It's been kind of hectic here. I planned on posting for all of my RPs en masse Saturday but I only managed to get to a few of them. I will have a post up today, cross my heart and hope to die.
Cremation or Burial? I thought I'd ask in advance, just in case you know. I mean I've already sharpened by wooden cross to a nice point to cross your heart with... Wait, what do you mean he's not a vampire? Hrm... Let me get back to you on that.
When you were turned: Not Yet, although recent enthralled.
Weapons: SOLIDER Standard Issue Beretta M92-FS
(Future) Powers:
Gift of Blood Once fully initiated into the ranks of the vampire, Lucan gains enhanced strength, speed and stamina than that of the normal human. Although it also leaves him with a strong craving for blood which he has yet to learn to control properly. As such without a ready supply of blood, Lucan loses control and falls prey to the more animalistic instincts of a hunter.
Enthralled While enthralled, Lucan;s mind, emotions and beliefs are rather plastic to his sire. His dedication is solely to the sire, serving his wishes obediently without question. Being without the sire does nauseate him and eventually complete deprivation will turn him into a feral soul, without any form of self-thought but to rely on their true nature.
Personality: A mild-mannered boy, Lucan is hardly the stand-up solider one expects from SOLIDER. Rather a passive, submissive individual who prefers work behind the desk, and sipping his hot teas. But of course, with every person, there are two sides, the outer countenance which people know you as, and the one buried deep inside. The true spirit, the nature of the man himself: vicious, driven and cruel. well-groomed manners and soft-spoken words suppressing the need to be on top. The dominating tendencies which make a sadist proud with dark fantasies lie within this otherwise cosmopolite. For with all the benefits of productivity and dedication in a model desk-agent, so too are psychopaths in their belief of being shortchanged, and they will stop at nothing to right this moral injustice.
Bio:
What do you fight for? Do you fight for humanity to be protected from the vampires? Did you have someone important to you die, take from you by the fanged vermin? A parent? A sibling? A child? A friend? A lover? Who was it that died and began your thirst? For Lucan it was his older brother, Mitchell. A man he looked up to and admired, confiding his secrets to in hushed whispers. For a brother was closer than a friend, and far less judgmental than a parent, it was in Mitchell did Lucan find his refuge. To bear through the difficult times and challenges he faced, they were inseparable as close brothers were. But enough reminiscence, Mitchell died, after being executed as a vampire by freelance hunters.
It was a tragedy then, but this was the reason why Lucan joined SOLIDER. Not to protect the humans from the vampires, but rather to protect the vampires from the humans. Yes, not many share his views, but vampires were once humans too. Just like them, and deserve to live too. One could say he was too much a proponent of vampire-human interactions. Perhaps he was too fascinated by them, and for all intensive purposes, perhaps would be unfit for field duty should he hesitate to kill a vampire. For when Lucan analyzes it, humans can turn into vampires, but vampires can only be killed. That is their solution to the vampire problem, but vampires need humans to survive, thus it is the vampires who need protection and advocacy, not the humans.
Perhaps then I shall make Wu Dan's opposite. While this guy is a saintly protector with his own sins as burdens...
The other guy shall be a hedonist who amplifies the inner desires beings have until it consumes them. And this obsession, what may it be, wealth, power, sex, food, friendship, righteousness, they shall succumb to it as he rules their hungers to feed his own.
Your sheet's fine, but for everyone else, please post your WIP in this OOC or message me before putting it in the character tab, so I can moderate them.
I feel like I should clarify something else: The Children are physical beings, at least when alive. They can't pick and chose which physical form they prefer, which both your sheets seem to hint at. It's probably just innocent wording, but let's nip this potential confusion in the bud right now: unless shape shifting is explicitly part of your character's "thing", they're stuck in a single form, for better or worse.
My apologies. I had no idea. Honestly I thought about it, but then since no one else posted one... Anyways, I hope you find everything satisfactory. I'll edit the "opinons" section in one go when we have a good roster.
O-Dan / Wu The Grandmaster/ Spirit of the Mountain
________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Description Raw power meets stern discipline. Wu Dan meditates upon the universe, listening carefully to the cosmic cycles as the seasons pass. An immortal with time to spare, endlessly pursuing that which eludes his kin: Death. Beneath the flowing white beard and solemn expression upon his long brow, the old master has let time touch his appearance, but not his body for few could challenge him physically even now in his old age. Yet in the irony of it all, despite the overwhelming amount of power exerted by his presence, Wu Dan is content with watching the flows of the universe going in and out rarely interceding unless to defend those who revere him as their guardian. It is his sacred duty to protect his people, for they are only beginning to learn to defend themselves.
Taking the appearance of an elder, though hardly decrepit as one may expect from an old man his age, Wu Dan is still an epitome of physicality. Only steadfast bones to bear deceptively wiry muscles under gaunt sagely skin, blood vessels which easily explode out, visible as he moves barefoot swiftly across a battlefield doling out thunderous blows. His balding crown hidden underneath his conical hat, and his white facial hair impressively making his pure-white eyes that much more intimidating. One glance at him, and one knows this was no ordinary old hermit as he sits holding his prayer beads in a two-toned robe. ________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Powers The Grandmaster is amongst the more powerful of the children, yet despite this, downplays his abilities for the sake of his philosophy. His body explodes with physicality hidden beneath the modest monk robes. The iron prayer beads around his wrist deceptively heavy as they aid to weigh him down, it is said that only the virtuous could ever hope to hold the beads without being pulled under by their tremendous weight. It is true, for the beads represent the weight of the burdens upon one's morality, the more innocence that is lost, the heavier they become as the ultimate device to punish the wicked. Of which, why the Grandmaster finds them heavy enough to restrain him should raise a question.
There is also a form of magic Wu Dan dabbles in from which stems the art of the Death Monk. The power of the mind over the body, and the spirit over the mind, and the body over the spirit culminates in the obscure magic of the Calling. A technique where one's voice becomes a projection of one's will, and one's will becomes a physical force, and the physical force becomes one's voice. Speak, and the universe listens, ask, and it shall tell, but shout? Shout and it will quiver. Legends say the first Death Monks could kill people with a whisper, are probably grossly exaggerated, but they can force you into submission by merely speaking to you. And by speaking, they have harnessed the power of the universe. ________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Original tribe The in the farthest reaches of the mountainous north, the oldest of the Qayu remember the tales of their ancient patron. The first tribe of the region, who remain upon the tallest peak in all the land, towering over the constructs of man as the mountains pierce the morning clouds. Here they believe the spirit of the mountain protects them from harm by the majesty of its might. Who dared to attack the mountain when it could fall upon you? This spirit was Wu Dan, who built his temple from the sacred peak and in days of old, taught the Qayu the ways of combat.
The spirit of the mountain patron dwelt upon the peak of the mountain in Shangrila, also called Valhalla, where Shangrila is the temple itself, and Valhalla is the name for the arena of the temple grounds. And the mountain was the highest peak in all the land frozen in high clouds, yet actually a long dormant volcano, with Shangrila being found in the crater, allowing for sacred hot spring well fed from the melting mountain snow to nourish the hidden temple garden from which the tree of the mountain grows the golden peaches of nirvana.
Beneath the high temple are 8 temples dedicated to learning the ways of killing, as opposed to the normal settlements lower on the mountain which are pleased with learning the arts of war, women, and wine. These 8 temples are home to the Death Monks, fearsome warriors which dedicate their lives to the study of death. The monks train to become experts in combat, routinely getting themselves seriously injured or killed in tournaments to progress their ranks and maybe one day become the master of their school by taking the pilgrimage to the peak and impressing the Grandmaster in a single-bout duel. To do so would be to blow the horn of Valhalla, a fabled horn carved from ancient wood that sits frozen within the temple and announce the newest Master of the 8 schools, and calls for the ritual suicide of the last master who shall throw himself off the mountain to make way for his successor. Although the true horn is actually a smoking pipe carried and used often by the grandmaster, and anyone who he shares a smoke with shall be given authority over the mountain and take his place as he ascends to the heavens until the death of the latest mortal protector.
Of course living on a cold mountain, there is little to no vegetation, and certainly while ores were readily available from the mountain, wood was a rare commodity. There is also few in the name of animals, merely wolves which come from the foot of the mountain, rams which avoid the wolves from the bottom by surviving in the upper parts of the cold mountain, ravens which pick the frozen flesh off the dead and the occasional fish from the frozen rivers. From these animal aspects, the schools of the Wolf, Ram, Raven and Fish were created in two flavours, the white and the black, each specializing in a unique style of killing and philosophy.
Since food is scarce, the society is slightly twisted in a sense that, in this polygamous patriarchy, men and women were expected to settle down and have a family within their 25th year, and women were to bear many offspring to continue their tribe's survivability in their remote mountain nation. This of course leads to plenty of inbreeding and bad genetics, so most of its people have some degree of albinism and other rare genetic diseases, some good some bad. But essentially there are 4 major noble families ruling the mountain, with one Khan ruling as administrative king of the mountain. The men of course are graded by the number of wives they have had, thus concubines are plenty, along with strong fermented alcohols which will keep your body warm in the coldest nights surrounded by your multiple women. And women are graded by the number of children they have produced, for a barren women was considered useless. And all citizens who did not marry and have children by the age of 25, or those who are too old (and not important enough) to be of child-bearing capacity are slaughtered for meat in the cold seasons. Yes, ritualistic cannibalism was practiced as it was necessary to sustain the population. Those who feared death by slaughter could venture up the mountain to be taken in by the monks, only perhaps to die in one of their tournaments. Either way, it is a hard life, but easy death for everyone.
But not all of the Qayu preferred death. Only the oldest of the Qayu remain dedicated to their sacred mountain, despite the disappearance of the grandmaster. As the generations go, tradition was forsaken in fear of death. Thus in lieu of dying with the monks, the younger generations fled south, to where the mountains were not as harsh and gave way to greener valleys. Those who remain in the mountain are doomed, clinging on to their old "barbaric" ways. in modern times, after being conquered by the Repbulic, The old mountain is in a state of political turmoil. 4 factions vying for power over the sacred mountain, and the rest of Qayu. There is the Khan and his court who is in charge of the militant branch, the 4 Noble Families who are exerting socioeconomic pressure, and finally the Eight Masters who have lost their mythical leader and are now barely able to control their own schools let alone their spirituality. And of course there is the Etruscian Republic which wants to keep the entire region under control as they puppet the 3 factions into destroying themselves.
As such geopolitical landscape is essentially changed into one of a cold war between all three. The Nobles having enlisted the Etruscian forces to back them against the Khan in a political measure. The Khan in turn seeking authoritative mandate against the Nobles from the Monks who have none because their Grandmaster is gone. And the Monks crumbling internally as the 8 schools are dying off with their internal affairs in attempting to produce a substitute for the grandmaster. It is at this time, where the Grandmaster needs to make a return and justify everything before the entire mountain erupts and destroys the world or so the legend goes that the Mountain erupts only at cataclysm, and will herald the destruction of everything, Angels, Demons, and Mortals. ________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Anecdotes During the Dawn, and the never-ending clash between the Angels and the Demons, Wu Dan the Grandmaster was among those Children who desired to protect and nurture humanity, arrayed against those that sought to enslave it. He was a force to change the tides of battle upon the on battlefields, obliterating the ranks as an unstoppable force that tore the enemy ranks apart. Yet, it was never in an offensive action, but rather in the defense of the mortals he swore to protect, and did so with the fury of a winter storm. His wrath against the enemy was swift, and terrible, an avalanche which swept them away and buried them into their frozen tombs. But now he is locked in his one tomb, meditating upon the many ways to punish the one who had locked away him from his people. The one who betrayed them all, and lusted for her own power. The one who must experience what it was like to be away from one's sworn duty. Death would be too good an end for her. For despite his more fervent youth, in his old age Wu Dan has become enlightened to know that not all are deserving of death, life can be a punishment just as well, as demonstrated by the story of the peaches.
Years ago, a Death Monk who had killed hundreds, approached his master, challenging him to a duel to be granted the right to ascend the mountain to learn from the grandmaster. The master accepted, and the challenge was simple, for the master was old and tired of life. Letting the younger man take him easily within moments of the bout beginning. A flurry of blows, punches, kicks and grapples, before the final punch sent the master flying back against the temple wall, bloody ,bruised, and broken. Blessings were given to the risen student as he bowed his head in respect and died in peace. And upon the star pupil's visit with Wu Dan, he had plucked a golden peach from the hidden garden, amazed by the abundance of greenery and foliage, seduced by the charm of the shapely fruit. He ate the peach, and returned as the new master of his school. decades passed and the very same student was challenged by his own pupil, to which he had to accept just as his master did years ago. But this time, there was a different story. For you see, the peaches conferred immortality on those who would die upon it. And though the old master was vastly outdone by his challenger, the student would not let up for he could not finish it. To sit there and endure, every painful attack, to have your breath punched out of your lungs, your heart squeezed to spurt out blood from your arteries, and back broken such that each individual vertebrate fell into your gut and punctured your colon. The torment did not end, until the master crawled to the edge of the temple, and flung himself off the cliff in hopes of the fall splitting open his skull and rendering him comatose. Perhaps on a cold night, one can still hear the unfortunate master, still wishing he was dead, or perhaps it was merely his spirit as his bones were picked clean for meat by the creatures down below. How immortality drives one to madness and to embrace death.
Woah, that's some interesting fluff you've got there!
Well, I didn't envisage the Qayu as a warrior culture necessarily, but then again I'm not closed to it. And they've got the secluded mountain people thing down.
I've got an idea: your culture could be the northern, "hardcore" Qayu, the original tribe. As time went on, the Qayu settled into southern, more fertile valleys, abandoning some of the harsher parts of their culture as they became no longer necessary. The Shangrila/Valhalla mountain would exist in the northern reaches of the world. After a thousand years without their demigod, some of the temples may have abandoned, or razed by warring clans. Or, if we want to be even more poignant, a climate shift saw the region become flat-out uninhabitable for large scale societies, so they were forced to abandon the entire mountain to ruin. Lots of possibilities to integrate that idea.
Yes this could work. Perhaps these are the oldest of Qayu who have remained dedicated to their sacred mountain. As the generations go, tradition was forsaken in fear of death. Thus in lieu of dying with the monks, the younger generations fled south, to where the mountains were not as harsh and gave way to greener valleys. Those who remain in the mountain are doomed, clinging on to their old "barbaric" ways.
I'd imagine something of that nature. Like with the Grandmaster gone, the mountain is in a state of political turmoil. 4 factions vying for power over the mountain, and the rest of Qayu. There is the Khan and his court who is in charge of the militant branch, the 4 Noble Families who are exerting socioeconomic pressure, and finally the Eight Masters who have lost their mythical leader and are now barely able to control their own schools let alone their spirituality. And of course there is the Etruscian Republic which wants to keep the entire region under control as they puppet the 3 factions into destroying themselves.
As such landscape is essentially changed into one of a cold war between all three. The Nobles having enlisted the Etruscian forces to back them against the Khan in a political measure. The Khan in turn seeking authoritative mandate against the Nobles from the Monks who have none because their Grandmaster is gone. And the Monks crumbling internally as the 8 schools are dying off with their internal affairs in attempting to produce a substitute for the grandmaster. It is at this time, where the Grandmaster needs to make a return and justify everything before the entire mountain erupts and destroys the world (or so the legend goes that the Mountain erupts only at cataclysm, and will herald the destruction of everything, Angels, Demons, and Mortals.
Hrm, I developed a nation which had a resident demigod/idol a few years back.
It was an east-meets-west culture in a mountainous snowy region. Norse mixed with Shaolin, to create a tribe of gruff but deadly warrior peoples.
Their patron was the spirit of the mountain, who dwelt on the peak of the mountain in Shangrila/Valhalla which are considered the same. Although technically Shangrila is the temple itself, and Valhalla is the name of the arena of the temple grounds. And the mountain, although the highest peak in all the land, is actually a long dormant volcano, with Shangrila/Valhalla being found in the crater, allowing for sacred hot spring well fed from the melting mountain snow to nourish the hidden temple garden from which the tree of the mountain grows her golden peaches of nirvana.
Beneath the high temple are 8 temples dedicated to learning the ways of killing, as opposed to the normal settlements lower on the mountain which are pleased with learning the arts of war, women, and wine. These 8 temples are home to the Death Monks, fearsome warriors which dedicate their lives to the study of death. The monks train to become experts in combat, routinely getting themselves seriously injured or killed in tournaments to progress their ranks and maybe one day become the master of their school by taking the pilgrimage to the peak and impressing the Grandmaster in a single-bout duel. To do so would be to blow the horn of Valhalla, a fabled horn carved from ancient wood that sits frozen within the temple and announce the newest Master of the 8 schools, and calls for the ritual suicide of the last master who shall throw himself off the mountain to make way for his successor. Although the true horn is actually a smoking pipe carried and used often by the grandmaster, and anyone who he shares a smoke with shall be given authority over the mountain and take his place as he ascends to the heavens until the death of the latest mortal protector.
Of course living on a cold mountain, there is little to no vegetation, and certainly while ores were readily available from the mountain, wood was a rare commodity. There is also few in the name of animals, merely wolves which come from the foot of the mountain, rams which avoid the wolves from the bottom by surviving in the upper parts of the cold mountain, ravens which pick the frozen flesh off the dead and the occasional fish from the frozen rivers. From these animal aspects, the schools of the Wolf, Ram, Raven and Fish were created in two flavours, the white and the black, each specializing in a unique style of killing and philosophy.
Since food is scarce, the society is slightly twisted in a sense that, in this polygamous patriarchy, men and women were expected to settle down and have a family within their 25th year, and women were to bear many offspring to continue their tribe's survivability in their remote mountain nation. This of course leads to plenty of inbreeding and bad genetics, so most of its people have some degree of albinism and other rare genetic diseases, some good some bad. But essentially there are 4 major noble families ruling the mountain, with one Khan ruling as administrative king of the mountain. The men of course are graded by the number of wives they have had, thus concubines are plenty, along with strong fermented alcohols which will keep your body warm in the coldest nights surrounded by your multiple women. And women are graded by the number of children they have produced, for a barren women was considered useless. And all citizens who did not marry and have children by the age of 25, or those who are too old (and not important enough) to be of child-bearing capacity are slaughtered for meat in the cold seasons. Yes, ritualistic cannibalism was practiced as it was necessary to sustain the population. Those who feared death by slaughter could venture up the mountain to be taken in by the monks, only perhaps to die in one of their tournaments. Either way, it is a hard life, but easy death for everyone.
A hunger grows. A Seed deep within, retching itself free. Clawing out of your bowels, twisting itself through your gut. The agony grows, ascending out as you cry out as it crawls out. The birth of desire.
His long fingers clacked away at the keyboard. Each stroke driven by a madness, rushing itself as his eyes fixed themselves upon the screen. The characters appearing behind the blinking bar, and as if by magic, disappearing as he furiously erased the words. Changing his mind as he continued to type out his queries only to receive denial of access. Something went wrong, very wrong. Replaying the image in his mind, accepting the laptop, wishing Mithias well, and turning around. Mithias' steps towards the car, a stride to mimic as he took his own steps back into the complex. An explosion behind him, the boom which made his head snap back behind him. The crunching of metal, the vampire's lips, the paramedics. He remembered the loss, an ill feeling as he was dragged away by the other SOLIDER members that rushed to the scene. That car-bomb, within moments the files for Mithias Varomere were redacted, pulled out of the official records and kept tighter than a...
The ten roses dropped in a glass vase, slightly wilted now. An assortment of flowers, yellow, lavender, coral with a single red rose blooming in the middle of the arrangement. Fresh cut? Perhaps, but certainly meaning more to him now as his visit to the hospital was met with bitter disappointment. Regretfully, it seemed Mithias was there, but never quite stayed long. But for a sire to die leaving his thrall behind? Oh how painful it was to be away from him, his presence was intoxication in itself. His scent, his voice, his form, ever present in the mind. How like shadows they flitted and lingered on, refusing to move to another thought. Obsession was it? No, this was n Obsession, this was... Devotion.
What lengths would you go through to stay loyal to a man? What ways would you show your unwavering support to someone who is lost? How long would you wait for his return until you decide to find him yourself? Short of digging yourself a grave beside his? Those roses would have stayed fresher longer if it were not for the crimson fluid beneath them. For you see, roses were not vampires, and did not drink blood. Yet his master would need it to recover. Yes, yes he would. He would take these dying roses to him, and feed him the blood that shall make him break free. Free from wherever it was they took him. He would be the one to do it, for he had done so many things for the sire now.
Those pitiful begging cries for mercy. All he had to do was tell where they took Mithias. But no, he had to make it difficult, to claim he didn't know. To shoot a man through the heart was a waste of a bullet if he knew nothing, but to shoot a man slowly to the point where he begs for his life? Torment indeed, the first bullet was simply aimed at his captive's foot, the man who had barred him from joining Mithias. The second into the knee of the same leg. The third? into his flank. Oh he had some nerve to go against the revolver, but in this twisted game, where six chambered held five bullets, there was a chance for the gun to not have that killer shot. As such the fourth shot aimed at the man's nethers was blank. But the next spot was his chest, and only tears streaming down the man's cheek could attest to the pleas of "I don't know." Another empty chamber, another spin, another click. Now with the gun pointed between his eyes, would the man press his luck?
Memories disappeared, neither a hint of remorse or guilt across the red-head's face as he scrutinized the screen. SOLIDER would never know. They thought he was just a desk officer. Just a lowly informations officer, stuck behind the wood looking at the monitors. Well here was looking at a monitor now. His slightly unbuttoned red shirt covered in drying blood.
"I will find you... Mithias..." Lucan whispered to himself in the sanctuary of his own home.
@The Grey Dust Ah good point Definitly met at a range not point blank Point blank well definitly leave him with injury....like the shotgun example....he can't dodge that.
I can add a few more weaknesses of some sort of that will help balance him out a bit more
(Blue pill or red...*eats both*)
I'm glad you're not a male or else you'd have morning wood syndrome. The Red pill wakes you up. The blue pill is a Viagra.
@Wraithblade6 okay, here he is let me know if it needs tweaks. If you think the vampire form is too much I can take it out no problem. also sorry for the double post.
Name: Vladimir (Also known as Vlad to those who interact with him often )
Appearance: Vladimir is considered handsome. He has a form of male beauty that makes most women fall for him…and he uses that to his advantage. He stands at around 6 foot 1 with perfect posture. His skin is lightly tanned which gives him a bit of a golden glow. His eyes are a pale grey that seem to either reflect only one emotion…that of anger. When he is angry those eyes seem to reflect rolling clouds of storms. He is well built, but lean. Muscles of an archer that can be hidden and let his opponents underestimate him. He is a lot stronger then he looks. His hair is rather interesting. The right, back and underneath the left sides of his head are all shaved at about 3 inches with the top of his hair falling to the left. His hair is a deep raven black with a stark white streak falling over his left eye (Pie bald). In his left ear is a silver hoop that seems to be soldered shut. His ears have a very slight point and his canines are slightly longer then average. His weight is around 180 with that being mostly muscle. He has a Russian accent that comes out when he is caught off guard or angry along with occasional Russian words slipping. He walks with an almost feline grace and makes little to no noise when walking. Lastly, his voice has a velvety softness to it, though is can become more harsh when he is upset.
werewolf form-Click me It seems almost as if his white streak takes over in this form. This hulking beast develops onyx claws and canines that are longer then average. His eyes seem somehow paler in this form giving a haunting look to the ghost wolf. (as was his nickname in the pack…before…well everything)
scent: kind of like wet dog...not really appealing
Age: Looks 21, actual age is somewhere in the 1,000 range
Species: Vampire werewolf hybrid
Goals/Faction: He somehow recently ended up with SOLDIER and gets to be a pin in their ass.
Backstory: Vladimir was born amongst others of his kind. He grew up among them, learned to be like them, fairly normal. He was even rather high ranking in the pack, gaining him a good reputation. That is until he was turned into some freaky hybrid at the age of 21 during a fight with one of them. The fight ended with the vampire dead and vladimir heading home not realizing that he was now something other. Once his pack realized what happened, they banished him rather quickly showing him that even those you care about are capable of becoming people that hate you in a matter of days. This caused for a personality change to the lovely bucket of sunshine he is today. As he explored on his own, he found himself as a pirate captain. Having bought his own ship and gained his own crew, he was able to steal a large amount of treasure. (Treasure he still has hidden in various places.) Fast forward a few years to when he was taking a small ‘vacation’ with his crew in a random town. There he met a woman (it is always a woman no?) whom he fell for. He cared for her deeply and managed to woo her into being his spouse. Once they were married he handed the reigns of captainhood to a trusted crew mate (lucky too as the boat was shot down and sunk) and lived out a good 2 years with his wife. This however, was not what fate intended for him. He came home one day after buying a gift for his beloved to her being killed brutally. He snapped and left the town covered in blood. After leaving the town, he found himself in america. The wars of vampire and men were not soon after. This caused for a increase in his wealth as he put himself up as a hit for hire…or even a guard. This got his name out a bit and caused for werewolves and vampires a like to show their fangs at him. Now, he somehow managed to wiggle his way into Soldier. Offering himself as a weapon to use…and a way to fight some of his boredom.
Powers/Skills: -Shapeshift: Vlad can become more vampire like or go full werewolf. Vampire tends to be when he hasn’t fed for awhile while wolf is more when he is angry. -Strength: His strength ranges a bit more then a werewolf’s Enhanced senses -Speed healing: He heals extremely fast, however…his skin does make a weird spider like noise whenever it heals wounds. And his blood is thick and sluggish. Downside for him is that he cannot seem to get drunk. -Thick skin: His skin feels more like wax when stabbed…when being more vampire like his skin becomes more like marble. A trait possibly given by the vampire that turned him. -Speed: His speed is enough for him to dodge a bullet. That being said whenever there is something that cannot be dealt with with strength he uses speed to make up for it. -Parkour -Sword skills
Weaknesses: -Iron: Slows healing process, burns -His past: He blames himself for what happened to his wife -His own anger: When he is angry enough it seems that his brain checks out. -Little to no caution: He often will put himself in the line of fire knowing that he is less likely to get hurt or killed then others however this also means he is more vulnerable to capture
Fears: -He hates flying. Something about being in the air off of solid ground is unnerving to him. -Sleep: due to his past he finds it hard to sleep and has developed minor insomnia. Some nights he can sleep other nights he simply can’t
Equipment/Weapons: -A sword -Dagger -his own self -Animal blood: He has animal blood contained in syringes which he will often give himself to prevent anything bad from happening.
Themesong: Animals-Maroon 5
Okie Dokies. Sorry all for the delay, I'll be whipping up a post tomorrow. Hopefully. If not possibly a custard, or some fruity dessert.
After a brief review, I'd like the backstory a bit more fleshed out, but as it stands it will pass for the purposes of the RP. Um, dodging bullets is super vague, I mean if I held a shotgun to his forehead, between the eyes, and pulled the trigger, can he dodge these bullets? Perhaps at a range, but at point blank, it is rather difficult to dodge certain firearms, especially at close ranges, if they are higher caliber weapons that have high muzzle velocities (such as a magnum). That being said, it is probably possible to get clipped, grazed or not as seriously injured by one, but dodging them completely in close range seems a bit unlikely. So um, please clarify if you can, because we are not in the Matrix (or at we?).
Other than that I suppose it's alright. I'm usually the stickler for power balancing and modulating before it becomes a problem, so if you want the nicer of the two "GM" peoples talk to Wraith.
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