Member
Full Name: Alabastor Tolveras
Nicknames/Titles: The Unseen Fist
Occupation: Bruiser
Birthday: Unknown, however he says it’s February 14th.
Height: 5’7
Weight: 175 lbs.
Race: Moon Elf
Sex/Gender: Male
Age: 175
Sexuality: Straight
Place of Birth: Kyora
Biography: Forever the street urchin, Alabastor was born in the gutters of society and accepted at an early age that he would die within the gutters of society. He was left abandoned shortly after his birth, and taken into a rather shady orphanage. Said orphanage would take in children who were left with nothing more to their name save the skin on their back, and train them to be thieves. Getting an elf was a boon, for they now had a thief to work for them for hundreds of years to come. He didn’t really care that he was seen more as an asset than a person, this was the only place he had. As he matured into an adult, they sent him on more dangerous hunts; hitting adventurer’s and the like. One such robbery went south for the rogue as he attempted to mug a traveling spell slinger; poor fool was hit with a spell which drained his very life essence.
Taken into an undisclosed location, he was tortured for information on who sent him and why. He wasn’t sure just how long he was kept in this place, days, weeks, months? However, the spell caster did in fact manage to extract enough information to conclude that there wasn’t anything special with this robbery. Bemused by the fact that this was simply a common burglar, the elf was then thrown to the streets to die in an alleyway. Refusing the sweet allure of death, the elf crawled back to the orphanage. As he crawled, dangerous thoughts began to fill his head; was he set up? There’s no way that someone that powerful would be mistaken for a common adventurer. He supposed they feared me might make a move to wrest control of their operation. Half-way back, or…at least he thought he was halfway back, he took what little money he had a bought himself an inn room.
Deciding that if the orphanage wanted him gone, then he should probably make himself scarce for he could not hope to challenge them alone. After spending a few days acquiring funds in various pick-pocketing schemes, he jumped onto the first ship which both fell within his budget and assured him he’d be quite the distance away; traveling to Kisoku sounded like a grand ol’ time that wasn't here. During the voyage he would fine tune his own body into a lethal weapon, albeit untrained in the martial ways, which earned him more than a few odd stares. Upon arriving to port he discovered he was low on funds again, and began his pick pocketing again. However, his rustiness overseas nearly cost him for he was founded out, and chased by those whom took offense to his ways of currency growth. He fled into the seedier parts of the islands, dodging and ducking into what looked like a tavern of which one would not ask questions they’d rather not hear. Inside, there was only one free seat at the end of a rather large table full of some of the more unsightly and dangerous looking ones of the tavern, and the end was the most dangerous of all; one by the name of Harmonie. His life quality both decreased and increased as he spoke his first words to her: “Either down that drink in one, or pass it here; I’ve had a hell of a time getting here.”
From there it was a thrilling three years of purely honest work which may or may not have involved of disposing of those who may or may not slow his new bosses down. While his thoughts often drifted to those who threw him out like garbage, what keeps him happy nowadays are the thoughts of burning them all down in a blaze of vengeance.
Likes: A warm bed, actual food, buxom waitresses, not dying, vengeance, lining his pockets.
Dislikes: Sleeping outside, weak ass booze, washboards, individuals who have a holier than thou sense about them i.e. sticks up their asses.
Skills/Strengths: Include unique abilities. Alabastor is still quite the thief, he is light on his feet, quite the pickpocket, lock-picker, all around rogue. His combat proficiency flows from his style of hand-to-hand combat, which is to cripple his opponent as quickly as possible. Alabastor has learned to snatch projectiles being sent his way, though he is only capable of stopping one or two at a time. He can focus himself to perform a stunning blow, or use sad focus to send a vast number of blows in a short amount of time. He is more of an evasive fighter, relying on not getting hit rather than wearing any sort of protective gear.
Flaws/Weaknesses: Alabastor is affected by magic more so than other’s due to the torture he endured, as in offensive magic deals more damage to him compared to another person. He would rather take on problems alone rather than with others. He has trouble hitting targets at ranged, and in general has difficulty seeing past 350 ft. He tends to keep relationships at arm’s reach.
Weapons/Equipment: His fists and his legs. Occasionally he’ll put on claws for bigger targets.
Appearance: Keeps his posture straight most of the time, has black-unkept hair which probably hasn’t been cut in a good ten years, with yellow eyes peering from behind them. A toned body is hidden behind rather plain clothes: a brown tunic, tan pants and black boots.
Theme Songs: A fun little extra I always like to include.
Inspirations: This was an old DnD character. He was a level 21 rogue/assassin who got energy drained back down to level 0; basically, a free reroll. Turned him into a Monk, and eventually a Psionic fist. This variant of Alabastor is a ‘What if he didn’t lose his thieving skills and still went Monk, with not Psionic shananagins?’
Main or Side: Main
Username: Whicipedia
Nicknames/Titles: The Unseen Fist
Occupation: Bruiser
Birthday: Unknown, however he says it’s February 14th.
Height: 5’7
Weight: 175 lbs.
Race: Moon Elf
Sex/Gender: Male
Age: 175
Sexuality: Straight
Place of Birth: Kyora
Biography: Forever the street urchin, Alabastor was born in the gutters of society and accepted at an early age that he would die within the gutters of society. He was left abandoned shortly after his birth, and taken into a rather shady orphanage. Said orphanage would take in children who were left with nothing more to their name save the skin on their back, and train them to be thieves. Getting an elf was a boon, for they now had a thief to work for them for hundreds of years to come. He didn’t really care that he was seen more as an asset than a person, this was the only place he had. As he matured into an adult, they sent him on more dangerous hunts; hitting adventurer’s and the like. One such robbery went south for the rogue as he attempted to mug a traveling spell slinger; poor fool was hit with a spell which drained his very life essence.
Taken into an undisclosed location, he was tortured for information on who sent him and why. He wasn’t sure just how long he was kept in this place, days, weeks, months? However, the spell caster did in fact manage to extract enough information to conclude that there wasn’t anything special with this robbery. Bemused by the fact that this was simply a common burglar, the elf was then thrown to the streets to die in an alleyway. Refusing the sweet allure of death, the elf crawled back to the orphanage. As he crawled, dangerous thoughts began to fill his head; was he set up? There’s no way that someone that powerful would be mistaken for a common adventurer. He supposed they feared me might make a move to wrest control of their operation. Half-way back, or…at least he thought he was halfway back, he took what little money he had a bought himself an inn room.
Deciding that if the orphanage wanted him gone, then he should probably make himself scarce for he could not hope to challenge them alone. After spending a few days acquiring funds in various pick-pocketing schemes, he jumped onto the first ship which both fell within his budget and assured him he’d be quite the distance away; traveling to Kisoku sounded like a grand ol’ time that wasn't here. During the voyage he would fine tune his own body into a lethal weapon, albeit untrained in the martial ways, which earned him more than a few odd stares. Upon arriving to port he discovered he was low on funds again, and began his pick pocketing again. However, his rustiness overseas nearly cost him for he was founded out, and chased by those whom took offense to his ways of currency growth. He fled into the seedier parts of the islands, dodging and ducking into what looked like a tavern of which one would not ask questions they’d rather not hear. Inside, there was only one free seat at the end of a rather large table full of some of the more unsightly and dangerous looking ones of the tavern, and the end was the most dangerous of all; one by the name of Harmonie. His life quality both decreased and increased as he spoke his first words to her: “Either down that drink in one, or pass it here; I’ve had a hell of a time getting here.”
From there it was a thrilling three years of purely honest work which may or may not have involved of disposing of those who may or may not slow his new bosses down. While his thoughts often drifted to those who threw him out like garbage, what keeps him happy nowadays are the thoughts of burning them all down in a blaze of vengeance.
Likes: A warm bed, actual food, buxom waitresses, not dying, vengeance, lining his pockets.
Dislikes: Sleeping outside, weak ass booze, washboards, individuals who have a holier than thou sense about them i.e. sticks up their asses.
Skills/Strengths: Include unique abilities. Alabastor is still quite the thief, he is light on his feet, quite the pickpocket, lock-picker, all around rogue. His combat proficiency flows from his style of hand-to-hand combat, which is to cripple his opponent as quickly as possible. Alabastor has learned to snatch projectiles being sent his way, though he is only capable of stopping one or two at a time. He can focus himself to perform a stunning blow, or use sad focus to send a vast number of blows in a short amount of time. He is more of an evasive fighter, relying on not getting hit rather than wearing any sort of protective gear.
Flaws/Weaknesses: Alabastor is affected by magic more so than other’s due to the torture he endured, as in offensive magic deals more damage to him compared to another person. He would rather take on problems alone rather than with others. He has trouble hitting targets at ranged, and in general has difficulty seeing past 350 ft. He tends to keep relationships at arm’s reach.
Weapons/Equipment: His fists and his legs. Occasionally he’ll put on claws for bigger targets.
Appearance: Keeps his posture straight most of the time, has black-unkept hair which probably hasn’t been cut in a good ten years, with yellow eyes peering from behind them. A toned body is hidden behind rather plain clothes: a brown tunic, tan pants and black boots.
Theme Songs: A fun little extra I always like to include.
Inspirations: This was an old DnD character. He was a level 21 rogue/assassin who got energy drained back down to level 0; basically, a free reroll. Turned him into a Monk, and eventually a Psionic fist. This variant of Alabastor is a ‘What if he didn’t lose his thieving skills and still went Monk, with not Psionic shananagins?’
Main or Side: Main
Username: Whicipedia