Daaafoooooeee!!!
Ok, now Fuzzy needs to get powers and skills based upon the many roles played by Willem Dafoe.
So...a Goblin Glider...various detectiving skills...the ability to plan elaborate ways to escape fish tanks with the help of an eclectic mix of aquatic companions...a sonly love of Bill Murray.
You know, practical stuff.
Tenish the Mighty Member
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- Joined: 11 yrs ago
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- Tenish the Mighty 11 yrs ago
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Bio
There are no foxes.
Most Recent Posts
Blackwell said
Kat and Remi can be bros. :)
Yay!
Prisk said
Eagerly awaiting your posts, but this sporadic downtime of the forums is getting on my nerves.
Preach it sister.
Ozerath said
Hey JJ, how would you feel about Thael and Fuzzy/Kimbo being bros? Like, heterosexual life partners level bro?
Aww, ain't nobody want to be bros with Remiel.
I don't get it, he's such a lovable bundle of repression.
Quanta. Matters of time and space. Digits and distance. The relationship of objects. The logistics of war. What had that guy been saying at the party last night? Something about the importance of distance between artist and subject. He'd certainly seemed pretty adamant about it. He spent an awfully large quantity of time talking about it. Remi hadn't really heard much of what the guy had said. He wasn't that close to the man. At least not in terms of familiarity. Besides, he'd been a bit distracted at the time. Vivian had been occupying a lot of space in Remi's thoughts at the time.
The room Remi was in was white. Blindingly white. White, halogen lights were inset in the ceiling, their radiance reflecting off of the white tiles that covered the floor, walls, and ceiling. Remi squinted. It was impossible to get used to the room. Just when you though your eyes could adjust everything always seemed to get a bit brighter. He tried to ignore it, concentrating on the task at hand. Remi ran a gloved finger between the ends of the bow, tracing a thread of spacial, spirit stuff between the two ends, imperceptible in the glare.
'Space', she had said, 'she needed space.' That was what Vivian had told him before the party. Remi did not understand. He seemed to have given her plenty of space, he thought. In fact, she had always complained that he was always a bit distant. Keeping her at arms length, as she had put it. Maybe that had been the problem all along. Too much space.
Remi focused on attenuating the distance between the spacial thread, warping the space within its hollow core, the bow curving as it was bent inwards. Satisfied, Remi felt for one of the bolts in the rack in front of him, lifting the smooth, metal length into the air, even the matte shaft glinted in the unrelenting glare of the lights. The tiles that covered the room were one point seven meters to a side, running four full tiles from floor to ceiling, and 500 tiles long along the two longest walls. The floor was eight tiles across at the shortest. All told a volume of 78,608 cubic meters with a surface area of 34,864.96 meters. Remi notched the shaft around the almost invisible spacial thread. Straightening he lifted the bow, the joints on his left sleeve giving a quiet hiss at the motion, hooking two fingers around the thread of the bow, Remi closed his eyes, relishing the cool darkness for a moment. He drew back the bow, concentrating upon the elasticizing thread. His arm quavered slightly as he pulled the fletching past his right ear. He breathed in. He breathed out. Once more. Remi breathed in. He breathed out. A beat. His eyes snapped open. He let go of the shaft and the thread. The distance contained within the thread twisted and warped, space undulating back towards it's natural state, for an instant, a tiny fragment of reality was sovereign to Remiel's will, and then it wasn't. Remi didn't see the bolt leave his bow, he released the string and the shaft vanished. There was a sharp ping at the other end of the room.
It wasn't lost on Remi that a pattern was forming. Vivian was just the last in a relatively sizable line of women who had all reached the same conclusion. Vivian had stuck around longer than most, but eventually, whatever allure there was in Remi's stoic, soldier-boy airs faded, the veneer peeled, and they realized that under that stony disposition was even more cold and lifeless. The possibility that the ultimate failure of these relationships might in fact lie in responsibility with him did not escape Remiel. Still, he didn't know what to do about it. Perhaps...
"Not bad, kiddo!" A voice crackled through the intercom. "We clocked that one in at 774 J, unassisted. I still think we can squeeze out a little more though. Let's do a few more and then we'll begin with the B.A.S.I.L.I.S.K. tria- oh, hold on." There was a short pause. "Ah, alright. We're going to have to cut the session a little short Mister Morgenstern, apparently you are being called to report to the admin offices on the fourth floor of C. We'll pick up the trial tomorrow, same deal as usual. Don't worry though, I'll make sure you get credit for all of today." The intercom but out.
Remi said nothing. Doctor David wouldn't be listening anyway. Instead he released his hold on the spacial thread, the ephemeral strange spiraling into nothing once more. Kneeling down Remi placed the stringless bow into the foam inset of its carrying case. Stripping the B.A.S.I.L.I.S.K. off of his arm he placed it into the case as well. Folding the bolt rack into the cover of the case he carefully shut the lid, averting his eyes as the rooms blinding lights reflected off of the cases silvered finish. Why did they always insist on making the test equipment so damn reflective? General sadism?
A foolish question, perhaps, it was probably the same aesthetic sentiment that caused them to use such as contrived an acronym as basilisk. Remi didn't give it much thought. More pressing matters occupied his attentional space. A summons from the administration today could really only mean one thing. As he picked up the case and started for the exit, his footfalls echoing down the long, white hall, he idly wondered if the others had received an order to report as well. Most of his compatriots were probably still asleep, Remi had stayed sober enough last night to remember how many of them were decidedly not. It didn't matter, if they hadn't heard yet, someone would soon come around to tell them the exciting news. Not that Remi seemed all that excited. He had been expecting this day for some time. As far as he was concerned, today, like everything else in life, was just a matter of time and space.
The room Remi was in was white. Blindingly white. White, halogen lights were inset in the ceiling, their radiance reflecting off of the white tiles that covered the floor, walls, and ceiling. Remi squinted. It was impossible to get used to the room. Just when you though your eyes could adjust everything always seemed to get a bit brighter. He tried to ignore it, concentrating on the task at hand. Remi ran a gloved finger between the ends of the bow, tracing a thread of spacial, spirit stuff between the two ends, imperceptible in the glare.
'Space', she had said, 'she needed space.' That was what Vivian had told him before the party. Remi did not understand. He seemed to have given her plenty of space, he thought. In fact, she had always complained that he was always a bit distant. Keeping her at arms length, as she had put it. Maybe that had been the problem all along. Too much space.
Remi focused on attenuating the distance between the spacial thread, warping the space within its hollow core, the bow curving as it was bent inwards. Satisfied, Remi felt for one of the bolts in the rack in front of him, lifting the smooth, metal length into the air, even the matte shaft glinted in the unrelenting glare of the lights. The tiles that covered the room were one point seven meters to a side, running four full tiles from floor to ceiling, and 500 tiles long along the two longest walls. The floor was eight tiles across at the shortest. All told a volume of 78,608 cubic meters with a surface area of 34,864.96 meters. Remi notched the shaft around the almost invisible spacial thread. Straightening he lifted the bow, the joints on his left sleeve giving a quiet hiss at the motion, hooking two fingers around the thread of the bow, Remi closed his eyes, relishing the cool darkness for a moment. He drew back the bow, concentrating upon the elasticizing thread. His arm quavered slightly as he pulled the fletching past his right ear. He breathed in. He breathed out. Once more. Remi breathed in. He breathed out. A beat. His eyes snapped open. He let go of the shaft and the thread. The distance contained within the thread twisted and warped, space undulating back towards it's natural state, for an instant, a tiny fragment of reality was sovereign to Remiel's will, and then it wasn't. Remi didn't see the bolt leave his bow, he released the string and the shaft vanished. There was a sharp ping at the other end of the room.
It wasn't lost on Remi that a pattern was forming. Vivian was just the last in a relatively sizable line of women who had all reached the same conclusion. Vivian had stuck around longer than most, but eventually, whatever allure there was in Remi's stoic, soldier-boy airs faded, the veneer peeled, and they realized that under that stony disposition was even more cold and lifeless. The possibility that the ultimate failure of these relationships might in fact lie in responsibility with him did not escape Remiel. Still, he didn't know what to do about it. Perhaps...
"Not bad, kiddo!" A voice crackled through the intercom. "We clocked that one in at 774 J, unassisted. I still think we can squeeze out a little more though. Let's do a few more and then we'll begin with the B.A.S.I.L.I.S.K. tria- oh, hold on." There was a short pause. "Ah, alright. We're going to have to cut the session a little short Mister Morgenstern, apparently you are being called to report to the admin offices on the fourth floor of C. We'll pick up the trial tomorrow, same deal as usual. Don't worry though, I'll make sure you get credit for all of today." The intercom but out.
Remi said nothing. Doctor David wouldn't be listening anyway. Instead he released his hold on the spacial thread, the ephemeral strange spiraling into nothing once more. Kneeling down Remi placed the stringless bow into the foam inset of its carrying case. Stripping the B.A.S.I.L.I.S.K. off of his arm he placed it into the case as well. Folding the bolt rack into the cover of the case he carefully shut the lid, averting his eyes as the rooms blinding lights reflected off of the cases silvered finish. Why did they always insist on making the test equipment so damn reflective? General sadism?
A foolish question, perhaps, it was probably the same aesthetic sentiment that caused them to use such as contrived an acronym as basilisk. Remi didn't give it much thought. More pressing matters occupied his attentional space. A summons from the administration today could really only mean one thing. As he picked up the case and started for the exit, his footfalls echoing down the long, white hall, he idly wondered if the others had received an order to report as well. Most of his compatriots were probably still asleep, Remi had stayed sober enough last night to remember how many of them were decidedly not. It didn't matter, if they hadn't heard yet, someone would soon come around to tell them the exciting news. Not that Remi seemed all that excited. He had been expecting this day for some time. As far as he was concerned, today, like everything else in life, was just a matter of time and space.
Works for me Dorabad, we shall have jinks most hi.
On a related note, post'll be up tomorrow.
On a related note, post'll be up tomorrow.
Name: Remiel "Remi" Morgenstern
Birthday: 31st of March
Height: 181cm
Appearance: Somewhat more precocious than usual
Personality: Much like the appearance he keeps, Remi conducts himself with a measure of poise and decorum at very nearly every moment. Even when among intimate friends he carefully chooses each word and action he takes. While far from cold, he does maintain a certain level of distance, even from those closest to him. His WARG profile suggests that these characteristics would make him an excellent operations coordinator, but not a particularly good field leader.
While it is not particularly difficult to connect with Remi, or get him to loosen up, what makes his behavior troubling is how markedly different it is than when he was younger. Once a particularly energetic and rambunctious child, while he had little of Samuel's charisma, if anything Remi was even more creative and outgoing. The shift in Remiel's behavior after his friends death was gradual, but it is hard not to sense the jarring difference between the Remiel that is and the Remi that was.
Since his first deployment into Norton City, Remi displays an increased behavioral range, likely reflecting the stress and changing contingencies of his environment. There is insufficient data to determine how drastic this change in typing might be.
Biography: Remiel's life leading up to the calamity was not one of particular import. It was the carefree, everyday, ordinary sort of life of all children living in relative peace and comfort. His parents were loving; ordinary. He always had a roof over his head and a meal in his belly; ordinary. He had his friends. Ordinary. He met his lifelong compatriots one day exploring an abandoned construction site near his home. There were other kids there, playing where they weren't supposed to, relishing the thrill of breaking the rules, ordinary childhood antics. The accident, when it happened, was the ordinary sort of tragedy that always occurs in youth. Someone fell. Someone bled. All Remi can really remember was all the sound suddenly falling away as everyone stared at all the blood. Remi had never seen so much blood. The next thing he remembers was Samuel taking charge, shaking everyone from their reverie, sending someone to get help and starting first-aid on the stricken and shaken child. Eventually kids ran home, so did Remi, parents called parents, everyone got scolded. Samuel came around the next day, going door to door to get people to come visit the injured kid, maybe sign their cast, maybe pool their allowances to get them a present. Remi said they should get them a hard hat. Sam smiled.
The rest of Remi's childhood, brief as it was, passed with a similarly lackadaisical air. Ordinary joys and ordinary sorrows bled together in the maelstrom of memory. But the slow ripples of time and tide quiver with the oncoming storm, and one day, Remi's world became extraordinary. Remi doesn't remember much of the invasion, of the war. It was a time of strife and chaos, and even those white-hot memories of fear and pain and woe cool until only recollection remains. Remi got his first tastes of combat during the last half-decade of the invasion, becoming one of many child-soldiers pressed into service to stem the vicious otherworldly tide. Like the rest of the war, Remi's years on the field are a haze of hardships and intermittent violence. Only a few sharp points stick out in his mind. The first was the first time he saw someone die up close, to see life ooze out of them agonizingly slow, and yet, at the same time, siphon from them with a speed he could hardly comprehend. He didn't know he was capable of feeling such pain as when he saw that stranger die. The next the the first time he killed. As the beast died on his blade what he remembered most was how it died just like a man, for all its fangs and fury, it died just the same. The next was when he heard of Samuel's death. He wasn't there when it happened, he only got word through a field report. What he remembers most of that day was how he barely felt anything at all.
After that initial partisan tour, Remi found himself enrolled with many of his old childhood friends at the academy, their spiritual magnetism discovered, they were to be groomed into the next generation of soldiers for 'the cause'. Excelling in his studies, Remi's years at the Academy passed like all the others, a series of moments, some ordinary, some extraordinary, all flickering past as time ground on. Now they graduate, and while the past may be unfocused, Remi has kept the future in sharp clarity. While the past may be full of joys and sorrows ordinary and otherwise, the future would be Brobdingnagian in scope. The future would be painful. The future would be wonderful. The future would be extraordinary.
Weapon: Remiel lost his primary armaments following the Norton campaign. He now relies upon his enhanced physical prowess and unarmed combat training.
Limit Break: Unknown, Remiel has yet to display a Limit Break.
Spirits
The Spectators
Element: None
Effect: Remiel has an increased base level of enhancement when compared to other guardians. His potential strength, speed, force, and durability are notably augmented, giving him 15 extra attribute points.
Description: The riot of spirits that Remiel calls the Spectators have swelled in number since his experiences at the Tree of Life. Pressed in such volume, the fragmentary, insular spirits were forced from the stands and onto the stage. While lacking in direction or individual purpose, the sovereignty of their numbers adds spiritual weight to nearly all of Remiel's endeavors.
Charybdis
Element: None
Effect: Draws in and consumes spiritual essence around Remi, absorbing skills and information from enemies.
Description: Remiel's spirit is a singularity, trying to absorb all other spiritual substance into itself. This happens without intention or control on Remi's part and the effect has grown stronger since it first manifested itself. While normally not harmful to those around him, the constant crumbs of spirit that Remi absorbs does allow him to taste the essence of the spirits that are absorbed, giving Remi the ability to mimic the spiritual powers of those he tastes as well as other morsels of their existence such as memories or conditions.
Attributes
Commando: 10
Ravager: 10
Sentinel: 10
Synergist: 10
Medic: 10
Birthday: 31st of March
Height: 181cm
Appearance: Somewhat more precocious than usual
Personality: Much like the appearance he keeps, Remi conducts himself with a measure of poise and decorum at very nearly every moment. Even when among intimate friends he carefully chooses each word and action he takes. While far from cold, he does maintain a certain level of distance, even from those closest to him. His WARG profile suggests that these characteristics would make him an excellent operations coordinator, but not a particularly good field leader.
While it is not particularly difficult to connect with Remi, or get him to loosen up, what makes his behavior troubling is how markedly different it is than when he was younger. Once a particularly energetic and rambunctious child, while he had little of Samuel's charisma, if anything Remi was even more creative and outgoing. The shift in Remiel's behavior after his friends death was gradual, but it is hard not to sense the jarring difference between the Remiel that is and the Remi that was.
Since his first deployment into Norton City, Remi displays an increased behavioral range, likely reflecting the stress and changing contingencies of his environment. There is insufficient data to determine how drastic this change in typing might be.
Biography: Remiel's life leading up to the calamity was not one of particular import. It was the carefree, everyday, ordinary sort of life of all children living in relative peace and comfort. His parents were loving; ordinary. He always had a roof over his head and a meal in his belly; ordinary. He had his friends. Ordinary. He met his lifelong compatriots one day exploring an abandoned construction site near his home. There were other kids there, playing where they weren't supposed to, relishing the thrill of breaking the rules, ordinary childhood antics. The accident, when it happened, was the ordinary sort of tragedy that always occurs in youth. Someone fell. Someone bled. All Remi can really remember was all the sound suddenly falling away as everyone stared at all the blood. Remi had never seen so much blood. The next thing he remembers was Samuel taking charge, shaking everyone from their reverie, sending someone to get help and starting first-aid on the stricken and shaken child. Eventually kids ran home, so did Remi, parents called parents, everyone got scolded. Samuel came around the next day, going door to door to get people to come visit the injured kid, maybe sign their cast, maybe pool their allowances to get them a present. Remi said they should get them a hard hat. Sam smiled.
The rest of Remi's childhood, brief as it was, passed with a similarly lackadaisical air. Ordinary joys and ordinary sorrows bled together in the maelstrom of memory. But the slow ripples of time and tide quiver with the oncoming storm, and one day, Remi's world became extraordinary. Remi doesn't remember much of the invasion, of the war. It was a time of strife and chaos, and even those white-hot memories of fear and pain and woe cool until only recollection remains. Remi got his first tastes of combat during the last half-decade of the invasion, becoming one of many child-soldiers pressed into service to stem the vicious otherworldly tide. Like the rest of the war, Remi's years on the field are a haze of hardships and intermittent violence. Only a few sharp points stick out in his mind. The first was the first time he saw someone die up close, to see life ooze out of them agonizingly slow, and yet, at the same time, siphon from them with a speed he could hardly comprehend. He didn't know he was capable of feeling such pain as when he saw that stranger die. The next the the first time he killed. As the beast died on his blade what he remembered most was how it died just like a man, for all its fangs and fury, it died just the same. The next was when he heard of Samuel's death. He wasn't there when it happened, he only got word through a field report. What he remembers most of that day was how he barely felt anything at all.
After that initial partisan tour, Remi found himself enrolled with many of his old childhood friends at the academy, their spiritual magnetism discovered, they were to be groomed into the next generation of soldiers for 'the cause'. Excelling in his studies, Remi's years at the Academy passed like all the others, a series of moments, some ordinary, some extraordinary, all flickering past as time ground on. Now they graduate, and while the past may be unfocused, Remi has kept the future in sharp clarity. While the past may be full of joys and sorrows ordinary and otherwise, the future would be Brobdingnagian in scope. The future would be painful. The future would be wonderful. The future would be extraordinary.
Weapon: Remiel lost his primary armaments following the Norton campaign. He now relies upon his enhanced physical prowess and unarmed combat training.
Limit Break: Unknown, Remiel has yet to display a Limit Break.
Spirits
The Spectators
Element: None
Effect: Remiel has an increased base level of enhancement when compared to other guardians. His potential strength, speed, force, and durability are notably augmented, giving him 15 extra attribute points.
Description: The riot of spirits that Remiel calls the Spectators have swelled in number since his experiences at the Tree of Life. Pressed in such volume, the fragmentary, insular spirits were forced from the stands and onto the stage. While lacking in direction or individual purpose, the sovereignty of their numbers adds spiritual weight to nearly all of Remiel's endeavors.
Charybdis
Element: None
Effect: Draws in and consumes spiritual essence around Remi, absorbing skills and information from enemies.
Description: Remiel's spirit is a singularity, trying to absorb all other spiritual substance into itself. This happens without intention or control on Remi's part and the effect has grown stronger since it first manifested itself. While normally not harmful to those around him, the constant crumbs of spirit that Remi absorbs does allow him to taste the essence of the spirits that are absorbed, giving Remi the ability to mimic the spiritual powers of those he tastes as well as other morsels of their existence such as memories or conditions.
Attributes
Commando: 10
Ravager: 10
Sentinel: 10
Synergist: 10
Medic: 10
Oh come on, you call Thael a gay man and don't know what animal spirit he would have.
Oh you ignorant bear you.
Oh you ignorant bear you.
Oh god, I just realized that when guardians do it, all of their spirits will be there.
It'd be like letting the dog watch except there's hundreds of them and also they might be sentient.
It'd be like letting the dog watch except there's hundreds of them and also they might be sentient.
And don't worry, Blackwell baby, you'll always have Remi.
Besides, I hear he'll be coming into some money soon. Then you can live a life of leisure with that sweet skrilla, and I don't know, maybe learn to appreciate a man who is constantly telling you how you might better yourself and are probably going to die.
Besides, I hear he'll be coming into some money soon. Then you can live a life of leisure with that sweet skrilla, and I don't know, maybe learn to appreciate a man who is constantly telling you how you might better yourself and are probably going to die.
Ok, now I'm not sure if Thael's going to die, or just be sexually confused, but either way, I either win our bingo game or I win the pool we've got going on in the ops department.
Point is, Remi's going to make out like a bandit and someone probably will get laid.
Point is, Remi's going to make out like a bandit and someone probably will get laid.
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