Vilhelm

Highschool DXD - Bounce!

Name:
Jason Blight

Former Race:
Human

Age (Real/Apparent):
Nineteen... But could pass as being in his early twenties.

Gender:
Male

Height:
6'1"

Weight:
157 lbs

Appearance:

(Forgive me the seethrough shirt there. XD)
Given his height and well-muscled build, Jason -does- look like one of those guys you just don't want to get in a fight with, but to those a bit more observant, it's pretty clear he'd rather sleep than beat anybody up, usually wandering around with a bored, half-asleep expression on his face, light gray eyes half closed until something sparks his interest.

Personality:
Jason is, at his core, a nice guy. But he's also a lazy guy. And very, very easily bored. Truth be told, he'd much rather spend his time sleeping or hammering away at a punching bag than interacting with other people, but his general good nature brings him to drag himself into the public eye every day, to see who might need a hand with things, and to try and make some friends out of people.

But he'd still rather be sleeping.

Powers:
Jason doesn't have much in the way of power. As an only recently made devil, he's still getting a handle on the whole magic thing, and is frankly quite hopeless at it- However, he does manage the usual devil powers. Flying around, making contracts and the like.

Due to being a pawn, he can, of course, take on the aspects of any piece but the king when he steps foot in what his master considers "Enemy Territory".

However, in the way of physical prowess, Jason has plenty. He grew up taking kickboxing classes, and spent most of his teenage years either getting into schoolground fights to protect a friend, or competing in boxing tournaments. He's quite excellent to have around for a fistfight, and, as a devil, he's even stronger than he used to be, giving your -average- rook a run for their money even without taking a promotion.

Bio:
Jason lived, outside of his constant fighting, a pretty normal life. His parents were alright, his friends were cool, he got a lot of popularity out of being a regular fight-winning, friend-protecting badass.... But really, it was all just -normal-. Things didn't really get interesting until his senior year of highschool. He was nineteen at the time- Not due to being stupid and being held back, but rather due to an awkwardly timed birthday by school-year timing.

During his senior year in good old 'Murica, he got an offer from a man who'd watched him fight in his latest tournament- An offer to go to Japan and compete in a tournament there, with a very hefty reward for the winner. Of course, he accepted- Why wouldn't he? The offer of some good fights and a lot of money would grab anybody's attention.

So... Off to Japan he went. Things started out fairly normal. He got a hotel, studied up on his opponents, and wandered around the city he was staying in, looking for interesting places like any tourist should. At some point throughout his wandering, he was handed a slip of paper by a pretty girl on the street- He took it and tucked it into his pocket without much thought, hurrying off to check out an interesting looking club across the way. Doing so, however... Took him through a dark alley in the middle of the night, like a dumbass. And unfortunately for Jason... Gun beats fist when fired from ten feet away for the paper in a guy's wallet. He remembered bleeding out. There was nobody around to see. Nobody to hear. He was dying, and there was nobody around to do anything to help him. He felt -weak-. And he hated it. He cursed whoever had done this. And just before a fight, a fight that he could have won, and taken home some money...

He remembered wishing, with all of his being, that he could just keep on fighting. That it wouldn't be taken away from him. He felt a warm glow from the paper in his pocket... And the next thing he knew, he woke up, alive, whole, and strong, in a room with Faye Beherit. And so began his life as a devil, and as a pawn.

Highschool DXD - Bounce!

Awesomesauce~.

Highschool DXD - Bounce!

Sorry it took so long, afraid I only just woke up.

Name:
Jason Blight

Former Race:
Human

Age (Real/Apparent):
Nineteen... But could pass as being in his early twenties.

Gender:
Male

Height:
6'1"

Weight:
157 lbs

Appearance:

(Forgive me the seethrough shirt there. XD)
Given his height and well-muscled build, Jason -does- look like one of those guys you just don't want to get in a fight with, but to those a bit more observant, it's pretty clear he'd rather sleep than beat anybody up, usually wandering around with a bored, half-asleep expression on his face, light gray eyes half closed until something sparks his interest.

Personality:
Jason is, at his core, a nice guy. But he's also a lazy guy. And very, very easily bored. Truth be told, he'd much rather spend his time sleeping or hammering away at a punching bag than interacting with other people, but his general good nature brings him to drag himself into the public eye every day, to see who might need a hand with things, and to try and make some friends out of people.

But he'd still rather be sleeping.

Powers:
Jason doesn't have much in the way of power. As an only recently made devil, he's still getting a handle on the whole magic thing, and is frankly quite hopeless at it- However, he does manage the usual devil powers. Flying around, making contracts and the like.

Due to being a pawn, he can, of course, take on the aspects of any piece but the king when he steps foot in what his master considers "Enemy Territory".

However, in the way of physical prowess, Jason has plenty. He grew up taking kickboxing classes, and spent most of his teenage years either getting into schoolground fights to protect a friend, or competing in boxing tournaments. He's quite excellent to have around for a fistfight, and, as a devil, he's even stronger than he used to be, giving your -average- rook a run for their money even without taking a promotion.

Bio:
Jason lived, outside of his constant fighting, a pretty normal life. His parents were alright, his friends were cool, he got a lot of popularity out of being a regular fight-winning, friend-protecting badass.... But really, it was all just -normal-. Things didn't really get interesting until his senior year of highschool. He was nineteen at the time- Not due to being stupid and being held back, but rather due to an awkwardly timed birthday by school-year timing.

During his senior year in good old 'Murica, he got an offer from a man who'd watched him fight in his latest tournament- An offer to go to Japan and compete in a tournament there, with a very hefty reward for the winner. Of course, he accepted- Why wouldn't he? The offer of some good fights and a lot of money would grab anybody's attention.

So... Off to Japan he went. Things started out fairly normal. He got a hotel, studied up on his opponents, and wandered around the city he was staying in, looking for interesting places like any tourist should. At some point throughout his wandering, he was handed a slip of paper by a pretty girl on the street- He took it and tucked it into his pocket without much thought, hurrying off to check out an interesting looking club across the way. Doing so, however... Took him through a dark alley in the middle of the night, like a dumbass. And unfortunately for Jason... Gun beats fist when fired from ten feet away for the paper in a guy's wallet. He remembered bleeding out. There was nobody around to see. Nobody to hear. He was dying, and there was nobody around to do anything to help him. He felt -weak-. And he hated it. He cursed whoever had done this. And just before a fight, a fight that he could have won, and taken home some money...

He remembered wishing, with all of his being, that he could just keep on fighting. That it wouldn't be taken away from him. He felt a warm glow from the paper in his pocket... And the next thing he knew, he woke up, alive, whole, and strong, in a room with Faye Beherit. And so began his life as a devil, and as a pawn.

Highschool DXD - Bounce!

*Pokes head in* It seems I've caught this before it started. Might there be room for one more player? Might take up a newbie pawn slot.

Or something more powerful, if it's available and needed.

Surviving: The End (Azseth and Vilhelm)

Two men trudged along not far from the road, but far enough from it to avoid being in the open. It wasn't frigid, but cold enough that you see the breath as the two walked. The sun would be starting it's decent shorly and both knew, even without speaking the words, that it was almost time to find a spot. They'd walked through the last night and today, and while they could probably continue on for another night, there was no need to. They came to realize that the only time to push yourself uncessasarily was when, well, it was necessary. When the smaller of the two spoke up, his words were accented and he would occasionally use terms and sayings incorrectly, indicated that English was a second language. The truth of the matter though, is that Fuad spoke good English and butchered things to get a rise out of the other man who seethed at such things.

"This place looks as well as any to make a camp. Those bushes will make good to break wind, and we can start a small fire."

The larger of the two glanced over at the spot the smaller man indicated. Terry Burnard- T-Burn, more commonly, was his name- And he most certainly did seethe. He knew full well most of the jabs were intentional. He'd heard Fuad speak perfectly unaccented, smooth English before. And it just made it all the more irritating.
"Oh for god's sake, Fuad, speak proper English! And they'll break -up- the wind. If bushes start farting on us in camp, I'm going to be using this axe for a lot more than zombies."
He swung the fire-axe he commonly held in a lazy arc as he said it, narrowly, and intentionally, avoiding making contact with Fuad's ribcage.

"Proper English?" Fuad snorted, ignoring the axe--it wasn't the first time T-Burn did something of the sort, and it wouldn't be the last, and spoke up in what is his best attempt at a PROPER English accent. "Right sire. This seems like a dandy place to make a spot of tea. Be a good chap and pass me the crumpets would you?"

As the two moved to the spot, both looked around intently. In spite of the casual atmosphere and banter that would almost lead one to believe that this was another day at the office, Terry and Fuad were alive for a reason, well two reasons. First they didn't let the world kill them and smother them with hopelessness. That, and they were capable. They knew what to look for. They were survivors.

After a minute or two, Terry gave a satisfied grunt, tossing his axe down- Well, burying its head in the ground anyway- and practically ripping one of the bushes out of the ground, breaking it apart over his knee and with jerks of his hands, putting that muscle to work making firewood out of the shrub.
"It'll do. And never talk like that again, or the axe goes in -you-."
He didn't mean it of course. Fuad had saved his ass a dozen times over, just as Terry had saved Fuad a dozen times over. They relied on each other. More than either of them would ever admit.

"Let us make honest. You can barely hit one of those shambling flesh bags, and when you do, you end up missing by a mile and I have to clean up the mess. What makes you think you could hit me?" As Terry took his frustrations out on the bushes, Fuad walked in a few wide circles around the camp. Looking at the ground and ahead, listening in between the talking for any sounds that were abnormal. Some people believed in silence at a time like this. In their experience however, these talked would draw out any walkers within hearing range and it was better that they find them now then randomly in the middle of the night, with one person asleep.

"I'm like Muhammed Ali. Fight like a butterfly, sting like bee."
"Bullshit, you're more like Fuad- Use a shotgun because you can't aim, run screaming like a bitch from large groups of zombies. At least I have the balls to chop heads off up close and personal."
He tossed down his bush-o'-firewood, surrounding it with some rocks while he talked, and soon enough had a pleasant little fire circle... And was furiously rubbing some branches together to get the fire started. He'd done it before. Wouldn't take long.

Fuad made his way back to the camp and watched Terry work at a fire. That was something Fuad just couldn't do, and while he did have matches on him, both of them knew those should be saved for when they were needed.

Fuad grimaced and shook his head at Terry's going-ons. Fuad did have a shotgun, but just like the matches, he rarely used them. His prefered tools were his crowbar and his steel gauntlet. That gauntlet was an amazing piece of improvised weaponry against the undead as they had a tendency to reach out and bite or grab whatever was offered. Fuad would generally hold it out, almost giving it to them and as the bit or grabbed, smash down wish his crowbar. And on days he needed a bit more steam blown off, nothing did more to cleanse the spirits than smashing a steel gauntlet into the face of the undead.

Oh, the simple pleasure in life.

He sat down and didn't answer Terry right away, instead choosing to rummage through his pack for food. "What say you T-Burn, tonight call for a lavish dinner? I have a can of beef and barley soup."

Terry didn't answer until the first sparks of flame had taken, the leaves and brush soon catching, carrying the fire to the thicker-longer burning stems of the bush or two he'd ripped up.
"Yeah, sure. Soup sounds good..."
The rumble from his stomach seemed to agree. Zombie apocalypse or not... Terry was a fireman! Fireman's gotta eat.

The one luxury item that Fuad carried was a large pot. It was bulky and annoying at times, but when you had the time and resources to actually cook, it was a godsend. He took out a gerber utility tool and went to work opening the can after scooping up some snow to throw into the pot and water it down. Wouldn't taste as good, but there was more of it that way. After dumping the condensed soup into the snowy pot, he put it on the fire.

"Now we are cooking on fire!" He could almost hear Terry gritting his teeth...

Hogwarts vs. Death Eaters | Only The Strong Shall Survive

Name:
Elizabeth Blake

Age:
Seventeen

House:
Ravenclaw

Appearance:

Standing at barely 5'6" with a pretty average build, Liz more or less stands in the range of "Average adorable nerd", as far as appearances and behavior go. Hey eyes are a vivid, curious green.

Wand:
Ten inches
Beech
Dragon Heartstring
Springy


Pet:
Liz's pet is adorable in the extreme... It's a sugar glider! The little thing has a penchant for either hiding in Liz's shirt pocket or climbing around in her own, or other peoples', hair. It also seems to know a good deal of tricks, which makes for amusing ways to pass the time between studying.


Skills:
Liz has particular talent for charms, hexes and, while it is unknown to most... Dark magic. She's quite excellent at both, even if she doesn't always display such.

Surviving: The End (Azseth and Vilhelm)

This RP is being written Collaboratively in an alternate live pad. Each post will be written over time and posted by either Azseth or myself, covering a large amount of action, and will probably be a wall.

Do not expect regular, normal-length posts if you are a reader of this 1x1

Surviving: The End (Azseth and Vilhelm)

Name:
Terry M Burnard

Age:
43

Occupation:
Fireman.

Family life:
Married. Wife, three kids all deceased.

Hair:
black.

Eyes:
brown.

Weight:
205 lbs.

Appearance:


Blood type:
A+
Immune:
yes

Gear:
T-burn keeps a good supply of lighters flammable, rather explosive items with him. After all, fight fire long enough and you learn how to start one, to. Other then that, he has a crowbar and his hands.

Bio: Terry, or T-Burn was living the good life. His childhood was modest, but they had more than a lot of people, and he was taught to see that and appreciate it from his parents. Terry’s father was a chief at a fire station in Texas and his mother was a social worker, so they instilled in him, an only child, that a job that didn’t help anyone wasn’t worth working. At the end of the day, you find substance and worth in the people you help. Terry’s grandfather was also a fireman for the same station, though long retired.

While his mother worked a low key job that got very little recognition (albeit good pay), his father was more known through the city. He saw that and wanted it. People respected his father because he was a good man, he respected others. So as soon as he graduated high school, he asked his father to help him through fire fighter training. After talking with both his parents, they decided to go ahead and do it.

He wasn’t the largest man, not the fastest, and not the smartest, but they called him the “Bulldog” at training because no matter what Terry wouldn’t quit. He was bullheaded and he had heart.

And the tradition of a Burnard being in the local fire department carried on for a third generation. Eventually he settled down and married and had kids of his own. Two of his own children expressed interest in fire fighting (the third more interested in banging drums and wearing black clothing) so that would have made for a potential 4th generation if it hadn’t been for the awakening. His father had retired for some time, and Terry made it to Assistant Chief and after 21 years was about to retire himself.

Then the calls started flooding in. People sick. Dying. Then attacking. Violence in the streets. But not near his home.

Not immediately anyway. Then one day, there was a call to his own house and he panicked as he and the emergency response units scrambled and headed out. They arrived at the scene and before anyone could explain what happened, shots were fired. Then more shorts. He went to make his way into the house, but was blindsided to a form who bit deeply into his forearm. He struggled with the thing and they fell on his steps, Terry landing on top. He picked up and bashed the woman’s head into the stairs, repeatedly until it stopped.

It was then that he realized it was his oldest son’s girl friend. A cop grabbed him and told Terry not to go in, they were all dead.

As the chaos around him picked up, Terry sat the numb. Then, anger over took him, anger at not being there, at failing to protect his family, anger at…the whole world. He swung his axe clean into the face of the next undead that shambled by.

Since then, he’s been killing his way east, hearing of a hold out location in South Carolina.

Surviving: The End (Azseth and Vilhelm)

Name:
Jane Langford

Appearance:


Eye Color:
Green

Height/Weight:
5'00" 106 lbs

Blood Type:
O+ (Immune)

Age:
17

Gear:
Jane is in full support of making men believe that purses are bottomless, even in these dangerous times. Her only apparent bag is a single mid-sized purse, kept close to her side... In which she stores a change of clothes, spare ammo for any gun she happens to pick up in place of makeup, a book, a jacket, food, water, a few old items of sentimental value, her phone- Because she is -determined- to find somewhere that still has power to charge it and have her gods damned music- and an entire bag of first aid supplies. Weapon-wise, she'll just use whatever small arms she comes across and has ammo for. Big guns tend to knock her over, determined or not.

Bio:
Growing up in a somewhat shitty neighborhood in New York City, New York, Jane has always been the epitome of the fiery redhead. Brought up by a caring single mother, she was taught to put her fiery ways to use with that common new yorker attitude, vicious and highly self-sufficient, growing up in the concrete jungle just -suited- her. She couldn't imagine life anywhere else. Elementary, middle, and highschool all went by with fair ease- She wasn't the smartest gal in the universe, but she was definitely up there.

But of course, things always have to go sour. When the rising began, her mother was quick to pack Jane and what few belongings they cared to take with them in the car and get the hell out of dodge, driving as far west as the little car would take them, hoping to find a safe haven -somewhere-, anywhere. And yet, even that couldn't last. When they stopped to camp out- Jane can't remember exactly where- they were fallen upon by a group of zeds. Jane made it out... Her mother didn't. From there she traveled aimlessly, one place to the next, stealing food to survive and hiding in trees to sleep. Eventually, she wound up with a group that she hasn't left for a while.

Surviving: The End (Azseth and Vilhelm)

Name:
William Renault; Will

Appearance:

Despite appearing rather thin and, frankly, frail, due to his height, Will is actually rather well built and toned, clear should anyone ever catch him with his shirt off. As to his usual outfit, he tends to stick to jeans and a t-shirt, with a good pair of hiking boots and a grey windbreaker, worn but sturdy.

Eye color:
Grey

Height/weight:
5'3", 130 lbs

Blood type:
B-, immune to the zombie virus.

Age:
17

Gear:
A backpack that he stuffs with any chemicals or engineering bits he can find, along with a single change of clothes, and a few travel rations- Water bottle, trail mix, a can of beans or two. The necessities. In the warmer months he wears either no jacket or his wind-breaker, but when things get cold he switches to his favorite leather jacket, warm and sturdy. Though at some point the right sleeve of all of his shirts and jackets went missing... He just wraps his right arm in bandages if it gets too cold now. Mobility first! Weapon-wise, he has a rather large bow and a military-grade survival knife. The bow seems far too heavy in the draw for somebody his size... But he seems to have no issue drawing the thing, and his aim is outstanding. As to the single handgun he carries... Not so much. He might hit the broad side of a barn, if he gets lucky. It's more for threats than actually shooting people.

Reason for being in the CDC facility:
His mother was in a... rather high up position- Higher than his father to be certain, and thus convinced his father to pull some strings and put Will in the presumed safe hands of the CDC facility.... Because the first lady is far, far higher up than the president.

Bio: Will was born into a fairly normal life- A normal family, a normal home, a normal school- Really, everything was decent. For the first eleven years of his life, he was happy and cool with everything. From an early age, he was a scout, all of his interests going into nature and wilderness skills. Thankfully, his family was quite supportive of the fact, and thus he had no problems going through scouts and school, help from his family available when needed, and all that fun stuff.

However, things got a bit more confusing come that eleventh year. His father, a politician for most of his life, decided it was time for the ultimate goal: He ran for president. That year in particular was extraordinarily busy, to be expected of course. What was more surprising? His father -won-. From there, Will's comfortable lifestyle became highly confusing. He and his older brother were taken from their home in Michigan down to DC, their cozy little hose turning into the great Whitehouse. All of his friends, his scout troop, his school, everything left behind. While he did manage to join the boyscouts again in his new home, it was never the same. Secret Service tailing him everywhere, never able to be on his own again. Making friends was neigh-impossible, for him and his brother both, leaving them to be basically on their own. The next four years were like that, secluded and lonely. This only made his determination to find a small amount of normalcy larger. He pushed himself harder in scouts and school to learn as much as he could, doing his best to ignore the men in suits hovering over him at all times. Archery and nature survival became massive interests for extracurricular activity, and anatomy and biology in general, alongside engineering, became his academic pursuits.

It was mere luck that the skills he studied would prove useful in the end. Four years of constant study and practice, trying to ignore the Secret Service shadowing his every move, and the solitude brought on by his father's position. All of it culminating into a rather skilled survivalist. Who knew a zombie outbreak would occur in his father's last year of office? At his mother's urging, his president pulled a few strings with his last bits of authority to put Will in the protective hands of CDC. A special order was given to a specific man to guard him after the CDC people were released- Without him knowing of course.