mean that her body is going to try to cool itself down however it can. When her adrenaline rushes persist, she begins sweating like crazy. Drips of sweats beads all over her skin, and as hot as her skin gets, it is going to evaporate pretty quickly. So when she begins to peak, she is also surrounded by steam as a result of her own sweat being instantly vaporized. This sweat also soaks her clothes, which honestly is the only thing keeping them from going up in flames. Speaking of flames... it is best that you don't try to fight her in the forest or any dry area with foliage or combustible material. Her heat radiates off her body, and if around dry grass or dead leaves, she can actually begin to burn the ground around her, as well as anything flammable that might be nearby.

Her high body heat also does wonders for killing off bacterial infections and viruses and whatnot. Her whole body is resistant to heat, but any bacterium or virus that decides to trespass is in for a big surprise. What this does mean, however, is that her immune system is a little weaker than average given its lack of exercise, and any virus that can infiltrate her cells can cause damage.

Limits:

Adrenaline can only do so much for the body. She won't be dead lifting any cars, she won't bend a steel construction beam – her power is not devoted to super strength. She cannot summon her extra strength on-demand and is limited to situations that excites her, warrants a flight or fight response, or anything else that allows for adrenaline responses or increased heart-rate. Likewise, lactic acid is not immediately available. Her true power comes out the longer she's in action. Her body heat also caps off at a certain point, like stated, and it takes a last stand-esque amount of pressure and exertion for her to push past that limit. As well, her heat resistance is not an immunity. She can stand the heat of hot metal, but she is not going to survive being through into a volcano or an incinerator. She might last a couple seconds in front of a flamethrower without harm, but nothing short of an immunity can keep a human from being burned at the stake forever.

Weaknesses/Drawbacks:

Take a gander back up the sheet for a moment, right around the power section. Look for the part where it says she has super durability. Did you see it? Right, you didn't. And that's the big thing about adrenaline. You can go absolutely ape-shit crazy, tip over a car and not feel a thing, but you are going to feel it later. Adrenaline can numb you to pain, but does absolutely nothing to keep your body from getting damaged. The ever-present endurance from her meta-human energy does little more than mitigate what damage she can cause herself, but if she does something as foolish as punch a brick wall, the bones in her hand will shatter. The stab wound is still bleeding all over her good clothes. She still ripped a ligament pushing herself too hard.

And as for her body heat, there is only so much water she can sweat. Pushing herself too hard for too long will lead to dehydration which causes dizziness and shortness of breath. She will be drinking a lot of water fairly regularly.

Intimacy can also be fairly awkward.

Other:

Foods that are very high in acids gives her some uncomfortable heartburn. Notoriously bad liar.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OFxpEFb7TtE

Damon Vicous

Name: Damon Vicous
Nickname/Alias/Etc: “Lieo”
Gender: Male
Age: 31
Height: 6’0”
Weight: 109 lbs, but when he’s… full...
Home District: None; he’s from outta town.

Appearance

Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Amber
Ethnicity: Canadian; he’s really got German and French in him though, with some Czechoslovakian.
Physical Appearance: He has a somewhat slouched posture during relaxed, casual occasions, but can stand up straight with shoulders broad at 6'0” when the situation calls for formality. The man’s build is average; he isn’t athletic and he doesn’t have chiseled abs – fairly lanky, and is carting around something of a belly a man gets when he ages and doesn't exercise just often enough. Damon’s complexion is rather poor, what with the occasional blemish or inflammation caused by irritation of the skin and the occasional blotches of scar tissue. It contrasts with his dark brown (nearly black) short cropped hair with a subtle widow's peak. One thing that an observant person would notice about him is that his fair skin usually doesn't show. His hands are usually tucked in his pockets, his neck is wrapped in a white bandana with black design, so all you can really see of him-him is his face, which is free of holes, and his hands; and maybe the top of the back of his neck.

His face, which, if he was working, would appear stern and his brows creased in concentration and forethought. Or in some cases he could be smiling, which shows off the dimples in his cheeks. Most often though, if you were to find him on the streets, he would look wary. Almost jumpy, even. Just by looking at him you can tell he isn’t a murderer or a crook though. More like a man with a terrible secret, a burden that weighs him down with every step he makes. He gives the impression that he is at peace with what he does, but this appearance of peace also comes with the appearance as though he's enjoying a guilty pleasure. He doesn't seem one hundred percent comfortable in his own skin or with his method of getting by no matter how hard he tries to convince someone. Even in his white smiles, there’s something lost and sad about it. Like the smile doesn’t reflect in his eyes. If one’s senses were acute enough, you could barely make out the odd aroma of honey near him.

Attire: He has a worn down, brown leather jacket that appears to be riddled with holes, and beneath that is a simple white t-shirt, also appearing to have many holes in it. In fact, almost every piece of his clothing appears to have holes in it, even the stolen black designer jeans. The only exception there seems to be are these rough looking brown leather boots, steel toed. He also seems to have a white bandana with black print that’s tied loosely around his neck. As a matter of fact, it doesn’t appear to be there for any purpose other than just being there. It could be for style, comfort, or act as a shield against encroaching eyes.

Personality

Personality: Generally analytical and serious in his workplace, he is oblivious to the world around him, nothing but pure concentration channeling into whatever he is doing. His intellect practically radiating off of him as his fingers blindingly zip around the keyboard of his computer. In this train of thought, he has an air of authority that he could never achieve on his own conscience. Almost as an alter-ego of his real self, while he's around company, he comes off as a kind and gentle man, somewhat meek and reserved, which contrasts with the way he dresses. If young people are in danger, kids even, he'll do what he can to help without ceasing. He becomes slightly more hesitant however if there's actually someone or something threatening them. He has a soft spot for the outcasts or those stricken by poverty after having lived the experience when he was younger - and even now. He can be talkative among those he likes and is liberal in his values and beliefs.

Damon is in fact introverted, rather having to sit back whilst in a group or in the company of peers, which are few in between. However, he hides this with the mask of a positive disposition. He lacks a kind of assertiveness while in casual interactions and has one or maybe two friends (if he’s lucky) that he can feel comfortable around. He feels haunted by his past and he isn't proud of what he does to earn money, but he doesn't regret his actions - what he regrets is the accidents that have occurred that led to him being hunted down in the first place. As a result, he is also afraid of getting close to people or getting into dangerous situations that he cannot control. It's out of fear of harming someone again and losing himself in the process.

He’s very much restrained and has an absolute loathing for his “power”. After all, it is what ruined his life from the beginning and still continues to do so. He feels invaded, violated, his power and control being stripped away from him to the benefit and hosting of others, of aliens and strangers - demons. As such, he is very against using it even if it is to his own advantage. In fact, there exists even a fear for the swarm inside of him and a fear of losing control, lest that swarm domineers him. He has also seen what his power can do, and he has no desire to inflict that kind of gruesome fate onto any mortal man, woman, or child.

His intelligence is an outstanding factor. What he lacks in physical aptitude, he makes up for being a tech wiz. He even made his own computer and rigged a mobile wifi hotspot, which allows him to cruise the internet as fast as a roadrunner. While on the run, he has gotten by only because of a side job that he had (along with stealing occasionally). He is capable of hacking into computers and software, creating and deleting Trojans and even spikes, as well as USBs and data chips to give to people. Technically, this is illegal. Despite what the upstanding citizen may think of him, he does have a great deal of morals and he does his best to abide by them. He has managed to go this many years without harming someone again, after all.

Among all the deals he made with people who you could easily assume to be part of the Kennedy shooting if you didn’t already know that it would’ve been too many years ago for that to be a feasible possibility, he is very familiar with sketchy people. He has the basic gist of how they operate and how they intend on extorting him or bargain with him. As such, Damon has develop a sort of social savvy - in the sense that he cannot be easily bargained with or persuaded. Not that you’d know it, of course. These sorts of people don’t like being said “no” to. So Damon works out a social nuance in which he can appease his “associates” without actually letting them in on anything. He doesn’t directly say no, or refuse, or disagree. He feigns an interest and bargains on his own terms with the illusion of a compromise that is more heavily suited towards the other guy. Of course, these deals work in Damon’s favor and original plan in the end. He doesn’t dish out special favors for strict business customers.

Hobbies/Interests: He hasn't had a lot of time in his youth to explore his hobbies, though he has come to enjoy working with computers. He has also come to appreciate a great invention called coffee and enjoys the age old tradition of laying on a couch and watching movies. He usually just enjoys all of the little things in life due to not being able to do so before.

Skills/Talents: Programming, networking, hacking, updating, developing, repairing - he can do wonders with computers and has a natural inclination to understand them, though most of it was learned from practical tinkering. He has no college education that taught him how to do what he does. He, while not typically an outstanding speaker or even a social individual, his livelihood kind of depended on getting through on his transactions on his own terms. He’s not a superb fighter. Not while he’s sober.

Prized Possession: That laptop that looks like a piece of junk? Yeah. He made that. It’s a fucking brick. And worth more than you are. Any idea how expensive the parts he had to steal were? It’s the Frankenstein of high-quality ingredients and runs like an angel.

Quote(s): “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde? Yeah, I know it pretty well. It’s a tragic story.”

History/Bio: Well, he was brought up in Canada until he was five, and then they moved to Chicago where he stayed until he was fifteen. That is when the bees started to follow him everywhere and burrow in his skin and turn him into a freak show. He was then a homeless, disowned child hiding back in the alleys where people (namely other kids) would throws rocks at him. When he moved into old or abandoned buildings, it was a matter of time until a cop found him and sprayed him with pepper spray. He has never had it easy, honestly. Damon's luck ran so dry he was even once forced to be on the run from law enforcement because of: a. his mutant status, and b. a run in he had a long time ago when he was 19. An accident occurred then that involved the maiming and death of a man that had jumped him in a back alley. Damon snapped, and the screaming that came afterward prompted an emergency call from a bystander. Which is the one memory that still haunts him to this day.

When he was younger though, he was already pretty damn good with technology. When he was orphaned, he happened across a sociologist trying to emulate the Indian Hole in the Wall study, and there were computers outside the building. He would, at night, sneak out when no other kids or other homeless people were around and study the computers carefully. Over time, he got better; and he liked it. It brought some hope to his bleak world, and after years went by, he learned how to bypass most of the systems and firewalls. He learned the shortcuts and how to upgrade its capabilities. By the time he started getting chased, he had accumulated enough knowledge to steal a fancy computer from a store and a wifi router and upgrade them himself when he found time to obtain the parts and how-to information. After years of self-teaching and Dummy books, he has since hacked sites and made trojans and spikes for people in exchange for payment. He’s still running even now, and ended up in all sorts of places. He’s a bit lost at the moment, trying to find his way up to pass the border into America, but ended up getting tangled in the affairs of a particular, mysterious woman.

Family: Damon’s been disowned.

Relationships

N/A

Abilities

Power Class & Rating: Super System & Cerebral
Power: Damon is a living hive. Africanized bees infest his body, unbeknownst to the people around him. Inside of him are what could be hundreds upon thousands of bees, and they’re even crawling about in his clothes, which are the cause of the holes his clothes that he has tried desperately to replace, but new holes keep being torn open to allow easy access. He has since given up. It’s also the reason why he wears so much clothing in the first place to cover his skin. Littered upon his body are holes. It’s like an underground system, from within his abdomen, his legs, his back, his arms, and even in the palms of his hands. The bees, since their initial occupancy, have ravaged much of the internal organs of Damon’s body to point of non-functionality. What remains is most of his circulatory and digestive systems (which damaged much of his nervous system), and his head remains free of infestation. His reproduction system (due to the bees inhabiting most of the abdomen) has been damaged to the point that any actual reproduction would be impossible.

How could such a man survive? A very nuanced power seems to be very particular in how it affected him. He doesn’t have many requirements for survival and most of what he does is done out of habit. As it turns out, as long as he has a mind and that his brain is intact, Damon will live. Even without a body, he can survive on as a mere conscience exacting what will that it can. Damon isn’t fully aware of this, just that he can go on without eating or drinking for a long time. And while someone trying to choke him to death is painful and agonizing, it doesn’t really shut him down. All of his nerves are still active and he can still feel, so he is just as receptive to pain.

Damon has, to the slightest extent, extrasensory or telepathic abilities that allow him control over the insects that dwells within his body. The bees follow every one of his demands like a mindless robots, like pawns on a chessboard. He also releases a specific pheromone that appeals to bees in the surrounding vicinity and lures them to him, and it also negates the pheromone that the queen bee has that keeps other female bees from reproducing. So, if allowed, he could be surrounded by a colossal mass of writhing bugs with pointy stingers. Minor communication is possibly, but it is mostly an exchange of information. He can send a drone ahead and learn about what is around the corner. Having a massive swarm at his disposal, he can possess an omnipresence in the city. He could theoretically see everything as long as he has a set of eyes there. Try as you might, if you make an enemy out of Damon, you will be hard pressed to escape him (unless you swat the bee - in that case, they can’t report to the hive… but dead bees do give off a particular pheromone that alerts the others of danger, attracting more).

Since he is full of bees, he can adopt certain properties of them. Insects have a natural strength in comparison to size, so he could be a little stronger. He could command them to hoist him into the air and allow him to fly - his body has been hollowed out and is very light. If he wanted to, and I doubt he does, he could shoot a stream of bees at the landing skids of a helicopter and send it crashing into the ground (reference). So, depending on the situation, he is capable of being a badass. Obviously, this ability is a mixed bag.

He also has very minor regenerative abilities. Honey is a natural anti-oxidant and, naturally, them bees are gonna need a place to store it. While Damon isn’t full of it, some honey does line his insides… though mingled with it is blood and flesh, so don’t eat that.

Weaknesses/Drawbacks: A big down side is that his body and mind is deteriorating. Body is obvious, with those holes in his body and all. They got into his body by literally eating him. They ate holes into his body and carved out a hive. It was incredibly excruciating - torture, even. If he survives long enough, his whole body will deteriorate and he will be dead for good (only when the last of his brain is eaten up, however). The bees, at a certain point, planted themselves along the central nervous system and at the very edge of the brain stem, and the pheromones affected him in such a way that the damage the bees do no longer harms him. Think really hard about what that might turn into. Although he practically has complete control, there are some “incidents”, so to speak, that can occur.

A great deal of stress, anger or endangerment to his life can cause him to crack and make him go batshit crazy for a minute or so. This is his Mr Hyde: a persona created by the manifestation of the hive self-named “Lieo”. Lieo is a hive-mind and is utterly ruthless and with no inhibitions holding them back - an abominable bastard that will hunt you down with Terminator-style pursuit predation, assuming you manage to escape his clutches. Lieo is essentially the entire swarm and hive itself working through Damon’s body, but could also simply be Damon with the mind of a swarm, that he is “one of them”. It’s a curious state that warrants attention, but is a very real danger to anyone around him. Even Damon. The lack of inhibitions causes damage to the body if he were to exert too much, and Damon will feel it afterward. In addition, using the power itself - controlling the bees - puts him on the fine line of sanity and breaking into Lieo’s persona. To control the hive, he has to put himself on the same level of communication by inserting his will and thoughts via a mild form of telepathy. This, if put off balance, can tip him over the edge and can cause the swarm to dominate his mind.

Any means of telepathy or mind reading against im also upsets the bees in the body which generates stress on Damon as well. So psychic powers can make him crack as well. Although this protects him from mind reading and telepathy to some extent, it is an uncomfortable experience that everyone would wish to avoid. Further, these are just bees. Fire and pesticides are his bane, or at least to the hive residing in him. However, Damon does have a record of being conniving (enoughly so that he can get away with a lot of crimes to survive), so these aren’t sure-fire ways to get rid of him. You’d still have to chase him down. Given the number of alleys and rooms he’s familiar with, he can be capable of ambushing you or, with the swarm, swarming you in a moment’s notice without any warning. And of course, a bullet to the head. That’ll stop most things in their tracks. There’s also the matter of his personality restraining him from using this ability to his full advantage - and in doing so, also accelerates his degeneration.

Lastly, his ability to command the swarm is limited. The code to protect and protect, and live within the security of the hive is hard-wired into each and every member of the swarm’s brain like a robot. It is a failsafe system that ensures the hive’s safety and the safety of the swarm. To this extent, Damon cannot just send the swarm and keep them away from him forever. Such commands they were carry out only to a certain extent before they are ignored. Even if it was something these mindless drones were capable of carrying out, the matter of Damon’s pheromones still exists, and therefore they will always return to the safety of the hive. Damon’s life is essentially on count-down.

Abraham Gene

Abraham Gene

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⫸ B A S I C I N F O R M A T I O N ⫷

⫸ A P P E A R A N C E ⫷

▼ | S T A T S : |

▸ B I R T H N A M E : | Abraham Gene
▸ N I C K N A M E / A L I A S : | Golem
▸ G E N D E R : | Male
▸ A G E : | 21
▸ H E I G H T : | 6'4"
▸ W E I G H T : | 190 lbs.
▸ E T H N I C I T Y : | 80% African American, 20% Caucasion
▸ Y E A R : | 1st Year

▼ | P H Y S I C A L D E S C R I P T I O N : |

Abraham appears imposing, brutish; he stands a few inches above six feet, with an athletically fit body from years of working out. He's muscular everywhere you look, and is surmounted by broad shoulders. He is a man who seemingly carries himself with such esteem you would think that nothing could touch him. As an African-American mix, his skin is a brown soil color, and is far enough into his years to not worry about acne, and his complexion is good, for he has no natural blemishes but the scars and scrapes from his rough and tumble life. Among his collection includes a bright, whitened stripe across his thumb - and if you hadn't known better, you would've thought it was cut off at some point or another. Others include scrapes and burn scars all over his hands and a couple on his arms and legs, which appear to be nothing more than rough housing mementos. A notable one, however, is one that stretches across the right side of his abdomen over to his left. That one he laughs about and claims it had occurred during a knife fight.

The structure of his face is mostly angular, but as we go down towards his lower face, his jaw squares off slightly at his chin, where he wears a thin and well-maintained goatee. He has thick eyebrows and lashes which frames intense amber eyes, and his black hair is dreaded all the way down to an inch below his shoulder blades. His hair, though, is most of the time held back in a loose ponytail gently tied back by two other dreadlocks. Otherwise, his hair would've been left to frame his oval face and drape over his shoulders. It is safe to say he has been blessed with good genes. He walks and talks with such charming demeanor, holding himself in such a way that exudes confidence and invokes envy, and he knows it! So charmed a life, that his exuberance infects all of his conversations and has a sort of charismatic disposition that just attracts people. So predictably, he likes to utilize that to his advantage as a reliable asset. He has a strong, projecting voice that bears a slight Boston accent whenever he speaks.

There isn't any one particular outfit that he leans to - he has many of them. The style may change from a punk vibe, to relaxed, sometimes classy, sporty, whatever. He generally has a jacket though, usually a denim jacket or a leather one, or a black pea coat if he's feeling particularly chilly that day. He usually avoids shorts. What kind of jeans or pants doesn’t really matter to him, but he tends to shoot for jeans that are baggy around legs but tends to tighten around his waist, providing comfort and a secure fit. His shoes are boots, almost always boots. Though it may change according to the situation - sports often call for sneakers, and a fancy outing requires more refined dress shoes. These he has, which were custom made for his feet. But mostly, Abraham goes for clothing that is relaxed and easy to move in – it is worth noting that, having come from a wealthy family, he is more accustomed to a costly wardrobe. Flannels and casually worn dress shirts are a common occurrence in his wardrobe, shirts without sleeves are too. A fabric belt is always seen around his waist, and he never seems to wear gloves as he prefers to work with his hands directly.

⫸ P S Y C H O L O G Y ⫷

▼ | P E R S O N A L I T Y : |

Outwardly, Abraham is charming, forward, and proud. A peculiar mixture of relaxed and energetic are what makes up his disposition. He's talkative in the right crowd and has very many stories to share regarding his hijinks, adventures, and mishappens he has experienced throughout the extent of his life. He is exceptionally charismatic in that he can put a smile on your face or instill fear in your mind when he wants to, and he knows how to sweet talk his way out of different situations. However, Abraham is also incredibly arrogant and borderline narcissistic. He is the type of person to view another as far beneath him and rarely sees another at his own level. This is a given, considering the fashion in which he was raised and expectations of others he has been accustomed to. He expects others to listen to him or he sees it as some sort of challenge. He has a large presence and a forceful voice, coupled with charm, people tend to see him as a leader, and further, he isn't stingy. He can pay you back rather handsomely if you do him a favor or if you get on his good side. This being said, he isn't very frequently refused and so his ugly side isn't seen as often one might expect - and while he has had a history with aggression, he isn't actually too prone to being aggressive in his interactions with others.

See, while he could certainly resort to such measures if he feels them necessary, he also considers himself above such trite nonsense most of the time. He knows he's better, he knows he's capable of muscling through obstacles, so he doesn't try to go so far out of his way to try and dominate everyone. That's just over-compensating and, quite frankly, would do more to present all of a man's insecurities out in the open for all to gawk at. So instead, he'd rather try his hand at maneuvering social or political blockades through his own wit, whether it be dogmatically assertive to intimidate a weaker-willed adversary through presence alone, social or emotional manipulation, or simply just playing his cards right. For this reason, people tend to acknowledge that he's kind of an asshole, but feel inclined to try to befriend him regardless, because he at least comes across as a pretty chill person - and that's his confidence in play.

His allegiances often align with those that provide him the greatest benefit for himself, or is of greater influence than, say, a person with little control over the great machine. So, clearly, he can be selfish, preferring to think of himself before others. This is obvious in politics. He doesn't consider himself conservative or liberal. Moral values don't mean terribly much to him. But being in the high upper class with his father, Abraham is more likely to vote for a candidate that benefits him. Those candidates, in result, usually tend to be in favor of capitalism and of the elite class. He doesn't give a damn about religion, and immigration is a mixed bag, as it can prove both beneficial and detrimental to some aspects of economy; mostly good, so he doesn't really care about your ethnicity. Any other moral issue that the rest of the country struggles with doesn't bother him, save for the topic of racial prejudice. Otherwise he considers himself above another according to social hierarchy, so unless you have a lot of money, friends, and/or popularity, he'll probably overlook you much like a elephant that overlooks an ant.

But back to violence: the only reason for a hands-on man like himself to resort to such matters is because losing isn't an option in his book. He goes by the nuclear effect: if insulted, attacked, or provoked, he will retaliate in turn with ten times the severity. This is one of the prime reasons nobody likes to mess with him. Abraham is simply far too much trouble than he is worth. He's always up for a scuffle and he isn't held back by any rules when he does. He's got a penchant for fisticuffs.

The ladies are an entirely different story with him though. He is remarkably flirtatious. If you are a woman, and whether you express an interest in him or not, you will be assaulted with the most fervent case of wanton promiscuity your unsullied virginity (or otherwise) had ever endured. In any other case, his flirtatiousness spares not a single bosom as long as it meets Abraham's qualifications of "hot diggity damn". This take-no-prisoners disposition also gives him a confident "bad boy" vibe that, hell, some people are into. Though not always are his advances accepted, he sometimes takes it in stride should he not be interested in taking part in "the hunt", but there are times when a different sect of his ugly side appears. Should those advances be neglected, it's almost as if his eyes are trained on that one person. He needs what he can't have, you know? It's a running problem with rich people. However, should the neglect continue, there's another side of him that can be seen: reprehensible casual sexism. As if the subtle objectification of women he appears to portray wasn't as clear an indicator, consistent refusal will prompt him to apply the label of "prude" to said female. Subtle hints of his sexism can be seen in casual conversations where he seems to imply some extent of inferiority, however, this aspect of his personality is only shown in very specific turns of the conversation and isn't always identifiable. Abe is nothing if not adept at turning the current of the conversation to highlight his qualities, rather than underscoring his shortcomings.

Innately, Abraham is a very angry and lost individual. He doesn't care what the world wants, he's just out here trying to make his own way and survive. To climb and scratch his way to the top. Perhaps that's better achieved if he hadn't left the roost, but he's lost. He cares solely for himself and, if possible, he'd take out his anger on those around him. He has a lot of pent up rage and frustration. Of course his relationship for his family is less than ideal, and he holds contempt for his father in many regards (though mingled in is some respect). The death of his little brother has deeply affected him and his ability to trust people, and when he looks around him, all he sees are two faced liars who'd be eager to backstab him over whatever meager lump of cash they can get their hands on. These feelings are deep, deep inside him, and it is these feelings where he is able to channel his ferocity in a fight. But on top of that are layers upon layers of a persona he has chosen to portray himself as. A mask that is so esoterically weaved and layered over these feelings, that he can hide it from even himself at times. It became a persona that he actually connects to and feels everything it is supposed to feel, and this persona runs so deep he may as well have created a new person.

▼ | B A C K S T O R Y : |

Abraham was born to a very wealthy family. His father is a director of a clean energy company, converting corn and oil into a ethanol blend, so that said, they were extremely well off. The mother left early in his childhood, leaving him with not much of a mother figure aside from the maids that were paid to service the family. Aside from that, there isn't much to be said about his early youth. He was provided with an extensive above-average education, regularly encouraged to do well in the private school for the upper class in which he was enrolled in, so that he may excel much like his father – his father, speaking of which, never really had the time to behave as a proper parent or role model to the boy, so Abe was mostly raised by the servants (who ran the risk of losing their jobs if they did anything the family thought was crossing boundaries). This, predictably, can lead to some peculiar growing up patterns.

When Abe was five, he got a little brother. A half-brother, in all honesty, but they were brothers nonetheless. They grew up together from then on. As soon as Abe was old enough to get into sports, he did, and he found it exhilarating. The adrenaline and competition meant everything to him - he wanted to win, to be the best, and feel magnificent while doing so, as though he were on top of the world. He didn't receive much support from his father, who tended to just look at him and expected improvement the next time around - that's how the world in economics worked, after all. Unfortunately, it was twisted into a vicious cycle and it eventually developed a sense of self-frustration within Abraham. That he had to be better, otherwise he wasn't good enough. Him and his brother, as they got older, always wrestled. He got into track, played on teams in sports, which was generally football, basketball, and soccer.

Of course, some of these routines couldn't continue when it rained or if he got sick or even grounded. There weren’t many extra-curricular activities he thought he could do if those options weren't available to him. So when he was forced to stay home, he managed to pick up a different hobby: guitar lessons. It started simple at first, but when the lessons became more complex, he grew angry with the practice and ditched it entirely. On the bright side, Abe did learn that keeping a beat came easier to him than maintaining a rhythm, so he found himself drawn to drumming. It suited him! The faster paced full-body action of the instrument was appealing to Abe, and it was another outlet for his aggression, and he started taking lessons in it.

That continued on for a while; sports and music, that is. Eventually, his father found that he wasn't fond of his son's aggressive temperament, and perhaps a top of the line martial arts instructor could help calm him down with some discipline, while providing his son with the means to protect himself should something ever happen. He received these "krav maga" classes when he was fourteen, and at first, they didn't seem to do much good at keeping him down. But as time progressed, he seemed better at keeping control of that temper. He was disciplined. However, when it came to sparring, he was ferocious and aggressive and sometimes had to be restrained. His father thought, “Perhaps other activities are necessary?” Among the various solutions were, firstly, outlets where he can learn to socialize properly with others. Here, Abe learned that he had quite the fondness for girls, and how he learned to be the charming devil he was always meant to be (interpret that as you will, sarcastic or not) - and secondly, a way to expend his energy without directing it at another person. So for a very short period of time, Abe was forced to enter gymnastics. While all the acrobatics were cool and fun, Abraham figured he could learn that on his own via free-running without wearing an uncomfortably tight unitard.

His powers began to develop when he was 15. It was an incredibly scary experience for him, seeing how he reacted with stone and all that. He was kept as a dirty little secret for a while before Abe could control it, and it was a secret that stayed strictly between father and son. Apparently, the father knew something about meta-humans, though didn't quite drop the bomb on Abe about it... and although surprised, he wasn't traumatically shocked by the knowledge of his son being one. It took a while, perhaps a week or two, of constant tinkering to learn how to mess with the power, to at least keep it from activating by accident. Enough so that Abe can continue his regular life. He continued his active life as he would, but now with something else to practice on the sideline. He had a double life: a normal one, and then one as a meta-human, where he would practice his abilities when he wasn't doing anything else.

Soon, he began to realize that it was actually a pretty god damn awesome thing that he could do. Something that made him unique and set him apart! It was something that could also be used to assert the kind of dominance and victories he wanted, and could probably make his dad proud. This pride and cocky attitude got a pretty secure hold on his life, and his confidence affected him in somewhat unpredictable ways. His sparring in martial arts was once again aggressive, and he got kicked out of the dojo when he was 17 for breaking the sternum of another student with a single punch, as well as knocking them ten feet back (it was at that point he learned how to solidify the bones inside his arm for a more powerful blow). This of course pissed off his father.

Life drastically changed when Abe was 18, and they learned when a shooting occurred at a theater killed Abraham's brother. One of the security guards, hired by the father himself, apparently went rogue and held the child for ransom while Abe was at school. The rogue got the money, but the moment cops started moving in, killed the child anyway out of panic. The family reacted to the tragedy different. Abe’s father drank until one of his kidneys went bad, and Abe, well... Abe essentially lost control of himself. He was consumed with rage and distrust and he began losing control of his temper and pent up anger. He spent his time in the bad parts of town, unbeknownst to his father, learning how to use his ability, and then beating the daylights out of people with it. Of course, these people were thugs and other crooks of that nature, making Abe a guy something of a vigilante – the major difference being that his core motivation was personal instead of misplaced nobility. In addition, Abe discovered those street fight circles you can win and get paid for, much like underground boxing with no rules. Naturally, Abe didn't care about the money out of it, it was an outlet for his aggression and anger and he took advantage of it. Ghettos being no strangers to superhumans, he was allowed to use his power. They didn't quite expect Abe's power to basically be made for close fighting. Among the circles, he came to be known as the Golem.

The spree of delinquency hit the fan when Abe got involved in some terrible incident resulting in a death of a man, and all of the commotion grabbed the attention of Abe's father, who was unaware of all of Abraham's behavior meanwhile, and bailed Abe out of prison (he was 19 then), and gave him the loudest lecture of a lifetime. This of course brought to much attention to the family on the press, and he sent his son away to live on his own for a while (with a fair amount of money to live on should he be out of work), so that the director could live in what peace remained. A good place to go was a different busy city swarming with activity and police, in Chicago. Abe went to live there, hoping maybe life there away from home would help to temper his son's behavior, as well as discipline him so that he isn't so willing to resort to his abilities so easily. Though honestly, Abe earnestly disagrees, and believes that his power is a part of who he is and that he should embrace it and not hide it. That being said, he's still going around town performing vigilante work. After a brief lapse of time, an officer caught him about to start a fight with a similarly shady man and Abe was thrown in the Chicago prison for a short night.

It was about a week after that he received mail from his father expressing his dissatisfaction with Abraham, and included in the mail was a letter concerning the Promise: a scientific marvel, a place in space for people with powers like his, to learn control and restraint. Also a place where, his father had at least hoped, would aid in disciplining him. He is to stay there for a few years, where the instructors will teach him how to better control his powers and himself. It was a growing experience, and while he wasn't able to forget about what happened, he could learn from it. Still, he was never really able to accept it. All he expected from the academy was to give him better control over his power and teach him how to better hide all of the turmoil he felt. They'll just help him learn how to blend in better.

⫸ P O W E R I N F O R M A T I O N ⫷

▼ | P O W E R C L A S S I F I C A T I O N : |

Elemental (Mimicry)

▼ | P O W E R D E S C R I P T I O N : |

The core feature of Abraham's ability is terrakinesis. He has the capability to manipulate rock and earth and many of its variations to his will, and by extension, anything that is carried by or contained inside it. The possibilities go on for miles: he could form it as he desires, to building structures, or destroying and wreaking havoc with it as he pleases. His range, in theory, is as far as the eye can discern and the power is as strong as his ferocity with it. He could erect giant pillars and spires from the ground as long as there is enough stone in the vicinity to fuel it, as well as rectangular walls and shields - even domes. It’s possible to disconnect these from the ground and send it flying through the air or skidding across the ground and crush the target behind the thousands of pounds of force its impact generates. As Abraham is able to mold stone, he can, if he so chooses, reconstruct damaged structures or sculpt a brand new structure entirely.

There is just one problem with doing all of that:

Abraham is a very introspective person. The meta-human energy is often considered to be the soul of an individual given form, and how that person views the world through their perception can have a massive influence on what parts of their reality they can control. While Abe acknowledges the world around him, he’s very self-concerned and self-absorbed, so he doesn’t often look more than two steps in front of him (figuratively speaking). This mindset limits the sort of control he can have over the world around him. Outside-terrakinesis is available to him, but only to a degree. His control over rock and the earth falls off dramatically when it’s outside just a few feet, maybe fifteen feet – max – away. He’ll be lucky to create a tripping hazard outside of that range, whereas if he were a self-mastered monk from the mountains of Nepal, there'd be nearly nothing he couldn't accomplish with it. However, there are additional features of his power that does keep him from being totally useless...

Stone Embodiment: Abraham can morph his whole body into cold, hard stone - or selectively morph different parts of his body. This also causes his body to become much denser, heavier, and durable, allowing him to pack more power at the trade-off of speed. Given his power of stone manipulation, he still retains enough mobility to keep himself moving, though his speed is severely hampered and he lacks the kind of agility he'd usually have. On top of packing a lot of weight behind his punches, the ability to manipulate stone – and thereby even himself, helps him packs tons more power behind his monster hay-makers and grants him super-strength that can compete even with the strongest of superheroes. Abe's wit has helped him think through the different aspects of his power, and so he recognized that, when stone, his own body can be altered as he pleases. He is capable of changing the shape of his own body to serve his purpose - whether it be changing his hands to hammers or blades - the latter being particularly frightful, given how a pointy thing being made of stone and the size of a grown man's arm is being lunged straight through your body, and if you survive that, congratulations asshole! You now have stone sediments coursing through your bloodstream.

Like many superhumans, Abe has a couple of secret weapons, none he'd use lightly. But should the situation ever call for such a measure, he can go stone form. Which is cool in itself, right? Well, from there, Abe can begin an exhaustive process where he takes in the stone from his environment into his own body before his size and mass proliferates into that of a massive golem - easily as tall as telephone poles and weight comparable to mountains. While his standard stone embodiment stands as it is as being extraordinarily durable, turning into the Golem leaves him impervious to almost all physical attacks, attacks on his biological system, and allow him to deal devastating strikes to his foes at the tradeoff of being utterly slow and easy to read. Like, if you get punched by him, it better be because you're tied to a railroad. The process is exhaustive, but should he ever be able to keep going, he can take in as much as stone as is provided to him and reach colossal levels... though this is, to the fortune of his enemies, restricted by his stamina. The most he would be able to bring himself to do is to be as tall as telephone poles - and, of course, the girth of modern homes. It is in his Golem form that his power is nearly boundless. Strikes he can launch with such power that it can utterly shatter a person's body were they not the most enduring superhuman! However, as a golem, he would lack mobility. He could make huge, massive steps, but at a super slow pace. Everything about him would be slower and predictable, but should he hit somebody, they'd be in for a world of hurt. Granted, his mobility could be compensated for if he could morph his golem form so that his back was smoothed out so that he could theoretically roll downhill. Stopping is a different story.

He has a unique ability he has only recently been able to work out - regeneration. If he gets a cut, chops off his thumb, he can turn part of his body to stone - or his whole body, if he wishes - and manipulates stone to reform his original body, and have his body turn back to normal, so that the stone thumb that replaced the prior one becomes a fleshy part of his body. Quite literally, he can make replacements. However, there is still the case of the utter soul-wrenching pain that comes with dismemberment. Regeneration isn't an easy process when you're under such a large amount of pain and stress, and it is a somewhat slow process given how what stamina Abraham has left is being put into regrowing a limb whilst under agony - there needs to be stone around that he can take into his body and replace the limb, otherwise, he needs the limb itself. In the middle of a firefight, there is no time for such a process. Even if he succeeds in making the replacement, the phantom pain would linger on and haunt him for as long as a month. It is an ability that took a great amount of time to get working properly, and it takes a great deal of body memory, as well as contorting his limbs into different shapes. So these are not abilities he did little work to earn. He practiced extensively with his power to fully understand the ins and outs of it. It still bears repeating that he is most effective in his standard stone embodiment form, where he's incredibly difficult to shatter, slow him down, and withstand the onslaught he has planned for you.

▼ | L I M I T S | W E A K N E S S E S : |

His powers do have limits and drawbacks. Whilst in stone form, Abraham's control over the stone around him is less refined. Large-scale manipulation requires him to be in his more vulnerable and fleshy state. In this stone form, he is also restricted to contact. In order to bend the rocks and earth around him, he must remain on the ground and keeping himself firmly on the ground. Stone embodiment is much slower than his standard body, and his speed is cut down by at least half. So to be more efficient at fighting in a fast-paced match, he has to combine his regular body and stone embodiment, leaving him vulnerable in some areas to make up for speed so he can properly defend himself. His stone body, while incredibly durable, doesn't flex. Not like metal or flesh does, and that is why rock, under enough pressure at the right angle, can break easier than metal. However, his body is still dense and solid and would take tremendous force with the right material to actually break him. Part of what he does to circumvent the earthbending limitations is to petrify only his arms or parts of his body as he needs it, so that his earthbending isn't totally nerfed. He also changed his style of bending when in his form, so that he only uses it to trip, accelerate himself, or inconvenience his foe.

Before we start discussing what already hasn’t been discussed above, let's underscore this one more time: Abraham is a physical juggernaut locked down tighter than a nun's chastity belt. If your aim is to physically dominate him, you're in for a bad time. Now that's out of way, lets boil his power's shortcomings down. Though his defense is awe-inspiring and his power terrifying, he operates rather simply. In a fight, he generally runs off of instinct and his training, and krav maga was made for street fighting - cheap, dirty tricks, but you gotta be quick. In stone form, he isn't quick. He can be easy to respond to if you're on your toes. Don't take your eyes off him, keep your distance, and he simply can't get you. A particularly clever opponent may outsmart him in a fight, or perhaps your power is psychic in nature. In fights, his mind is a flurry, and his life so far has been nothing short of a struggle. If a power allows someone to mess with his mind, he'll go nuts or shut down. He has very little defenses against mental attacks beyond his own conviction. If you're another terrakinetic... well... I'll let you figure that one out. You're gonna slow him down a lot. And speaking of slow, the Golem form? So much of his energy and focus is being spent maintaining and controlling his form, that he is incapable of bending the environment.

⫸ O T H E R ⫷

• Abraham is being presented to you as a mix between a character and a plot device. The goal here is to mix things up, and introduce someone to shake up the dynamic a little bit. Somewhat both an anti-hero and minor antagonist. You can befriend him if you want your character to do so, but he's still an opposing force that is meant to create some struggle or confusion for our heroes of the story, and isn't easily trumped - and for all we know, his path might just take him on that route, his archetype is dynamic. Form relationships with other characters hinging on Abe being a mutual enemy, attempt to befriend him and uncover some interesting tidbits of lore - really, and this goes for any character at all, the affects he can have are countless, and that can only serve to enrich the story more. Just know that Abe wasn't written the way he is because I like to "win at roleplaying." God, whatever that means.

Abraham is also a long-time favorite of many, a veteran in the roleplaying scene. What did others have to say about Abe? Well, to start:

• @He Who Walks Behind: "Abe was a refreshing strain of douchebaggery that I hope to see again in either writing or in real life."
• @Dragonbud: "I love that asshole. I love him. Such an ass."
• @Maxx: "Abe can punch me into the sun."
• @JunkMail: "Abe already has punched me into the sun."
• [@Mr Allen J]: "I'm thinking of ways to kill him off already."

Peter Brooke

Basic Information

Name: Peter Brooke
Nickname/Alias/Etc: Pvt. Brooke, Dr. Brooke, Richard Cox
Gender: Male
Age: 41 years
Height: 6'5" ft. (1.98 m)
Weight: 409 lbs. (185.5 kg)
Status: New "student"

Appearance

Hair Color: N/A
Eye Color: N/A
Ethnicity: A mix of German, Polish, Irish and French - which is another way of saying white/Caucasian.
Physical Appearance: He is nothing like any person has seen before and appears to be a Hollywood CGI construct. He stands at a daunting 6'5" height, which in itself is quite a height even for a grown man, and he weighs at least four hundred pounds. You see, his body is made of a titanium alloy with stainless steel and platinum. The sound he makes when struck, if a person was ever brave enough to do so, is peculiar because it sounds hollow (though to what extent is unable to be discerned). His solid body is smooth, sleek, shiny and it looks as though it was sculpted by an artist - he lacks any kind of hair at all and he is "muscled". Expanding upon this, he has broad shoulders, he has a toned abdomen, toned back, toned legs, arms - ah, excuse me - arm. He only has one arm. His left one. His right shoulder ends right there and there isn't even so much as a stub where his right arm used to be. In fact, even his genitalia appears to be missing, and what now replaces it is nothing more than a smooth curve that suggests nothing was ever there to begin with. While we're on the topic of missing, he doesn't have eyes either. All there is where his eyes should be are indents that would indicate eye sockets, but with nothing there as you would expect. He does have ears and a nose, but due to his body being metal, aren't things that have practical functions anymore. He has a mouth, but the sounds he makes when he tries to speak? It sounds as if metal is being bent or warped. It'd take practice, but given time, a lot of patience and effort, and with a little help from other aspects of his power, he learned how to speak. His voice sounds "hollow" for lack of a better term, and it sounds as though it echoes through his body. His body has no corrosion, rust and is free from marks that could even be comparable to a skin flaw. The platinum traits keeps him looking keen as always.

Attire: With his body turning to metal and the loss of his genitals, there's little need to seek out modesty in clothing. He could walk "in the nude" in front of children and still be perfectly acceptable. However, old habits die hard. He always wore his lab coat even before the change, as he rarely ever left. Under neath the coat would be a simple white button-up and black dress pants, along with shiny black dress shoes. He always did wear rather formal attire in his lab while performing research, and Peter rarely ever left his lab. He has little in the ways of casual attire except for perhaps a thick black jacket for whenever the harsh Maine winters rolled along, but that is hardly a necessary article of clothing for him anymore, and Peter is all about practicality.

Personality

Outward & Innate Personality: Peter is a troubled individual, but he is ambitious and well-meaning. He pushes forward through his hardships with admirable tenacity and the intelligence to make his plans work and come together. He has few relationships with others, as he is very much a recluse and prefers the solitary life, but doesn't make him any less capable of working with others. He is quite adept at teamwork as his experience would indicate and is willing to compromise lesser goals for the sake of greater progress. His self-reflection is modest. He has enough pride and confidence to push forward and believe in himself, but periodically falls into moods of depression and senses of desperation should his progress in his research come to a plateau. However, he is true to himself and others and despite his willingness to compromise, he will never give up his core beliefs and values regardless of the situation at hand. This, along with his research, are things that appears to be an obsession of his. So as selfless as he may appear at times, he does have his own motives and agenda, and if helping another person risks that, you can be sure he wouldn't lay a finger to help them. He has an eerie sort of level-headedness that is almost unnerving, and is alarmingly difficult to anger (unless you know what he's highly protective of) and has an apparent lack of sense of humor; these in conjunction with his wit and the mind of a thinker, he seems to talk in such a way that it sounds as though he knows something that you don't, but doesn't display the arrogance that usually comes with such a trait.

Fears: His obsession over his research is almost admirable even to paranoid schizophrenic. His work is locked up tighter than a high security prison, and if it was ever lost or damaged or stolen or if anything was done to compromise it, he'd be lost. And he'd do quite a bit to get that work back. It's not just for the sake of himself either, but for anybody who has also had to endure his condition. Otherwise, he isn't afraid of much. Being a soldier kind of beat that out of him with a club. However, explosions or depictions of explosions makes him uneasy. That is how he lost his arm after all.

Hobbies/Interests: Before Peter went overseas, he had a healthy interest in medicine and chemistry. Chemistry extended to a variety of things, and he dabbled a bit in cooking so he could watch the food cook carefully and think about all the changes that occurred that caused it to look and taste differently (his friends and family often commented about he took the soul out of cooking). He enjoyed track while in high school. But much of his hobbies and interests have become a blur in recent years since the rise of his obsession. There isn't much he looks into beyond his own research into stem cell development.

Skills/Talents: Peter is a talented doctor, and even has Ph.D in medicine before becoming a licensed medical engineer to create medicine. He has spent the last few years of his life researching stem cells and stem cell production and replication. His college experience gives him a good deal of book smarts, and he knows a fair amount of chemistry and other physics-like topics and is generally a good study. Answering interviews and whatnot gave him some experience in talking properly to other people, and just enough political speak to answer as vaguely as he can while on topic, as to not give away too much information before he published his work. He was also once a soldier, so he would have received the standard training including maneuvers and combat training and marksmanship - survival, tactics, and so on. The rigid schedule disciplined him so he can adapt to routines and strict rules.

Prized Possession: His stem cell research is locked up tighter than Alcatraz.

Quote(s): "I don't want to be an idol, or a hero. Or an example. I just want to finish what I started and give hope to people like me."

History/Bio: Peter came from a very poor family from Maine. He was smart, and could get through school like a breeze. He had very little trouble in his childhood aside from the challenges that came naturally when living as a lower class family. As expected, when he graduated from high school, neither he nor his family had the funds to put him through college and he wasn't considered qualified for scholarships - apparently a lower class kid interested in medical engineering wasn't good enough of an investment. So Peter was forced to look towards other areas to make college life easier. So he enlisted in the United States military when he was nineteen for both the pay and college benefits it would provide. After training, he was finally sent to Saudi Arabia to repel Iraq during Operation Desert Storm. His very first mission out, the vehicle Peter was riding in hit a land mine. The explosion and shrapnel tore up his right arm and killed everyone in the vehicle except for him and one other. He was later rushed for medical treatment and the only alternative that was available to him was to amputate the arm entirely. No longer being a serviceable soldier, he was forced to retire without having done anything but lose an arm. He was at least provided monthly compensation and the opportunity to go to college as a disabled veteran.

It was basically mockery from the Gods, he always figured. And he never did get over that incident. In fact, he grew to become fervorous over it. He did eventually earn his Ph.D through college, as difficult as it was with all the post traumatic stress nightmares and the crippling disadvantage that came with having only one arm. He became a doctor and pursued medical engineering as previously planned. In a short period of time however, medicine research shifted to stem cell research. In fact, the loss of his arm was nearly tormenting to him. He grew obsessive over his research of stem cells and managed to get quite a bit of work done on it, but was by no means famous for it. He answered a couple of interviews on his progress, and he felt he was getting quite close to the answer. He pursued stem cell research for twelve years. He figured a couple things out, ran several tests and experiments, but nothing so groundbreaking as the regeneration of a whole arm. Not to mention the entire pro-life community kept him from getting the necessary amount of funding.

Peter never knew he was a meta-human though - he was a late bloomer. So he woke up one morning and was unable to feel the soft, plushy cushions or blink away the curtain of darkness that veiled his eyes. He felt as though all of his senses were deadened, and screaming in despair resulted in nothing but an ugly moan that reverberated throughout his metal body. He no longer required food or water, and so he remained for another month or two unable to continue his research, or get a feel for his environment. He talked to himself incessantly - or tried to - and eventually managed to get it down somewhat. The third month he discovered the other part of his power. He always felt the fuzzy feeling inside of his head. When it surged through his body and gave life to all of his senses, it was, pardon the pun, quite the shocker. It took even longer months for him to practice them well enough and effectively navigate his environment without frying some electronics, but when he did and was able to control the amperage amount, he returned to his research in a frenzy and reviewed all of his notes. During that time of practice, he had difficulty coming to terms that his body was metal, and that he would never get his arm back. He only managed to accept himself once he came to the conclusion he would finish his work for the sake of others like him.

It was also during that time he developed an addiction to electricity. And it wasn't just because he could regain his senses and had reflexes as fast as lightning, but once he learned that once he had enough, he could channel the voltage into a condensed arc of crackling electricity into the shape of an arm. He made himself a right arm and was able to move it as he normally would and more, able to reach places and bend in ways a normal arm would otherwise be unable to do. But it wasn't the improvements that psyched him, it was just the fact he had an arm again. Granted, it took a lot of energy, and it was something he could only keep for ten minutes before the arm died away. That time had been one of the few times since the accident he felt true joy - euphoria, even. Unfortunately, his already sub-standard funding became worse once people learned he was a meta-human.

Family: Father: Sylvester Brooke (deceased); Mother: Roberta Brooke (deceased)

Relationships

Relationships:

N/A

Abilities

Power Class: Anatomical/Biological

Power: There is little left of Peter's original body other than its shape. His body is made completely up with a shiny, sleek, non-rusting and non-corroding metallic skin strong enough that it allows him to be very much capable of withstanding beatings that would kill most other people. Further, this metallic body appears to be simply a boat for another ability: his brain is a generator. It produces generous amounts of electricity of which he is capable of controlling. He can control the flow of the current through any part of his body, keeping the current in place in his head or in his hands, and even arcing the electricity into the environment around him. This allows him incredible reflexes normal humans aren't capable of reaching, since the transfer of electricity through the metal alloy is faster than the electric signals sent from a standard brain to the neurons in your typical nervous system. However, his perceptions of sight and sound as we know it had been eradicated completely, and is seemingly vulnerable to the world around him. Fortunately, there's a method for him getting around this. Arcing low-voltage currents of electricity into his surroundings allows him to know where the current stops or where it is interrupted, giving him a sense of where things are. Interactions with this current creates a sound that "resonates" back to Peter, and sound waves causes a similar form of interaction. The change in sound waves also changes the sound Peter receives, so is capable of understanding speech. Similarly, interaction with this static sends his metal body a message allowing him to perceive something akin to a sense of touch, though the force or texture of such doesn't change the sensation. He can channel large amounts of electricity to form straight-up lightning bolts or controlled energy where he can condense electricity and form it into shapes - thereby creating an arm for his right shoulder which he can control.

Weaknesses/Limitations/Drawbacks: I know what you're thinking, and I'm telling you now that it's wrong: water does not fry him. Short-circuiting occurs in a circuit-board. Point A carries 5 volts to point B. Point C carries 10 volts to point D. When water gets into the circuit-board, it gets everywhere and there are no longer any channels. So 10 volts from point C gets sent to point B, which is only capable of handling 5 volts. Point B gets fried, along with various other points, and the whole circuit shuts down. Peter doesn't have circuits. His entire body is an electrical boat. Now with that lesson out of the way, I will say that water provides complications regardless. For starters, he can't swim. He's too heavy. Water is conductive because of the minerals it carries, so water can mess up the direction and degree of control in which he can send the electricity. To clarify, let's take an obscure scenario so it gives you an idea what water does: a ball of water is suspended in the air. Peter's hand is in the water. He points out his finger and tries to shoot lightning. But it goes nowhere and nothing really happens. That's because the conductive water interrupts the flow of electricity and conducts it. Of course, lots of electricity creates lots of energy which can cause the water to evaporate, but it's still like an insulator. Being in water can still get you killed. Being in water can suck away the electric charge in Peter's hollow metal body. Rubber blocks electrical currents, of course. And quite frankly, strong electrical attacks like bolts and whatnot actually require a lot of electricity for Peter to use, which he must accumulate enough of through his natural generator (which will take a long time), or redirect a current to him by grabbing wires or something. Being struck by lightning or being overloaded wouldn't kill him, but it would cause stress on him if he doesn't dispel it. Peter lacks any form of regeneration and all damage is permanent provided there isn't someone capable of creating repairs through means of manipulating metal. Fortunately, he's pretty durable as is, but he is not indestructible.

Jordan Otgonbayar

Basic Information

Name:

Jordan Otgonbayar; “Jordy”, “Sloth”

Age:

18

Gender:

Male

Appearance & Attire:

Jordy is a meandering boy, 5'9”, 144 lbs, plush and squishy build, and a slouching spine that gives a portrait of a much shorter height than what he possesses. His skin is tanned, but in a genetic sense, and he looks as though he could be darker if he spent time in the sun. Slanted brown eyes and rounded face, from the dominant Mongolian heritage on his father's side, and with Hawaiian and Spanish blood on his mother's side. As implied before, Jordy is fairly plump given his lack of activity, and he won't be scaring off any bullies any time soon. In fact, he looks as though he is in a daze most of the time, and any threats might not register to him. You can see it in him, too – he is as relaxed as a person can be. He takes his time with everything.

He has black hair in a bowl cut that sits above bushy and untrimmed eyebrows, but you wouldn't realize it, because it is always shaggy and looks as though it has gone without a good combing, like Jordy had just rolled out of bed. He has a pushed-in nose and shallow nose bridge, but one trait of himself he especially like is his jawline. He claims you could cut glass with it. Some flaws are to be expected with a pile of lazy bones – chewed up nails, sometimes with dirt under them, some spots on his skin from an imperfect complexion, off-white teeth – his top left buck tooth looking like two teeth because of biting down on something hard, causing a crack right down the center.

His attire is incredibly simplistic, so if you're considering the gift of clothes, it won't be hard to please him. He always wears the same kind of clothes. Jordy prefers to go around where nothing on his torso but a hoody, since they're baggy and soft to touch. He often layers over that the same old army-green field jacket if he doesn't feel warm enough. Next, it would seem the only kind of pants he wears are sweats, baggy light blue jeans, and cargos. On his feet, going anywhere, are flip flips. If it's cold, don't even expect him to put on sneakers. Wool toed socks and flip flops. If it's too cold for flip flops, he'd sooner not go at all because of how it'd be too much effort on his behalf. Even his clothes look worn down and perhaps in need of replacement soon. But don't expect that to happen.

Skills/Talents:

Honestly, Jordy lacks the drive to do things and learn that he likes them. He isn't particularly good at anything because of his lack of motivation and patience to work at being good at something. He has his hand dipped in a couple of things once, said he enjoyed, but never pursued further. One thing he is good at, for sure, is a fair bit of comedy, since he does like talking to people. As for an actual skill, he is savvy enough to work conversations well and evading responsibility – so he's a pretty sly politician for what it's worth, but neither is that a field he would eagerly jump into.

Brief Backstory:

His dad is in the American navy, so his family is a bit worldlier out of necessity. Pops met ma when he was stationed at a harbor in Hawaii, and the rest was history. Their family had low-middle class wealth and got by with a couple of leisures that they could afford from time to time; a curious idea that Jordy's old man, who was rigidly disciplined in one of the world's most successful militaries, could raise a boy that would slack off so often. A rage inducing trait and Jordy has his fair share of scars from it. Cigar burns and bruises, cut lips, and despite the undeniably abusive trials of his life, he kept a firm head up. At the end of his punishments, he'd always stare his old man in the face and smile, then shrug – years of this and the abuse ended, and the father just letting Jordy do what Jordy does. Ironically, their relationship improved after all of it, though it became more of a friend-to-friend relationship than a father-son one. Jordan never bore a grudge and he still doesn't speak ill of his dad. He tells it as it is: the man beat him until it was pointless, and then they became friends. Jordy never mentions the hard times, hiding the insinuation that the abuse had actually gotten to him a number of times. He never did like showing his vulnerable emotions to other people.

His relationship with his mother was significantly different. She never approved of the abuse, and got into fights with his father often over it. Jordy would always console his mother after these arguments. Truly, they were each other's emotional support and were always there for each other. He still slacked, and his mother, too, was frustrated with his laziness, but saw sooner than his father did that fighting him was useless. They did finally come to the agreement that they'd stay out of his affairs, or lack thereof, if he at least kept his slack and clutter to himself and confine it to his own room so that the rest didn't have to suffer for it.

His education was something of a spectacular story. Jordy is remarkably intelligent, let's not lie, but it is overshadowed by his lack of commitment. His grades plummeted because he never did homework, but regardless, he passed every test that was handed to him. He was placed in isolated testing rooms with monitors to make sure he wasn't cheating. He just had a knack for easily absorbing information. Now, as for how anyone could discover a power like Jordan's, it wasn't easy. It took a meta-human terrorist engulfing a street in fire to reveal Jordy's immunity to meta-human energy. He was bathed in flames and was left without as much as a singed strand of hair.

When NEST took him in, and attempted to intimidate him into agreeing to a chip implant, Jordy had no intention of just being cut open. Sounded like way too much work. So he exercised his right to be informed regarding the procedure, and learned about meta-human energy and how his energy didn't match up. So he argued that he couldn't be subjected to this sort of treatment since Jordy didn't fit the qualification of being a pure meta-human. He was released, but his argument is still pending among NEST officials and courts of law. He got off free for now, but dreads the day should they decide he still qualifies and must be implanted with something.

Power Information

Power Class:

Other

Power:

Power Immunity (Passive): Superpowers are charged by meta-human energy that can be harnessed and utilized. Jordy is unique in that he is more like a faux meta-human, as his meta-human energy is negatively charged as opposed to a positive charge, opposing everything that anyone knows about meta energy. This negative charge acts like an aura and cannot be traditionally utilized or harnessed and therefore Jordan doesn't have any real superpower. However, this energy does interact with the energy of other meta-humans in an intriguing way. It negates it effects and renders it inert. This means that anything imbued with a positively charged meta-human energy has zero effect on Jordan's person.

To clarify Jordan is imbued with some of the essence of its creator. That essence is broken down when it comes into contact with Jordy and he receives no harm from it. It doesn't matter if you bathe him in an endless stream of fire, he'll suffer no foul. This goes for even ingesting poisons generated from powers. The toxins are imbued with meta-human energy and are broken down the moment it touches him. Powers that cloak its user, such as invisibility, are negated on contact with Jordy allowing him to see the person invisible. Even powers that don't make any form of contact – as long as they're directed at him – are rendered inert, such as telepathy or telekinesis. The negative energy blocks them out like an impenetrable wall.

Limits:

This energy only negates powers directed at him or powers that come into contact with him. He cannot “turn off” an individual's power at will, for instance. Also, the energy doesn't protect him from the consequences of powers. Someone with super-strength can throw objects at him and he'll still be in severe danger. A pyrokinetic can set the forest on fire – the original flames, he will be immune to, but the other trees that catch fire from the heat generated from the first will be dangerous to him. If a terrakinetic splits the earth, there's still a gaping hole in the ground he can fall down. Invisibility doesn't target Jordy, so while contact with an invisible target will render them visible as his energy eats theirs, he can't see them if they're away. Their energy will also soon replenish itself and they can turn invisible again after contact.

Genetic powers – powers that affect the body on a cellular level – are trickier. Titus MacArthur can swing a punch at Jordy. Jordy won't receive the full force of his wrathful barrage, but that doesn't change the fact that somebody is punching him in the face. The effect received depends on how strong they would be based upon their body type, or what their body type would be if they didn't have their power. People don't have tails either, so if a lizard friend were to smash their fifth appendage against his chest, it would feel as though he received a blow from one of their limbs back in their original form, at the same muscle density ratio of their tail to their body.

Weaknesses/Drawbacks:

This energy cannot be turned off. While this might seem inconsequential, beneficial superpowers do not affect him either. Transferring invisibility or healing him does nothing. So any supernatural means of helping him is out of the question.

Relationships

Family:

Tenjin Otgonbayar, Father
Veronica Otgonbayar, Mother

Dynamics:

New student

Other

• Expect nothing to get done. Will I even post as him? No one knows.
• Lazy? Absolutely. Robotic? Nah, mate, you're in for a surprise when all of the world's pressure starts piling down on him thinking he's Beowulf or something.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sIxAwYpnLUU

Andrea Pasternack

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▼ | B A S I C I N F O R M A T I O N : |

▸ N A M E : | Andrea Pasternack
▸ N I C K N A M E / A L I A S : | Eleven (11), Kintsugi
▸ G E N D E R : | Female
▸ A G E : | 22
▸ H E I G H T : | 5'9"
▸ W E I G H T : | 116 lbs.
▸ H O M E D I S T R I C T : | New Raygate, Prince Ed-Field

▼ | A P P E A R A N C E: |

▸ H A I R C O L O R : | Blonde
▸ E Y E C O L O R : | Hazel Blue
▸ E T H N I C I T Y : | Mostly Polish, Swedish, and some Finnish and Norwegian. Lots of Slavic blood.
▸ P H Y S I C A L A P P E A R A N C E : | Since a young age, Andrea has developed beyond her years. She stand taller than many women, though not all, and even some other boys her age. Long, naturally wavy bright blond hair you'd see was well taken care of, but still appears a little bit brittle, and is further accentuated by hazel blue eyes and pale skin, and just as often done up with makeup so that her skin appears to possess an even skin tone without the underlying blood and veins creating pictures on her skin. Her complexion, otherwise, gives you the impression that she was quite the beauty - and still is - but there is something else present in her face that'd give away a history with struggle. Where perhaps she passed through a dark time in her life and is coming back from it. Faintly noticeable, but ever-present bags sit under her eyes. Not wrinkles, but something that makes her skin look as though it's being stretched tight. Pink but dehydrated lips and a tired expression, always trying to mask it with a kind, faint smile where tries to keep her mouth closed to hide the barely yellowed teeth. No scars on her face or freckles to speak of, though there are puncture scars on her arms. She wears a little button nose on her heart-shaped face, the left nostril of which is adorned by a piercing with the littlest diamond you ever did see. She also has earring studs, one on each lobe. Other adornments includes a silver band on her left hand and red polish on her fingernails, giving it a clean looking guise, but closer inspection reveals that she picks at it. Perhaps the result of a nervous tick?

Her frame is petite and slender, with breasts at 28E and legs for days. She lacks enough upper strength to be even remotely threatening though, and while she can carry most of the stuff she'll ever need to carry, nobody will be asking her to do the lifting for them. Most of her workout routine is concerned about jogging and yoga. It keeps her cardio up and figure right, but not much more than that aside from the mental therapy they provide. Despite her efforts to maintain her health, however, her actual body still appears thin. Pronounced collarbones suggest, while perhaps naturally sharp, could not be so sharp that they exist the way they do without Andrea lacking some musculature. The same goes for other areas of her body - shoulders, hands, hips, knees, ankles, her cheekbones - no amount of exercise can allow her to gain weight if she lacks the appetite to fuel that activity. She is not so skinny that she appears anorexic, but she isn't packing heat, instead moving what something resembling a dancer's grace.

When she speaks, she does so with a fairly heavy Polish accent - and it can be clearly seen that there are some pronunciations that she struggles with, such as the differences between sheep and ship, kiss and keys, lid and lead, to the point where they sound alike to one another. Andrea's method of speech is rather soft-spoken and gentle, doesn't quite project very much to cover distance or be heard over others (much to her chagrin). However, she is deliberate and thoughtful. She chooses her words carefully and considers what she has to say before she says it, as if weighing it in a scale in her mind.

Despite her looks and body type, she doesn't dress provocatively at all and so she is spared from sexualization at first glance. She might dress in "sexier" clothes behind closed doors if she's just doing it for herself and doesn't plan on going out, but otherwise, they aren't necessarily staples of her wardrobe. Typically, she is fitted with a black wool peacoat when she goes outdoors, buttoned all the way down, even on somewhat warm spring or autumn days, as it serves as something like a security blanket. Underneath, one of her favorite outfits is one that serves it purpose in both casual and professional environments. It could be any color of blouse tops, short sleeved, long sleeved, button-up or v-necked, it didn't matter - with a buckled strap going around her waist and it's usually tucked into a black laced pencil skirt, and is sometimes in different colors depending on the occasion - other lower garments may include formal pants, long skirts, and if she's relaxing at home or in a super casual environment, very billowly, loose, "feels-like-you're-wearing-nothing", comfortable skirts, dresses, etc. Underneath, she always has black leggings or yoga pants and she prefers to wear shoes or boots with thick cuban heels. Somewhere in her wardrobe are some jeans or other tougher clothes, but it isn't very often that she finds the day calling for that unless it's really cold.

▼ | P E R S O N A L I T Y : |

▸ I N N A T E & O U T W A R D : | What we have today are remnants of what she used to be. You can still see the sun shining through the cracks, and she seems to glow a little brighter each day than the last. A couple years ago, she might have been louder, haughtier, more entitled and very much naive. But now you have a girl who has been humbled and jaded. She's soft-spoken. Delicately gentle. Timid. Sensitive to a fault, where she holds people's opinions of her in too high a regard, but she's also someone who's appreciative and generous. There's an air of wisdom around her, the kind that people have to suffer for, but she has always been sweet and kind. She is liberal with her love and willing to share it with people around her. She's got the heart of a mother, trying to protect people she cares about, even people she doesn't, and a particular soft spot for children. She tries to dole out as much advice as she can to keep people on the right path, and one of the first few things people think about after they're subject to such behavior is "what the shit has this girl been through that she's acting this way?"

A history of substance abuse tore her apart, and it took the Promise to build her back up. Even every now and again, she falls in this little pit of despair that she tries to not let other people see. When people build her up, she tears herself down. So guilty a conscience that she apparently seeks to punish herself even when others tell her what happened wasn't her fault. She's quick to forget about the positive reinforcement she receives and latches onto the negative. It's not that she doesn't value it. She does, and she exercises gratitude every day and deliberately tries to find reasons to like herself, but she ends up losing her way while walking through those woods. Her biggest wish is to just feel normal again, and feeling like the outcast out of everyone she meets feels like torture. She clings to the Christian values she was raised with, but her faith has since shattered. She finds it hard to believe in a God, or in a God who loves her, but the teachings of Christ are something dear to her. They tell her that everyone is worth saving. They told her that when Jesus sat with pariahs. With the beggars and whores, the bastards - all of them. She wants to believe there's still a chance for her, so she still carries on while trying to love thy neighbor, not be the judge of a person's worth, and sharing what she has. She wants to believe that being kind and remaining true to herself is all it takes to show herself worthy of the life she was given. She tries not to get involved in political discussion with people, since she has no desire to argue, but it follows that she votes liberally and progressively.

Despite her history, still don't make the mistake in believing the "dumb blonde" stereotype. She became the valedictorian of her high school one year with a 4.5 GPA and 126 IQ, and was accepted into Yale University to practice criminal law. While tragedy struck that forced her to drop out in her second year, she very well could have kept going if she were remain devoted and drop other responsibilities. Book smart, nuance savvy, knows three languages, and is politically aware, she's a girl whose wits you don't want to challenge. While she's no human calculator (closer to being a human dictionary TBH), she could probably debate circles around you if she wanted to. As suggested by a successful high school career, she's good at scheduling and juggling priorities. Also musically and artistically minded according to her penchant for singing, love for acting and theater, and painting. Singing is something that can be practiced at all times, but the latter two had to be fit into her busy schedule with careful time management.

It takes a lot to rile her up. She'd sooner shut down or dodge drama when she can, but she has been through too much and understands all too well what it's like being on the bottom rung to let it happen to other people, and certainly not to watch another berate them for it. It's a passionate anger that makes her lose sight and perspective, and it's embarrassing for her when it happens. She can also be a hypocrite sometimes. She is the first one to give people her condolences and sympathy, but she hates pity. She could appreciate it when she was first entered into the academy and in dire need of help, but she's in recovery now and trying to be on her way to being normal again. The last thing she wants now is people's pity. She wants to move on, not to remain in her past. She can even be a little bit cruel, unprecedentedly so, when the victim of her lashing out was just unfortunately unaware or oblivious, only trying to do what they thought was best and offer their condolences. Andrea knows she's in the wrong when this happens, but she struggles trying to control or even contain her emotions

Ultimately, she is a generous girl who means well. She's loyal to kind hearts, and she loves unconditionally. If you're looking for a friend, you'll scarcely find one more devoted and understanding.

▸ H O B B I E S / I N T E R E S T S: | As suggested, Andrea always had a love for academics and the arts. An avid reader, lover of language and music and poetry, of theater, different cultures, and so on. If she isn't spending time at headquarters, you may find her at home reading peacefully or painting while listening to gentle music. She gave up on acting some time ago and does get nearly as immersed in it as she once did. However, she is also so immersed in her new work that she clings to it desperately as sometimes it's like the only thing that feels normal, and because of this, can just as likely be found continuing whatever work she did that day at home - whether it be filing or studying up on the latest political nightmare. She also has a great love for board games.

▸ S K I L L S / T A L E N T S : | Andrea is as sharp as they come. A quick learner who naturally absorbs information like a sponge, combined with extensive investigation and study techniques, and a scholar's discipline, she can latch onto new ideas and concepts and make them her own. Give her one night to study something; whether it be a subject, a crime scene, records - you name it - she'll give you a stack of papers the next morning. Andrea is also trilingual, demonstrating a linguistic intelligence that suggests good listening, reading, discussion, and debate. English is actually her second language and is most comfortable with her native Polish, but can hold fluent conversations in both English and French. In addition, as a law student, Andrea has a great understanding of logic. It is required for communicated ideas fluently and persuasively, and is essential for winning debates, while simultaneously appealing to a jury's moral and emotional sensibilities. While not exactly a proud skill, a history in acting does enable Andrea to be rather proficient in deception, though she insists on honesty being the best policy. Even some talent in painting shows that she has an eye for detail. Still, all these skills and abilities used in junction would enable her to spy if she so chose, but she prefers to support DOVE in their legal endeavors. However, if DOVE required her to be out in the field to gather and analyze some raw data, she would have too little power in her hands to refuse them.

▸ G O A L S / M O T I V A T I O N : | All of Andrea's former goals and aspirations fizzled away. Now all she really wants is for life to return to normal and to rehabilitate herself. Lesser goals, such as fighting the rise of the Happiness drug, come and go.

▸ H I S T O R Y / B I O : | Andrea's story is one of a girl who was set up for success in every possible way, but lost everything. Growing up, Andrea was completely unaware of her own privileged life, and how lucky she has been for the majority of it. She was born to a Christian high-middle class family in Poland. They could afford good schools. Andrea was working early, she learned how to drive, was raised faithful, and she learned English and French on top of her native language. Hard work carried her to be her high school's valedictorian. She had boyfriends, broke her heart a couple times, and moved on. All the while, she had multiple opportunities made available to her such as offers for placements in a couple different commercials by different producers with the help of her loving family - oh, and she could sing. Everything was essentially handed to her on a silver platter, and that is not to knock her own intelligence down, no. She was smart and balanced her early life out nigh perfectly. In the senior yearbook, was voted Most Likely to Succeed. Amidst all this fortune and the popularity she had in school, it didn't do much to alter her nature. She's naturally been a sweet-tempered and reasonable girl, if a bit naive of her place and the place of others in the world. She denied the existence of her privileges and good fortune and insisted that she has worked hard to earn what she has – which may be true to some degree, as she is no stranger to responsibility, but it's clear that a lot of things in her life has been handed to her on a silver platter, and she is currently on the beginning of a long road that's keen on not giving a single damn about "all the good things" she's accomplished. Right outside of high school, the world is very different.

Right out of high school, not even a legal adult yet, and Andrea already had high expectations of where she planned to go, but she was determined to smash those barriers. She wanted to travel to the United States to pursue law at Harvard, which was a massive undertaking on its own. At the same time, she also wanted to balance with it an acting career, which would help pay for the expenses. Then the heavy hand of reality squashed her Legally Blonde fantasies: despite valedictorian status and scholarships, Harvard never replied to her applications. She went down the list applying, and all the while also auditioning for acting gigs so that she wasn't wasting her time. Oxford? No. Cambridge? No. Stanford? No. She got only small gigs playing extras in commercials. Submitting submission after submission, at this point only waiting to see if one of the big colleges notice her, she eventually got acceptance at Yale University in the US. The university was prestigious in its own right, but it didn't make Andrea feel very special after being ignored so many times. Still, she persisted through Yale, where she sought to practice public law and become an attorney

Trying to balance her life became challenging when she was on her own in Yale. She survived her first year, but entering her second year of university, she was caught like a tight-rope between trying to survive, succeed in school, and salvage an already drowning acting career. She was being stretched thin. She felt herself falling apart at the seams with her pushing herself far beyond what she was capable of. She refused to let go of acting and "come back to it later". She had no family around to support her. They could give her money, but they couldn't give her more hours in the day. She was barely sleeping, always hungry, until one "concerned friend" wanted to give her something that'd help pick her up in no time, claiming that it was ten times better than coffee. Andrea was desperate and she didn't want to think about what it was, and it only struck her when it was too late after she ingested crystal meth. The magnitude of the situation she found herself in was overwhelming, and she didn't want to accept that she did it. She tried to ignore it, but the addiction swooped in and snatched her up. It might have helped at first. It might have started like, "well, one more tiny hit couldn't hurt," but in no time at all her grades were already plummeting as this new addiction started taking over. It was during a particularly bad trip that her powers manifested and she began seeing crazy ass phantoms and things were being moved by her mind. She thought she was going absolutely insane, or maybe it was just a really bad trip. It got so bad, though, that she ended up dropping out entirely. She couldn't support paying for college. She could't support her own addiction. Any chances at landing good jobs in acting completely shriveled up. She had nearly no marketable skills and she practically turned homeless overnight - and she still had no idea what it was she was seeing. The drugs she took helped her to ignore them. She didn't know what to do. She just knew she had to survive, and she was desperate... so she did what she could and sold her body on the streets of Bridgeport; occasionally hitching rides that eventually brought her to New York.

It was a vicious cycle. A vicious cycle that lasted only four months. In a mere four months, everything she wanted was taken. Everything she stood for was stripped. She didn't feel like the same person, she felt dirty and sinful and suicidal. Her faith shattered. She was afraid. Her powers were inexplicable. The money she made was just enough to feed her and fuel her addiction to meth and at some point, cocaine and heroine fell into the mix. All throughout it, constantly daydreaming about the life she originally aimed for. In a mere four months, everything she used to be she felt was dead. But as far as the governments were concerned, she was still a registered person. A meta, even if she was a druggy... and she was randomly chosen. Why they hadn't decided to rescind that order is mystery to her to this day, but whatever they thought they were doing, they thought they were saving her: a young drug-addicted girl. When she was first sent somewhere cold to be entered into the 218 Academy program, their first action was to detox her and put her in rehabilitation programs alongside her usual classes. It was agonizing. She couldn't imagine what it would have been like for a person doing this for multiple years, but whatever medicine they were pumping into her was burning her insides. It wasn't long before all the substances were gone, but the psychological damages remained. From the addiction, to the depression - what she has done to herself has traumatized her. She wanted nothing more to punish herself, but the faculty insisted that it wasn't her fault. They promised her that they'd put her back on the road to recovery and assign her a particular teacher that might be able to help her through these motions - and at the same time, help her to understand the powers she has. All she could do was cry tears of relief.

Since then, she has ran through all the trials that her four years of 218 had to offer, and graduated from the academy. She has gotten healthier with each passing day and is finding new reasons to keep on smiling, each a step towards self-mastery. Her old nature is beginning to resurface, and her very sensitive history has gotten her into some personal conversations and relationships with the 218 personnel, endearing herself to many of the teachers as they become more familiar with one another. Even in her first year, she has gotten to control her powers very quickly compared to many students (though that may be the nature of her abilities with its ease of accessibility). Though many of her darkest emotions are still buried along with the lingering urges of her old addictions, she is finding it easier to find hope in tomorrow and to accept herself and what she has been through. Still, she looks back on her life with regret, and if there was an opportunity to go back and make different decisions that didn't lead her down a path of suffering, to be normal, she'd take it in a heartbeat. Even if it meant never meeting the people she met in the academy... not that'd she ever tell them that. Some of the Japanese students and staff have taken to calling her "Kintsugi" as a pet-name (as well as the fucking weeaboos), after the art of repairing broken pottery by filling the cracks with gold. Those whose favor she's not earned, or those to whom she's the subject of ridicule, have dubbed her as "Icarus" - but few would dare to be so cruel to call her that to her face. Other name-calling includes "Snow" (referring to blow), and "Needles". Aside from Kintsugi, the only name she has come to appreciate is "Eleven" (11), after a character from the television show, Stranger Things.

After her graduation, she was offered an internship within DOVE at their headquarters in Baybridge, where she would likely end up pursuing a legal career within their organization. She took up their offer in a heartbeat, seeing it as a way to get her life as close as being back to normal as she could get it. She uses the academy's charity to pay for the dirt-cheap rent of a shitty apartment in one of the dirty sections of Baybridge, New Raygate, driving an old, tiny little beater car in the form of a '94 Mazda Miata that takes a couple turns of the ignition to get going - but it's better than painting a target on your back and its sustainable provided you get payed a fair wage.

She has been on edge lately, mostly out of fear of this new drug called Happiness. She personally wants to stay as far away from it as possible, but she also seems particularly vehement in her opposition of it. So much that she keeps pressing the issue to her superiors who hold actual titles within DOVE, and goes out of her way to research the topic to advance the fight against it, often interfering with her actual responsibilities as one of DOVE's interns.

▼ | R E L A T I O N S H I P S: |

▸ F A M I L Y: |

Hider

Olenka Pasternack, Mother, 45, & Aleksi Pasternack, Father, 40

Andrea has always had a very close relationship with her parents. Like many teenagers, there might have been rough patches, but Andrea always found herself running back to them when she didn't know what to do - and they were always so happy to oblige. They helped her get a running start on life, indulged her even on some of her wildest fantasies, and maybe spoiled her a little bit. They had the money, combined with what meager earnings she made for herself, to send her to a prestigious university, so they must have had quite the life. However, it's mysterious that they did not try to reach out after Andrea fell off the grid. It's mysterious that she still has not communicated with them sense she left Poland. Part of her is very scared that something may have happened to them, but she doesn't know what.

▸ D Y N A M I C S : |

Hider

| Francis Jean-Pierre |

| Good...ish? | Friendly Acquaintance | "He's nice enough. He's the only who has had any faith in my work so far, so that has to account for something." |

They have only known each other for a short while, and she doesn't know him very well, but Andrea has come to see a familiar face in the RAVEN and appreciation for his honesty and open heart. When everyone else doubted her and made light of her concerns over the Happiness drug, Francis took her seriously. Andrea hopes to prove herself worthy of that trust.

| Meifeng Zhao |

| Not So Good | No Relation | "She has had a long and prestigious career in her field, so I will respect her to that end." |

Andrea had a very rocky start with Meifeng when she was called in to answer questions as a witness for the incident at the Golden Throne. Though it was revealed that she was not actually at the scene, bio scans came in before she left, revealing the monster's tissue was saturated with Happiness. The two butted heads over whether or not that was the answer. The cost of experience is arrogance, and Andrea feels frustrated that the higher ups might have their judgement clouded by it.

| Aaron Chandler|

| Good | Friendly Acquaintance | "He's a gentle soul, and stronger than he gives himself credit for." |

The two have only just met after she helped him recover from a crippling panic attack after the Golden Throne incident. Andrea made a check-up call later after that to see how he was recovering, and was pleasantly surprised by the conversation they had that afternoon. The two have the potential for a supportive platonic relationship with one another provided another few interactions.

▼ | A B I L I T I E S: |

▸ P O W E R C L A S S : | Cerebral; Extra-Sensory
▸ P O W E R : |
Psionic Phantoms?: The exact nature of Andrea's power is hotly disputed among the Academy program's faculty. One popular theory is that Andrea is capable of seeing another plane, so to speak, with bio-luminescent eyes. A plane which exists within our own as an additional dimension of space. Within this plane exists corporeal entities and apparitions. According to this theory, the nature of the apparitions are unique. They exist as a streaming consciousness existing within a polydimensional temporal plane, and between units of time – thusly invisible to anyone else. It's been suggested that they are made of an electrically active gas, and while mostly inert, are inexplicably bonded together ionically – it held up that this high-energy being was able to pass information along so easily, as though they were made up of neurons. Perhaps the true power is the ability to see them and the mental link Andrea shares with them, but the apparitions are no less incredible. It's claimed that these "spirits" possess incredible cerebral-type powers, from telekinesis to telepathy to mind-linking, chaining the consciousness of multiple people together through a third party.

While the apparitions are incapable of speech and verbal communication, in theory, as well as intangible with three dimensional objects, they are capable of carrying out simple tasks and understanding her communication. This includes scouting out a particular area and retrieving information that Andrea can utilize as he sees fit; this gives her the appearance of a pseudo-omnipresence in her environment. To a certain degree, Andrea is even able to control them, or at least influence them and their decisions, via a mental link to make those kinds of demands. This mental link also grants her a form of protection from some psychic and telepathic abilities. When telepathy is used on her or if anyone is infiltrating her mind in any way, the apparitions sense another presence in Andrea, and therefore becomes hostile at the alien presence in their environment. Deafening shrieking and wailing provides a defense mechanism that will hurt and hopefully ward away the invader, but at the same time, will also harm Andrea in the process. The screaming is so loud and endless and chaotic, that people's ears will begin bleeding in mere seconds.

These apparitions can project psionic energy at a target. They essentially feel like sudden blasts of concussive force from an air cannon, which, individually, can stagger a person. When you've got multiple apparitions lining up to wreck havoc upon whatever catches their interests - blast after blast after blast - they can eventually reduce a car into sheet metal. It is also assumed that, as apparently sentient creatures, they need sustenance. Seeing as how nobody is dropping dead, they aren't preying on us. Rather, they may be just feeding off the energies that radiate from us, or harmless surface thoughts. The theory goes that if you suddenly forgot what you were going to say or do, or inexplicably forgot a minor detail or can't find the word you're looking for, that's the apparition's doing. In addition, they also feed off the psionic powers of other cerebral metahumans. Instantly detecting and reacting to that delicious energy, gradually sapping the power of their ability when it is used. Telekinetics find that their power or strength is weaker than they normally are when around her, or perhaps a telepath projects a mental barrier, they can feel it whittling down and getting gradually weaker. This doesn't apply to mind-reading though, we already know what happens then. As it usually instantly inserts your mind into theirs, and the reaction to a possibly dangerous intruder has greater priority than getting a snack.

Accesible Psychic Interface?: The second theory appeals better to those who are reluctant or too afraid to accept the possibility of extra-planar creatures, ghosts, or aliens - what have you - living alongside us. Instead, they approach the topic from a different perspective. Cerebral powers manifests differently in different metahumans, and it is possible that how it developed in Andrea allows her to interact with her psychic abilities in a more out-of-body way and the development of glowing eyes simply might be her being able to see her own meta-human/psionic energy flowing around her. Whereas a archetypal psychic would simply move things with their mind, Andrea either subconsciously created a medium or interface to perform these feats, or the powers manifested that way on their own by creating the interface without psychological interference. But the results are the same: flexible psychic telekinetic and telepathic abilities. While perhaps not powerful enough to lift impossibly heavy objects or structures like tractor trailers (or at least not yet), the interface allows her to subconsciously multi-task a huge variety of objects. The phantasms are innumerable, and the limit to the number of small, insignificant objects she can lift have not yet been met. However, it is worth noting that the number of objects decreases depending on the weight of the objects she has to lift. This could be due to the number of phantasms in her interface that she commits to lifting a certain object or prying into a certain person's mind.

In addition to those feats, if she is not operating through real ghosts, then this theory's attempt at covering her psuedo-omniawareness is to suggest she has the power of scrying. To look through her mind's eye and watch a certain location, or detect the presence of people around her by just barely listening in to surface thoughts of those around her. Not quite reading minds per say, but sensing mental presences in the area. Her ability to be aware of multiple things at once, if not through ghosts, can connect multiple consciences together where she is the crossroads where these consciences meet. It is assumed that it can be done through her sharing her mind with two consenting parties as a sort of forum for them to nearly instantly share thoughts and feelings and emotions. What lends so much credence to this theory as opposed to the phantasm theory is the wear and tear this puts on Andrea. She can only do that so often before exhaustion sets in, her nose starts bleeding, and she starts getting dizzy. The mind can only handle so many thoughts and feelings at once, and doing it too often - even scarcely enough so it won't apparently damage her - can still trigger periods of depression or bipolar disorder. As for the screaming - well, Andrea has been through a lot. It is entirely possible that her ability to sense mental presences could allow her to sense when one is occupying the same space as hers, and that it is an automatic subconscious response to danger as to hide her insecurities.

Assuming theory number two is the truth behind her power, then there's an intriguing, if somewhat off-putting, detail about it. If her ability to sap psionic energies or drain it unconsciously, then some part of it must be caustic in some way. Not that it attacks living tissue or anything, but there's an observable effect on how it passively interacts with other psychic energies and minds. It runs parallel with the theme of her psychic abilities, that being it's very defensive oriented and that it deals with gradual effects. A single tick, shall we call it, of her power isn't too impressive. For instance, a single blast doesn't do much damage, but one after another, or a sudden barrage of many smaller ticks can ravage her target. It doesn't seem to rejuvenate her at all, so it must only weaken rival cerebrals.

Schizophrenic Psychic?: There was no shortage of people in the academy, whether they're student or faculty, that sees Andrea and thinks she's crazy. With her power, it's come to be expected. She's accepted that. Their ignorance is no skin off her bones. But for people who have heard about her history, or have read up on her may not say it out in the open, but would pin her craziness on her history with substance abuse. It's a judgmental point of view that doesn't make people popular, because Andrea is still one of the sweetest and generous people her friends know, and no one would be so cruel to suggest that in front of her... but that doesn't mean they don't exist. The third theory entails her just being a ridiculously powerful psychic that has gone nuts with the drugs frying her brain, making her too dangerous to keep on premise. There are some people who are so afraid of these rumors flying around that they probably would jettison her out of an airlock if they had an opportunity to do so. Cerebrals are dangerous to keep around at the best of times. Her claims of seeing ghosts just gives her haters ammunition to use against her.

▸ L I M I T S | W E A K N E S S E S : |
It's difficult to determine what her limits are. What is known is that accumulative weight does have an effect on her capability to telekinetically manipulate objects. What has so far been observed is that slight noticeable changes was observed when she was asked to lift a three hundred pound object and a large amount of insignificant, miscellaneous items (pens, pencils, paper clips, etc.). While she could lift all of the miscellaneous items in the room, putting a three hundred pound object in the mix gave her visible signs of strain. When asked to instead lift a five hundred pound weight, she was found to lift fewer objects. The five hundred pound weight could also be held in unison with the three hundred pound weight, but with much fewer miscellaneous items - she preferred that she didn't. If she were to focus all of her energy into a single object, she learned that she could lift even a small car, though truthfully, it only hovered above the ground. With her in her second year, and more in control of her powers, the limits have gotten higher. The only real limits that haven't changed is her inability to move energy around (she could lift a paper that was on fire, but not the fire itself) and telepathy. Try listening to more than one conversation at a time, or reading more than one book at a time. While she can multi-task and perform actions in the background, you need to pay attention and focus on a single book or person if you plan on actually reading or listening.

A grand total of fifty feet might be the maximum distance for any command to be carried out and executed in a time efficient manner, whereas a hundred foot would be her total maximum range. Apparitions will only travel so far from their original position for one reason or another. Whether it be them trying to protect the source - being Andrea - or her own unconscious mind keeping something nearby as a safety precaution. Beyond fifty feet, there will be some pretty noticeable lag in the execution of her powers, as though it has a travel time. In addition, it will be of less severity. Whether it be the ability losing energy over this distance, or fewer apparitions moving to fulfill the execution of the command as they stray too far from their initial position is indiscernible.

Her weaknesses are more defined however. Electromagnetism can disrupt her ability to focus on thoughts, like how throwing a rock in a pond creates ripples and it becomes harder to see your reflection. In addition to that, it also depends on who she is reading. If your power allows you to think at the speed of a super computer, keeping up with all that information would feel impossible. When putting a subject in a lead-lined room, Andrea was completely unable to detect that the person was even there. Her inability to control energy is a limit, but when confronted with a meta who would wish to do her harm, it becomes a weakness. Controlling gases is also nearly impossible for her. Seizing free floating matter is very difficult for her to grasp, like trying to grab smoke, but having it slip between her fingers. She can influence its flow, but she wont be able to hold it. The self-defense mechanism of psionic screaming whenever another presence occupies her mind doesn't just hurt the invader. It hurts Andrea, too. These screams are so terrible that, if lasting even as long as five seconds, her and her invader begin bleeding from the ears. But it's not even the ears being damaged, rather, a very intense sensory overload on the brain. Linking consciences together is also incredibly draining to Andrea for reasons already explained, and she can very easily begin bleeding from the nose from the process.

Her incredible multitasking can take her attention off of herself if she is carrying a lot of items around. Like, an absurd amount of items. Until that point, she is still aware of herself and surrounded, but the more she carries, the more spaced out she appears. She's still aware of her surroundings, but her focus on simply controlling the objects and where she plans on taking them can make her forget to think about herself. Part of this can be subsided if she can take the focus on the specific movements of objects. If she's making simple motions and patterns, like say making tornado of debris around her or a group of people, she is able to divide her attention to focus on her own safety. That wouldn't take much to maintain. Most she'd have to do, really, is think about the spinning motion of a ceiling fan and go with the flow.

▼ | O T H E R : |

• This incarnation of Andrea was actually inspired by Ed Sheeramn's "The A Team". Regardless of musical taste, the song tells a good story.
• The first draft of Andrea was that she was more like a prom queen than a girl who reached too far and fell down. Part of her personal arc was discovering what the real world was like outside her petty high-school life. She was still a good girl, but she was totally ignorant of the sort of privileges she had and naively believed that she worked hard for everything she had. The song inspiration for her then was "Hollywood" by Marina and the Diamonds.
• She has a peculiar behavior that doesn't quite fit within her personality section. If you're watching her, it's almost as though her eyes are trailing something, or looking at things that aren't there. She's also alarmingly good at guessing whatever's on your mind and she always seems to find the person she's looking for in a crowd. It's nearly impossible to sneak up on her. She doesn't advertise her powers like some people do and uses it mostly for the sake of practicality in every day life - but without due explanation, she appears to be a special kind of strange if not the least bit crazy.

Baybridge: Old Ghosts [COMPLETED]

Reyna Baker, Auri Auclair, Arianna, & Archie Davis.

_{Written in collaboration with @Mr Allen J@JunkMail@SepticGentleman}

---

Silver Hills, Strong Gold Community.

Everything was falling into place, for Ari.

Ari had gotten a taxi to her destination, as the only car she had was stolen (and she was fairly certain that there would be RAVEN operatives on-site). And now, she was meeting up with the Spider Society, and namely- Auri.

---

"This celebration is excellent, wouldn't you say, sister?"

Lillian of the Croquetaigne sisters spoke to her twin sister in French. They were in the VIP area, as expected of people of such importance as the White Spider Society. Though, they were secluded from the rest of the group. Too many people were too "proud" to even associate with.

Even though many of the people here are clients.

"Yes, it is." Viollette tapped glasses with Lillian, and the two sipped their wine. With their tall, bodyguard, standing over them with her arms crossed. Jasmine Lloyd. One of the Metahumans who were attacked by the Pure during the nonsense. Now their loyal bodyguard.

Loyal as money could buy, of course.

"Say," Viollette started off. "Where is Miss Auclair at?"

Lillian threw a thumb towards the front entrance of the building, and softly spoke, "... She's "meeting a friend.""

Both sisters rolled their eyes.

---

Just as the Croquetainge sisters stated, Auri was waiting at the entrance of the nice house that Jiao-Long assigned for his VIP guests. It was great that Auri managed to get them in despite their... professions. Yet, everyone was throwing them funny looks. Auri herself was waiting for Ari to show up. Auri herself would be hard to miss wearing a fancy red dress that ended a bit above her knees. She had a golden necklace on with diamonds at the end. She omitted her glasses this time - choosing to wear contacts.

When Ari approached, there was an obvious difference in dress level. While Auri had a red dress, Ari wore a red skirt, and a strapless black top adjourned by a white blazer. She was already taller than Auri, but with black leggings and heels, she stood several inches taller than her friend.

"Sorry for the wait." Ari said, accentuating her accent for socialization's sake. "I hope you weren't waiting long."

"Only an hour." Auri said with a smile on her face. Obvious that she was joking. "Hurry, hurry, come in. The party's getting started!"

Ari smiled. Of course it was. She was just arriving.

"Lead the way, love."

Auri nodded her head, and nearly blushed at the love comment. However, she kept her composure, as she pivoted around on one foot, and started walking up the stairs. She opened the door, and stepped inside - holding it open for Ari.

"Thank you-" Ari said, moving through the doorway. She looked around the room, already seeing potential opportunities, but tore her eyes away from the patrons and returned them to Auri.

"If you have business to attend to, I can leave you to your enterprise." she said, shifting her weight onto one leg, and leaning out. "It's not like I can't meet you... after."

"Oh, of course." Auri said with a wide smile on her face. "It's not like we have to stick together like glue - go on, have your own fun." She laughed a little as she stepped off. She stopped as she looked over her shoulder at Ari, "But just don't get into any trouble, mon cheri."

Ari delicately placed her hand on her chest, with her fingers just grazing her collarbones.

"Me? Never."

---

So far, no George Burns had been sighted. Archie had been wandering about, waiting for Ari to pull something, or even just straight up grab him and lead him somewhere to wait for her while she pilfered. You just couldn't know with her.

"Excuse me, sir?"

Archie felt some tapping on his shoulder. He turned his attention to a RAVEN agent standing right behind him, in all the authority his black-colored armor was exuding. Was this Ari? It seemed risky to impersonate an agent, but he'd been surprised by her before. Oh well, best to just go with it. Archie paused for a moment before he proceeded to take out his phone and start typing. Agent obviously wasn't happy with this, as he stated a little more sternly, "Sir." Archie raised his free hand's finger, rather impolitely requesting the agent wait one moment. Seconds later, Archie raised his phone for the agent to read.

What seems to be the problem, officer?

The agent crossed his arms and continued. "Very funny." He said, "Why don't you take that bag off your head and use your words?" Some more typing, coupled with a shred of deviance, and Archie responded.

My long-term physical well-being requires that I keep it on my head at all times.

The agent nodded. "Ah. Meta, right? Part of your 'physical condition'?" He asked, "C'mon, how much would it really hurt?" Not the hundred percent phrasing Archie was hoping for, but close enough. More typing.

It would be extremely painful.

In his head, Archie was snickering like a five-year-old. The agent didn't seem to share in his amusement however. "I'm sure it wouldn't be that bad." He said, confident in his assumption. Again, not the proper phrasing, but Archie made due. This was the closest he was going to get to a moment like this without the other party being aware of what has actually happening. Archie paused for a moment, bracing himself as he typed in the coup de grace. Probably not a very good idea, but damn it, he was not a man to pass something like this up. He showed his phone to the agent once again.

4U.

He'd done it. Finally, after years of waiting for the opportune moment, he'd Bane'd someone in reality. He was honestly hoping it wasn't Ari at this point, else the the moment would have lost its charm. Archie keeled over slightly, pretending to laugh even though he lacked the appropriate orifice for it. The agent, however, was done with the game. He reached forward and grabbed Archie's mask, yanking it off of his head. Immediately, the light show sprung up for all the surrounding event-goers to see. Bright yellow bubbles floating about, like a walking lava lamp. People were definitely staring by now. The agent looked at Archie with a slight look of confusion as he paused, put his hands on his sides, and lightly tapped his foot. He proceeded to type one more word on his phone and show it to the agent.

Rude.

"Well, I don't see you choking to death." The agent replied, "Look, I got a report earlier from a civilian about a-"

Another RAVEN agent moved in, around the same height as the first. Male, tall, and imposing. Athletic build and facial hair to boot. He grabbed the first by the arm and pulled him away from Archie. "We have a situation on the eastern side of the building." He said, turning to face Archie, looking over the man for a moment before deeming that this situation played second-fiddle to the first. He pulled the mask out of the first agent's hand and tossed it to Archie.

"Sorry for the trouble, sir."

As the second agent pulled the first away, it didn't take Ari long to make her own appearance.

"You're welcome."

Archie took a moment to return his mask to its rightful place upon his cranium, the floating, viscous lights flowing into the opening as he brought it down to his collar and fastened the elastic. He immediately went back to his phone and began typing, before showing the screen to Ari.

Yeah, yeah. Where've you been? What's happening?

"Surveying, and making a distraction, to get you out of the shitter." Ari said, nodding in the direction that the previous agents had walked off in. Ari looked normal, or at least, what she normally looked like around him. She stood with her arms crossed and looked half amused, and half frustrated. "Have you put together what you think is the plan, or do I have to tell you?"

More typing followed.

I assume it involves a certain major pharmaceutical figure and his personal belongings. Other than that, I got nothing.

He was deleting these texts as soon as she was done reading them. Wasn't sending them to anyone either, just filling in the window and keeping his thumb away from the 'send' button. He was only this paranoid around her, it seemed.

Ari raised an eyebrow and seemed to think for a moment. "Drugs... brilliant idea! We'll get those too." She said in a low voice. She reached over and grabbed Archie, pulling him out of the main crowd. When they were for the most part situated, Ari grabbed him by the collar and began filling him in.

"Lots of people in here have jewelry. Wedding rings, gold bands, chains made of precious metals, wallets, purses..." Ari listed, catching herself going off on a tangent. She shook her head. "Lets just say that they'll be donating it to the Ari fund."

Very original. And I'm guessing Davis Personal Storage will be participating in this venture as well?

"We've been business partners for years." Ari said, grinning to him. She looked over her shoulder, and then back at Archie. "I'm going to go make a distraction. Stay in the building. I'll find you."

I can hardly wait for the chaos to ensue.

Ari pressed her hand to her lips and blew Archie a kiss before backing off into the crowd. He proceeded to tuck his phone away in his pocket and lean against a wall with his backpack at his side, getting right down to business by doing jack shit.

Times like this, he wished he could whistle.

---

"...And a bit of this... and a bit of that. Some of this, too..." Reyna was muttering to herself. She had a pair of tongs in her hand, filling up a plate in the other - all the while balancing another full plate on her left arm. She utterly intended treating herself with this buffet until she was set to burst. Potatoes, veggies like okra and peas, meats of all kinds, there was no restraint. To think that this Jiao-Long guy was just giving this all away, right? Right?

She didn't have to pay for any of this, right?

An issue to think about for another time. Now she had to think about balancing her meal to a nearby picnic table and go down on these savory, delicious, sons of bitches like she was payed to... thank God she didn't say that out loud.

Reyna procured her plastic cutlery and didn't hesitate a moment before digging in; the long road trip had built up her appetite, it was great to be welcomed with such a banquet.

---

Jackpot.

Across the room, there was a young woman who stuck out like a sore thumb. She had short hair, was around her height, and wore leather. She looked almost like a biker of sorts.

Ari excused herself to the nearest restroom and locked herself in to undergo binary fission. It was a simply, quick process. Similar to stepping in two different directions- but instead of falling or doing the splits, you literally split in two. The two copies stared at one another, and one of them warped, the blazer, skirt, shirt, and otherwise changing colors and reforming into clothing that matched the same style the woman at the table had- leather.

The leather-clad Ari ran her hand through her hair which lengthened like puddy into long black waves, and her lipstick changed from natural to a darker shade of red. She blinked and her eyes went from brown to blue. Her body structure changed from thin-athletic to a slightly more muscular shape, and her skin paled into a more porcelain-esque color. The copies, smiled at one another, and fist-bumped. Then the leather-clad Ari left the restroom, closing the door behind her so the original copy could remain.

So, now she had a target, and a disguise. Now to create the opportunity to rob everyone. Then it hit her.

The RAVEN agents.

Ari's copy rushed towards the general vicinity of her leather-clad target, and scouted the area for anyone in uniform.

Perfect. One of the men from before- the one that had bothered Archie.

Ari's copy waltzed up to the blonde-haired agent, and tapped the man on the shoulder. When he turned around, he very obviously looked her over. She smiled to him.

"I do like a man in uniform." She said, pursing her lips and making a slight popping sound at the end of the word 'uniform'. Her British accent gone. He looked over her shoulder, throwing her hair in an exaggerated fashion. She threw her hand up, motioning to the leather clad woman eating behind her with her thumb.

"My friend over there thinks you're way hot." she said, not taking her eyes off of the RAVEN agent. "Maybe if you're lucky she'll let me have some too, later." She said, giving him a bright smile.

The larger agent behind him, who had pulled him away from Archie pushed him towards Reyna. Ari briefly heard him say "Go for it, man!" as she walked away. Her smile dissolved into a smirk as she made her way back to the restroom. Easy as pie.

---

---

Reyna was doing well for herself in her mission to clear what was on her table, even going so far as muttering to herself a little nursery tune she used to sing for her sister. Taking a spoonful of peas and swallowing it down.

"Sittin' by the roadside on a summer day, chattin' with my classmates passing time away... lying in the shadows underneath the trees, goodness, how delicious eating goober peas..."

It was a silly song, needless to say. Merry liked it, though.

"Haven't heard that old song in quite some time..." Announced the voice of a large ham coming her way. It was one of the RAVENs lurking about.

Reyna slowly squeezed her eyes shut and bowed her head out of embarrassment as she groaned, "Oh... God, no..."

"It goes back quiet a couple years, y'know." He said with a smirk.

"Yep." Reyna simply answered, still not looking at the agent in front of her. She just wished he would go away. "I'm sure you'd know all about that."

"Oh, ouch," the RAVEN replied, but was only amused, "I'm not that old! Still plenty young enough for you..."

Reyna paused, and made a confused expression from under her arms. She slowly raised her head up and looked at the man as though he caught the wrong person. "I'm sorry, just, who are you?"

"Agent Eddy Styles. What's yours, angel?" He said as he sat down on the picnic table in front of her. Reyna subtly pulled her food away from him and toward her in defense. Yeah, she had no idea who this bozo was, and needless to say, not her type. The confidence this guy was exuding was almost gross. Like the green Nickelodeon slime from the 2000's. She set her elbow on the table and propped up her chin with her hand.

"I don't date cops." Reyna casually said, ignoring his question.

"I ain't no cop," Styles purred, "I--"

"You're RAVEN, I know." Reyna interrupted, pointing at the insignia on the man's armor. "It doesn't make you better, though."

"That's not what your friend said." The agent retorted, becoming defensive in retaliation of Reyna's attitude.

Reyna looked at Agent Styles incredulously. "What? Okay, I'm new in town, I don't got any--"

"I can't believe this." The agent grumbled. "Look, you don't get to just lie the second you change your mind and feel like back-peddeling."

Reyna's face went from incredulous and gradually grew angry the more this agent in front of her spoke. She stood up, and set her hands on the table. "Excuse me?"

"You girls always change your mind. You don't know what you're missing."

"What, like you're some hot shit?" Reyna said to him, raising her voice. At this point, she had stood completely up, with one of her feet propped on the bench. She was leaned forward, as though ready to take a leap onto the RAVEN. The people immediately around her was quietly looking on as the argument got more heated. Even his comrades took noticed, and started making cautionary steps forward. He, however, just made a laugh.

"Come on, I'm an agent of RAVEN. Don't ya know who we are?" He boasted. "We kind of are badasses. Check this out..."

A small fireball erupted in his hand. This RAVEN, like many of the others, was a meta-human... and like many of the others, used their traits like weapons. He continued,"I'm even on the squad of the great Hero of Prague."

"I don't give a fuck if you're a Nigerian prince!" Reyna hollered as she threw her jacket down behind her. Her skin was already going red as her adrenaline picked up. "You'll be dickless if you don't fuck off back to your bromo boy band!"

"Come on..." Agent Styles smiled smugly. He was stretching his hands out, preparing to deal with this domestic issue. "Don't do this to yourself."

"Keep talking... and I am going to hurt you." Reyna growled. Her muscles were tight in her fists.

"Try it," he goaded as he leaned forward, "free shot."

Reyna didn't hesitate and immediately took the opportunity to wind back her arm and clocked him right in the nose hard enough to send him staggering backward. The crowd immediately backed away, and even the agent's comrades suddenly took the situation seriously. However, they did not intervene, but stay in standby, confident that
their comrade could handle the situation. Styles recoiled with his hand on his face, but kept his balance. He pulled his hand away, wiping some blood from his nose. He looked back at Reyna who was stepping over the picnic table toward him.

"Come on, pussy!" She yelled at him.

Styles recomposed himself, not yet going to resort to his firepower before his combat training. He took a couple deep breathes.

"I am giving you one chance to surrender now," he said, "before--"

He was answered with another swift jab coming towards him. He immediately shut up and batted her fist away - acknowledging her boxing stance mid-fight and swept his leg hoping to catch one of her feet so he could pin her down, but she reacted quickly by simply lifting her forward foot up and capitalized on his now poor stance by giving the agent a right hook to the left side of his head.

The whole trade moved so quickly it was only a couple seconds that Styles staggered again, having caught his footing once more. He was dazed, but still fine enough to see straight, and looked at Reyna, who was already taking deep breathes. Her skins was flushed, and beads of sweat layed on her skin. She was quick, but was that as hard as she could go? He felt that Reyna was giving it all she had straight from the start. That would be her mistake.

He charged her this time, making a wide punch. He felt if he could use his size and reach to his advantage, he could overwhelm the girl. What he did not expect to feel, however, was what felt like a metal bar hitting the inside of his elbow. Reyna blocked his punch with an incredible amount of force, and now close quarters, headbutt Styles in the nose and used her other arm to elbow him right in the chest. Styles was knocked back and out of breath, with both arm and face in pain. The agent growled in anger, and balls of fire erupted in both of his hands. Reyna marched toward him.

He answered her challenged in a bathe of fire, two small streams gushing out from his hands. The agent expected to see a woman who had forced his hand, blistered in severe burns, soon to be carried out by an emergency response team, and later, a pile of paperwork.

The agent didn't expect to see a flash of the woman before him in the middle of the stream, before a wrenching pain shot through his gut. The fires died down, and Reyna followed this blow with an uppercut to Styles' lower jaw. She pushed him to the ground and landed on his chest with her knees pinning his shoulders to the pavement. With both hands, she was whaling on his face, punch after punch. She yelled at him between each strike.

"Don't you! Ever fucking dare! Look at me! Or any other girl! Again! You fucking! Arrogant! Pig!"

She was just about to lay in the final blow and complete his facial makeover for good.

"... Alright, that's enough." Meifeng quickly caught Reyna's attention the best way she could. She sprayed Reyna with a splurt of water that would be no more threatening than a blast of water from a waterhose. It was ice cold, just to cool the little furnace down. The water, on contact, mostly sizzled, some of it instantly turning into steam, and what remained splashed on her face and ran down her body. The coldness was a shocking, if a touch refreshing feeling on Reyna. She looked up at the new person in front of her. It was built Asian girl, probably not much older than she was - cute were it not for the huge scars. There was Reyna, atop a pinned, unconscious RAVEN, slightly soaked, grabbing onto his collar, and a steady flow of steam was rising from her body.

As Reyna took deep, uneven breathes, looking at Meifeng, a glob of blood dripped from the bruised knuckles her raised fist.

The others had followed behind Meifeng. Baron looked down at the scene and his jaw dropped a bit. "My word..."

Meifeng was going to pin her down, but she felt the heat coming off the girl. She was about to spray her some more, when the other RAVENS finally got off their ass and came over to Reyna. Fortunately, a perk of the RAVEN armor was that it was pretty heat resistant, so they had no trouble with pinning Reyna to the ground, who had opted out of resisting for her own good, and put handcuffs on her. Reyna felt utterly frustrated here. She could take them, she knew she could, but this day already gone so far down the shitter it wasn't worth making it worse.

Why the RAVENs didn't do this earlier was anyone's guess.

"God damn it." Meifeng hissed under her breath as she looked around. "What the hell had happened here."

Lihua had one hand over Lijuan's eyes... she didn't need to see the mess that this redhaired girl had done to the agent. There was a unopened bottle of wine on a nearby table. The owners had long left, which meant they probably wouldn't mind if she pulls it open. She downed a little bit of the red wine, wiping her mouth off with her sleeve.

"... Who the hell let this street rat in here anyway?" Lihua said loud enough for Reyna to hear. "I thought this was VIP... unless brother's security is really that bad." She chuckled a little bit.

"Can't ever trust a RAVEN to do their job right." Reyna called from the ground, faced away from the group. She didn't want to see their stares. She would sit up if she could, only if there weren't two meatheads who were still pushing down on her.

"Okay, what the hell happened here?" Cindy's heels loudly clicked on the ground as she walked into the building. She heard there was a fight going on, and she immediately came fast as she could. She looked around, and saw an unconscious RAVEN, and a twenty-something girl being carted off by RAVENS... She definitely didn't look like a baseline human.

"Wait, hold on." Cindy asked as she reached for her belt. Pulling out a scanner the size (and shape) of a smartphone. She walked over to Reyna, and then knelt down (Which was hard given the heat she was giving off), and ran the device over her skin, and pressed the button.

The machine buzzed red, and Cindy raised an eyebrow.

"She isn't registered." Cindy announced as she put the device back on her belt.

"Good work, Hitler..." Reyna quietly mumbled. The RAVEN on top of her pushed down a bit more, and a bit of sand from the pavement pushed its way into her mouth.

"Erhem..." Jiao-Long said as he took steps towards the DOVE, with his hands folded behind his back, hunched over somewhat. He and Lihua exchanged looks before the man focused on Cindy. "From what my guests say... the RAVEN was harassing the girl for a date and it escalated into a fight." He shrugged. "I was in another room, so I can't tell you what happened from my, ah, perspective."

Cindy immediately facepalmed.

"God damn it...." Cindy groaned. "Not only do we got idiot-one here finding it hard to keep it in his pants, but we got idiot-two here assaulting an officer, unregistered, in a place she shouldn't have even been in the first place."

Cindy shook her head as she pointed towards the RAVENS.

"... Get her out of here, and into a cell." Cindy ordered, and the RAVENS lifted Reyna up, and started carting her off. Reyna couldn't help but have a half-hearted smile. "You can always count on a RAVEN treating their power like a gun," she muttered quietly.

Baron was close enough in ear-shot to hear the words Reyna spoke, but said nothing, only scratching the bottom of his chin. He looked to his side to see Cindy who looked down at the unconscious agent, and knelt down before him, and started looking at his wounds.

"... And someone get him to a hospital for cryin' out loud."

Baron knelt beside Cindy, also taking a look at Agent Styles' face. He brows lowered and eyes widened as he looked to Cindy. "Low velocity splatters, all blunt trauma... and burns? She did all that with just her hands?"

"I gauge that she must be a Super-System type - likely Elemental as well, dealing with heat or fire." Cindy thought out loud. "Either way, we're going to figure out just what she can do in the morning... Maybe a night in a cell will cool her down." She said, irritated.

"In any case, this agent," Baron said urgently, "his breathing is erratic and there's a steady, but slow flow of blood from his mouth. He does have lung damage, likely from a snapped rib, we need to handle him carefully to avoid making his condition worse. As for the woman..."

Baron sighed. "She might need attention too. She may not feel it now, but... she broke at least one bone through his armor."

"She might have durability. I don't know, but it's likely." Cindy answered. "Medics will check once she gets back to base."

Baron smiled as he hung his head low. He stood back up. "I understand, I'm sorry. I used to do this sort of thing all the time. Some habits are hard to break."

Lihua sighed.

"Well, isn't this interesting?" Lihua asked rhetorically. "I didn't expect a street rat to defeat a mighty RAVEN... heh....." Lihua laughed after she heard the damage done to the man.

Baron shrugged. He figured Lihua would know the meta-human scene better than he did, even so, even Baron could acknowledge that some powers were more potent in some respects than others, others more fit for combat, others simply - straight up - more powerful, regardless of experience. In Lihua's case, seven years ago, she was defeated by a man who was disabled on his first tour and was only a newly indoctrinated meta. But that was ancient history, he was still caught up in the young woman's parting words. It was... material that he could work with.

"Be quiet, mom." Meifeng ordered, irritated as she rolled her eyes up into her head. First day back, and a fellow squadmate gets into a fight with a girl. Now, said girl's probably going to see the inside of a cell for a long time.

Though, at the corner of her eyes, she spotted something odd. Another little sparrow made out of ice. It was resting on the chandelier. Meifeng did a hop as she managed to catch the bird with her ice manipulation. She held it with both hands, as it tried to flutter away. This time it didn't melt.

"Hey Cindy," Meifeng said to catch her attention. "What do you think of this?"

Cindy, who was annoyed as is, quickly walked over, and raised an eyebrow.

"The hell is that?" Cindy asked.

"I don't know, but-"

"Actually," Cindy ignored the bird, as she finally realized just who she was talking to. She stared Meifeng right in the eye. "I can't believe you went off grid for like - five months - without saying a word to anyone. What the hell where you doing?"

Meifeng crossed her arms as she rolled her eyes up into her head.

"Yeah, yeah..." Meifeng groaned.

"... This is going to be one loooong night."

Baybridge: Old Ghosts [COMPLETED]

Reyna Baker

---

Silver Hills, Strong Gold Community.

Hours pass by, the redheaded cyclist was none the more content spending that time investigating every nook and cranny of these homes, and when she got bored of that, found the nicest little spot to take a snooze until the opening. Hardly much of an alarm was needed, as the growing crowds and plugged in speech was plenty loud enough to wake her and let her know what time it really was...

Party time!

Now that she has got these Z's under her belt, she had all the energy she needs for whatever tonight was going to throw at her. She stood herself up, caught some stretches, and made her way out the building from where she originally came in: slipping through the upstairs bathroom window, and carefully inching her way down to the patio roof where she could safely jump off.

"Phew!" She sighed, brushing off the dust from her clothes. The house was a little stiff. She craned her neck around to see if the coast was clear, and then quickly scurried through the bushes to get behind the gates at the front of the venue. There were a bunch of RAVENS wadnering about with their armor on - probably the rich guy's secucirty, it didn't surprise her that those guys could be bought so easily, but that wasn't her concern tonight. She was just in it for all the free food there's gonna be. She made a bee line toward the entrance and was gonna take a step in until...

Fuck! One of the RAVENS saw her. She eyeballed the one with no particular love, now a common gesture the RAVENS have since gotten used to. She noticed the metal detector in his hand. Okay, okay, play it cool.

"Hey, you there," he called, "I don't recall seeing you getting screened at the entrance."

"Ah yeah? Don't recall seein' anybody there either." She lied.

The RAVEN was able to easily read into this lie and approached even closer with a metal detector in hand. Okay, play it cool, he's just going to wave it around and...

Beep! Beep! Beep!

Fuck!

The guy was just about to put his hands on her until she put her own up to block him.

"Don't even think about it, beefcake." She said sarcastically, her other hand reaching into her back pocket. The RAVEN immediately got defensive, and put a finger to his ear piece until she procured a pocket knife and slapped it into his hand.

"Try again now, buddy." She groaned, rolling her eyes. She was all clear.

"Your name, please." He requested. "It's for the record."

"Jolene." She lied, deadpan. The RAVEN looked at her and shook his head.

"Ugh, fine." She moaned. "Reyna. Baker. " The agent nodded and waved her off with his other hand. Reyna took the invitation without hesitating and proceeded into the street. Huh. Her eyes marveled at how many people were here, and... the mood! Everyone was dressing as nice as they could! She snickered a bit, under her breathe. And here she was, dressed the way she is, sticking out like a sore thumb in her typical boots, fatigues, and leather jacket combo. Every dumb RAVEN here probably knew she was in the building since the first asshole set eyes on her.

It went without saying she didn't hold that much respect for them. Her cousin got roughed up in Mendel, and got caught in a cross fire that resulted in her losing sight in one of her eyes. Reyna's own sister being a target of a few's harassment. On top of those incidents, their already deteriorating reputation didn't help their case. As the rumor goes, they were made to combat Hands, and reflected the Hands' own REAPERS. Two sides of a same coin or whatever.

Too bad for them, she only set out to eat all their food. They must be itching to start something. The food bar is right where she went, and she was already salivating at the wonderful array of smells... is that a roasted duck? Hoo boy, that isn't going to last long.

Baybridge: Old Ghosts [COMPLETED]

Finally got around to writing Baron's NPC sheet.

Baron Moreau

Name:

Baron Moreau

Age:

42

Description:

A man from Canada who is unpredictable as he is clever, such as when he feigned his disabled leg for a number of years and deceived the last Changeling into trusting him. Formerly the CPO, and alleged intelligence agent, of the esteemed Dreadnaughts. He now resides in the States as a psychology professor for the University of Washington, and is an unparalleled genius in his field, even making business trips to the DOVE facility in Baybridge to deliver lectures and presentations on meta-human relations and social psychology as an honored guest. He has a wide variety of contacts and friends in high places. He played his own subtle role in the Verthaven disaster – from neutralizing heavy artillery Changelings, tracking down the remnants that remained to tie up loose ends, and supplied Meifeng with the intel that allowed her to be the Hands-destroying machine she came to be known as. With an unknown number of cards up his sleeved, and still indeterminable intentions, it’s always a mystery what he may be planning – even to Zhao Lihua, who as rumors suggest has gotten closer to him than anyone ever has.

Powers: Power Immunity

Superpowers are charged by meta-human energy that can be harnessed and utilized. Baron is unique in that he is more like a faux meta-human,, as his meta-human energy is negatively charged as opposed to a positive charge, opposing everything that anyone knows about meta energy. This negative charge acts like an aura and cannot be traditionally utilized or harnessed and therefore Baron doesn't have any real superpower. However, this energy does interact with the energy of other meta-humans in an intriguing way. It negates it effects and renders it inert. This means that anything imbued with a positively charged meta-human energy has zero effect on Baron's person.

To clarify further, an individual with pyrokinesis ignites an artificial flame. That flame is made by the power and is imbued with some of the essence of its creator. That essence is broken down when it comes into contact with Baron and he receives no harm from it. It doesn't matter if you bathe him in an endless stream of fire, he'll suffer no foul. This goes for even ingesting poisons generated from powers. The toxins are imbued with meta-human energy and are broken down the moment it touches him. Powers that cloak its user, such as invisibility, are negated on contact with Baron allowing him to see the person invisible. Even powers that don't make any form of contact – as long as they're directed at him – are rendered inert, such as telepathy or telekinesis. The negative energy blocks them out like an impenetrable wall.

Baybridge: Old Ghosts [COMPLETED]

<Snipped quote by JunkMail>

Oh that? That was me being lazy and rushed. =]

Try it now. It's much more accurate~

@BurningDaisies

5/10 might consider if more bones

Baybridge: Old Ghosts [COMPLETED]

2/10 wouldn't fuck, not enough spoopy bones

Baybridge: Old Ghosts [COMPLETED]

This thread needs to drown in chemotherapy.

Baybridge: Old Ghosts [COMPLETED]

Reyna Baker

---

There was no shortage of red traffic lights this morning – a motorcyclist was hitting every single one the moment they were halfway down the blocks. Coming from the south entrance of the city, cutting through country roads in between farm fields, their first stop was supposed to be in the northern end of the city in the Silver Hills district. It was either this or going far east and then around the big lake. Where this person wanted to go, they had to be patient, though that reservoir is running low as it is. They throttled the gas a couple times in waiting for the green light. It took half a minute before the light turned, and the motorcycle immediately growled and grumbled before taking off down the road. It was a Kraus brand – most of the working parts were visible beneath the seat, and exhaust was pouring out the tail end like a locomotive.

Rumor around town was that some big wig was hosting an opening ceremony for this residential district up north, some kind of party or something, and the plan was to do a bit of scouting before hand, to see what the place was like. There was just one problem...

The cyclist came to another stop at an intersection, the red glow of the traffic light reflected of the rider's helmet. In frustration, they quickly undid the straps and pulled off their helmet. A plume of short natural red hair flashed and the face of a frustrated young woman appeared from underneath. She took a deep sighed and combed her fingers through her curly faux hawk

“Every God damn stop light...” She grumbled. She savored the moment while she could, for a breeze to cool down her face. She looked behind her at the black exhaust fuming out and shook her head. If only Mia was here, she could get a thing like this running smooth in no time. This wasn't the first case of her bike's fuel-pressure regulator going bad. She put the helmet back on. In just a few more moments, the light came back on, and off she went again.

…

It was a matter of time until her bike rolled onto the property, and, well, woo-ooo – hoo, boy, wasn't it something she was not expecting. Silver Hills was a much fancier place than she was anticipating, and the new Strong Gold place, while supposed to be a fairly cheap place to be living, holding up to the north standard for the most part. Were these people going to be wearing suits or something? She thought this was going to be a community celebration.

Still, no reason she can't just crash the place. Surely not everyone in town owned a suit – and surely, there was no reason she can't do a bit of exploring around the place before it actually opened! The redhead parked her bike in the lot, and stuffed the key in her pocket. She craned her neck around, eyeballing the caterers working hard to organize the event for this evening. As she stood around, waiting, she stretched her body after a long day of driving, until nobody around had eyes on her. The redhead bailed, running into the newly developed neighborhood.

It was a little strange seeing an entire neighborhood with no cars, ornaments, or people. It was like one of those nuclear test sites where everything is the same and everything is fucking empty. The houses were supposed to be cheap, she heard, but they looked okay. She wondered what the insides were like. Creeping behind a line of bushes, and she stepped onto the porch of one of the houses and fiddled around with it. Doors locked, windows secured. Damn. She looked around the building some more and thought carefully. Maybe the second story had a way in. The girl held onto the post on the patio and placed her boot against the side of the house. With a jump, she kicked herself off of the house and pulled herself up from the post, then throwing her hand over the edge of patio roof, finally pulling herself up on top of it. The rest was as easy as carefully stepping on top of the actual house and carefully walking up its slanted roof.

Now to see if this was any better than... oh. The window pane fit very loosely in the frame of this one. So loosely, this could be popped off as easy as pie. She did just that, and soon found herself inside the house's bathroom, her boots hitting the vinyl flooring. Maybe this is one of the reasons the houses are cheap. With drafts like these, she wondered what kind of bills they'd be paying for heating.

Huh. It's been a long day.

She lifted up the toilet lid curiously, but to her dismay, no water. Of course, what was she thinking? Then again...

Who would know?