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10,000 | 279 | 2 | 2,192 | 1,228 | May 2015 7:58 3 yrs ago | Name: Crixus Angamar
Age: Pre-Founding, Earthborn
Appearance:
Marine type: Possessed Raptor Champion
Devotion: Slaanesh
Bio: From a very young age people could tell there was something very wrong with the child who would one day grow to be the Night Lord Crixus. His obsessions often drove him to perform all manner of perversions, both to himself and to others, and before he'd even come of age he'd already sexually molested several of the women living in his hab-block. Sentenced to life in prison Crixus was cut off from his supply of fresh women to abuse and turned his tastes to the young, helpless men who shared his company within the rat-pits of Terra.
When the First Founding occurred, and the Night Haunter came searching for recruits to join his army Crixus was among the first to volunteer. Though his cravings had been held in check by the abuse he'd piled onto his fellow convicts, the opportunity to once again practice his skills on a female's flesh was too tempting for him not to seize. AFter his transformation, as the XIIIth Legion, Crixus was sent to 'pacify' worlds in the wake of the Emperor's Crusades. Given free-reign to terrorise and victimise the populations Crixus gained a reputation for his brutal and savage attacks on any he caught breaking curfew, occasionally taking them as pets to be broken within his dungeons.
After the fall of the Legion, Crixus's tastes grew all the more depraved and soon he began to hear the first whisperings in the night. Voices plied him with promises of pleasure beyond his wildest dreams, and Crixus leapt into the waiting arms of Chaos willingly.
Since that time Crixus has taken every chance offered to travel the galaxy, raping and pillaging his way across the stars, always seeking the next great thrill, the next dark perversion. Often disappearing for months at a time, Crixus inevitably returns accompanied by groups of pregnant women, their minds and bodies broken, and new-born babies ready for recruitment into the Legion.
Personality: Crixus is a text-book case of a Slaaneshi devotee. His mind and personality are solely focused on pleasure, which in his case is derived from sadistically torturing the helpless, forcing them to perform inhuman acts, both to themselves and each other. He has learnt from his vast experience how to prolong the suffering of his pets for weeks, and even months, keeping them barely alive so he may savour their every exquisite agony.
Utterly irredeemable, his soul now reeks of corruption, while his body shows few outward signs of his transformation to Chaos. Obviously the Dark Gods look favourably on the damage he causes with his almost-human form, although the depth of his corruption has him forever teetering on transformation into a Warp Talon.
Personal skills: Expert at interrogation and psychological manipulation (especially against females of all known species), expert jetpack pilot and close-range combatant, skilled medic and field surgeon.
Gear: Mark II Crusade Power Armour (modified with upgrades over time), pre-Horus Heresy Jump Pack, Combi Melta-Bolt Pistol, Blissgiver blade, Frag Grenades, EMP Grenades, Lightning Storm, assorted ammunition and 'trophies'
EMP Grenades: During a skirmish with Tau forces Crixus was impressed by their use of EMP technology to cripple both his force's vehicles and his fellow Marines. Capturing a female Tau engineer, he invested almost four months torturing and twisting the woman's mind until she was more than willing to build the grenades for her new Master. While Tau engineer's fate is unknown, as Crixus seems to always have a steady supply of these weapons she may still be alive, and in his service, to this day.
Daemonic Power - Lightning Storm: Early in his career Crixus was granted the use of an experimental device similar to the one used within a Storm Shield, only this version was fitted to his gauntlets enabling his to generate field of static electricity while still wielding two weapons. As his corruption grew the mechanism was replaced by the ability to generate the storm from within his own body, launching arcs of lightning towards his targets from upto several meters away. While not powerful enough to damage most armoured targets, these arcs of power were strong enough to incapacitate most unarmoured humanoids with only a few blasts. |
10,001 | 279 | 3 | 2,450 | 332 | It is nearly time, my children. The unbelievers die this day, and the Apostle shall lead us on the path of the gods. The hissing voice toned from behind the golden helm. Amphion felt a surge of pride as he scanned the small crowd of mutants and heretics he had brought with him to this legion. Leering abominations of twisted, buldging, cracked or rotting flesh more at home in the sewers of a hive world, and the desperate gangers and beggars willing to sell their very souls for the smallest trace of power and acceptance, their bodies marked with crude carvings of the eight-pointed star.
Thirty in all, sure to perish at the hands of the loyal Night Lords when the time came. He expected it to be within the hour, when his own flock would join his master's in the slaughter, falling on the for with autoguns and crude hand weapons. Khorne would be pleased by their blood, and Slaanesh their souls, and Tzeench their sacrifice in their betrayal. It brought satisfaction to the sorcerer. He raised his staff as he spoke again.
"When the Apostle summons us, you will storm the bridge. Leave none of the unbelievers with breath, offer up their blood for Khorne, and their skulls for his throne. Feed their souls to Slaanesh, and bask in his blessing when the time comes. You will need it when we set apon the path."
The mob chittered, bleeted and roared in adoration and exaltation. It would not be paid any special mind. The Night Lords cared little for these beasts and traitors, and paid them no heed. It would prove a costly mistake.
"I await your call eagerly, Apostle." | Name: Amphion, The Metal Father
Age: 2000 by gift of the Warp, 800 by the armor chronomitor.
Beneath the armor, his skin is ashen and cracked, his eyes orange, hairless and sporting a forest of needle-like teeth behind a lipless mouth. Occasionally a forked tongue will taste the air.
Marine Type: Sorcerer
Devotion: Undivided
Biography: There is not too much to be said about the abomination named Amphion. Once a Librarian of the Iron Snakes, his fall to the Ruinous Powers came after the purge of Telos 3, where a warband of the Word Bearers had left behind several artifacts in their deaths. The pages of one tome opened Amphion's eyes to the lies of the Imperium, and from there he set out to seek the favor of the Chaos Gods.
He took many a pilgrimage, manipulating the oppressed men and mutants of the Imperium into uncovering arcane secrets for their Metal Father, furthering his unholy knowledge. Eventually, he made his way to the Night Lords, but now he is disgusted with their lack of pioty.
Now new whispers call to him, and he has answered...
Personality: He's...a sorcerer. You know these guys. More loyal than most, though.
Personal Skills: An accomplished psyker with extensive knowledge of the arcane. Also adept at manipulation, especially of the mutant outcasts of Hive Worlds.
Gear: Plasma Pistol, Sorcerer's staff, Mark VII Power Armor, Chaos Tome. |
10,002 | 279 | 4 | 2,192 | 1,228 | May 2015 23:21 3 yrs ago | Name: Crixus Angamar
Age: Pre-Founding, Earthborn
Appearance:
Marine type: Possessed Raptor Champion
Devotion: Slaanesh
Bio: From a very young age people could tell there was something very wrong with the child who would one day grow to be the Night Lord Crixus. His obsessions often drove him to perform all manner of perversions, both to himself and to others, and before he'd even come of age he'd already sexually molested several of the women living in his hab-block. Sentenced to life in prison Crixus was cut off from his supply of fresh women to abuse and turned his tastes to the young, helpless men who shared his company within the rat-pits of Terra.
When the First Founding occurred, and the Night Haunter came searching for recruits to join his army Crixus was among the first to volunteer. Though his cravings had been held in check by the abuse he'd piled onto his fellow convicts, the opportunity to once again practice his skills on a female's flesh was too tempting for him not to seize. AFter his transformation, as the XIIIth Legion, Crixus was sent to 'pacify' worlds in the wake of the Emperor's Crusades. Given free-reign to terrorise and victimise the populations Crixus gained a reputation for his brutal and savage attacks on any he caught breaking curfew, occasionally taking them as pets to be broken within his dungeons.
After the fall of the Legion, Crixus's tastes grew all the more depraved and soon he began to hear the first whisperings in the night. Voices plied him with promises of pleasure beyond his wildest dreams, and Crixus leapt into the waiting arms of Chaos willingly.
Since that time Crixus has taken every chance offered to travel the galaxy, raping and pillaging his way across the stars, always seeking the next great thrill, the next dark perversion. Often disappearing for months at a time, Crixus inevitably returns accompanied by groups of pregnant women, their minds and bodies broken, and new-born babies ready for recruitment into the Legion.
Personality: Crixus is a text-book case of a Slaaneshi devotee. His mind and personality are solely focused on pleasure, which in his case is derived from sadistically torturing the helpless, forcing them to perform inhuman acts, both to themselves and each other. He has learnt from his vast experience how to prolong the suffering of his pets for weeks, and even months, keeping them barely alive so he may savour their every exquisite agony.
Utterly irredeemable, his soul now reeks of corruption, while his body shows few outward signs of his transformation to Chaos. Obviously the Dark Gods look favourably on the damage he causes with his almost-human form, although the depth of his corruption has him forever teetering on transformation into a Warp Talon.
Personal skills: Expert at interrogation and psychological manipulation (especially against females of all known species), expert jetpack pilot and close-range combatant, skilled medic and field surgeon.
Gear: Mark II Crusade Power Armour (modified with upgrades over time), pre-Horus Heresy Jump Pack, Combi Melta-Bolt Pistol, Blissgiver blade, Frag Grenades, EMP Grenades, Lightning Storm, assorted ammunition and 'trophies'
EMP Grenades: During a skirmish with Tau forces Crixus was impressed by their use of EMP technology to cripple both his force's vehicles and his fellow Marines. Capturing a female Tau engineer, he invested almost four months torturing and twisting the woman's mind until she was more than willing to build the grenades for her new Master. While Tau engineer's fate is unknown, as Crixus seems to always have a steady supply of these weapons she may still be alive, and in his service, to this day.
Daemonic Power - Lightning Storm: Early in his career Crixus was granted the use of an experimental device similar to the one used within a Storm Shield, only this version was fitted to his gauntlets enabling his to generate field of static electricity while still wielding two weapons. As his corruption grew the mechanism was replaced by the ability to generate the storm from within his own body, launching arcs of lightning towards his targets from upto several meters away. While not powerful enough to damage most armoured targets, these arcs of power were strong enough to incapacitate most unarmoured humanoids with only a few blasts. |
10,003 | 279 | 5 | 1,174 | 263 | Quel marched along the metallic halls of the beautiful vessel called Killer's Heaven he'd wondered to her most intimate parts thinking of the ways he love to force himself onto her, but he was in no position to disobey Arabar. The peace he enjoyed now was due to Quel's loyalty and it was not something he was willing to give up so easily. His long tainted servo-arms sat at rest coiled around his power pack as an eager smile fell on the Warpsmith's face as he wondered what damage he'd repair after the coming battle. He knew that there was no major threat to the ship if the plan went by smoothly, but if there was anything he could take from his centuries and centuries of battle experience it was to expect the unexpected.
His nights under Arabar's lead had been long and unusual to the Warpsmith as the quieting of the voices allowed him a clarity of mind he was not used to. They were still there, still calling in a tongue unfamiliar to him, but they were quiet and to Quel, this seemed almost unnatural. He had always assumed the moment when he'd hear the voices start to fade, he'd be upon the blade of his enemies. Taking note of the heat signatures near by fading into the vision of his bionic left eye, Quel felt he was at a disadvantage in the coming battle, his forte was siege and the idea of purposely missing a machines most intimate parts seemed foreign to him, he did not like that the battle barges importance imposed a respect demanded from his but it was his only choice.
Despite his slight disadvantage Quel planned his attack, he'd focus on damage assessment and ensure the ship was ready to leave just as Arabar planned. The idea excited him, for a time the Killer's Heaven seemed as a forbidden fruit, he was not used to restraining himself, as he'd often express his perverse desires on other machinery but he had no time for that recently, he had to focus and come to learn what made the Killer's Heaven tick, to learn her architecture and past patch ups, so that he could prove his usefulness in the coming coup. | Name: Quel Dunrene
Age: 6,7112
Appearance:
Quel's power pack has been exchanged for one with four daemon influenced servo-arms akin to those in the picture above.
Without Armour:
Quel's body has the aged marks mutations and alterations from the warp, with sections of skin on his body appearing 'twisted'. Out of his armour his bulky frame stands at nearly 7 foot tall.
Marine type: Warpsmith
Devotion: Nurgle
Bio: Rumoured to once have been a bloodied victor in The Battle of The Fang on Fenris Quel eventually fell into chaos and became an obsessive man who punished anyone who'd modify the machines he worked on, Quel's obsession in cultivating and growing the twisted machines he tended to went as far as to even compel the marine to charge head long into the battle next to vehicles designed to take the full assault of the front lines. In truth the voices that whispered to him endlessly had nearly driven him beyond mad fuelling his deranged decisions in battle, the only thing that bought him a modicum of peace was the purr of the twisted daemon engines be tirelessly worked on.
That was of course until Arabar came along. The mere presence of the charismatic preacher had resonated a peace within Quel's mind that he does not remember ever experiencing, however, the mere presence of the man was not enough to pull Quel from the birth den of machinery he had stood vigil and guardian over for so long. It was not until Arabar made mention of the visions, the imagery of an organic, decaying paradise that inspired Quel with visions of a putrid, decaying dominance over technology, vision that became the very driving force of his obsession. The Garden of Nurgle Arabar called it, it was then that Quel decided to not only pledge himself to Arabar's legion, but also to Nurgle's pestilence.
Personality: Obsessive and dominant in regards to technology, Quel becomes most enraged in the battle field when encountering enemy vehicles, the very idea that technology would attempt to force it's will on him, especially technology untainted by the warp, so something he cannot stand. However, he has recently calmed in many areas of his life since his continued exposure to Arabar, though this has not entirely diminished his obsessive personality, he continues to regard most technology he works on as his own though he no longer lashes out when it is modified nor does he blindly follow war machines he's worked on into battle.
Personal skills: With his bionic left eye and skill as a former Techmarine give Quel an upper hand when repairing, diagnosing and modifying machinery. Additionally Quel has a lot of experience also taking apart and destroying machinery, being quite skilled with his meltagun at targeting vital locations on vehicles and machines.
Gear:-
Mk 6 Corvus Armour (Power Armour)
Tainted Servo-Arm Backpack
Meltagun
Power Fist
Bionic Eye (x1 - Left Eye, Bionic Senses)
Powercells (Meltagun ammunition) |
10,004 | 279 | 6 | 2,176 | 944 | Malgadon, said Sorthraal, as he made way through the dark corridors of the Heaven. "You carry a heavy bolter."
"Yes," the marine behind him grunted, the belt feed of the weapon swaying with every one of his heavy steps. "What of it?"
"It will be close-quarters fighting."
"And as Fourth Claw's devastator, I'll leave that up to you, Udan, Vorax and Bas while I help to achieve fire superiority from afar. What of it?"
"Nothing. Nevermind."
"If you say so," Malgadon let it drop, ignoring the uncertainty in his brother's voice.
One of the Legion slaves bowed as they passed, dimming the light of his lamp pack in respect. "Greetings, my lords," he whispered humbly, although he was callously disregarded. | Name: Sorthraal
Age: 7,746 by virtue of the Warp, 344 according to his suit's chronometer.
Appearance:
Born on Nostramo, Sorthraal was conceived with the characteristic wan, alabaster complexion and lack of an iris of the people of that long dead world, and these traits were exacerbated upon his induction to the VIII Legion. Even now, three centuries and a half old, he still stands true -- at least, in a physical sense -- as a living legacy of the Night Haunter, with thick blue veins snaking across his almost transparent white skin, made taut by the slabs of powerful muscle that they draped. Shaven, his head is bald, and crisscrossed by cobwebs of thick, ugly scars, devolving in form as they traveled from the nape of his neck all the way to his face, where they are the most concentrated. Each of these furrows into his tough, leathery skin told a story of its own: the gladius of an Imperial Fist on board the Dymphna's Damnation, shrapnel from a young Ultramarine's bolter, and, most noticeable, the patch of ugly, dried meat that was the work of a Blood Angel flamer on Terra itself. A veteran warrior, more marks all over his body told tales of war, but these are more irregular and less varied than on his visage.
His armor is varied in its components: his torso and pauldrons, Mark VI; his gauntlets, Mark V; his left leg is VI while his other is IV. His helm and backpack are the newest pieces, being of the VII variant, prised from a fallen Emperor's Spear who died begging for mercy. Having undergone so many repairs and replacements, Sorthraal's suit would have looked quite at home in the latest fashion galleries of Imperial nobility had he not repainted its recent components. So many Chapters and Warbands. But he is a Night Lord, and as such, the ceramite is midnight blue, edged and trimmed with obsidian black, with little overt decoration save for the defiled Imperial aquila at the chest piece that had been desecrated by intentionally unrepaired battle-damage.
His armor does not aggrandize its wearer, as told by the fact that the telltale arrowhead symbol which betrays to others of his battlefield role still exists on his right pauldron.
Marine Type: Tactical Marine
Devotion:
Yet to Devote.
Biography:
He ignored it at first.
Then it came to chew upon his sanity.
Sorthraal leaned back, as far as the whining servos of his suit would allow, and, at the speed of sound, drove his armored head straight into the granite. The blow was powerful, cracking the rock and pulverizing much of the impact point to dust, which spread over his vox-grille and ruby eye lenses. Steadying himself with his hands on the stone monolith, he leaned again and repeated the motion with the same brutality. Again, and again, and again. The thunderclaps split the air.
The thumps could be heard for kilometers. Far away, a grazing herd of fauna tilted their ears at the direction. The feline predator took advantage of the distraction, and pounced at one of the babes. Sorthraal didn't know of this, of course. Sorthraal, even if he did, wouldn't have cared. Because at that point in time, he was almost unable to think.
"SHUT. UP," was his demand. "SHUT. UP," was his mantra, uttered in rhythm with every headbutt. "WHY WILL YOU NOT," thump, "SHUT UP?"
They spat a steady, incomprehensible litany at him, in tongues that he couldn't understand, and ones that he surely had no intention of learning. Amongst the thick veil of almost-static, with the way they screamed at him, he could detect a glimmer of laughter, a hint of a tone of wry amusement. They were mocking him, perhaps at his great and undeniable discomfort. Perhaps at something else. Either way, it was almost unbearable.
He had drilled into the rock so much that the structure was actually beginning to give way. Chunks of stone clattered against his helm, and the tower was grinding in protest even as he reared his head back for another go. It was working, yes, it was working! The voices were receding, the maddening whispers were going away. He was beating them out of his system, and he cared little for the flashing warning runes that bathed his retinal display in an incessant light show of crimson. The insanity was giving way to clarity. Clarity of thought, clarity of mind, and clarity of sense.
Then, he heard footsteps.
Sorthraal turned around, all his several tonnes of power-armored form. Servos roared in surprise as with swiftness unbecoming of his bulk he pulled his bolter from his thigh's magnetic clamp. In but a heartbeat, the wide-muzzled Godwyn was already at the target. But the machine spirit inside of it, though simple, noted something strange: it was lowered a millimeter.
"You again," Sorthraal hissed, his voice coarse with five hours' worth of yelling. The visitor was both welcome and unwelcome. His trigger finger itched both ways.
Arabar merely smiled. And warmly, too, as he stepped over the bisected remains of an Eldar warlock. And stepped some more, each footfall bringing him closer to Sorthraal, bringing Sorthraal closer to calmness. The Dark Apostle did not need to speak to convey his message.
"Fine," said the Night Lord, lowering his weapon, though not the venom in his voice. "You have made your point. I will follow you, Apostle."
Personality:
With respect to the GM, this player would rather develop his personality as the RP goes, rather than write it here.
Personal skills:
In Midnight Clad: Sorthraal is a Night Lord, and as such, is adept in terror warfare. Taking a special pleasure in inflicting fear, he uses it like a disease and a poison amongst his foes. The VIII Legion was one so feared that mere rumors of its visit would turn worlds compliant. Sorthraal can, with blade, bolter and theatric, easily show why.
Fallen Angel: He was there during the Horus Heresy: an age of myth and mystery to most of the Imperium. But not to him. Having walked under the same skies as the Primarchs and the Emperor, Sorthraal is a historical relic beyond value. The false muscles of his aging power armor still bear quite a few micro-nicks from the Siege of Terra, and within his mind is the ancient lore of a man who lived alongside the most despised of legendary figures.
Arms Master - Bolter: The standard weapon of the Legiones Astartes, while ubiquitous to its members, is a tenacious, temperamental beast. Sorthraal has trained his eye, hand and posture to tame it completely into his control. With a wordless command, he can set any bolter's rage loose with deadly precision, whether the target is the eye or the heart. Sorthraal is an expert shot, even by Space Marine standards.
Gear:
-Hybrid Power Armor
-Mark IX Hell's Teeth Chainsword
-Godwyn Astartes-pattern Bolter
-Frag Grenade Bundle
-Krak Grenade Bundle
-Melta Charge
Fourth Claw:
Sorthraal is the sergeant of the warband's Fourth Claw, or Fourth Squad. Its members, excluding him, are as follows:
Udan: A Legionary who'd walked in the shadow of the Primarchs just as most of the squad, Udan is a fierce fighter, competitive on the battlefield and unyielding in defense. Prideful, he is not one to decline an honor duel. Pettily envious, he desires Lentus' power sword. Although afflicted by the whispers, he has not yet devoted himself to the Ruinous Powers. A tactical marine, he does not favor ranged combat over melee.
His powered armor is a mishmash of multiple Marks, as is common amongst traitor marines. He is not very distinguishable from the rest of the warband, save for the cracked Novamarine helms that he has impaled on the spikes of his back-mounted powerplant. He is equipped with a bolter and a chain-axe.
Vorax: Vorax is the youngest of the Claw, having been born only after the Heresy and into the Raiding Years. Despite never having seen the Primarch, he has been fortunate enough to step into the dark halls of the Legion fortress at Tsagualsa before the Primogenitor chapters came and destroyed it. Only 144 years old according to his suit's chronometer, Vorax has not devoted himself to the Ruinous Powers, although the whispers are wearing down his defenses. He is a tactical marine, and favors ranged combat.
Notable for being in full Mark VII plate, Vorax can be distinguished by the ruined Imperial aquila that is still emblazoned across his chestpiece. However, unlike Sorthraal, he has taken pains to aggrandize himself. Skulls are chained across his form and he wears the skinned face of a Raven Guard scout on his right pauldron. Hooks dangle in between his thighs, each ending in a still-rotting severed head. He uses a modern combat knife and a bolter.
Bas: Mentally dull out of combat, and utterly implacable, impetuous and bloodthirsty in it, Bas is a Khornate Berzerker in all but name, because he refuses to call himself as such even as he screams praises to the Master of Battles every time he raises his chain-axe. Clad in midnight, he has yet to repaint his armor crimson and trim it with bronze or brass. In his chamber is a small altar dedicated to Khorne, a mound made up of skulls. Bas is the Claw's melee specialist, and a dangerous one at that.
Bas can be distinguished by the knightly helm of his Mark III war plate and the painted lightning that streaks across its ceramite. Two chain-axes are always present on his person (as well as a bolter and a gladius), although he favors a one-handed grip. He eats the gene-seed of fallen enemy marines unless restrained.
Malgadon: This Legionary finds a perverse pleasure in fratricide, as he discovered when he cut down a squad of Blood Angels with his heavy bolter back during the Siege of Terra. Still carrying the same weapon today, he feeds upon the fear the roar of the cannon inspires, and the dread of those who realize that they are about to die. Gregarious, he is Fourth Claw's devastator -- he does not call himself a Havoc. Erring towards Slaanesh, every soul he sets loose into the Warp sends warm chills up and down his armored spine.
Curving horns sprout high and proud from the temples of Malgadon's Mark VII helm, as is iconic of devastators. Skin that he has flayed himself is draped across his armor, in addition to the usual skulls. He is never seen without his personal heavy bolter and is extremely protective of it. When the battle is finished, he will usually be one of the firsts to start skinning the fallen foe. |
10,005 | 279 | 7 | 2,648 | 292 | Chanting, bellowing and laughing, Lentus had prepared himself for what was to come, half his mind abhorred the uprising while the other half roared in anticipation of violence. This new beginning was starting to give him hope once again, hope of what?! HOPE OF WHAT?!!!
Lentus shook his head, the whispering was beginning again, thankfully father Arabar was near him. He heard the agreed signal, and he would comply. This would make him traitor twice, or maybe balance his account? Vengeance for his lost brothers who still clung to false emperor? Vengeance for who?!
Hastily Lentus donned his armor and readied his weaponry as he strode from his cell to the hallways, towards the bridge.
On the way he met a former battle brother, he was not one of their new order, they had stood side by side in many battles indeed but now his name eluded the mind of Lentus. Good, he did not desire another name on his list. As the marine was about to salute his sergeant, Lentus activated his powersword. With an flash and roar the tainted blade filled with disruptive energies and flashed trough the air
HA! It still felt good to cut power armor in two. But its your brother?! Is it? Was it?
Lentus left the carcass where it fell, continuing forwards, in short time this barge would belong to father Arabar, and in turn serve as wings for Lentuses "salvation." | Name: Lentus Caestus
Age: Not known, participated in the heresy.
Appearance:
Without armor Lentus is an pale, muscular thing with dark eyes. Edges of his black carapace are usually bloody as his body was rejecting his space marine operations. Before his heresy this was considered an weakness and he was often shunned because of this. After heresy his surgery wounds are in eternal state of bleeding slightly and he has been free to take his sword to anyone who could imply this makes him less of an marine.
Marine type: Tactical marine/ Marine Sergeant
Devotion: Chaos undivided
Bio: Once there was an time when Lentus Caestus was an pious one, he held unto reason of doubt even as he eagerly waged war against his brothers among the stars during the great heresy. Afterall were Night Lords not children of Konrad? Where he led, Lentus followed. After Konrads passing Lentus fell into doubt again, and then the whispering began. First his scarred mind took solace in the infernal torment of whispers, but that resolve was short lived for the whispering was relentless. Lentus continued to kill and maim as his legion commanded even while whispers made him howl like an mad beast, was this emperors punishment of his heresy? Or simply torments of horrors beyond the warp? In these troubled times he met the one called "Arabar." His words brought peace to Lentus, and promise of answers was the harbinger of another betrayal, when Lentus agreed to leave his legion in service to this enigmatic marine preacher. While Lentus is undeniably traitor of many accounts, this delusional fool still harbors fantasies of salvation, such petty mortal imaginings...
Personality: Obedient to orders of those he considers superior. Mad. Ridden with guilt and his pathetic inability to stop his further descent into oblivion of heresy. Battle crazy.
Personal skills: Long honed skills in swordsmanship and pressing battlefield advantage for victory. Good shot. His abilities in leading his own squad have detoriated considerably but still present.
Gear:
Tainted powersword.
Corrupted pre-heresy power armor that has for unknown reasons molded to an look of a more modern model.
Storm bolter. (Lentus is looking to change this one as the still partly holy weapon is rejecting full commitment to ruinous powers,
for now.)
Fragmentation grenades "blessed" by dark entities. |
10,006 | 279 | 8 | 2,176 | 944 | Brother, voiced Udan over the vox, as the two marines in midnight clad took one of the four paths at the juncture. "Sorthraal, I have news."
"Speak."
"I have found the mangled body of a Legionary at deck eighteen, near the tertiary apothecarion. Almost neatly cut in half crosswise by a power weapon."
"Lentus again," Sorthraal grunted in realization. "He has gotten worse."
"Would be fine if he didn't have a gods-damned power weapon," thought Malgadon aloud.
"Worry not. It was merely Xextus, one of our targets. The apothecary is harvesting his gene-seed as we speak," Udan continued.
"Where are you?" voiced Sorthraal.
"Deck nineteen now. I shall be at the bridge in ten minutes. I will see you there, brother," intoned the distant marine, and then the vox-link clicked closed.
The duo went for three minutes in silence till they happened upon another Legionary. Staring through the thin, knightly eye lenses of his Mark III war plate, Bas raised his chin in greeting, although he didn't say a word. As was common practice across the VIII Legion, the skulls of his foes hung across his armor, and the striking forms of forked lightning were painted in stark-white contrast to his blue ceramite. At his hip lay idle his bolter, but in his occasionally clenching fist was a whirring chain-axe.
"Hail, Bas," said Malgadon, as his brother joined him and Sorthraal in their steps. "Have you seen Vorax, by any chance?"
The reply was a simple "No." It was a rumble, almost a growl, that was given a tinny vibrato through vox distortion. Bas did not say anything more, but that was normal.
"I see," said the havoc, wondering why ever he thought his bloodthirsty brother would make for good conversation. | Name: Sorthraal
Age: 7,746 by virtue of the Warp, 344 according to his suit's chronometer.
Appearance:
Born on Nostramo, Sorthraal was conceived with the characteristic wan, alabaster complexion and lack of an iris of the people of that long dead world, and these traits were exacerbated upon his induction to the VIII Legion. Even now, three centuries and a half old, he still stands true -- at least, in a physical sense -- as a living legacy of the Night Haunter, with thick blue veins snaking across his almost transparent white skin, made taut by the slabs of powerful muscle that they draped. Shaven, his head is bald, and crisscrossed by cobwebs of thick, ugly scars, devolving in form as they traveled from the nape of his neck all the way to his face, where they are the most concentrated. Each of these furrows into his tough, leathery skin told a story of its own: the gladius of an Imperial Fist on board the Dymphna's Damnation, shrapnel from a young Ultramarine's bolter, and, most noticeable, the patch of ugly, dried meat that was the work of a Blood Angel flamer on Terra itself. A veteran warrior, more marks all over his body told tales of war, but these are more irregular and less varied than on his visage.
His armor is varied in its components: his torso and pauldrons, Mark VI; his gauntlets, Mark V; his left leg is VI while his other is IV. His helm and backpack are the newest pieces, being of the VII variant, prised from a fallen Emperor's Spear who died begging for mercy. Having undergone so many repairs and replacements, Sorthraal's suit would have looked quite at home in the latest fashion galleries of Imperial nobility had he not repainted its recent components. So many Chapters and Warbands. But he is a Night Lord, and as such, the ceramite is midnight blue, edged and trimmed with obsidian black, with little overt decoration save for the defiled Imperial aquila at the chest piece that had been desecrated by intentionally unrepaired battle-damage.
His armor does not aggrandize its wearer, as told by the fact that the telltale arrowhead symbol which betrays to others of his battlefield role still exists on his right pauldron.
Marine Type: Tactical Marine
Devotion:
Yet to Devote.
Biography:
He ignored it at first.
Then it came to chew upon his sanity.
Sorthraal leaned back, as far as the whining servos of his suit would allow, and, at the speed of sound, drove his armored head straight into the granite. The blow was powerful, cracking the rock and pulverizing much of the impact point to dust, which spread over his vox-grille and ruby eye lenses. Steadying himself with his hands on the stone monolith, he leaned again and repeated the motion with the same brutality. Again, and again, and again. The thunderclaps split the air.
The thumps could be heard for kilometers. Far away, a grazing herd of fauna tilted their ears at the direction. The feline predator took advantage of the distraction, and pounced at one of the babes. Sorthraal didn't know of this, of course. Sorthraal, even if he did, wouldn't have cared. Because at that point in time, he was almost unable to think.
"SHUT. UP," was his demand. "SHUT. UP," was his mantra, uttered in rhythm with every headbutt. "WHY WILL YOU NOT," thump, "SHUT UP?"
They spat a steady, incomprehensible litany at him, in tongues that he couldn't understand, and ones that he surely had no intention of learning. Amongst the thick veil of almost-static, with the way they screamed at him, he could detect a glimmer of laughter, a hint of a tone of wry amusement. They were mocking him, perhaps at his great and undeniable discomfort. Perhaps at something else. Either way, it was almost unbearable.
He had drilled into the rock so much that the structure was actually beginning to give way. Chunks of stone clattered against his helm, and the tower was grinding in protest even as he reared his head back for another go. It was working, yes, it was working! The voices were receding, the maddening whispers were going away. He was beating them out of his system, and he cared little for the flashing warning runes that bathed his retinal display in an incessant light show of crimson. The insanity was giving way to clarity. Clarity of thought, clarity of mind, and clarity of sense.
Then, he heard footsteps.
Sorthraal turned around, all his several tonnes of power-armored form. Servos roared in surprise as with swiftness unbecoming of his bulk he pulled his bolter from his thigh's magnetic clamp. In but a heartbeat, the wide-muzzled Godwyn was already at the target. But the machine spirit inside of it, though simple, noted something strange: it was lowered a millimeter.
"You again," Sorthraal hissed, his voice coarse with five hours' worth of yelling. The visitor was both welcome and unwelcome. His trigger finger itched both ways.
Arabar merely smiled. And warmly, too, as he stepped over the bisected remains of an Eldar warlock. And stepped some more, each footfall bringing him closer to Sorthraal, bringing Sorthraal closer to calmness. The Dark Apostle did not need to speak to convey his message.
"Fine," said the Night Lord, lowering his weapon, though not the venom in his voice. "You have made your point. I will follow you, Apostle."
Personality:
With respect to the GM, this player would rather develop his personality as the RP goes, rather than write it here.
Personal skills:
In Midnight Clad: Sorthraal is a Night Lord, and as such, is adept in terror warfare. Taking a special pleasure in inflicting fear, he uses it like a disease and a poison amongst his foes. The VIII Legion was one so feared that mere rumors of its visit would turn worlds compliant. Sorthraal can, with blade, bolter and theatric, easily show why.
Fallen Angel: He was there during the Horus Heresy: an age of myth and mystery to most of the Imperium. But not to him. Having walked under the same skies as the Primarchs and the Emperor, Sorthraal is a historical relic beyond value. The false muscles of his aging power armor still bear quite a few micro-nicks from the Siege of Terra, and within his mind is the ancient lore of a man who lived alongside the most despised of legendary figures.
Arms Master - Bolter: The standard weapon of the Legiones Astartes, while ubiquitous to its members, is a tenacious, temperamental beast. Sorthraal has trained his eye, hand and posture to tame it completely into his control. With a wordless command, he can set any bolter's rage loose with deadly precision, whether the target is the eye or the heart. Sorthraal is an expert shot, even by Space Marine standards.
Gear:
-Hybrid Power Armor
-Mark IX Hell's Teeth Chainsword
-Godwyn Astartes-pattern Bolter
-Frag Grenade Bundle
-Krak Grenade Bundle
-Melta Charge
Fourth Claw:
Sorthraal is the sergeant of the warband's Fourth Claw, or Fourth Squad. Its members, excluding him, are as follows:
Udan: A Legionary who'd walked in the shadow of the Primarchs just as most of the squad, Udan is a fierce fighter, competitive on the battlefield and unyielding in defense. Prideful, he is not one to decline an honor duel. Pettily envious, he desires Lentus' power sword. Although afflicted by the whispers, he has not yet devoted himself to the Ruinous Powers. A tactical marine, he does not favor ranged combat over melee.
His powered armor is a mishmash of multiple Marks, as is common amongst traitor marines. He is not very distinguishable from the rest of the warband, save for the cracked Novamarine helms that he has impaled on the spikes of his back-mounted powerplant. He is equipped with a bolter and a chain-axe.
Vorax: Vorax is the youngest of the Claw, having been born only after the Heresy and into the Raiding Years. Despite never having seen the Primarch, he has been fortunate enough to step into the dark halls of the Legion fortress at Tsagualsa before the Primogenitor chapters came and destroyed it. Only 144 years old according to his suit's chronometer, Vorax has not devoted himself to the Ruinous Powers, although the whispers are wearing down his defenses. He is a tactical marine, and favors ranged combat.
Notable for being in full Mark VII plate, Vorax can be distinguished by the ruined Imperial aquila that is still emblazoned across his chestpiece. However, unlike Sorthraal, he has taken pains to aggrandize himself. Skulls are chained across his form and he wears the skinned face of a Raven Guard scout on his right pauldron. Hooks dangle in between his thighs, each ending in a still-rotting severed head. He uses a modern combat knife and a bolter.
Bas: Mentally dull out of combat, and utterly implacable, impetuous and bloodthirsty in it, Bas is a Khornate Berzerker in all but name, because he refuses to call himself as such even as he screams praises to the Master of Battles every time he raises his chain-axe. Clad in midnight, he has yet to repaint his armor crimson and trim it with bronze or brass. In his chamber is a small altar dedicated to Khorne, a mound made up of skulls. Bas is the Claw's melee specialist, and a dangerous one at that.
Bas can be distinguished by the knightly helm of his Mark III war plate and the painted lightning that streaks across its ceramite. Two chain-axes are always present on his person (as well as a bolter and a gladius), although he favors a one-handed grip. He eats the gene-seed of fallen enemy marines unless restrained.
Malgadon: This Legionary finds a perverse pleasure in fratricide, as he discovered when he cut down a squad of Blood Angels with his heavy bolter back during the Siege of Terra. Still carrying the same weapon today, he feeds upon the fear the roar of the cannon inspires, and the dread of those who realize that they are about to die. Gregarious, he is Fourth Claw's devastator -- he does not call himself a Havoc. Erring towards Slaanesh, every soul he sets loose into the Warp sends warm chills up and down his armored spine.
Curving horns sprout high and proud from the temples of Malgadon's Mark VII helm, as is iconic of devastators. Skin that he has flayed himself is draped across his armor, in addition to the usual skulls. He is never seen without his personal heavy bolter and is extremely protective of it. When the battle is finished, he will usually be one of the firsts to start skinning the fallen foe. |
10,007 | 279 | 9 | 2,648 | 292 | As Lentus made his way trough the dark corridors he happened to hear an hushed voice, Night Lords had always been adept at tracking things under the guise of darkness. The momentary lack of some senses pushed their other ones to their limits and the ever roiling, adaptive powers of chaos had made these gifts ever stronger. Lentus strode up an level and approached stealthily towards the voice (He however knew this was an futile act towards an fellow Night Lord) Ah, he recognized the lone tactical marine as one of their new revolt. Part of him screamed loudly in his head when the prospect of another kill was momentarily lost. Maybe in time? NO! No more dead brothers! Unless they stood in the way of father Arabar? Surely not, all of them rejoiced in the absence of whispering.
"Legionnaire, you are one of Sorthraal´s men are you not?"
He barely got to finish his sentence when he heard more noises, these ones louder, not even trying to hide their presence. It seemed there was an clamor few decks below made by atleast an dozen pairs of naked, clawed and hooved feet. Lentus had no idea if the downtrodden wretches within battle barges bowels had an role to play in their uprising but it seemed they were uncharacteristically bold in their movements trough the upper decks. | Name: Lentus Caestus
Age: Not known, participated in the heresy.
Appearance:
Without armor Lentus is an pale, muscular thing with dark eyes. Edges of his black carapace are usually bloody as his body was rejecting his space marine operations. Before his heresy this was considered an weakness and he was often shunned because of this. After heresy his surgery wounds are in eternal state of bleeding slightly and he has been free to take his sword to anyone who could imply this makes him less of an marine.
Marine type: Tactical marine/ Marine Sergeant
Devotion: Chaos undivided
Bio: Once there was an time when Lentus Caestus was an pious one, he held unto reason of doubt even as he eagerly waged war against his brothers among the stars during the great heresy. Afterall were Night Lords not children of Konrad? Where he led, Lentus followed. After Konrads passing Lentus fell into doubt again, and then the whispering began. First his scarred mind took solace in the infernal torment of whispers, but that resolve was short lived for the whispering was relentless. Lentus continued to kill and maim as his legion commanded even while whispers made him howl like an mad beast, was this emperors punishment of his heresy? Or simply torments of horrors beyond the warp? In these troubled times he met the one called "Arabar." His words brought peace to Lentus, and promise of answers was the harbinger of another betrayal, when Lentus agreed to leave his legion in service to this enigmatic marine preacher. While Lentus is undeniably traitor of many accounts, this delusional fool still harbors fantasies of salvation, such petty mortal imaginings...
Personality: Obedient to orders of those he considers superior. Mad. Ridden with guilt and his pathetic inability to stop his further descent into oblivion of heresy. Battle crazy.
Personal skills: Long honed skills in swordsmanship and pressing battlefield advantage for victory. Good shot. His abilities in leading his own squad have detoriated considerably but still present.
Gear:
Tainted powersword.
Corrupted pre-heresy power armor that has for unknown reasons molded to an look of a more modern model.
Storm bolter. (Lentus is looking to change this one as the still partly holy weapon is rejecting full commitment to ruinous powers,
for now.)
Fragmentation grenades "blessed" by dark entities. |
10,008 | 279 | 10 | 2,176 | 944 | Staring through the scarlet eye lenses of a faceplate forged into a perpetual, rictus snarl, the legionnaire in question halted his thumping bootfalls and regarded Lentus' power sword with complete and unabashed envy. Clad in a power-armored mishmash of multiple Marks, the marine stood, like the rest of the Legion, as a living nightmare. Dirty white skulls with outstretched, ugly, maroon pinions screamed in silent fury through the hollowed ceramite that served as their eye sockets as the spikes on his back-mounted powerplant bristled with the cracked helms of Novamarines. On the trimming of one pauldron, stenciled in the serpentine cuneiform of Nostraman read, 'Udan, who is without mercy.'
"I," he pronounced slowly, in a low, deceptively cool voice; his body language guarded and his trigger finger itching, "am one of Fourth Claw, and Sorthraal is my sergeant; but I am not his man, Lentus." | Name: Sorthraal
Age: 7,746 by virtue of the Warp, 344 according to his suit's chronometer.
Appearance:
Born on Nostramo, Sorthraal was conceived with the characteristic wan, alabaster complexion and lack of an iris of the people of that long dead world, and these traits were exacerbated upon his induction to the VIII Legion. Even now, three centuries and a half old, he still stands true -- at least, in a physical sense -- as a living legacy of the Night Haunter, with thick blue veins snaking across his almost transparent white skin, made taut by the slabs of powerful muscle that they draped. Shaven, his head is bald, and crisscrossed by cobwebs of thick, ugly scars, devolving in form as they traveled from the nape of his neck all the way to his face, where they are the most concentrated. Each of these furrows into his tough, leathery skin told a story of its own: the gladius of an Imperial Fist on board the Dymphna's Damnation, shrapnel from a young Ultramarine's bolter, and, most noticeable, the patch of ugly, dried meat that was the work of a Blood Angel flamer on Terra itself. A veteran warrior, more marks all over his body told tales of war, but these are more irregular and less varied than on his visage.
His armor is varied in its components: his torso and pauldrons, Mark VI; his gauntlets, Mark V; his left leg is VI while his other is IV. His helm and backpack are the newest pieces, being of the VII variant, prised from a fallen Emperor's Spear who died begging for mercy. Having undergone so many repairs and replacements, Sorthraal's suit would have looked quite at home in the latest fashion galleries of Imperial nobility had he not repainted its recent components. So many Chapters and Warbands. But he is a Night Lord, and as such, the ceramite is midnight blue, edged and trimmed with obsidian black, with little overt decoration save for the defiled Imperial aquila at the chest piece that had been desecrated by intentionally unrepaired battle-damage.
His armor does not aggrandize its wearer, as told by the fact that the telltale arrowhead symbol which betrays to others of his battlefield role still exists on his right pauldron.
Marine Type: Tactical Marine
Devotion:
Yet to Devote.
Biography:
He ignored it at first.
Then it came to chew upon his sanity.
Sorthraal leaned back, as far as the whining servos of his suit would allow, and, at the speed of sound, drove his armored head straight into the granite. The blow was powerful, cracking the rock and pulverizing much of the impact point to dust, which spread over his vox-grille and ruby eye lenses. Steadying himself with his hands on the stone monolith, he leaned again and repeated the motion with the same brutality. Again, and again, and again. The thunderclaps split the air.
The thumps could be heard for kilometers. Far away, a grazing herd of fauna tilted their ears at the direction. The feline predator took advantage of the distraction, and pounced at one of the babes. Sorthraal didn't know of this, of course. Sorthraal, even if he did, wouldn't have cared. Because at that point in time, he was almost unable to think.
"SHUT. UP," was his demand. "SHUT. UP," was his mantra, uttered in rhythm with every headbutt. "WHY WILL YOU NOT," thump, "SHUT UP?"
They spat a steady, incomprehensible litany at him, in tongues that he couldn't understand, and ones that he surely had no intention of learning. Amongst the thick veil of almost-static, with the way they screamed at him, he could detect a glimmer of laughter, a hint of a tone of wry amusement. They were mocking him, perhaps at his great and undeniable discomfort. Perhaps at something else. Either way, it was almost unbearable.
He had drilled into the rock so much that the structure was actually beginning to give way. Chunks of stone clattered against his helm, and the tower was grinding in protest even as he reared his head back for another go. It was working, yes, it was working! The voices were receding, the maddening whispers were going away. He was beating them out of his system, and he cared little for the flashing warning runes that bathed his retinal display in an incessant light show of crimson. The insanity was giving way to clarity. Clarity of thought, clarity of mind, and clarity of sense.
Then, he heard footsteps.
Sorthraal turned around, all his several tonnes of power-armored form. Servos roared in surprise as with swiftness unbecoming of his bulk he pulled his bolter from his thigh's magnetic clamp. In but a heartbeat, the wide-muzzled Godwyn was already at the target. But the machine spirit inside of it, though simple, noted something strange: it was lowered a millimeter.
"You again," Sorthraal hissed, his voice coarse with five hours' worth of yelling. The visitor was both welcome and unwelcome. His trigger finger itched both ways.
Arabar merely smiled. And warmly, too, as he stepped over the bisected remains of an Eldar warlock. And stepped some more, each footfall bringing him closer to Sorthraal, bringing Sorthraal closer to calmness. The Dark Apostle did not need to speak to convey his message.
"Fine," said the Night Lord, lowering his weapon, though not the venom in his voice. "You have made your point. I will follow you, Apostle."
Personality:
With respect to the GM, this player would rather develop his personality as the RP goes, rather than write it here.
Personal skills:
In Midnight Clad: Sorthraal is a Night Lord, and as such, is adept in terror warfare. Taking a special pleasure in inflicting fear, he uses it like a disease and a poison amongst his foes. The VIII Legion was one so feared that mere rumors of its visit would turn worlds compliant. Sorthraal can, with blade, bolter and theatric, easily show why.
Fallen Angel: He was there during the Horus Heresy: an age of myth and mystery to most of the Imperium. But not to him. Having walked under the same skies as the Primarchs and the Emperor, Sorthraal is a historical relic beyond value. The false muscles of his aging power armor still bear quite a few micro-nicks from the Siege of Terra, and within his mind is the ancient lore of a man who lived alongside the most despised of legendary figures.
Arms Master - Bolter: The standard weapon of the Legiones Astartes, while ubiquitous to its members, is a tenacious, temperamental beast. Sorthraal has trained his eye, hand and posture to tame it completely into his control. With a wordless command, he can set any bolter's rage loose with deadly precision, whether the target is the eye or the heart. Sorthraal is an expert shot, even by Space Marine standards.
Gear:
-Hybrid Power Armor
-Mark IX Hell's Teeth Chainsword
-Godwyn Astartes-pattern Bolter
-Frag Grenade Bundle
-Krak Grenade Bundle
-Melta Charge
Fourth Claw:
Sorthraal is the sergeant of the warband's Fourth Claw, or Fourth Squad. Its members, excluding him, are as follows:
Udan: A Legionary who'd walked in the shadow of the Primarchs just as most of the squad, Udan is a fierce fighter, competitive on the battlefield and unyielding in defense. Prideful, he is not one to decline an honor duel. Pettily envious, he desires Lentus' power sword. Although afflicted by the whispers, he has not yet devoted himself to the Ruinous Powers. A tactical marine, he does not favor ranged combat over melee.
His powered armor is a mishmash of multiple Marks, as is common amongst traitor marines. He is not very distinguishable from the rest of the warband, save for the cracked Novamarine helms that he has impaled on the spikes of his back-mounted powerplant. He is equipped with a bolter and a chain-axe.
Vorax: Vorax is the youngest of the Claw, having been born only after the Heresy and into the Raiding Years. Despite never having seen the Primarch, he has been fortunate enough to step into the dark halls of the Legion fortress at Tsagualsa before the Primogenitor chapters came and destroyed it. Only 144 years old according to his suit's chronometer, Vorax has not devoted himself to the Ruinous Powers, although the whispers are wearing down his defenses. He is a tactical marine, and favors ranged combat.
Notable for being in full Mark VII plate, Vorax can be distinguished by the ruined Imperial aquila that is still emblazoned across his chestpiece. However, unlike Sorthraal, he has taken pains to aggrandize himself. Skulls are chained across his form and he wears the skinned face of a Raven Guard scout on his right pauldron. Hooks dangle in between his thighs, each ending in a still-rotting severed head. He uses a modern combat knife and a bolter.
Bas: Mentally dull out of combat, and utterly implacable, impetuous and bloodthirsty in it, Bas is a Khornate Berzerker in all but name, because he refuses to call himself as such even as he screams praises to the Master of Battles every time he raises his chain-axe. Clad in midnight, he has yet to repaint his armor crimson and trim it with bronze or brass. In his chamber is a small altar dedicated to Khorne, a mound made up of skulls. Bas is the Claw's melee specialist, and a dangerous one at that.
Bas can be distinguished by the knightly helm of his Mark III war plate and the painted lightning that streaks across its ceramite. Two chain-axes are always present on his person (as well as a bolter and a gladius), although he favors a one-handed grip. He eats the gene-seed of fallen enemy marines unless restrained.
Malgadon: This Legionary finds a perverse pleasure in fratricide, as he discovered when he cut down a squad of Blood Angels with his heavy bolter back during the Siege of Terra. Still carrying the same weapon today, he feeds upon the fear the roar of the cannon inspires, and the dread of those who realize that they are about to die. Gregarious, he is Fourth Claw's devastator -- he does not call himself a Havoc. Erring towards Slaanesh, every soul he sets loose into the Warp sends warm chills up and down his armored spine.
Curving horns sprout high and proud from the temples of Malgadon's Mark VII helm, as is iconic of devastators. Skin that he has flayed himself is draped across his armor, in addition to the usual skulls. He is never seen without his personal heavy bolter and is extremely protective of it. When the battle is finished, he will usually be one of the firsts to start skinning the fallen foe. |
10,009 | 279 | 11 | 62 | 2,653 | Arabar strode through the dark halls with purpose, but had yet to see another marine which was unfortunate. He had put his helmet on shortly after leaving the hold, unlike his flock the dark was harder to pierce for him, so he had to rely on his helmet's vision in the dark corridors. Of course he imagined most of his flock would likewise be wearing their own helms to tell friend from foe, so they needn't discover his reliance on it.
As he moved to the bridge, he saw two of his disciples conversing, no doubt on their way to the bridge. The first, carrying a power sword was Lentus, a loyal marine, largely due to his insanity brought on by his guilt, and service to Arabar seemed to Lentus as a way to "redeem" himself, and would follow Arabar without question. The other was Udan, a member of the "Fourth claw" as the night lords called their squads, one of Sorthraal's men. Like Sorthraal Udan was implacable in his lack of faith, and would be difficult to sway to worship just like his sergeant. But a third figure rounded the corner, one less friendly.
Arabar took the opportunity, and charged the loyalist night lord, crozius raised. Before the surprised marine could react the crozius had crashed into his helmet, and the marine fell. Arabar finished the job with a quick shot from Araghast, who's lone eye situated on the left side of the pistols body, writhed with the pleasure of the kill. Arabar approached his faithful then, "Lentus, Udan, my children. We make our way now to the bridge, and soon shall begin our final pilgrimage. Come, you two shall be my personal retinue"
It was not long now, the rest of the flock would be working their way through the ship, soon to arrive at the bridge. Without breaking stride, Arabar continued to the bridge, expecting Lentus and Udan to fall in behind him. There was no time for idle talk, the gods called for the blood of infidels. | Name:"Father" Arabar
Age:467 (claimed age)
Appearance
Arabar's body itself is scarred and branded with the sigils and symbols of not only the chaos gods and chaos undivided, but also to a myriad of lesser daemons and champions of chaos.
Marine type:Dark Apostle
Devotion:Chaos undivided
Bio:Arabar, though a charismatic leader of his flock, has revealed little of his past. Even those of his inner circle have learned precious few details of their prophets past. He has revealed his age, and claims once to have been a Dark Apostle within the Word Bearers legion, and his armors colors seem to lend credence to his claim. He has never revealed how he knows about the whispers, or how he can know who can hear them and how intensely. Some may be suspicious of the pious man, his apparent withholding of information about his past and abilities more than a little unsettling, but he does quiet the voices by his presence alone, and his flock do not even know if he himself hears whispers.
Personality:Arabar is a passionate preacher, intoning the gods and their prayers with great fervor and zeal. He leads his flock with a clarity of vision and purpose akin to that of a madman, convinced of their own manifest destiny and the truth in the whispers. Charismatic, cruel and driven, Arabar will commit the most vile of acts on a whim, when he believes it is the will of the gods, and expects his flock to follow him without question, for he will lead them to a promised land of great power, if only they will follow.
Personal skills:Charismatic orator, can quiet the whispers simply by being present and can altogether silence them while giving delivering sermon and blessings. All the skills had by a chaos space marine, slightly bolstered by the blessings of the dark gods
Gear
Defiled Crozius Arcanum (power maul)
Mutated bolt pistol (Flesh blessed)
Word Bearers power armor/ MK 5 Heresy pattern(currently in Black hands regalia)
Assorted ammunition and gear
Frag grenades |
10,010 | 279 | 12 | 2,176 | 944 | Udan gave Lentus one final look before joining Arabar in his step. As he thudded down the dark corridor, he regarded the pulp that Jantaer had become, and he was impressed. What great power, he thought. His twin hearts beat faster as he regarded the foreign space marine, playing with the thought of rushing in and burying his chain-axe inside the Word Bearer's head, then taking his potent weaponry. But that wouldn't be good, for only his presence fettered the maddening advances of the voices.
The Word Bearer was wearing different regalia for some reason. Were these the colors of the warband that would be born after this slaughter? Udan thought it was ugly.
"Sorthraal, good news," he voxed. "That fool Jantaer is dead and I have linked up with Arabar and Lentus. We are proceeding swiftly."
"Copy," came back the modulated reply, then the distant Sorthraal blinked at an icon in his retinal display to allow Arabar to hear. "Vorax has joined us along with Second Claw. We are in the main concourse leading to the bridge, and await only the Apostle's command." | Name: Sorthraal
Age: 7,746 by virtue of the Warp, 344 according to his suit's chronometer.
Appearance:
Born on Nostramo, Sorthraal was conceived with the characteristic wan, alabaster complexion and lack of an iris of the people of that long dead world, and these traits were exacerbated upon his induction to the VIII Legion. Even now, three centuries and a half old, he still stands true -- at least, in a physical sense -- as a living legacy of the Night Haunter, with thick blue veins snaking across his almost transparent white skin, made taut by the slabs of powerful muscle that they draped. Shaven, his head is bald, and crisscrossed by cobwebs of thick, ugly scars, devolving in form as they traveled from the nape of his neck all the way to his face, where they are the most concentrated. Each of these furrows into his tough, leathery skin told a story of its own: the gladius of an Imperial Fist on board the Dymphna's Damnation, shrapnel from a young Ultramarine's bolter, and, most noticeable, the patch of ugly, dried meat that was the work of a Blood Angel flamer on Terra itself. A veteran warrior, more marks all over his body told tales of war, but these are more irregular and less varied than on his visage.
His armor is varied in its components: his torso and pauldrons, Mark VI; his gauntlets, Mark V; his left leg is VI while his other is IV. His helm and backpack are the newest pieces, being of the VII variant, prised from a fallen Emperor's Spear who died begging for mercy. Having undergone so many repairs and replacements, Sorthraal's suit would have looked quite at home in the latest fashion galleries of Imperial nobility had he not repainted its recent components. So many Chapters and Warbands. But he is a Night Lord, and as such, the ceramite is midnight blue, edged and trimmed with obsidian black, with little overt decoration save for the defiled Imperial aquila at the chest piece that had been desecrated by intentionally unrepaired battle-damage.
His armor does not aggrandize its wearer, as told by the fact that the telltale arrowhead symbol which betrays to others of his battlefield role still exists on his right pauldron.
Marine Type: Tactical Marine
Devotion:
Yet to Devote.
Biography:
He ignored it at first.
Then it came to chew upon his sanity.
Sorthraal leaned back, as far as the whining servos of his suit would allow, and, at the speed of sound, drove his armored head straight into the granite. The blow was powerful, cracking the rock and pulverizing much of the impact point to dust, which spread over his vox-grille and ruby eye lenses. Steadying himself with his hands on the stone monolith, he leaned again and repeated the motion with the same brutality. Again, and again, and again. The thunderclaps split the air.
The thumps could be heard for kilometers. Far away, a grazing herd of fauna tilted their ears at the direction. The feline predator took advantage of the distraction, and pounced at one of the babes. Sorthraal didn't know of this, of course. Sorthraal, even if he did, wouldn't have cared. Because at that point in time, he was almost unable to think.
"SHUT. UP," was his demand. "SHUT. UP," was his mantra, uttered in rhythm with every headbutt. "WHY WILL YOU NOT," thump, "SHUT UP?"
They spat a steady, incomprehensible litany at him, in tongues that he couldn't understand, and ones that he surely had no intention of learning. Amongst the thick veil of almost-static, with the way they screamed at him, he could detect a glimmer of laughter, a hint of a tone of wry amusement. They were mocking him, perhaps at his great and undeniable discomfort. Perhaps at something else. Either way, it was almost unbearable.
He had drilled into the rock so much that the structure was actually beginning to give way. Chunks of stone clattered against his helm, and the tower was grinding in protest even as he reared his head back for another go. It was working, yes, it was working! The voices were receding, the maddening whispers were going away. He was beating them out of his system, and he cared little for the flashing warning runes that bathed his retinal display in an incessant light show of crimson. The insanity was giving way to clarity. Clarity of thought, clarity of mind, and clarity of sense.
Then, he heard footsteps.
Sorthraal turned around, all his several tonnes of power-armored form. Servos roared in surprise as with swiftness unbecoming of his bulk he pulled his bolter from his thigh's magnetic clamp. In but a heartbeat, the wide-muzzled Godwyn was already at the target. But the machine spirit inside of it, though simple, noted something strange: it was lowered a millimeter.
"You again," Sorthraal hissed, his voice coarse with five hours' worth of yelling. The visitor was both welcome and unwelcome. His trigger finger itched both ways.
Arabar merely smiled. And warmly, too, as he stepped over the bisected remains of an Eldar warlock. And stepped some more, each footfall bringing him closer to Sorthraal, bringing Sorthraal closer to calmness. The Dark Apostle did not need to speak to convey his message.
"Fine," said the Night Lord, lowering his weapon, though not the venom in his voice. "You have made your point. I will follow you, Apostle."
Personality:
With respect to the GM, this player would rather develop his personality as the RP goes, rather than write it here.
Personal skills:
In Midnight Clad: Sorthraal is a Night Lord, and as such, is adept in terror warfare. Taking a special pleasure in inflicting fear, he uses it like a disease and a poison amongst his foes. The VIII Legion was one so feared that mere rumors of its visit would turn worlds compliant. Sorthraal can, with blade, bolter and theatric, easily show why.
Fallen Angel: He was there during the Horus Heresy: an age of myth and mystery to most of the Imperium. But not to him. Having walked under the same skies as the Primarchs and the Emperor, Sorthraal is a historical relic beyond value. The false muscles of his aging power armor still bear quite a few micro-nicks from the Siege of Terra, and within his mind is the ancient lore of a man who lived alongside the most despised of legendary figures.
Arms Master - Bolter: The standard weapon of the Legiones Astartes, while ubiquitous to its members, is a tenacious, temperamental beast. Sorthraal has trained his eye, hand and posture to tame it completely into his control. With a wordless command, he can set any bolter's rage loose with deadly precision, whether the target is the eye or the heart. Sorthraal is an expert shot, even by Space Marine standards.
Gear:
-Hybrid Power Armor
-Mark IX Hell's Teeth Chainsword
-Godwyn Astartes-pattern Bolter
-Frag Grenade Bundle
-Krak Grenade Bundle
-Melta Charge
Fourth Claw:
Sorthraal is the sergeant of the warband's Fourth Claw, or Fourth Squad. Its members, excluding him, are as follows:
Udan: A Legionary who'd walked in the shadow of the Primarchs just as most of the squad, Udan is a fierce fighter, competitive on the battlefield and unyielding in defense. Prideful, he is not one to decline an honor duel. Pettily envious, he desires Lentus' power sword. Although afflicted by the whispers, he has not yet devoted himself to the Ruinous Powers. A tactical marine, he does not favor ranged combat over melee.
His powered armor is a mishmash of multiple Marks, as is common amongst traitor marines. He is not very distinguishable from the rest of the warband, save for the cracked Novamarine helms that he has impaled on the spikes of his back-mounted powerplant. He is equipped with a bolter and a chain-axe.
Vorax: Vorax is the youngest of the Claw, having been born only after the Heresy and into the Raiding Years. Despite never having seen the Primarch, he has been fortunate enough to step into the dark halls of the Legion fortress at Tsagualsa before the Primogenitor chapters came and destroyed it. Only 144 years old according to his suit's chronometer, Vorax has not devoted himself to the Ruinous Powers, although the whispers are wearing down his defenses. He is a tactical marine, and favors ranged combat.
Notable for being in full Mark VII plate, Vorax can be distinguished by the ruined Imperial aquila that is still emblazoned across his chestpiece. However, unlike Sorthraal, he has taken pains to aggrandize himself. Skulls are chained across his form and he wears the skinned face of a Raven Guard scout on his right pauldron. Hooks dangle in between his thighs, each ending in a still-rotting severed head. He uses a modern combat knife and a bolter.
Bas: Mentally dull out of combat, and utterly implacable, impetuous and bloodthirsty in it, Bas is a Khornate Berzerker in all but name, because he refuses to call himself as such even as he screams praises to the Master of Battles every time he raises his chain-axe. Clad in midnight, he has yet to repaint his armor crimson and trim it with bronze or brass. In his chamber is a small altar dedicated to Khorne, a mound made up of skulls. Bas is the Claw's melee specialist, and a dangerous one at that.
Bas can be distinguished by the knightly helm of his Mark III war plate and the painted lightning that streaks across its ceramite. Two chain-axes are always present on his person (as well as a bolter and a gladius), although he favors a one-handed grip. He eats the gene-seed of fallen enemy marines unless restrained.
Malgadon: This Legionary finds a perverse pleasure in fratricide, as he discovered when he cut down a squad of Blood Angels with his heavy bolter back during the Siege of Terra. Still carrying the same weapon today, he feeds upon the fear the roar of the cannon inspires, and the dread of those who realize that they are about to die. Gregarious, he is Fourth Claw's devastator -- he does not call himself a Havoc. Erring towards Slaanesh, every soul he sets loose into the Warp sends warm chills up and down his armored spine.
Curving horns sprout high and proud from the temples of Malgadon's Mark VII helm, as is iconic of devastators. Skin that he has flayed himself is draped across his armor, in addition to the usual skulls. He is never seen without his personal heavy bolter and is extremely protective of it. When the battle is finished, he will usually be one of the firsts to start skinning the fallen foe. |
10,011 | 279 | 13 | 2,648 | 292 | Lentus barely had time to fall on one knee to greet father Arabar when the queller of voices already brought swift death to another nonbeliever. He quietly recited.
"May the might of Horus follow you always apostle!"
He hastily followed his new master on his victorious way towards the ships bridge. As they moved, Lentus checked his stormbolter, this trophy from an Dark Angels lieutenant was still partly refusing its new service in Lentuses hands. AM I NOT WORTHY?! How dare this machine spirit deny the superiority of Lentus Caestus! No, no it was not this glorious guns fault... As Lentus strode along and continued his mumblings, the lights of control consoles were growing more dominant in the distance. They were very close to the bridge now, Lentus felt he would contribute many skulls today for the fiery king who appeared at times in his dreams. | Name: Lentus Caestus
Age: Not known, participated in the heresy.
Appearance:
Without armor Lentus is an pale, muscular thing with dark eyes. Edges of his black carapace are usually bloody as his body was rejecting his space marine operations. Before his heresy this was considered an weakness and he was often shunned because of this. After heresy his surgery wounds are in eternal state of bleeding slightly and he has been free to take his sword to anyone who could imply this makes him less of an marine.
Marine type: Tactical marine/ Marine Sergeant
Devotion: Chaos undivided
Bio: Once there was an time when Lentus Caestus was an pious one, he held unto reason of doubt even as he eagerly waged war against his brothers among the stars during the great heresy. Afterall were Night Lords not children of Konrad? Where he led, Lentus followed. After Konrads passing Lentus fell into doubt again, and then the whispering began. First his scarred mind took solace in the infernal torment of whispers, but that resolve was short lived for the whispering was relentless. Lentus continued to kill and maim as his legion commanded even while whispers made him howl like an mad beast, was this emperors punishment of his heresy? Or simply torments of horrors beyond the warp? In these troubled times he met the one called "Arabar." His words brought peace to Lentus, and promise of answers was the harbinger of another betrayal, when Lentus agreed to leave his legion in service to this enigmatic marine preacher. While Lentus is undeniably traitor of many accounts, this delusional fool still harbors fantasies of salvation, such petty mortal imaginings...
Personality: Obedient to orders of those he considers superior. Mad. Ridden with guilt and his pathetic inability to stop his further descent into oblivion of heresy. Battle crazy.
Personal skills: Long honed skills in swordsmanship and pressing battlefield advantage for victory. Good shot. His abilities in leading his own squad have detoriated considerably but still present.
Gear:
Tainted powersword.
Corrupted pre-heresy power armor that has for unknown reasons molded to an look of a more modern model.
Storm bolter. (Lentus is looking to change this one as the still partly holy weapon is rejecting full commitment to ruinous powers,
for now.)
Fragmentation grenades "blessed" by dark entities. |
10,012 | 279 | 14 | 62 | 2,653 | Arabar approached the door to the bridge, beyond it was nearly every other Night lord not in his flock. Seeing as all of his chosen were yet to arrive, he waited, quietly praying.
As the rest of fourth claw arrived, along with Quel, Amphion and his cabal of mutants and cultists were close behind. As they stopped before him, Arabar gave a slight nod, and clicked the control panel, opening the door. As it slid open Arabar stepped through the threshold, raising Araghast, before him stood a helmet less Night lord, caught of guard by the sudden arrival. He was the first to fie as a bolt flew from the ecstatic barrel of Araghast and embedded itself in his skull, exploding within his skull and turning most of it to red mist. Arabar squeezed off another to bolts into the chest of an unfortunate Night lord who had stood next to his first victim.
Arabar moved to the side to allow his flock to stream into the bridge, and shouted, "Infidels! Your reckoning arrives now at the hands of the enlightened! Your blood will spill, your bodies shall break! AND I SHALL FEED YOUR SOULS TO THE DARK GODS! | Name:"Father" Arabar
Age:467 (claimed age)
Appearance
Arabar's body itself is scarred and branded with the sigils and symbols of not only the chaos gods and chaos undivided, but also to a myriad of lesser daemons and champions of chaos.
Marine type:Dark Apostle
Devotion:Chaos undivided
Bio:Arabar, though a charismatic leader of his flock, has revealed little of his past. Even those of his inner circle have learned precious few details of their prophets past. He has revealed his age, and claims once to have been a Dark Apostle within the Word Bearers legion, and his armors colors seem to lend credence to his claim. He has never revealed how he knows about the whispers, or how he can know who can hear them and how intensely. Some may be suspicious of the pious man, his apparent withholding of information about his past and abilities more than a little unsettling, but he does quiet the voices by his presence alone, and his flock do not even know if he himself hears whispers.
Personality:Arabar is a passionate preacher, intoning the gods and their prayers with great fervor and zeal. He leads his flock with a clarity of vision and purpose akin to that of a madman, convinced of their own manifest destiny and the truth in the whispers. Charismatic, cruel and driven, Arabar will commit the most vile of acts on a whim, when he believes it is the will of the gods, and expects his flock to follow him without question, for he will lead them to a promised land of great power, if only they will follow.
Personal skills:Charismatic orator, can quiet the whispers simply by being present and can altogether silence them while giving delivering sermon and blessings. All the skills had by a chaos space marine, slightly bolstered by the blessings of the dark gods
Gear
Defiled Crozius Arcanum (power maul)
Mutated bolt pistol (Flesh blessed)
Word Bearers power armor/ MK 5 Heresy pattern(currently in Black hands regalia)
Assorted ammunition and gear
Frag grenades |
10,013 | 279 | 15 | 2,176 | 944 | Sorthraal was first in, followed by Vorax and Udan, and all three fired their bolters on full auto, wreaking havoc inside the expanse that was the bridge. Their bolts hammered against unyielding bulkheads and fragile control lecterns when they did not impact ceramite. Glass and armourcrys detonated, and damaged consoles spat out sparks and small flares like a deadly fireworks display. Malgadon was already setting up at a low wall when return fire belatedly barked back.
"BROTHERS," the havoc yelled, excitement bare in his modulated voice as he considered the targets bracketed in his retinal display. "EVERYBODY IN THIS ROOM IS GOING TO DIE!"
Then roared his heavy bolter, sending bolt after bolt in rapid and feverish succession. Some foes in the distance, by the great hololith table, were forced back into cover by the explosive spray when one of their numbers suddenly lacked a head. The decrease in return fire allowed the rest of Fourth Claw to take aim with greater impunity. Sorthraal, at that point, had already killed two.
"Damnable betrayers!" yelled one enemy legionnaire, as he raised his gladius and began to charge at Malgadon. A blur at the side of his vision halted his charge, however, and soon he was staring at Bas' unfeeling eye lenses. In the next moment, he found himself bereft of a hand. And before he could curse, he found himself deprived of his windpipe.
"Blood for the blood god, skulls for the Eighth Legion!" intoned Bas, as he wrenched his chainaxe away from the dying, gurgling marine and allowed the bloody fountain to rain all over him. Then he rushed across the nave of the chamber anew and crossed axes with another legionnaire. A few swipes, punches and dodges and his foe was already spilling ichor and intestines all over the floor.
"Do not kill any of the mortal crew," Sorthraal reminded, as he fed his weapon a fresh magazine. "They are too valuable to lose."
"I will try," said Vorax, as he took a farther position, his advance covered by Udan. Steadying his bolter on the breastwork as he rose, he aimed for the marine hiding near the Master of Auspex's control shrine. Firing a quick burst, he noted how its cowering operator winced against the noise. "But no promises, brother."
"That is not good enough. Navy personnel are not easy to replenish, fool. You will not harm these mortals, Vorax."
The youngest member of the squad conceded. "Yes, sergeant."
"Sorthraal," Udan said. "I intend to join Vorax. Cover me."
"Affirmative. Go, brother."
In the opening stages of the firefight, Fourth Claw fought with tactical mastery that would not have been out of place in a loyalist chapter. Excepting Bas, they all moved as one and communicated where it was necessary. With the help of the rest of Arabar's flock, this was bound to be an easy victory. | Name: Sorthraal
Age: 7,746 by virtue of the Warp, 344 according to his suit's chronometer.
Appearance:
Born on Nostramo, Sorthraal was conceived with the characteristic wan, alabaster complexion and lack of an iris of the people of that long dead world, and these traits were exacerbated upon his induction to the VIII Legion. Even now, three centuries and a half old, he still stands true -- at least, in a physical sense -- as a living legacy of the Night Haunter, with thick blue veins snaking across his almost transparent white skin, made taut by the slabs of powerful muscle that they draped. Shaven, his head is bald, and crisscrossed by cobwebs of thick, ugly scars, devolving in form as they traveled from the nape of his neck all the way to his face, where they are the most concentrated. Each of these furrows into his tough, leathery skin told a story of its own: the gladius of an Imperial Fist on board the Dymphna's Damnation, shrapnel from a young Ultramarine's bolter, and, most noticeable, the patch of ugly, dried meat that was the work of a Blood Angel flamer on Terra itself. A veteran warrior, more marks all over his body told tales of war, but these are more irregular and less varied than on his visage.
His armor is varied in its components: his torso and pauldrons, Mark VI; his gauntlets, Mark V; his left leg is VI while his other is IV. His helm and backpack are the newest pieces, being of the VII variant, prised from a fallen Emperor's Spear who died begging for mercy. Having undergone so many repairs and replacements, Sorthraal's suit would have looked quite at home in the latest fashion galleries of Imperial nobility had he not repainted its recent components. So many Chapters and Warbands. But he is a Night Lord, and as such, the ceramite is midnight blue, edged and trimmed with obsidian black, with little overt decoration save for the defiled Imperial aquila at the chest piece that had been desecrated by intentionally unrepaired battle-damage.
His armor does not aggrandize its wearer, as told by the fact that the telltale arrowhead symbol which betrays to others of his battlefield role still exists on his right pauldron.
Marine Type: Tactical Marine
Devotion:
Yet to Devote.
Biography:
He ignored it at first.
Then it came to chew upon his sanity.
Sorthraal leaned back, as far as the whining servos of his suit would allow, and, at the speed of sound, drove his armored head straight into the granite. The blow was powerful, cracking the rock and pulverizing much of the impact point to dust, which spread over his vox-grille and ruby eye lenses. Steadying himself with his hands on the stone monolith, he leaned again and repeated the motion with the same brutality. Again, and again, and again. The thunderclaps split the air.
The thumps could be heard for kilometers. Far away, a grazing herd of fauna tilted their ears at the direction. The feline predator took advantage of the distraction, and pounced at one of the babes. Sorthraal didn't know of this, of course. Sorthraal, even if he did, wouldn't have cared. Because at that point in time, he was almost unable to think.
"SHUT. UP," was his demand. "SHUT. UP," was his mantra, uttered in rhythm with every headbutt. "WHY WILL YOU NOT," thump, "SHUT UP?"
They spat a steady, incomprehensible litany at him, in tongues that he couldn't understand, and ones that he surely had no intention of learning. Amongst the thick veil of almost-static, with the way they screamed at him, he could detect a glimmer of laughter, a hint of a tone of wry amusement. They were mocking him, perhaps at his great and undeniable discomfort. Perhaps at something else. Either way, it was almost unbearable.
He had drilled into the rock so much that the structure was actually beginning to give way. Chunks of stone clattered against his helm, and the tower was grinding in protest even as he reared his head back for another go. It was working, yes, it was working! The voices were receding, the maddening whispers were going away. He was beating them out of his system, and he cared little for the flashing warning runes that bathed his retinal display in an incessant light show of crimson. The insanity was giving way to clarity. Clarity of thought, clarity of mind, and clarity of sense.
Then, he heard footsteps.
Sorthraal turned around, all his several tonnes of power-armored form. Servos roared in surprise as with swiftness unbecoming of his bulk he pulled his bolter from his thigh's magnetic clamp. In but a heartbeat, the wide-muzzled Godwyn was already at the target. But the machine spirit inside of it, though simple, noted something strange: it was lowered a millimeter.
"You again," Sorthraal hissed, his voice coarse with five hours' worth of yelling. The visitor was both welcome and unwelcome. His trigger finger itched both ways.
Arabar merely smiled. And warmly, too, as he stepped over the bisected remains of an Eldar warlock. And stepped some more, each footfall bringing him closer to Sorthraal, bringing Sorthraal closer to calmness. The Dark Apostle did not need to speak to convey his message.
"Fine," said the Night Lord, lowering his weapon, though not the venom in his voice. "You have made your point. I will follow you, Apostle."
Personality:
With respect to the GM, this player would rather develop his personality as the RP goes, rather than write it here.
Personal skills:
In Midnight Clad: Sorthraal is a Night Lord, and as such, is adept in terror warfare. Taking a special pleasure in inflicting fear, he uses it like a disease and a poison amongst his foes. The VIII Legion was one so feared that mere rumors of its visit would turn worlds compliant. Sorthraal can, with blade, bolter and theatric, easily show why.
Fallen Angel: He was there during the Horus Heresy: an age of myth and mystery to most of the Imperium. But not to him. Having walked under the same skies as the Primarchs and the Emperor, Sorthraal is a historical relic beyond value. The false muscles of his aging power armor still bear quite a few micro-nicks from the Siege of Terra, and within his mind is the ancient lore of a man who lived alongside the most despised of legendary figures.
Arms Master - Bolter: The standard weapon of the Legiones Astartes, while ubiquitous to its members, is a tenacious, temperamental beast. Sorthraal has trained his eye, hand and posture to tame it completely into his control. With a wordless command, he can set any bolter's rage loose with deadly precision, whether the target is the eye or the heart. Sorthraal is an expert shot, even by Space Marine standards.
Gear:
-Hybrid Power Armor
-Mark IX Hell's Teeth Chainsword
-Godwyn Astartes-pattern Bolter
-Frag Grenade Bundle
-Krak Grenade Bundle
-Melta Charge
Fourth Claw:
Sorthraal is the sergeant of the warband's Fourth Claw, or Fourth Squad. Its members, excluding him, are as follows:
Udan: A Legionary who'd walked in the shadow of the Primarchs just as most of the squad, Udan is a fierce fighter, competitive on the battlefield and unyielding in defense. Prideful, he is not one to decline an honor duel. Pettily envious, he desires Lentus' power sword. Although afflicted by the whispers, he has not yet devoted himself to the Ruinous Powers. A tactical marine, he does not favor ranged combat over melee.
His powered armor is a mishmash of multiple Marks, as is common amongst traitor marines. He is not very distinguishable from the rest of the warband, save for the cracked Novamarine helms that he has impaled on the spikes of his back-mounted powerplant. He is equipped with a bolter and a chain-axe.
Vorax: Vorax is the youngest of the Claw, having been born only after the Heresy and into the Raiding Years. Despite never having seen the Primarch, he has been fortunate enough to step into the dark halls of the Legion fortress at Tsagualsa before the Primogenitor chapters came and destroyed it. Only 144 years old according to his suit's chronometer, Vorax has not devoted himself to the Ruinous Powers, although the whispers are wearing down his defenses. He is a tactical marine, and favors ranged combat.
Notable for being in full Mark VII plate, Vorax can be distinguished by the ruined Imperial aquila that is still emblazoned across his chestpiece. However, unlike Sorthraal, he has taken pains to aggrandize himself. Skulls are chained across his form and he wears the skinned face of a Raven Guard scout on his right pauldron. Hooks dangle in between his thighs, each ending in a still-rotting severed head. He uses a modern combat knife and a bolter.
Bas: Mentally dull out of combat, and utterly implacable, impetuous and bloodthirsty in it, Bas is a Khornate Berzerker in all but name, because he refuses to call himself as such even as he screams praises to the Master of Battles every time he raises his chain-axe. Clad in midnight, he has yet to repaint his armor crimson and trim it with bronze or brass. In his chamber is a small altar dedicated to Khorne, a mound made up of skulls. Bas is the Claw's melee specialist, and a dangerous one at that.
Bas can be distinguished by the knightly helm of his Mark III war plate and the painted lightning that streaks across its ceramite. Two chain-axes are always present on his person (as well as a bolter and a gladius), although he favors a one-handed grip. He eats the gene-seed of fallen enemy marines unless restrained.
Malgadon: This Legionary finds a perverse pleasure in fratricide, as he discovered when he cut down a squad of Blood Angels with his heavy bolter back during the Siege of Terra. Still carrying the same weapon today, he feeds upon the fear the roar of the cannon inspires, and the dread of those who realize that they are about to die. Gregarious, he is Fourth Claw's devastator -- he does not call himself a Havoc. Erring towards Slaanesh, every soul he sets loose into the Warp sends warm chills up and down his armored spine.
Curving horns sprout high and proud from the temples of Malgadon's Mark VII helm, as is iconic of devastators. Skin that he has flayed himself is draped across his armor, in addition to the usual skulls. He is never seen without his personal heavy bolter and is extremely protective of it. When the battle is finished, he will usually be one of the firsts to start skinning the fallen foe. |
10,014 | 279 | 16 | 2,648 | 292 | The roar of gunfire and clash of blades!! This is what our kind was created for! Lentus took off from doorway in a furious charge and let out an bestial roar as he ran. His armors servo motors whirred at full capacity and his steps shook the ground. His aim was clear, to blatantly flank the enemies taking cover behind holotables and grotesque carvings that were an mocking imitation of protectional gargoyles found on loyalist ships. He considered using his grenades but taking into account all the fragile control mechanisms and presence of ships flying crew, that was out of question here.
As Lentus forsook cover, several bolter rounds hit and ricocheted off his armors more curved surfaces, the impact didnt break his charge. He answered with an blind spray of destructive fire from his storm bolter, caring little for what he hit. It seemed the weapon was for once cooperating with Lentus, maybe because his targets were traitor marines also?
"Lentus, have you gone insane! It is I Dimas!"
Another old battle brother it seems was present here.
"I truly am sorry old friend, that you cannot see the light father Arabar has shown us!!"
"Damned traitor! Tear him apart!"
"I am not the traitor here! I am VENGEANCE MADE FLESH!"
With this he was upon his foes. They had barely the time to ready their weapons when Lentus had already coated the holotable and floor with Dimases blood. Three foes were one by one cut to several pieces by the ominously humming blade.
Damnation! It seems his earlier gunfire had cut down one of the fly crew. This was not acceptable, father Arabar had trusted Lentus to carry out this task without collateral damage! At this moment he prayed to whatever dark entities might be listening, that the bloody mess on the ground was not the barges navigator. | Name: Lentus Caestus
Age: Not known, participated in the heresy.
Appearance:
Without armor Lentus is an pale, muscular thing with dark eyes. Edges of his black carapace are usually bloody as his body was rejecting his space marine operations. Before his heresy this was considered an weakness and he was often shunned because of this. After heresy his surgery wounds are in eternal state of bleeding slightly and he has been free to take his sword to anyone who could imply this makes him less of an marine.
Marine type: Tactical marine/ Marine Sergeant
Devotion: Chaos undivided
Bio: Once there was an time when Lentus Caestus was an pious one, he held unto reason of doubt even as he eagerly waged war against his brothers among the stars during the great heresy. Afterall were Night Lords not children of Konrad? Where he led, Lentus followed. After Konrads passing Lentus fell into doubt again, and then the whispering began. First his scarred mind took solace in the infernal torment of whispers, but that resolve was short lived for the whispering was relentless. Lentus continued to kill and maim as his legion commanded even while whispers made him howl like an mad beast, was this emperors punishment of his heresy? Or simply torments of horrors beyond the warp? In these troubled times he met the one called "Arabar." His words brought peace to Lentus, and promise of answers was the harbinger of another betrayal, when Lentus agreed to leave his legion in service to this enigmatic marine preacher. While Lentus is undeniably traitor of many accounts, this delusional fool still harbors fantasies of salvation, such petty mortal imaginings...
Personality: Obedient to orders of those he considers superior. Mad. Ridden with guilt and his pathetic inability to stop his further descent into oblivion of heresy. Battle crazy.
Personal skills: Long honed skills in swordsmanship and pressing battlefield advantage for victory. Good shot. His abilities in leading his own squad have detoriated considerably but still present.
Gear:
Tainted powersword.
Corrupted pre-heresy power armor that has for unknown reasons molded to an look of a more modern model.
Storm bolter. (Lentus is looking to change this one as the still partly holy weapon is rejecting full commitment to ruinous powers,
for now.)
Fragmentation grenades "blessed" by dark entities. |
10,015 | 279 | 17 | 2,176 | 944 | At that point, the tactical marines of Fourth Claw were no longer hiding behind cover. Sporting cracked pauldrons and shattered ceramite plates wherefrom quickly clotting blood slowly oozed out, they walked forwards slowly in the open, confident with the supporting fire Malgadon's heavy bolter provided, as well as that of other Night Lords, as they sent precise bursts of three bolts towards targets of opportunity. With the chaos Lentus and Bas were inflicting amongst the enemy ranks, return fire was sporadic and inaccurate at best.
"Ensure neither Bas nor Lentus get blindsided. Keep up the fire and cover their flanks," ordered Sorthraal over the intra-squad channel. | Name: Sorthraal
Age: 7,746 by virtue of the Warp, 344 according to his suit's chronometer.
Appearance:
Born on Nostramo, Sorthraal was conceived with the characteristic wan, alabaster complexion and lack of an iris of the people of that long dead world, and these traits were exacerbated upon his induction to the VIII Legion. Even now, three centuries and a half old, he still stands true -- at least, in a physical sense -- as a living legacy of the Night Haunter, with thick blue veins snaking across his almost transparent white skin, made taut by the slabs of powerful muscle that they draped. Shaven, his head is bald, and crisscrossed by cobwebs of thick, ugly scars, devolving in form as they traveled from the nape of his neck all the way to his face, where they are the most concentrated. Each of these furrows into his tough, leathery skin told a story of its own: the gladius of an Imperial Fist on board the Dymphna's Damnation, shrapnel from a young Ultramarine's bolter, and, most noticeable, the patch of ugly, dried meat that was the work of a Blood Angel flamer on Terra itself. A veteran warrior, more marks all over his body told tales of war, but these are more irregular and less varied than on his visage.
His armor is varied in its components: his torso and pauldrons, Mark VI; his gauntlets, Mark V; his left leg is VI while his other is IV. His helm and backpack are the newest pieces, being of the VII variant, prised from a fallen Emperor's Spear who died begging for mercy. Having undergone so many repairs and replacements, Sorthraal's suit would have looked quite at home in the latest fashion galleries of Imperial nobility had he not repainted its recent components. So many Chapters and Warbands. But he is a Night Lord, and as such, the ceramite is midnight blue, edged and trimmed with obsidian black, with little overt decoration save for the defiled Imperial aquila at the chest piece that had been desecrated by intentionally unrepaired battle-damage.
His armor does not aggrandize its wearer, as told by the fact that the telltale arrowhead symbol which betrays to others of his battlefield role still exists on his right pauldron.
Marine Type: Tactical Marine
Devotion:
Yet to Devote.
Biography:
He ignored it at first.
Then it came to chew upon his sanity.
Sorthraal leaned back, as far as the whining servos of his suit would allow, and, at the speed of sound, drove his armored head straight into the granite. The blow was powerful, cracking the rock and pulverizing much of the impact point to dust, which spread over his vox-grille and ruby eye lenses. Steadying himself with his hands on the stone monolith, he leaned again and repeated the motion with the same brutality. Again, and again, and again. The thunderclaps split the air.
The thumps could be heard for kilometers. Far away, a grazing herd of fauna tilted their ears at the direction. The feline predator took advantage of the distraction, and pounced at one of the babes. Sorthraal didn't know of this, of course. Sorthraal, even if he did, wouldn't have cared. Because at that point in time, he was almost unable to think.
"SHUT. UP," was his demand. "SHUT. UP," was his mantra, uttered in rhythm with every headbutt. "WHY WILL YOU NOT," thump, "SHUT UP?"
They spat a steady, incomprehensible litany at him, in tongues that he couldn't understand, and ones that he surely had no intention of learning. Amongst the thick veil of almost-static, with the way they screamed at him, he could detect a glimmer of laughter, a hint of a tone of wry amusement. They were mocking him, perhaps at his great and undeniable discomfort. Perhaps at something else. Either way, it was almost unbearable.
He had drilled into the rock so much that the structure was actually beginning to give way. Chunks of stone clattered against his helm, and the tower was grinding in protest even as he reared his head back for another go. It was working, yes, it was working! The voices were receding, the maddening whispers were going away. He was beating them out of his system, and he cared little for the flashing warning runes that bathed his retinal display in an incessant light show of crimson. The insanity was giving way to clarity. Clarity of thought, clarity of mind, and clarity of sense.
Then, he heard footsteps.
Sorthraal turned around, all his several tonnes of power-armored form. Servos roared in surprise as with swiftness unbecoming of his bulk he pulled his bolter from his thigh's magnetic clamp. In but a heartbeat, the wide-muzzled Godwyn was already at the target. But the machine spirit inside of it, though simple, noted something strange: it was lowered a millimeter.
"You again," Sorthraal hissed, his voice coarse with five hours' worth of yelling. The visitor was both welcome and unwelcome. His trigger finger itched both ways.
Arabar merely smiled. And warmly, too, as he stepped over the bisected remains of an Eldar warlock. And stepped some more, each footfall bringing him closer to Sorthraal, bringing Sorthraal closer to calmness. The Dark Apostle did not need to speak to convey his message.
"Fine," said the Night Lord, lowering his weapon, though not the venom in his voice. "You have made your point. I will follow you, Apostle."
Personality:
With respect to the GM, this player would rather develop his personality as the RP goes, rather than write it here.
Personal skills:
In Midnight Clad: Sorthraal is a Night Lord, and as such, is adept in terror warfare. Taking a special pleasure in inflicting fear, he uses it like a disease and a poison amongst his foes. The VIII Legion was one so feared that mere rumors of its visit would turn worlds compliant. Sorthraal can, with blade, bolter and theatric, easily show why.
Fallen Angel: He was there during the Horus Heresy: an age of myth and mystery to most of the Imperium. But not to him. Having walked under the same skies as the Primarchs and the Emperor, Sorthraal is a historical relic beyond value. The false muscles of his aging power armor still bear quite a few micro-nicks from the Siege of Terra, and within his mind is the ancient lore of a man who lived alongside the most despised of legendary figures.
Arms Master - Bolter: The standard weapon of the Legiones Astartes, while ubiquitous to its members, is a tenacious, temperamental beast. Sorthraal has trained his eye, hand and posture to tame it completely into his control. With a wordless command, he can set any bolter's rage loose with deadly precision, whether the target is the eye or the heart. Sorthraal is an expert shot, even by Space Marine standards.
Gear:
-Hybrid Power Armor
-Mark IX Hell's Teeth Chainsword
-Godwyn Astartes-pattern Bolter
-Frag Grenade Bundle
-Krak Grenade Bundle
-Melta Charge
Fourth Claw:
Sorthraal is the sergeant of the warband's Fourth Claw, or Fourth Squad. Its members, excluding him, are as follows:
Udan: A Legionary who'd walked in the shadow of the Primarchs just as most of the squad, Udan is a fierce fighter, competitive on the battlefield and unyielding in defense. Prideful, he is not one to decline an honor duel. Pettily envious, he desires Lentus' power sword. Although afflicted by the whispers, he has not yet devoted himself to the Ruinous Powers. A tactical marine, he does not favor ranged combat over melee.
His powered armor is a mishmash of multiple Marks, as is common amongst traitor marines. He is not very distinguishable from the rest of the warband, save for the cracked Novamarine helms that he has impaled on the spikes of his back-mounted powerplant. He is equipped with a bolter and a chain-axe.
Vorax: Vorax is the youngest of the Claw, having been born only after the Heresy and into the Raiding Years. Despite never having seen the Primarch, he has been fortunate enough to step into the dark halls of the Legion fortress at Tsagualsa before the Primogenitor chapters came and destroyed it. Only 144 years old according to his suit's chronometer, Vorax has not devoted himself to the Ruinous Powers, although the whispers are wearing down his defenses. He is a tactical marine, and favors ranged combat.
Notable for being in full Mark VII plate, Vorax can be distinguished by the ruined Imperial aquila that is still emblazoned across his chestpiece. However, unlike Sorthraal, he has taken pains to aggrandize himself. Skulls are chained across his form and he wears the skinned face of a Raven Guard scout on his right pauldron. Hooks dangle in between his thighs, each ending in a still-rotting severed head. He uses a modern combat knife and a bolter.
Bas: Mentally dull out of combat, and utterly implacable, impetuous and bloodthirsty in it, Bas is a Khornate Berzerker in all but name, because he refuses to call himself as such even as he screams praises to the Master of Battles every time he raises his chain-axe. Clad in midnight, he has yet to repaint his armor crimson and trim it with bronze or brass. In his chamber is a small altar dedicated to Khorne, a mound made up of skulls. Bas is the Claw's melee specialist, and a dangerous one at that.
Bas can be distinguished by the knightly helm of his Mark III war plate and the painted lightning that streaks across its ceramite. Two chain-axes are always present on his person (as well as a bolter and a gladius), although he favors a one-handed grip. He eats the gene-seed of fallen enemy marines unless restrained.
Malgadon: This Legionary finds a perverse pleasure in fratricide, as he discovered when he cut down a squad of Blood Angels with his heavy bolter back during the Siege of Terra. Still carrying the same weapon today, he feeds upon the fear the roar of the cannon inspires, and the dread of those who realize that they are about to die. Gregarious, he is Fourth Claw's devastator -- he does not call himself a Havoc. Erring towards Slaanesh, every soul he sets loose into the Warp sends warm chills up and down his armored spine.
Curving horns sprout high and proud from the temples of Malgadon's Mark VII helm, as is iconic of devastators. Skin that he has flayed himself is draped across his armor, in addition to the usual skulls. He is never seen without his personal heavy bolter and is extremely protective of it. When the battle is finished, he will usually be one of the firsts to start skinning the fallen foe. |
10,016 | 279 | 18 | 62 | 2,653 | The massacre was rapidly coming to a close. The number had been just under 15 marines, and with the kills on the way to the bridge just over half within the entire ship were dead. The last two Night lords in the bridge would be dead in moments. Arabar, with assistance from Araghast's eye, squeezed off two accurate shots, one finding it's mark in the neck of one marine, but the other slammed into the shoulder of the other, Arabar cursed his aim, but the marine was cut down in a fury by Lentus and Bas. For a few moments near silence rained, only the mewling whimpers of a few slaves were heard. Then Arabar was again in motion, approaching the helmsman, "Tell me slave, with the damage done here can you still get this ship into warp travel now?" the terrified man shook his head madly, letting Arabar know that yes, it could still travel, exactly as planned. "Then get underway, we should be gone within a few hours, gone before the rest of the fleet discovers what is happening." minimal damage to the crew and bridge... good. Arabar moved back towards the command throne, and stood on the platform, facing his disciples.
"My children, the bridge is ours! The Killer's Heaven is now under our control, any Night lords left are being hunted down by the rest of the flock and we are victorious! he paused as he felt the ship move, felt the warp drive of the ancient ship firing up. "But I feel... as if something is missing... you may now have noticed my armor, no longer colored as a Word Bearer, this," Arabar lifted his arms to better show his armor, Is the Regalia of our new Warband! No longer must you bear the mantle of so impious a Brotherhood ad the Night lords, now we are bound in blood to a new name, now you are Night lords no longer, we are the Black Hands! We are the chosen of the Gods! The whispers of chaos will deliver us to great power, and I shall be the one to guide you to it! he moved down from the platform now, and motioned for a strange retinue to enter. Several slaves walked timidly into the room, some carried a dark robe of purple to Arabar, who pulled it from them and draped it over his form. The others carried something far stranger, a large wooden bowl in which sloshed a thick, viscous black liquid. The bowl itself was covered in runes and sigils of the gods and daemons. Arabar looked to his chosen, "Some of you hear the voices louder and stronger than any other. It is you, you who so loudly hear the calling that show great promise. Step forward now, oh servants of chaos, Sorthraal, Quel, Amphion and Lentus." he allowed them to step forward, out from the group and stand. Arabar motioned the slaves with the bowl to his side, "Today, I shall mark you each with the hand of the Gods. But... the holy mixture with which I may mark you with is missing a final, vital component" from his robe Arabar produced a long ritual dagger, covered in the symbols if the gods and chaos. He moved rapidly to the first marine he shot, who yet drew breath. His second shot had grazed the marines spine in just the right place, with help from Araghast, to paralyze him from the neck down. Arabar dragged him before his chosen, and ripped his helmet off, exposing the snarling marine's face and neck. Using the ritual blade rather Adeptly Arabar carved the symbols of each of the chaos gods and the circle of chaos onto his face. Perhaps his men knew the marine Arabar carved up, he hoped so, better to sever their bonds.
Arabar bid the slaves lower the bowl to just under the paralyzed marine's neck. Arabar then used the knife in a sawing motion on the marines neck, keeping it from closing and healing. The blood spilled into the bowl, mixing with the strange black substance within. When finally it was full, Arabar ceased, and dropped the Night lords head to the floor, his lifeless snarl still on his face. As he dropped the ritual dagger to the floor Arabar removed his left gauntlet, and dipped his now bare hand into the black substance, "On each of you I shall place the hand on a different piece of your armor, showing how the gods favor you," he walked first to face Sorthraal, You, Sorthraal, still you are skeptical of the Gods power, unsure of their nature. Upon you, their lay on your arm, where your own strength mirrors theirs, and where they will lend far greater strength, " he took is left hand and gripped the upper right arm of Sorthraal's armor, then dipped his hand again into the mixture and approached Lentus, "Lentus, your faith in me is absolute, your trust unquestioning, and faith in me is faith in the gods. Upon you their hand falls on your chest, where your hearts beat and pulse with their power. firmly Arabar placed his hand on Lentus's chest. Again he dipped his hand into the bowl, covering it in the liquid and facing Amphion, "Sorcerer, upon you the Gods granted the gift of the warp, you can manipulate the very power that the gods call their own. On you, their hand falls on the head, from where your power springs Arabar placed his hand over Amphion's helm, and the palm print left had Amphion's right eye in its center, much like the hand and eye of Horus on Arabar's own shoulder, finally he came to Quel, hand dripping in dark liquid, "And you Quel, in Grand-papa Nurgle you discovered faith, in his great decaying garden you saw beauty. In honor of your devotion, I place the hand upon your guts, the favored organs of Grand-papa Nurgle" With that Arabar placed the print on Quel's abdomen. He wiped the remaining liquid on his robe, and replaced his gauntlet. Then he returned to the platform, and turned up his hands, revealing the black under of his hands, and the white eyes if Horus painted onto their centers. "Upon me, tge gods place their hands on mine, as I am their deliverer, and guide to their chosen. Now, before you leave to hunt those who remain, tell me your grievances, and ask any questions of me. Though, if you truly wish you may wait, and speak to me in private. However, I suggest you speak now." Arabar waited, allowing his flock time to respond. | Name:"Father" Arabar
Age:467 (claimed age)
Appearance
Arabar's body itself is scarred and branded with the sigils and symbols of not only the chaos gods and chaos undivided, but also to a myriad of lesser daemons and champions of chaos.
Marine type:Dark Apostle
Devotion:Chaos undivided
Bio:Arabar, though a charismatic leader of his flock, has revealed little of his past. Even those of his inner circle have learned precious few details of their prophets past. He has revealed his age, and claims once to have been a Dark Apostle within the Word Bearers legion, and his armors colors seem to lend credence to his claim. He has never revealed how he knows about the whispers, or how he can know who can hear them and how intensely. Some may be suspicious of the pious man, his apparent withholding of information about his past and abilities more than a little unsettling, but he does quiet the voices by his presence alone, and his flock do not even know if he himself hears whispers.
Personality:Arabar is a passionate preacher, intoning the gods and their prayers with great fervor and zeal. He leads his flock with a clarity of vision and purpose akin to that of a madman, convinced of their own manifest destiny and the truth in the whispers. Charismatic, cruel and driven, Arabar will commit the most vile of acts on a whim, when he believes it is the will of the gods, and expects his flock to follow him without question, for he will lead them to a promised land of great power, if only they will follow.
Personal skills:Charismatic orator, can quiet the whispers simply by being present and can altogether silence them while giving delivering sermon and blessings. All the skills had by a chaos space marine, slightly bolstered by the blessings of the dark gods
Gear
Defiled Crozius Arcanum (power maul)
Mutated bolt pistol (Flesh blessed)
Word Bearers power armor/ MK 5 Heresy pattern(currently in Black hands regalia)
Assorted ammunition and gear
Frag grenades |
10,017 | 279 | 19 | 1,174 | 263 | Quel was never one for ceremonies, he usually preferred the company of those whose words came from twisting engines and circuitry rather than the will of a mind. However, something about the corpses that decorated the bridge and farther Arabar's words pleaded to an unfamiliar side within Quel. His conversion as well as his peace, his humming whispering peace, they motioned the start of a change within the Warpsmith that he felt he was not prepared to accept. Regardless, as he stared down at the new brand that adorned his stomach and with farther Arabar's words still fresh in his mind, he felt closer to the one named Nurgle and whether this was a mere illusion of his chaos tainted mind or not, he found calming in this feeling. The Warpsmith has many questions for the farther, however, the Warpsmith had still yet to properly prove himself to Arabar, or so he felt. During the previous battle his gaze was more finely locked on the damage that spread throughout the bridge rather than being locked on his shifting enemies. "I beg my leave Farther Arabar, my questions are ones for another time." Quel reasoned as he knelt down in Arabar's direction.
Stepping back to his feet Quel turned around and bathed in the scene before him, blood, flesh, guts, damaged armour, pieced steel, torn cables, sparking servos and damaged consoles. It were as if Nurgle himself has delivered a gift to the Warpsmith, a toy he could occupy himself with to further cease the light whispers that remained, even in Arabar's presence. Taking a deep breathe as his twisted and tainted servo-arms uncoiled from their position on Quel's back, they darted around in the air eagerly, each in the direction of a different type of damage that had been done to the bridge of the battle barge.
First walking to the consoles that remained lit Quel forced his presence past any slaves that attempted to continue their duty, with a deft hand and learned touch Quel pressed various buttons triggering a series of dummy commands, none that would interrupt the flight mind you, that would return different results depending on what was damaged. With his goals in mind Quel weighed the severity of the damage around him before he turned to a damaged console deemed quite important from his assessment, a grin ran across his face as his inner monologue thundered over the whispers, 'Killer's Heaven I shall quell your sparks and errors, patience.' Viciously Quel's servo arms sprang into action with fiery hisses and sparked buzzes as they heated metal to metal and stripped damaged wiring. | Name: Quel Dunrene
Age: 6,7112
Appearance:
Quel's power pack has been exchanged for one with four daemon influenced servo-arms akin to those in the picture above.
Without Armour:
Quel's body has the aged marks mutations and alterations from the warp, with sections of skin on his body appearing 'twisted'. Out of his armour his bulky frame stands at nearly 7 foot tall.
Marine type: Warpsmith
Devotion: Nurgle
Bio: Rumoured to once have been a bloodied victor in The Battle of The Fang on Fenris Quel eventually fell into chaos and became an obsessive man who punished anyone who'd modify the machines he worked on, Quel's obsession in cultivating and growing the twisted machines he tended to went as far as to even compel the marine to charge head long into the battle next to vehicles designed to take the full assault of the front lines. In truth the voices that whispered to him endlessly had nearly driven him beyond mad fuelling his deranged decisions in battle, the only thing that bought him a modicum of peace was the purr of the twisted daemon engines be tirelessly worked on.
That was of course until Arabar came along. The mere presence of the charismatic preacher had resonated a peace within Quel's mind that he does not remember ever experiencing, however, the mere presence of the man was not enough to pull Quel from the birth den of machinery he had stood vigil and guardian over for so long. It was not until Arabar made mention of the visions, the imagery of an organic, decaying paradise that inspired Quel with visions of a putrid, decaying dominance over technology, vision that became the very driving force of his obsession. The Garden of Nurgle Arabar called it, it was then that Quel decided to not only pledge himself to Arabar's legion, but also to Nurgle's pestilence.
Personality: Obsessive and dominant in regards to technology, Quel becomes most enraged in the battle field when encountering enemy vehicles, the very idea that technology would attempt to force it's will on him, especially technology untainted by the warp, so something he cannot stand. However, he has recently calmed in many areas of his life since his continued exposure to Arabar, though this has not entirely diminished his obsessive personality, he continues to regard most technology he works on as his own though he no longer lashes out when it is modified nor does he blindly follow war machines he's worked on into battle.
Personal skills: With his bionic left eye and skill as a former Techmarine give Quel an upper hand when repairing, diagnosing and modifying machinery. Additionally Quel has a lot of experience also taking apart and destroying machinery, being quite skilled with his meltagun at targeting vital locations on vehicles and machines.
Gear:-
Mk 6 Corvus Armour (Power Armour)
Tainted Servo-Arm Backpack
Meltagun
Power Fist
Bionic Eye (x1 - Left Eye, Bionic Senses)
Powercells (Meltagun ammunition) |
10,018 | 279 | 20 | 2,450 | 332 | The slaughter was glorious. Amphion couldn't contain the chuckle as the unbelievers fell under the Apostle's croizaz and his comrades' bolters. The mutants and heretics had stormed the bridge, as commanded, a howling tide of abominations and unholy devotees. Most had fallen, only thirteen still standing. At the moment, they were hunting down the last of the loyalists, autoguns, lasguns and crude hand weapons bared and ready in a pitiful attempt a proper military formation. The sorcerer was still reveling in the Apostle's blessing, feeling the power of his master flowing through his twisted, corrupted body.
It was glorious, and he laughed as he unleashed a psychic blast that tore a gaping hole the size of a child's head in the Night Lord's chest. His host fell apon another, drowing him in a tide of bullets and blades. The largest of the remaining mutants, a hulking brute that stood tall enough to look the Apostle in the eye, one arm twice as large as the other and baring dagger-like claws, his face a featureless mass of flesh covered by a blindfold, held up the marine's severed head in triumph as his axe dripped with his victim's blood.
"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!" They all cried out. A fresh wave of pride swept through the sorcerer, a sure sign of Slaanesh's favor. With a wave of his staff, he bid seven of his followers continue the hunt, a task they set to gladly, while the rest remained behind.
"Gather the corpses, my children. Bring them to the bridge. The ritual should be witnessed by the Apostle." Of course, Amphion was not content with a simple slaughter, much as it pleased Khorne. No, he meant to honor all of the Dark Gods today. Nurgle would be pleased with his offering of the dead, a boon for the new legion of the Black Hands. He looked with pride at the newely-painted armor, a physicial expression of his devotion to his master and the gods.
"Soon we shall add Grandfather Nurgle's blessing to our legion, my children. Glory to the Dark Gods! We shall let the galaxy BURN!" | Name: Amphion, The Metal Father
Age: 2000 by gift of the Warp, 800 by the armor chronomitor.
Beneath the armor, his skin is ashen and cracked, his eyes orange, hairless and sporting a forest of needle-like teeth behind a lipless mouth. Occasionally a forked tongue will taste the air.
Marine Type: Sorcerer
Devotion: Undivided
Biography: There is not too much to be said about the abomination named Amphion. Once a Librarian of the Iron Snakes, his fall to the Ruinous Powers came after the purge of Telos 3, where a warband of the Word Bearers had left behind several artifacts in their deaths. The pages of one tome opened Amphion's eyes to the lies of the Imperium, and from there he set out to seek the favor of the Chaos Gods.
He took many a pilgrimage, manipulating the oppressed men and mutants of the Imperium into uncovering arcane secrets for their Metal Father, furthering his unholy knowledge. Eventually, he made his way to the Night Lords, but now he is disgusted with their lack of pioty.
Now new whispers call to him, and he has answered...
Personality: He's...a sorcerer. You know these guys. More loyal than most, though.
Personal Skills: An accomplished psyker with extensive knowledge of the arcane. Also adept at manipulation, especially of the mutant outcasts of Hive Worlds.
Gear: Plasma Pistol, Sorcerer's staff, Mark VII Power Armor, Chaos Tome. |
10,019 | 279 | 21 | 2,648 | 292 | Lentus felt exalted and uplifted by father Arabars honored words. They made the guilt of this butchery bearable, as he looked around he saw the others were feeling pretty similar save from Sorthraal and some of his claw. They would come around, hopefully. It seemed they had started something grand here today, would they rise to grip history itself by the throat or be brought down by wills of daemons, never knowing naught but persecution. Lentus had now betrayed two great masters, firstly emperor, his creator father of them all however hard other traitor marines were trying to forget the fact, and secondly Konrad, or his will anyway. How could father Arabar say he trusted them? Vicious traitors whose divine punishment could lurk around behind every corner!!! Calm, Lentus, calm...
When Arabar asked if his new flock had any questions, only one popped in the mind of Lentus, he wondered if questioning his new master and giver of solid purpose so soon would be considered crude but the soldier in Lentus just had to ascertain something.
"If I may give voice to one concern I believe several of us are occupied with at the moment. What is our next course of action father?" | Name: Lentus Caestus
Age: Not known, participated in the heresy.
Appearance:
Without armor Lentus is an pale, muscular thing with dark eyes. Edges of his black carapace are usually bloody as his body was rejecting his space marine operations. Before his heresy this was considered an weakness and he was often shunned because of this. After heresy his surgery wounds are in eternal state of bleeding slightly and he has been free to take his sword to anyone who could imply this makes him less of an marine.
Marine type: Tactical marine/ Marine Sergeant
Devotion: Chaos undivided
Bio: Once there was an time when Lentus Caestus was an pious one, he held unto reason of doubt even as he eagerly waged war against his brothers among the stars during the great heresy. Afterall were Night Lords not children of Konrad? Where he led, Lentus followed. After Konrads passing Lentus fell into doubt again, and then the whispering began. First his scarred mind took solace in the infernal torment of whispers, but that resolve was short lived for the whispering was relentless. Lentus continued to kill and maim as his legion commanded even while whispers made him howl like an mad beast, was this emperors punishment of his heresy? Or simply torments of horrors beyond the warp? In these troubled times he met the one called "Arabar." His words brought peace to Lentus, and promise of answers was the harbinger of another betrayal, when Lentus agreed to leave his legion in service to this enigmatic marine preacher. While Lentus is undeniably traitor of many accounts, this delusional fool still harbors fantasies of salvation, such petty mortal imaginings...
Personality: Obedient to orders of those he considers superior. Mad. Ridden with guilt and his pathetic inability to stop his further descent into oblivion of heresy. Battle crazy.
Personal skills: Long honed skills in swordsmanship and pressing battlefield advantage for victory. Good shot. His abilities in leading his own squad have detoriated considerably but still present.
Gear:
Tainted powersword.
Corrupted pre-heresy power armor that has for unknown reasons molded to an look of a more modern model.
Storm bolter. (Lentus is looking to change this one as the still partly holy weapon is rejecting full commitment to ruinous powers,
for now.)
Fragmentation grenades "blessed" by dark entities. |
10,020 | 279 | 22 | 62 | 2,653 | Arabar smiled widely, nearly all of his chosen inner circle were on the bridge, and he had now blessed them, shown them the way. Unsurprisingly Quel began work repairing the damage to the bridge as soon as Arabar was finished, good, his industrious attitude and loyalty would serve the Black Hands well. Amphion had quickly departed, leading the remainder of his mutants to purge those Night Lord's who had not been present upon the bridge and still drew breath. Sorthraal... remained strangely silent along with the rest of his squad. Arabar assumed that they were coming to terms with their fratricide. It was Lentus of all of his chosen that gave voice to his concerns.
"If I may give voice to one concern I believe several of us are occupied with at the moment. What is our next course of action father?"
Arabar stepped down again from the throne, "Why, I am delighted you asked good Lentus! As you all know by now we are currently on our way to the Eye of Terror, gateway to the home of the Gods. But, that is not specific enough for you is it? No, specifically we search for a planet within the eye, and Eldar crone world I only know as the "Forbidden Grimorie". I know neither it's location nor form, so how are we to find it you ask? Simple, the whispers in your heads shall direct us. Arabar smiled, hands open to his msn, "once within the eye they will become more clear to me. I shall use them as a guide. Once the world is reached, I shall explain the next stage, if our unholy pilgrimage! Now, you are dismissed! Repaint your armor before again you see me, should you wish to speak privately I shall grant any of you an audience." With that Arabar moved to the command throne and sat, content. In s matter if days the eye would be within sight.
What an odyssey they would have! Tails of the pilgrimage if the Black Hands would be recited by mad poets of chaos for centuries to come! Soon... very soon the gods would know their names... | Name:"Father" Arabar
Age:467 (claimed age)
Appearance
Arabar's body itself is scarred and branded with the sigils and symbols of not only the chaos gods and chaos undivided, but also to a myriad of lesser daemons and champions of chaos.
Marine type:Dark Apostle
Devotion:Chaos undivided
Bio:Arabar, though a charismatic leader of his flock, has revealed little of his past. Even those of his inner circle have learned precious few details of their prophets past. He has revealed his age, and claims once to have been a Dark Apostle within the Word Bearers legion, and his armors colors seem to lend credence to his claim. He has never revealed how he knows about the whispers, or how he can know who can hear them and how intensely. Some may be suspicious of the pious man, his apparent withholding of information about his past and abilities more than a little unsettling, but he does quiet the voices by his presence alone, and his flock do not even know if he himself hears whispers.
Personality:Arabar is a passionate preacher, intoning the gods and their prayers with great fervor and zeal. He leads his flock with a clarity of vision and purpose akin to that of a madman, convinced of their own manifest destiny and the truth in the whispers. Charismatic, cruel and driven, Arabar will commit the most vile of acts on a whim, when he believes it is the will of the gods, and expects his flock to follow him without question, for he will lead them to a promised land of great power, if only they will follow.
Personal skills:Charismatic orator, can quiet the whispers simply by being present and can altogether silence them while giving delivering sermon and blessings. All the skills had by a chaos space marine, slightly bolstered by the blessings of the dark gods
Gear
Defiled Crozius Arcanum (power maul)
Mutated bolt pistol (Flesh blessed)
Word Bearers power armor/ MK 5 Heresy pattern(currently in Black hands regalia)
Assorted ammunition and gear
Frag grenades |
10,021 | 279 | 23 | 2,648 | 292 | Lentus nodded at father Arabars answer, bowed and took his leave. He did not want anyone to sense his quite visible excitement and an dumb grin that spread across his pale face. An pilgrimage, maybe even an crusade of sorts, just the thing I need to cleanse my soul. Or plunge it deeper into depravity? NO! Definitely this is an good thing. Even if it meant the whispering was going to continue, even strengthen. This time it was with purpose however, from their traitorous minds an map was going to be forged. An map to greatness or doom.
On his way to his cell, Lentus found the legionnaire he had slaughtered on his way to the bridge, this time he had more of his wits about him and he remembered this corpses name, Xextus he was. Flashing memory from time of heresy crossed his mind, how in a crater from melta explosion they had been surrounded by loyalists, only him and Xextus, rest of their claw naught but mangled bodies. How they had shared ammo for the last time and charged their enemies in a glorious counter-assault.
Lentus expected his guilt to wreck his mind again but it did not come this time, for some reason he was fine, even content with this murder. He was sure that divine vengeance would find him soon enough and that whispers would once again cloud his mind when they entered the eye but now he was at peace and he was going to enjoy it while it lasted. He took Xextuses blood spattered helmet from his corpse and looked into its lenses for a while. Hmmmm. To show his devotion to their new crusade he would graft an trophy of this finely made Night Lords helmet, what kind, he was not sure yet. | Name: Lentus Caestus
Age: Not known, participated in the heresy.
Appearance:
Without armor Lentus is an pale, muscular thing with dark eyes. Edges of his black carapace are usually bloody as his body was rejecting his space marine operations. Before his heresy this was considered an weakness and he was often shunned because of this. After heresy his surgery wounds are in eternal state of bleeding slightly and he has been free to take his sword to anyone who could imply this makes him less of an marine.
Marine type: Tactical marine/ Marine Sergeant
Devotion: Chaos undivided
Bio: Once there was an time when Lentus Caestus was an pious one, he held unto reason of doubt even as he eagerly waged war against his brothers among the stars during the great heresy. Afterall were Night Lords not children of Konrad? Where he led, Lentus followed. After Konrads passing Lentus fell into doubt again, and then the whispering began. First his scarred mind took solace in the infernal torment of whispers, but that resolve was short lived for the whispering was relentless. Lentus continued to kill and maim as his legion commanded even while whispers made him howl like an mad beast, was this emperors punishment of his heresy? Or simply torments of horrors beyond the warp? In these troubled times he met the one called "Arabar." His words brought peace to Lentus, and promise of answers was the harbinger of another betrayal, when Lentus agreed to leave his legion in service to this enigmatic marine preacher. While Lentus is undeniably traitor of many accounts, this delusional fool still harbors fantasies of salvation, such petty mortal imaginings...
Personality: Obedient to orders of those he considers superior. Mad. Ridden with guilt and his pathetic inability to stop his further descent into oblivion of heresy. Battle crazy.
Personal skills: Long honed skills in swordsmanship and pressing battlefield advantage for victory. Good shot. His abilities in leading his own squad have detoriated considerably but still present.
Gear:
Tainted powersword.
Corrupted pre-heresy power armor that has for unknown reasons molded to an look of a more modern model.
Storm bolter. (Lentus is looking to change this one as the still partly holy weapon is rejecting full commitment to ruinous powers,
for now.)
Fragmentation grenades "blessed" by dark entities. |
10,022 | 279 | 24 | 1,174 | 263 | Farther Arabar's words pierced Quel's concentration like a bolter pierces flesh. His work slowed and quieted as he listened to Arabar's words, the very thought of what was to come filled his tainted body with vigour and excitement. When Arabar's words ceased, so did the silence of Quel's work, in a relatively quick fashion he managed to get some of the basic functions on several consoles restored. Not wanting to spoil his fun too quickly, he heeded father Arabar's words in reference to the repainting of his armour, additionally Quel had also become curious as to the possibility of further ship damage coming from the Night Lords who had fled the bridge. Fingering a few buttons on the consoles he retrieved what information he could regarding any damage to the ship, besides a few errors from the consoles yet to be fixed the diagnostic returned only very minor pressure imbalances, indicating some very minor interior damage.
Quel moved from the bridge to the halls, assessing the carnage left behind from the coup. As he drifted through the halls Quel took particular interest in one bit of damage on a metallic wall, it was a scratch mark, he pondered it's origin, it seemed too rough to have come from a power sword, yet not rough enough to have been carved by a chainsword. Suddenly it dawned on him, Amphion's creatures might have caused such damage, removing his padded glove Quel ran his bare fingers over to mark. Something about it excited him, in his six thousand years of existence Quel had repaired and destroyed a lot of machines, however, those twisted by the warp, that seemed more beast than machine had always left a guilty feeling in Quel's bowls. He now recognises this guilt as the product of a hidden excitement and urge to want to work on such machines and aid in their manufacture, his previous dedications to the Night Lords spawned such a guilt in him, but no more. Now Quel only felt excitement as he wondered what abominable machines he'd father in his future service to Arabar and Nurgle. | Name: Quel Dunrene
Age: 6,7112
Appearance:
Quel's power pack has been exchanged for one with four daemon influenced servo-arms akin to those in the picture above.
Without Armour:
Quel's body has the aged marks mutations and alterations from the warp, with sections of skin on his body appearing 'twisted'. Out of his armour his bulky frame stands at nearly 7 foot tall.
Marine type: Warpsmith
Devotion: Nurgle
Bio: Rumoured to once have been a bloodied victor in The Battle of The Fang on Fenris Quel eventually fell into chaos and became an obsessive man who punished anyone who'd modify the machines he worked on, Quel's obsession in cultivating and growing the twisted machines he tended to went as far as to even compel the marine to charge head long into the battle next to vehicles designed to take the full assault of the front lines. In truth the voices that whispered to him endlessly had nearly driven him beyond mad fuelling his deranged decisions in battle, the only thing that bought him a modicum of peace was the purr of the twisted daemon engines be tirelessly worked on.
That was of course until Arabar came along. The mere presence of the charismatic preacher had resonated a peace within Quel's mind that he does not remember ever experiencing, however, the mere presence of the man was not enough to pull Quel from the birth den of machinery he had stood vigil and guardian over for so long. It was not until Arabar made mention of the visions, the imagery of an organic, decaying paradise that inspired Quel with visions of a putrid, decaying dominance over technology, vision that became the very driving force of his obsession. The Garden of Nurgle Arabar called it, it was then that Quel decided to not only pledge himself to Arabar's legion, but also to Nurgle's pestilence.
Personality: Obsessive and dominant in regards to technology, Quel becomes most enraged in the battle field when encountering enemy vehicles, the very idea that technology would attempt to force it's will on him, especially technology untainted by the warp, so something he cannot stand. However, he has recently calmed in many areas of his life since his continued exposure to Arabar, though this has not entirely diminished his obsessive personality, he continues to regard most technology he works on as his own though he no longer lashes out when it is modified nor does he blindly follow war machines he's worked on into battle.
Personal skills: With his bionic left eye and skill as a former Techmarine give Quel an upper hand when repairing, diagnosing and modifying machinery. Additionally Quel has a lot of experience also taking apart and destroying machinery, being quite skilled with his meltagun at targeting vital locations on vehicles and machines.
Gear:-
Mk 6 Corvus Armour (Power Armour)
Tainted Servo-Arm Backpack
Meltagun
Power Fist
Bionic Eye (x1 - Left Eye, Bionic Senses)
Powercells (Meltagun ammunition) |
10,023 | 279 | 25 | 2,176 | 944 | Malgadon brandished his hunting knife and removed war plate from his fallen brothers while the rest of Fourth Claw, having managed to stop Bas from eating any of their gene-seed, more or less quietly retreated from the bridge, intending to tend to their wounds and equipment. The battle, though one-sided, still gave them quite a few injuries, and while the pain was dulled by the combat stimulants automatically administered by their armor's drug dispensers, it was still an incessant, if distant, source of irritation.
"Brother-apothecary," Sorthraal said, his voice ever saturnine, as he, Vorax, Bas and Udan entered the dark hall of the aftcastle apothecarion, "we are wounded." | Name: Sorthraal
Age: 7,746 by virtue of the Warp, 344 according to his suit's chronometer.
Appearance:
Born on Nostramo, Sorthraal was conceived with the characteristic wan, alabaster complexion and lack of an iris of the people of that long dead world, and these traits were exacerbated upon his induction to the VIII Legion. Even now, three centuries and a half old, he still stands true -- at least, in a physical sense -- as a living legacy of the Night Haunter, with thick blue veins snaking across his almost transparent white skin, made taut by the slabs of powerful muscle that they draped. Shaven, his head is bald, and crisscrossed by cobwebs of thick, ugly scars, devolving in form as they traveled from the nape of his neck all the way to his face, where they are the most concentrated. Each of these furrows into his tough, leathery skin told a story of its own: the gladius of an Imperial Fist on board the Dymphna's Damnation, shrapnel from a young Ultramarine's bolter, and, most noticeable, the patch of ugly, dried meat that was the work of a Blood Angel flamer on Terra itself. A veteran warrior, more marks all over his body told tales of war, but these are more irregular and less varied than on his visage.
His armor is varied in its components: his torso and pauldrons, Mark VI; his gauntlets, Mark V; his left leg is VI while his other is IV. His helm and backpack are the newest pieces, being of the VII variant, prised from a fallen Emperor's Spear who died begging for mercy. Having undergone so many repairs and replacements, Sorthraal's suit would have looked quite at home in the latest fashion galleries of Imperial nobility had he not repainted its recent components. So many Chapters and Warbands. But he is a Night Lord, and as such, the ceramite is midnight blue, edged and trimmed with obsidian black, with little overt decoration save for the defiled Imperial aquila at the chest piece that had been desecrated by intentionally unrepaired battle-damage.
His armor does not aggrandize its wearer, as told by the fact that the telltale arrowhead symbol which betrays to others of his battlefield role still exists on his right pauldron.
Marine Type: Tactical Marine
Devotion:
Yet to Devote.
Biography:
He ignored it at first.
Then it came to chew upon his sanity.
Sorthraal leaned back, as far as the whining servos of his suit would allow, and, at the speed of sound, drove his armored head straight into the granite. The blow was powerful, cracking the rock and pulverizing much of the impact point to dust, which spread over his vox-grille and ruby eye lenses. Steadying himself with his hands on the stone monolith, he leaned again and repeated the motion with the same brutality. Again, and again, and again. The thunderclaps split the air.
The thumps could be heard for kilometers. Far away, a grazing herd of fauna tilted their ears at the direction. The feline predator took advantage of the distraction, and pounced at one of the babes. Sorthraal didn't know of this, of course. Sorthraal, even if he did, wouldn't have cared. Because at that point in time, he was almost unable to think.
"SHUT. UP," was his demand. "SHUT. UP," was his mantra, uttered in rhythm with every headbutt. "WHY WILL YOU NOT," thump, "SHUT UP?"
They spat a steady, incomprehensible litany at him, in tongues that he couldn't understand, and ones that he surely had no intention of learning. Amongst the thick veil of almost-static, with the way they screamed at him, he could detect a glimmer of laughter, a hint of a tone of wry amusement. They were mocking him, perhaps at his great and undeniable discomfort. Perhaps at something else. Either way, it was almost unbearable.
He had drilled into the rock so much that the structure was actually beginning to give way. Chunks of stone clattered against his helm, and the tower was grinding in protest even as he reared his head back for another go. It was working, yes, it was working! The voices were receding, the maddening whispers were going away. He was beating them out of his system, and he cared little for the flashing warning runes that bathed his retinal display in an incessant light show of crimson. The insanity was giving way to clarity. Clarity of thought, clarity of mind, and clarity of sense.
Then, he heard footsteps.
Sorthraal turned around, all his several tonnes of power-armored form. Servos roared in surprise as with swiftness unbecoming of his bulk he pulled his bolter from his thigh's magnetic clamp. In but a heartbeat, the wide-muzzled Godwyn was already at the target. But the machine spirit inside of it, though simple, noted something strange: it was lowered a millimeter.
"You again," Sorthraal hissed, his voice coarse with five hours' worth of yelling. The visitor was both welcome and unwelcome. His trigger finger itched both ways.
Arabar merely smiled. And warmly, too, as he stepped over the bisected remains of an Eldar warlock. And stepped some more, each footfall bringing him closer to Sorthraal, bringing Sorthraal closer to calmness. The Dark Apostle did not need to speak to convey his message.
"Fine," said the Night Lord, lowering his weapon, though not the venom in his voice. "You have made your point. I will follow you, Apostle."
Personality:
With respect to the GM, this player would rather develop his personality as the RP goes, rather than write it here.
Personal skills:
In Midnight Clad: Sorthraal is a Night Lord, and as such, is adept in terror warfare. Taking a special pleasure in inflicting fear, he uses it like a disease and a poison amongst his foes. The VIII Legion was one so feared that mere rumors of its visit would turn worlds compliant. Sorthraal can, with blade, bolter and theatric, easily show why.
Fallen Angel: He was there during the Horus Heresy: an age of myth and mystery to most of the Imperium. But not to him. Having walked under the same skies as the Primarchs and the Emperor, Sorthraal is a historical relic beyond value. The false muscles of his aging power armor still bear quite a few micro-nicks from the Siege of Terra, and within his mind is the ancient lore of a man who lived alongside the most despised of legendary figures.
Arms Master - Bolter: The standard weapon of the Legiones Astartes, while ubiquitous to its members, is a tenacious, temperamental beast. Sorthraal has trained his eye, hand and posture to tame it completely into his control. With a wordless command, he can set any bolter's rage loose with deadly precision, whether the target is the eye or the heart. Sorthraal is an expert shot, even by Space Marine standards.
Gear:
-Hybrid Power Armor
-Mark IX Hell's Teeth Chainsword
-Godwyn Astartes-pattern Bolter
-Frag Grenade Bundle
-Krak Grenade Bundle
-Melta Charge
Fourth Claw:
Sorthraal is the sergeant of the warband's Fourth Claw, or Fourth Squad. Its members, excluding him, are as follows:
Udan: A Legionary who'd walked in the shadow of the Primarchs just as most of the squad, Udan is a fierce fighter, competitive on the battlefield and unyielding in defense. Prideful, he is not one to decline an honor duel. Pettily envious, he desires Lentus' power sword. Although afflicted by the whispers, he has not yet devoted himself to the Ruinous Powers. A tactical marine, he does not favor ranged combat over melee.
His powered armor is a mishmash of multiple Marks, as is common amongst traitor marines. He is not very distinguishable from the rest of the warband, save for the cracked Novamarine helms that he has impaled on the spikes of his back-mounted powerplant. He is equipped with a bolter and a chain-axe.
Vorax: Vorax is the youngest of the Claw, having been born only after the Heresy and into the Raiding Years. Despite never having seen the Primarch, he has been fortunate enough to step into the dark halls of the Legion fortress at Tsagualsa before the Primogenitor chapters came and destroyed it. Only 144 years old according to his suit's chronometer, Vorax has not devoted himself to the Ruinous Powers, although the whispers are wearing down his defenses. He is a tactical marine, and favors ranged combat.
Notable for being in full Mark VII plate, Vorax can be distinguished by the ruined Imperial aquila that is still emblazoned across his chestpiece. However, unlike Sorthraal, he has taken pains to aggrandize himself. Skulls are chained across his form and he wears the skinned face of a Raven Guard scout on his right pauldron. Hooks dangle in between his thighs, each ending in a still-rotting severed head. He uses a modern combat knife and a bolter.
Bas: Mentally dull out of combat, and utterly implacable, impetuous and bloodthirsty in it, Bas is a Khornate Berzerker in all but name, because he refuses to call himself as such even as he screams praises to the Master of Battles every time he raises his chain-axe. Clad in midnight, he has yet to repaint his armor crimson and trim it with bronze or brass. In his chamber is a small altar dedicated to Khorne, a mound made up of skulls. Bas is the Claw's melee specialist, and a dangerous one at that.
Bas can be distinguished by the knightly helm of his Mark III war plate and the painted lightning that streaks across its ceramite. Two chain-axes are always present on his person (as well as a bolter and a gladius), although he favors a one-handed grip. He eats the gene-seed of fallen enemy marines unless restrained.
Malgadon: This Legionary finds a perverse pleasure in fratricide, as he discovered when he cut down a squad of Blood Angels with his heavy bolter back during the Siege of Terra. Still carrying the same weapon today, he feeds upon the fear the roar of the cannon inspires, and the dread of those who realize that they are about to die. Gregarious, he is Fourth Claw's devastator -- he does not call himself a Havoc. Erring towards Slaanesh, every soul he sets loose into the Warp sends warm chills up and down his armored spine.
Curving horns sprout high and proud from the temples of Malgadon's Mark VII helm, as is iconic of devastators. Skin that he has flayed himself is draped across his armor, in addition to the usual skulls. He is never seen without his personal heavy bolter and is extremely protective of it. When the battle is finished, he will usually be one of the firsts to start skinning the fallen foe. |
10,024 | 279 | 26 | 1,174 | 263 | Quel's march came to an end when he once again reached the bridge, by now some of the consoles had been cleaned up and repaired by the slaves who worked the ship. They were like parasites who served the barge and managed her to prove their worth to their tormentors, it sickened Quel to think that some of these parasites were tasked with looking after Killer's Heaven. He pushed those thoughts aside as he marched through the bridge with his newly painted armour, his rounds sore to the state of a fraction of the large battle barge, damage was minimal and only the aesthetic of the ship had really changed. It forced a sour frown on Quel's face as he had hoped for a reason to open Killers Heaven and fiddle with her more intimate parts.
The desire had begun to pass as time ticked by, Quel's meltagun was cold and he'd wondered what type of machines he'd turn its gaze to in the coming future. | Name: Quel Dunrene
Age: 6,7112
Appearance:
Quel's power pack has been exchanged for one with four daemon influenced servo-arms akin to those in the picture above.
Without Armour:
Quel's body has the aged marks mutations and alterations from the warp, with sections of skin on his body appearing 'twisted'. Out of his armour his bulky frame stands at nearly 7 foot tall.
Marine type: Warpsmith
Devotion: Nurgle
Bio: Rumoured to once have been a bloodied victor in The Battle of The Fang on Fenris Quel eventually fell into chaos and became an obsessive man who punished anyone who'd modify the machines he worked on, Quel's obsession in cultivating and growing the twisted machines he tended to went as far as to even compel the marine to charge head long into the battle next to vehicles designed to take the full assault of the front lines. In truth the voices that whispered to him endlessly had nearly driven him beyond mad fuelling his deranged decisions in battle, the only thing that bought him a modicum of peace was the purr of the twisted daemon engines be tirelessly worked on.
That was of course until Arabar came along. The mere presence of the charismatic preacher had resonated a peace within Quel's mind that he does not remember ever experiencing, however, the mere presence of the man was not enough to pull Quel from the birth den of machinery he had stood vigil and guardian over for so long. It was not until Arabar made mention of the visions, the imagery of an organic, decaying paradise that inspired Quel with visions of a putrid, decaying dominance over technology, vision that became the very driving force of his obsession. The Garden of Nurgle Arabar called it, it was then that Quel decided to not only pledge himself to Arabar's legion, but also to Nurgle's pestilence.
Personality: Obsessive and dominant in regards to technology, Quel becomes most enraged in the battle field when encountering enemy vehicles, the very idea that technology would attempt to force it's will on him, especially technology untainted by the warp, so something he cannot stand. However, he has recently calmed in many areas of his life since his continued exposure to Arabar, though this has not entirely diminished his obsessive personality, he continues to regard most technology he works on as his own though he no longer lashes out when it is modified nor does he blindly follow war machines he's worked on into battle.
Personal skills: With his bionic left eye and skill as a former Techmarine give Quel an upper hand when repairing, diagnosing and modifying machinery. Additionally Quel has a lot of experience also taking apart and destroying machinery, being quite skilled with his meltagun at targeting vital locations on vehicles and machines.
Gear:-
Mk 6 Corvus Armour (Power Armour)
Tainted Servo-Arm Backpack
Meltagun
Power Fist
Bionic Eye (x1 - Left Eye, Bionic Senses)
Powercells (Meltagun ammunition) |
10,025 | 280 | 0 | 1,570 | 4,104 | ℒhivoria. A kingdom of adventure, betrayal, greed, and power.
---
The young king of Lhivoria had been finalizing the scheme he had been working on for the last few months. It had been on the eve of his father’s death that he was given the large wooden chest belonging to his great-grandfather. The chest contained the many scrolls and passages about the family lineage, biased definitions of the creatures around the land, as well as the mad man scrawling of the stone and inside of the labyrinth. No one under the jurisdiction of the king had been through the labyrinth since the fall of the current king’s great-grandfather. The current king’s own father had no need nor want for the stone, finding happiness in his own life and family as well as his kingdom.
The current king’s wife warned against the power of greed, and questioned why he couldn’t see the madness in the writings for himself. There was no use, the power of the stone was just too powerful to put aside. Between the long researched nights the king tried to have a child to take on his lineage for when he would pass away. Soon, they found his wife was unable to produce offspring; and his fight for the stone became even more desperate than it had before. He needed it for not only his only happiness, but the fate of the kingdom depended on it.
“I demand that damn stone!” he yelled at the general of his royal army. ”But your majesty… that is suicide for our men!” the man exclaimed, the look of worry in his eyes. It was one thing to protect the kingdom, but another to send the men straight into what the land knew of from lore as a death trap. ”Are you calling my great-grandfather a liar? Or are you calling me foolish?” the king barked, getting to his feet, his fists pounding on the arms of his throne. ”No your majesty.” he responded, bowing his head in defeat and respect.
”I had no plans to send all our men into the labyrinth my friend. I will be writing a request to the forest dwelling people of Padma and Medraut, the magical bearing folks from the top of Mt. Basile, and the willing humans from our kingdom walls. I will be tricking the foolish into doing my bidding, you see. Many will die, but surely one will succeed. I’ll promise them goods and fortune, but I can’t always keep my promises.” a cackle escaped his lips as he shoved many scrolls into the general’s hands. ”Make sure you send your men to post many of these in the areas I aforementioned. I also want you to choose one of your men to lead this group and make sure that the stone gets to me. Understand?”
“Understood.” the general said, coming to action as soon as possible.
The general sent his lower ranking men across the land for the next week delivering the message to the residents of Lhivoria. As his men left the kingdom walls he called for and gave his high ranking man, Tyrus Froste a scroll. ”From order of the king, I was to request a brave and honorable man to represent the Royal Kingdom in the voyage to the center of the labyrinth. Your mission is to reach the center for the stone, and return it the kingdom. Do you understand solider?” the general lied through his teeth, but stated as bluntly and as stern as he could muster.
In other parts of the kingdom, this note was posted to various tree and structure alike:
---
A week had gone by, giving every being far and wide long enough time to reach the kingdom gates. As the large and powerful church bells signaled the start of the quest, the anxious king waited in protection on the other side of the fence, waiting to see what his kingdom had produced from his calling. | Name: Tyrus Froste
Age: 31
Sex: Male
Race: Human
Occupation: Veteran of the Royal Army
Location: 6
Likes:Nothing,as he was taught
Dislikes: Superstitious Nonsense
Years In Lhivoria: 14 years of the beginning of his life, since then he was enlisted and served the army for many years to come. As a footsoldier Captain he became a glorious asset in times of need.
Personality: Dark
Biography: Born and raised in Lhivoria, joined the military and is now a Captain with a terrifyingly sexy voice. On another note, he was sent with a contigent of soldiers into the labyrinth, but all have since been killed and he is now one of the sole survivors.
Reason: Yes, so he can destroy it.
Voice Sample: Blarg |
10,026 | 280 | 1 | 2,712 | 557 | The note that was stuck to the tree was always going to be intriguing. And after a while of thinking, he decided that this a good thing to go for. If this...stone, was real. Then he could use it, what for. He didn't know, but something. He would definitely find out what. The journey was a long one, with only him and his horse. (which he had to leave half way so it would go back to the family house) He mostly hid from the dangerous things. It was almost non-stop traveling. Having to constantly travel to get there soon enough. He had plenty of supplies, so that was never a problem. So when his destination was in sight, he was somewhat relived.
Arriving just as the bells rang, Xaos looked around nervously. Where exactly he was he supposed to be again? There was people around, were they going to the labyrinth? He didn't know. It took him to wander around, until he noticed where he was supposed to go. "I guess...this is it then"
Xaos looked at the king, who probably couldn't see him among the others, or maybe just wouldn't look at him. He wanted for himself, Xaos could tell But yet he was too cowardly to find it himself. Typical. But alas, he waited. For maybe the king to announce something, or for others to arrive. | Name: Xaos Rinfier
Age: 18
Sex: Male
Race: Half Human Half Elf
Occupation: Thief
Location: Currently in Padma
Likes: Quiet time, Forest species, "Exquisite" food, Not being seen.
Dislikes: Sliders, Rain, Stupid people, Water, Being hungry.
Years In Lhivoria: His whole life
Personality: Xaos has gained the abrasiveness of a human, being blunt when he wants to be. Having great knowledge, with a keen interest in books. Xaos gets annoyed when people decide to become ignorant just for the sake of it. He has quick wit and if not annoyed at something, will quickly laugh. He has quite a bias opinion towards things found in the forest. That being a good one of course. Xaos a lot of times steals food from people. But only if it's expensive. He always wants to see what's the fuss about those things are.
Biography: Xaos never really asked his mother how she and his father met, or how he left after he was born. All he knew was that what he was didn't happen much...very rarely in fact. But he was okay about that. He just hid the more glaring facts that he din't look exactly like a elf or a human. Even though his mother was a human, he found him going on long trips. Studying things, and experiencing the things that liked the most. He and his mother lived by themselves in isolation. Close enough to the humans, and close enough to the forest.
Reason: To study it, and perhaps use it
Voice Sample: I'm a ready! With buzzyness! |
10,027 | 280 | 2 | 1,599 | 69 | John Bigfeet was quite interested in what the flyers had to say. They seemed to be pretty important, since the king's men themselves put them up. However much John tried to read the fliers, he could not. Like most peasants, John did not know how to read. Besides, there wasn't ever a Bigfeet that was a scholarly man, it wasn't in their blood. Some say they are the kin of giants, since Bigfeet are bigger than other folk but not quite as bright. But, the fact that John couldn't read didn't really matter in the end, since the town crier read the flier to the townsfolk. John listened very carefully, but some of the words the crier used made John stroke his mutton-chops in an attempt to understand. He did understand the gravity of a wish, it could cure his sick mum. Sick was what, John didn't know and neither did the village doctor. What was clear was the illness was very serious, and she could die. So John set out to the kingdom proper, with plenty of bread, some water, and a big stick he uses to chase foxes away. Once he arrived, it was clear how much he stood out of the crowd. He was a foot taller than most, with a big smile on his face and a large club over his shoulder. | Name: Jon Bigfeet
Age: 32
Sex: Male
Race: Human
Occupation: Farmer
Location: (Use Map for reference):6
Likes: Warm loaves of bread, roasted beef, a pint of ale, good stories, and the sound of rain.
Dislikes: Swords, sorcery, and various other pointy things.
Years In Lhivoria: 32
Personality:
There's a saying about Jon's family within his village: "The Bigfeet are stronger than oxes, but as stupid as them as well." Jon lives up to the stereotype of his family, and is easily tricked. However, he also can preform feats of strength that most human's cannot. Jon may not have much smarts, but he makes up for it in enthusiasm. One may never catch Jon without a smile on his face. He is also the kind of person to never quit. Once he sets out to do a task, he makes sure he sees it through to the end. Also Jon isn't the kind of person to do something hurtful to others. The simpleton probably won't even steal food, even if he is starving.
Biography:
Jon was born in a small cottage in the kingdom of Lhivoria. His father, Hod Bigfeet is the spitting image of Jon, except his hair is gray and there is no hair left at the top of his head. His mother, Madeleine Goldenhand was 5 feet tall who has golden curls interspersed with gray hair, and a pair of cheap wire-rimmed glasses. During his childhood, Jon was teased for his lack of wits. Most children stopped teasing him as they grew older. The rest stopped when they realized that he was far stronger than any single one of them. Jon also learned how to take care of the fields and the pigs during his childhood. Jon didn't have the kind of education that you or I might have had, where one learns about numbers or books. He just learned how to take care of a farm is all.
As Jon grew older he made quite a few friends in the village with his good nature and his dependability. He also took on more responsibility at the farm as his parents grew older. One day, his mother became very ill. The village doctor could not stop the illness. Jon has heard of the labyrinth, he was foolish enough to believe a children's story, and even more foolish for attempting to search for the stone. Jon set out with plenty of food, a canteen of water, and a big stick he uses to chase the foxes away. He seeks the stone, and will not rest until he finds it and cures his mother of her illness.
Reason: (Do you want the stone? Why?): Jon wants the stone to cure his sick mother.
Voice Sample: (Please put a voice clip of you saying "I'm ready!" here): |
10,028 | 280 | 3 | 1,472 | 589 | Step, limp, step, limp. Sage made her way slowly through the town. Even with Baeslan masking any of the pain in her twisted left leg, she still limped. The way the bones had fused, it was easier to limp than to try to manoeuvre her leg into a normal walking pattern. Her eyes stayed on the ground, focused on a point just far enough ahead of her feet to keep from colliding with people. People passed her by, but she didn’t meet anyone’s gaze.
Not that someone would look at you anyways. Not aside from the passing glance. Human nature is funny, isn’t it? Everyone is so worried about offending you by staring at your gimpy leg…so instead they pretend you don’t exist…
Baeslan’s voice was a constant monologue in the back of her mind. A quiet whisper, always muttering biting words. Most of the time, Sage tuned it out. She continued her shuffling walk.
You realize if you didn’t spend all your time looking at your own feet, you might actually see something interesting. Like that note on the wall.
Like what note on what wall?
The one you’d see if you bothered looking up.
Even as Baeslan whispered in the back of her mind, Sage had looked up. Her gaze fell on the indicated note, and she slowly read through it. As she did, her face slowly fell. Often, Baeslan’s words were little more than malicious mutterings. He rarely had any intention other than mocking her or putting her down. But after two years of having his voice in her mind, she knew when he wanted something. In this case, she knew he wanted the stone.
“I-I don’t w-want t-to.” She was desperate enough to make her point that she spoke the words aloud, hobbling away from the note on the wall as quickly as her bum leg would allow.
I do.
Baeslan, please. I really don’t want to.
Sage knew that arguing was useless. Anytime Baeslan wanted her to do something, he got his way. She knew what was coming. He could coerce her so easily, because she relied on him so heavily. Sure enough, after only a few steps, a dull ache started up in her leg. Her limp became more pronounced, and the pain showed on her face. As Baeslan stopped masking the nerve signals from her leg, the pain of the damaged limb quickly hit her in full force.
She staggered, leaning against the wall for support. “Sto-stop!” the girl gasped under her breath, eyes shut tight. Passersby on the street looked at her now. Looked at her like she was crazy. “W-we’ll g-g-go.”
Excellent.
Immediately, the pain subsided. Tears of frustration in her eyes, Sage continued down the street. Step, limp, step, limp. Once again, she refused to meet anyone’s gaze.
--------------------------------------------------------
In the week that followed, Sage’s anxiety in regards to the upcoming expedition only increased. By the time the appointed day arrived, she was a wreck. She’d tried countless times to persuade Baeslan away from the idea, but he remained adamant. Every time she’d tried, she had only been awarded with a few minutes of pain in her leg. Eventually, she’d given up.
Now, as she limped towards the gates, it felt as though the tolling of the church bells were counting down to her death. You’re so melodramatic. It’s going to be fun.
“Fo-or y-you, ma-ay-aybe,” she muttered under her breath, too quiet for anyone to hear.
She kept her head down. Others had gathered by the gates, and she found a spot near the back of the group. Standing behind a giant of a man with a club over his shoulder, Sage could pretend that no one could see her. But she could still imagine the stares. Oh yes, they’re staring. What’s this stupid girl doing here amongst the warriors? Look at her leg. Does she expect us to protect her? She’s going to get in the way. She’s going to get herself killed. That’s what they’re thinking, Sage. The girl cringed visibly at Baeslan’s words. Her twisted leg was well hidden beneath her skirt. But her off-balance stance and limp made it obvious that there was something wrong. | Name: Sage Evans / Baeslan
Age: 19 / Ageless
Sex: Female / Male
Race: Human / Demon
Occupation: Beggar / Parasite
Location: 6 - Town - Kingdom of Lhivoria
Likes: Sage finds beauty in simple things. She enjoys seeing others happy. She likes a skirt without holes or rips in it. The sound of birds in the trees. Baeslan takes pleasure in taking those things away from her. Watching his host suffer, and simultaneously having her solely devoted to him, is the ultimate source of pleasure for the Demon.
Dislikes: Sage fears a life without Baeslan. She remembers the pain of existence before he came along, and doesn't want to get rid of him before she can assure herself that she won't suffer like that again.
Years In Lhivoria: 18
Personality:
Sage is a quiet girl. She speaks with a stutter, or not at all. She can rarely bring herself to meet the gaze of a stranger, and wouldn't hurt a fly. Baeslan is her polar opposite. Where Sage is kind and gentle-hearted, he is malicious and cruel. He is a bringer of mischief, and enjoys committing acts that will make Sage suffer. Their relationship is a complex one. Baeslan feeds off of Sage's suffering, but will rarely let anyone else lay a hand on her. Those who attempt to hurt Sage will find themselves at his wrath.
For the most part, Sage has total control over her body. Baeslan exists as an entity within her, lurking in the back corner of her mind. He speaks to her, and she thinks to him. However, on occasion, Baeslan will push for control. And sometimes, Sage will relinquish. When this happens, their roles are reversed. It is a struggle for Sage to regain control once it has been lost. Most of the time, she simply has to wait, a prisoner in her own body, until Baeslan has had his fill of amusement.
Biography:
Sage was born in the town of the Kingdom of Lhivoria. Her story is a sad one, something that is seemingly only written by the most tragic of playwrights. She was raised on the streets, with no knowledge of her mother or father. Despite this, her childhood held the happiest days of her life. She had friends on the streets. Other urchins who she would play and laugh with. They shared the money they collected from the sympathetic shopkeepers, and split the food that they stole. Life was good.
At the age of 12, life plummeted. It was a freak accident. Something that could have happened to anyone, but it happened to Sage. While running across the roofs of the town, racing with her friends, her foot slipped. The young girl fell from the rooftop, sustaining massive damage on the way down. A concussion left her with a permanent stutter. Damage through her leg - a broken hip and twisted knee, as well as lingering soft-tissue damage and nerve problems - left her lame. With no one to set her bones, her limbs healed crooked. The girl's days of running along the rooftops were over. She was now a beggar, sitting at street corners and asking for change.
For four years, she lived through hell. Every morning, she would crawl out to beg for change. Every night, she would hide away in an alleyway, praying that no one would find her. Praying that no scum would want to take advantage of a lame young girl. It was after four years of this hell that Baeslan came to her. He gave her an option, a way out. If she let him into her mind, he could make her walk once more. He could mask the pain of her broken limb, and in exchange, he asked for nothing more than to share her body. If she would be his host, he would make her whole. She accepted.
For two years, now, she has lived with Baeslan in her mind. For two years, she has bended to his will, done whatever he wants. Finding the stone is her only way to a happier existence.
Reason:
Sage wants the stone to make herself whole once more. She wants to be able to live a life free from Baeslan's influence.
Baeslan wants the stone for the same reason. With it, he'll have the power to subdue Sage for good, and secure her body for his own use.
Voice Sample: "I'm...I'm r-r-ready...." "....We both are." Deeeefinitely gonna need some practice with Baeslan's voice. XD |
10,029 | 281 | 0 | 1,098 | 1,153 | Leia Gao
A body could be seen outlining the covers that laid over the female in the bed. She stirred slightly while removing the covers from over her face with a slight huff. She loved early mornings but she felt that today was not the day. Leia had a weird feeling in her gut that something was going to happen but couldn't tell what. Her mother, Ling, came into her room and saw that she was up and decided to sit beside her and talk. It was the same talk every since she had came back home. Her mother was frightened about Leia being apart of the White Lotus but Leia promised her that she was going to be just fine. Her mother hugged her close and tight then raised up from her seated position and went back to cleaning the house.
Leia plopped back down onto her bed for another few minutes then finally got up and got dressed. While slipping into the kitchen, her father, Jian, caught sight of her and muttered. "Today is the day, huh?" Leia raised a slight brow towards him as he turned his gaze towards her now, pointing his index finger for her to sit at the dining table. "Leia.." Jian sighed before continuing. "Me and your mother support your decision but do you really think that they need a non bender to join their ranks?" Jian questioned towards Leia. "If they didn't, they would've never recruited me, don't you think?" Ling and Jian looked at each other and nodded their heads. "You're right. Have a good day and please, be safe." Ling spoke as Leia darted out towards the door.
She walked down the street, waving at Tyko as she passed by his home and smiled. She made a mental note to challenge him to a spar later on that day to see if his skills had improved or worsened. Honestly, she just wanted to beat him, once again. Leia continued her trek until a messaging boy came up to her and handed her a note. It was a letter for an important and mandatory White Lotus meeting at the White Lotus Camp, which was basically in the middle of nowhere in the ocean.
Her emerald green eyes looked as Tyko received one as well. She nodded towards him before trekking off once again, getting herself a hot bowl of rice before the meeting. Leia ate while she walked then saw some criminals bullying a poor, innocent family for their merchandise. She immediately walked over there and stood her ground, handing her bowl of rice to nearby pedestrian. "You guys are worthless. Pick on someone your own size." After those words were said, she continued to stand her ground but placed her fists on her hips. Leia wasn't fixing to back down as she watch the criminals walk away. With a firm nod, she helped the family to get back their feet then went to the shoreline of the ocean.
"Hey, I need a canoe, please." She said then threw down some coins as the merchant nodded and showed her the way towards the canoe and got it ready for her. "Thanks." Leia muttered as she pushed it into the water and began her journey towards the White Lotus Camp, which wasn't really that far but still, in the middle of nowhere. | "Don't fret, precious, I am here."
Name;
Leia Gao.
Nickname;
Leia was one that was never acceptable to nicknames though when she joined the White Lotus, she was often called Iris. It stuck with the other members and she has became in love with that nickname. She doesn't prefer to be called anything else.
Age;
26.
Gender;
Female.
Sexuality;
Iris is Sapiosexual, attracted to one's intellectual mind along with personality. Though, she also requires that they be a little tough to keep up with her fierce side.
Primary Element;
None. Leia is non bender though perfect at weapon combat along with hand to hand combat.
Secondary Element;
None. She is currently working on her Chi Blocking technique.
In-depth Appearance;
Leia is a very attractive female for anyone to look at that crosses her path. Leia stands at about five foot eleven though when she wears her boots, her height goes up by two inches and make her a little bit taller than usual. Leia usually wears her flat shoes though. She is a perfect weight size for her height, weighing about one-hundred and fifteen pounds. She is very toned and built athletically though feminine from her years of training. Leia has olive toned skin that basically glistens in the sun, at times. Her eyes are a deep, emerald green color, which have a piercing glare to them. She likes to keep her hair long but will always have it tied up in a high ponytail. Her hair is a brown color and cascades all the way down her back. Leia dresses is Earthbender robing simply because that is where she was birthed and stayed for the longest.
Likes;
✔Being apart of the White Lotus ✔Tea ✔Meaningful Conversations ✔Intellectual and Creative Minds ✔Being called Iris ✔Sunsets ✔Early Mornings ✔Training ✔Traveling
Dislikes;
✘Things that smell ✘Dumb People ✘Worthless Criminals ✘The War ✘Hypocrites ✘Being called a Damsel ✘Bullies
Habits;
♥Leia has a habit of singing to herself without even noticing; ♥In awkward silence, she will either hum or chuckle slightly; ♥Leia also has a habit of biting her bottom lip often; ♥Has a tendency to call people out for a friendly spar♥
Fears;
☠Dying young and dishonorably; ☠Disappointing the White Lotus☠
Personality;
{♦ Confident ♦ Intelligent ♦ Loyal ♦ Blunt ♦ Flirty}
Since being apart of the White Lotus, Leia has developed a new personality somewhat from her previous shy and reserved self. She is much more confident and open to her hidden talents. Things she never thought she could do, she has done. Leia thanked her masters for showing her the way of finding confidence within herself and others. Becoming confident in herself and others has became sort of natural to Leia now and she showcases that side of her every chance she gets. Iris is also very intelligent and it shows almost every single time she opens her mouth. She'll say some words that have others turn their heads up in confusion but she knows what she is talking about and hope that others would know as well.
Leia is loyal to her companions and the White Lotus as she doesn't really socialize with anyone but the members of the White Lotus, honestly. She trusts them more than she trusts anybody else and hope that they all feel the same about her. She has proved her loyalty to them time and time again. The one thing Leia probably hates about herself is her bluntness. She doesn't like most of the words that comes out of her mouth and hates when she makes somebody feel bad about themselves. Leia tries her best not to express this side of her simply because she doesn't want to harm those around her with words. But if you ask Iris for her brutally honest opinion, she will definitely be the person to give it to you despite what you might think of her afterwards.
She is also very flirty towards anyone with an intellectual mind like herself. Sometimes she will get very carried away and make the other person feel uncomfortable. She also hates this trait about herself. Leia is not an attention seeker or anything but she finds that people with creative minds are the most attractive and wants to snatch them up before anyone else does. She will also flirt with someone if it is apart of their mission. Overall though, Leia is a very dominant female that doesn't take any crap from no one. She will speak her mind on any subject matter but of course if she uses the wrong words, she'll ultimately feel bad. Leia is a great addition to the White Lotus due to her being so intelligent and clever. They are happy to have her and hopes that she becomes one with herself and others as time progresses.
History;
Leia was birthed to two Earth benders and they thought that she too was an Earth bender but saw that she wasn't. For years, Leia thought that she was a disappointment to her parents and the Earth Kingdom. She has even ran away from home a few times due to feeling that way for so long. Every time she returned back home, her parents would apologize and proudly show her off as their child. Most people thought that it was a little weird but neither Leia nor her parents cared.
While growing up, Leia was taught and trained by many other non benders on how to survive in the world without bending. She trained literally almost every single day until she perfected her techniques. Leia was also trained by a weapons master and due to her other style of training, it didn't take her long to pick up weaponry. She has been all over the world at such a young age and her parents allowed her to do so simply because of her eagerness to learn.
It wasn't until Leia was becoming a woman when the elder White Lotus members approached her and asked if she'd like to join. Leia immediately accepted but her parents argued the fact of changing her mind. She didn't. She instead once again sneaked out and ran off to join the White Lotus. Leia loves being apart of an anti War fighting group and training along side with them. She doesn't intend of leaving the White Lotus until the uprising war at hand has been settled and resolved. Until then, her loyal remains with the White Lotus.
Extra;
I'd have to say that my favorite avatar character(s) are Aang, Sokka, Katara, Zuko, Suki and Toph. |
10,030 | 281 | 1 | 1,914 | 229 | Kira Jhong
The wind whistled through the leaves, twisting and turning the leaves as it brushed by. Wind is believed to be the element of freedom for it freely traveled through the world, hindered only be large rocks and trees. But, Kira believed wind was not just freedom but also beauty. The wind harmed nobody intentionally and existed is peacful in nature. It would not rip the leaves off a tree unless the time had come for the leaf to leave the tree. Instead, the wind would brush past the leaves or ripple across the water creating waves. To Kira, wind has always been something that one simply enjoyed as it blew through her hair and rippled her robes. Listening to the wind in a forest or by a river simply had always been her favorite past time.
"Kira, do you know how to fly through the sky like a flying bison?" asked the bald Master with his tattoo arrows that were typical of airbenders. He had been given the task of personally teaching the young girl and had often tracked her down in the forests when she left the classes of others. He was never cross with her and had always understood her fascination with the wind in the forest. The Master had done the same thing throughout his entire life for he personally believed that meditating in the forest gave him better understanding of the air.
"No Master, I never quite understood how something so large could fly through the skies." said the young girl sitting with her legs crossed on a stone platform.
"The flying bison is where we learned air bending from. They are the true Masters of air bending. A flying bison doesn't just fly on air currents, they manipulate them to allow them to fly like a bird through the sky. They aren't the lightest creatures as you know but their control over the air keeps them aloft for many hours, some times entire days. Few people have the skill to manipulate the air currents to fly without aid which is why we as airbenders use the glider. The glider allows us to catch air currents and manipulate them to a degree to keep us afloat in the air. We can fly using the glider and air currents as a flying bison can." the Master ended his lecture by unfolding a glider and hoping of the cliff. The young Kira watched in horror as the man fell down the cliff only for him to rise up as if floating. He changed the angle of his glider to face directly up and was lifted up by the air currents he had manipulated.
"Wow, that was awesome Master..."
"Hey! Hey! Kira Jhong, we have a message here from the White Lotus for you." called a young woman running towards her. Kira had been reminiscing about old classes she enjoyed at the temple before she left those four years ago. She had been recruited by the White Lotus even before she had been gone from the temple for a year. Kira had seen little of the world but had already determined that the world needs force to change it. That force just happened to be the White Lotus for Kira. The young woman handed a letter to Kira after she had stood up from her meditation and brushed of the dead leaves and pieces of grass which had gather on her pants and sashes.
The young woman instantly ran off, obviously going to another delivery that she had to make that day. Kira opened the letter and read the paper in case it was important. Noramlly she would have opened it later in the day, perhaps after she ate her breakfast, but any message from the White Lotus took priority to her food. Though, she was pretty hungry since she had been meditating since the first light of the sun peaked out. If you have recieved this letter then you are required to show up to a mandatory meeting at the White Lotus camp. So, her important message were orders for her to come to the White Lotus camp which, while not far from the forest, was in the middle of the ocean. She hated them not only for calling her in like some sort of dog on a leash but also for calling her to the middle of an ocean.
The White Lotus knew just how much Kira hated water since she couldn't swim and yet they had still called her to a camp in the middle of the water. They also had given her no choice but to go there to figure out why she had been called to the camp. Kira quickly climbed the nearest tree to her with her pack strapped on her chest and her glider in hand. The wind was blowing in her favor, towards the ocean rather than against it. Glider in hand, Kira unfolded the thing flaps and jumped into the skies. The wind quickly caught her glider, partly from her bending, and propelled her forward as she sailed through the skies. Not too far away was a small village and, as Kira got closer to the ocean, she noticed that there was a small boat heading towards the camp. It was probably just another person answering the message but one could never be to careful, Kira reminded herself as she glided down towards the boat. Without getting too close to the water to disrupt her gliding, Kira pulled up beside the boat which seemed to have been the canoes she had been taught about.
"Hello there! You going to the camp as well?" Kira called from a safe height on the right side of the canoe to the single passenger, a tall woman who seemed somewhat attractive. Kira rocked side to side slightly by tilting the wing so as to stay floating on a straight line. Flying with a glider, while simple, was difficult to do without angling the glider up or down to change height. It was almost necessary to do so when trying to fly somewhere quickly. Staying in a straight line without changing elevation slightly required one to rock side to side to catch small updrafts while allowing downdrafts to balance them out. It was a more natural way of flying than normal but could get tiring. "Mind if I land on your canoe just so I can rest? Flying like this isn't as easy as it seems." Kira said as her glider wing nearly dipped into the water causing a spray to splash on her's and possibly the woman's face. | Name: Kira Jhong
Nickname: N/A
Age: 21
Gender: Female
Sexuality: Bisexual
Primary Element: Air
Secondary Element: Spiritual Projection
In-depth Appearance:
Kira stands at a rather short four feet and seven inches and weighs a very lithe hundred and twenty-one pounds. Her eyes are a bright, sky blue color that almost look like they are reflecting the very color of the sky itself. Her hair is long enough to reach nearly the middle of her back though she normally keeps it in a braid. Kira's clothing, like all other air nomad clothing, is very loose and free flowing. She normally wears a pair of loose pants which grip at her heels with a clasp and two long sashes which run down from her left shoulder and are bound at her hips by a leather belt but billow out underneath around her legs. She wears cloth wraps around her feet and ankles instead of shoes since Kira's never quite liked the constricting feeling of the shoes.
Likes:
-Animals of all kinds.
-Gliding
-Sleeping
-Traveling
-Cooking
Dislikes:
-Control freaks
-Loud people
-Large cities
-Swimming
-Training
Habits:
-Kira tends to put herself in the middle of conversations for almost literally no reason.
-Kira tends to joke around with literally everyone she meets.
Fears:
-Falling
-Being too weak to help people
-Being alone
Personality:
Kira is a free spirit, even more so than most airbenders are. She has never been one to listen to her Masters, often leaving classes to wander through the mountains and play with the young flying bison and winged lemurs which often lived near them. No matter how many times her Masters would chew her out from leaving classes, Kira kept leaving the extremely boring classes. This doesn't mean she didn't learn anything, of course. There were times when Kira actually didn't want to leave classes and would simply sit and listen for her thirst for knowledge was nearly balanced out by her want to be completely free. She's always been a calm girl and has never been one to get into a fight even despite how many times people mock her. But, she doesn't allow anybody to abuse or treat animals and pets harshly for, in her eyes, animals are the pinnacle of freedom.
Oddly enough, Kira holds a grudge against people for basically all of time and doesn't let go of the grudge easily. While it seems like being on Kira's bad side isn't too bad, it is possible the worst thing a person wants to do. She can be quite agressive when angered, despite how hard that is to do. Yet, Kira is quite good at calming down after a fight and staying calm. She never expresses when she is stressed nor anxious and instead wears a mask hiding the emotions for the sake of others. Kira perfers to allow nobody to see any worry from her and likes to appear tough as rocks when people need her.
History:
Kira never knew her mother nor her father for she was left at a Southern air temple after her birth. But, her story is far from a tragedy. Her parents didn't leave her there because they didn't wanter her nor did they die in some sort of raid. Instead, Kira was left at the temple simply for the fact that she was to be trained to be an airbender. As per the practice of her parent's tribe, the first child of each family was to be given to a temple to raise for five years. If the child did not show any abilities in airbending, the tribe would be given back their child. But, if they child, like Kira, showed skill in airbending then they would stay and train with the monks until they were sixteen.
Kira was one of six kids from the same tribe as her parents and one of two which had shown any skill in airbending. She grew up without knowing who her parents were, where their tribe went, or even knowing if she'd ever see them again. While the monks did explain the practice to Kira, she never quite accepted that any parent would willingly give up their child just in the case that the child could be an airbender. Kira would often leave classes or meditation only to be tracked down by a monk everytime and brought straight back. While she knew she shouldn't leave, Kira was unwilling to sit still every day and listen to the wind. Instead, she wanted to wander through a forest and hear the voice of the wind as it blew through the leaves.
She was always a friend to the winged lemurs which lived in the forests and the flying bison which often lived with the monks. While other students wanted nothing to do with the winged lemurs, who were rather tricky little creatures and often stole food, Kira would run through the forest with them. At ten years of age, Kira had already shown skill several years ahead of fellow classmates despite the fact that she spent less than ten hours in classes a week. When one of her friends followed Kira into the forests, he found her meditating in total silence with lemurs sleeping around her. Apparently, Kira had spent her time meditating and listening to what she called the voice of the wind. The monks explained that Kira had the ability to project a spiritual form of herself into the world and travel outside her body that way and, as such, could listen to even the slightest wind.
Kira could feel the wind as well as most of the younger monks who had already went through training could. It was easy for her to manipulate the wind with her training and could even use the air as a projectile to knock people down. Her hand-to-hand combat and agility was beyond people of the same age with more training for she was able to easily dodge most hits from her opponent and knock them down with a series of punches and sweeping kicks. After Kira turned sixteen, she was told she could leave or stay at the temple. She chose to leave the temple and travel the world with a small, winged lemur she had made friends with. After traveling for eight months, Kira joined The White Lotus in order to stop the war.
Extra:
I'd have to say that my favorite character is Zuko. |
10,031 | 281 | 2 | 1,523 | 3,443 | He woke up as light danced across his skin, the sun tentatively peeking over the horizon. Firebenders rose at dawn – and almost universal fact. Shirong felt his chest swell with a similar warmth, his heart or wherever his inner fire originated; the source of his firebending ability. Just as he had heard that waterbenders drew strength from the moon, he was bolstered by the sun.
Unfortunately it woke him up every damn morning. Spirits preserve him – just one more thing to hate about being a bender.
At least he didn't need discipline to wake before noon. He used his early mornings to practice his katas, to light and relight flames and keep his abilities sharp. It certainly came in handy back in the city when he had to sneak out to do so – his uncle was never up at this time. Shirong shook his numb limbs out, stripping off his outer tunic and turning to the small copse of trees by the lake he'd slept beside.
Shirong was somehow going stir crazy even while sleeping under the stars and traversing the great outdoors in his free time. The White Lotus had of course requested he stay within a day's travel from their camp as a precaution in case they required his services and he had complied. Anything for the people who were probably going to save the world from itself one day. Still, he was like an ostrich horse – he had to keep moving.
(He didn't bury his head in the sand like an ostrich horse though, which is where the similarities ended. He just couldn't ignore the problems around him, mostly because if someone didn't fix them soon then mutts like him would be the first at risk of death.)
A quick wash, then, and he'd return to the village nearby. The only good part of it was the bar, and the barkeep there had slapped him with an indefinite ban after the second broken window and property-damaging brawl. When he returned to civilisation for a stroll (or a drink) he often caught sight of "the other guy", the one with the black eye and the nasty scrape on his bald head. Worth it, definitely worth it.
But now Shirong was itching for another fight and there was nowhere he could get his 'fix'. A shame, a damn shame.
Waist-deep in the river, feet planted firmly in the loose soil at the bottom to keep himself from being swept away by the current, Shirong started whistling, and when he started to whistle, the noise of the woods dulled to a slow murmur in the background – except for the footsteps, leaves crackling under someone else's feet. He spun around, splashing towards his sword teetering on an out-stretched branch and just as he clicked it out of its sheath, he caught sight of the intruder.
Shirong could recognise a messenger when he saw one and waited for him to approach. He never understood why the White Lotus used people instead of hawks as he read the message, ink from the scrawled symbol smudged by the water dripping from his hands. They were calling him in, and he had never been more thankful to be given something to do.
The messenger was gone by the time he looked up. He hadn't even been given a chance to say thanks.
The universe had a sense of humour, Shirong mused (not for the first time) as he set the rickety rowboat carefully afloat on the ocean. Thankfully he could sail through the calm, quiet waters of the bay, but once again the whole process reignited a certain dislike of the White Lotus. Of course they had to build where the only natural defence was the ocean. An ocean that Shirong – a firebender – was likely to die on. There was no way he had enough coin to pay for a decent one since when he shook his purse there was no answering jingle.
There was a massive chunk missing from the side of the boat. The old man who had 'leant' him it grinned. He paid money for this?
Shirong swore the boat was going under as soon as he stepped into it and tightened his grip on his sword. This is how I die. Eventually he had to move, clumsily rowing towards what he hoped was the base. | “Never give a sword to a man who can't dance.”
– Celtic Proverb
– but he's nowhere near that level yet.
is marked by the characteristics of two tribes – Fire and Earth – so it is easy for others to recognise he does not belong in either. From his mother's side he has inherited tan skin and his fairly impressive height of 6'1"; however, he doesn't have the sturdy, burly build to match. Shirong is a “beanpole”, long and lanky with sharp, angular features, dark hair, and golden eyes.
It's impossible to hide his overwhelming Fire Tribe characteristics, so he doesn't. Not anymore. Shirong walks with a stiffly straight back and his head held high.
His distinguishing features are his battle scars (everything from cuts to burns to a tinkling pattern of shattered glass) and his freakishly long, spidery fingers. It would be clear even without his sword that he's a warrior of some dedication – callouses are also difficult to hide.
✖ Swords, swordsmanship and forms of combat that don't require the use of the elements;
✖ Anything new and exotic – foods, places, cultures, and so on;
✖ Dancing with death;
✖ Aggravating people to the point where they throw the first punch, brawling in general;
✖ Being liked, being trusted and all such heartwarming rot. Just don't tell anyone.
✖ Pacifism and pacifists, anyone who believes inaction is ever better than action;
✖ The 'intellectual' pastimes of reading and writing... because he can't do either;
✖ Thunderstorms and torrential rain;
✖ Making assumptions about people;
✖ Everything about firebending but especially his own reliance on it.
✖ Smirking at strangers, trying to pick a fight;
✖ Lying is a bad habit of Shirong's, and he does it to try and fit in, altering the story of his life to appeal to Fire and Earth Tribes.
✖ Getting lost – If there's a way to get mixed up and turned around on a straight path, Shirong can somehow do it.
✖ His Father – Though he's never met the man, Shirong fears not only what the truth is, but also the man's reputation as a merciless murderer. Perhaps he is also scared of what he might do should they ever meet.
✖ War – Duels are one thing but a war is something Shirong has never seen – nor is it something he ever wants to see. Which side would he pick? He fears having to make that choice.
✖ Drowning / Freezing to Death – Shirong has an innate fear of the water. Maybe it's because he hadn't seen the ocean until he was fourteen or maybe it's because he's a firebender naturally apprehensive about his opposite.
Shirong is a loud-mouthed, laid-back vagrant who lives life on his own terms. His existence seems to be based solely around three things: drinking, picking fights and distracting himself from his pitiful lot in life. Unsurprisingly finds all of those things in exactly the same place – at the bottom of a glass. A little liquid courage has him spewing out his dreams at anyone who'll listen, wild claims of being “the best swordsman the world has ever seen” and “a great warrior; great, great, great warrior”.
It's impossible, of course, and Shirong knows this. If his name is ever known to history it will be as a firebender, not a swordsman. Still, he's been told that it's nice for a man to have ambitions in such dark days. It can also be rather infuriating to others as he never seems to shut up about it, hence the constant fighting.
Not only is he stubborn and (stupidly) fearless but Shirong is also incredibly competitive. His underhanded fighting tactics even in 'friendly' spars have had him barred from entering many establishments. Those who aren't benders always claim he's being unfair when he suddenly whips out a lash of flame or he leaves them a palm-shaped burn. Shirong sees no problem with it.
Despite the rougher aspects of his personality, Shirong is generally cheery, enjoying a simple life on the road and even finding pleasure in protecting the weak... for a price. Notably he's not fond of asking for coin in return (since it's fairly obvious he can barely count) but instead accepts repyament in the form of anything from a night's shelter or a hot meal to information and lessons. His loyalties are non-existent and he is a sell-sword, but he does follow a code – albeit one as flexible as he is.
No stealing. No killing children. No killing anybody who wants to surrender.
Fire Tribe scum, the lowest of the low. Just like his criminal father. Shirong was born to a fairly poor merchant family, of which three out of his five uncles were earthbenders. His mother was a non-combatant with recurring periods of ill-health, few talents and passable beauty. As expected, she was well-protected by her brothers. When her son opened his eyes and they proved to be golden, the first question on their minds was, 'Who do we have to kill?'
It had been a whirlwind romance. There was nothing unsavoury about it, except perhaps the fact that his mother was eighteen and his father a notorious bandit of the murdering for a pittance sort. That Shriong could (supposedly) pass as a double for his father led to alienation and all sorts of nasty rumours as he was growing up. During his early years he was shielded from them – his mother vehemently denied any notion of being unhappy with her lot in life or the paternity of her son – but after her untimely death when Shirong was seven years old there was nothing to protect him from the suggestion that she had been forced.
Not exactly a nice thing for a kid to have to come to terms with, true or not. All the evidence was there: his uncles just disliked him for some reason despite being of their blood. Only one of them was willing to take him in – Uncle Kanan – and he did it out of respect for his sister, not for the boy she left behind. Later, Shirong did find out that the authorities of the Earth City they lived in were notified as to his mixed parentage and demanded his caretaker pay extra lest something bad happen. An unfortunate tale becoming more frequent in recent years.
His uncle's rules though few in number were strict. The most important one of all was also the unfairest: don't firebend. At eleven, it became perfectly clear that Shirong could no more contain his firebending than he could stop breathing. The isolated incidents of losing control and accidentally summoning sputtering flames became more frequent, no matter how religiously he followed Uncle Kanan's meditation techniques and reluctant sword training. The more obvious his unintentional destruction was, the more 'reparations' he would have to pay to the tyrannical authorities. There was only one course of action to take. He had to train.
A few years later, still a teenager and foolishly hot-headed, Shirong left the stifling Earth city where he did not belong in search of a master to learn from. Travelling along even the main roads was dangerous at the time, especially the further away he was from the city, and naturally it didn't take long for an incident to occur. Shirong was relatively lucky – it wasn't just thugs and thieves, it was Fire Tribe thugs and thieves that robbed the party he was travelling alongside.
So in the aftermath, he approached them.
They didn't send him away or worse, kill him on sight, instead allowing him to tag along. There was always something for him to do – collect firewood, cook dinner and so on. Shirong was painfully aware that he didn't belong there in the company of liars, criminals and murderers, but it was worth it. The group was made up almost entirely of firebenders (of course) and a lot of them used swords in tandem with their innate ability. Some of them were even willing to teach him, even if it involved Shirong taking a bit of a beating.
In his early twenties, Shirong broke away from them, citing a desire for freedom. In reality it was just because, like in the city, he could never feel at home there. His mother was Earth and his dad Fire, and he was somewhere caught between the two. Discriminated against by both sides, really, and fully accepted by none. It was better for him to be on his own. All he could do as an individual was try not to perpetuate it – at least until he heard of the White Lotus.
It's so hard to choose favourite characters! I think I'll have to make it a three-way tie between Toph, Sokka and Zuko. Honourable mention goes to Lin, too. |
10,032 | 281 | 3 | 867 | 132 | Tyko
Tyko had always been a morning person, which surprised most people who didn’t know him very well. It was something about growing up in a city where the sun was always bright and demanding that got him into the habit. It wasn’t a bad thing though, and he most certainly appreciated and used the extra time it allotted for being productive. He’d woken up at nearly half past five, when the sun was just beginning to breach the horizon and set fire to the few clouds that above it. That was reason two of why Tyko enjoyed waking up so early. It was pretty and peaceful and he happened to enjoy it quite a bit.
His morning began with a simple routine: get dressed and then make breakfast. It was still difficult for him to remember that he was only cooking for himself, even after a year of living on his own, so it was often that he made far too much food for one sitting, and had to preserve the rest for lunch. In a way, it made things easier for him, but it always reminded him of how long it’d been since he’d sat down and had a meal with his parents. Tyko had been on call for the entirety of his time working for the anti-war effort, and he’d been made to travel away from home for a lot of it. His parents believed he was visiting a friend for a month or two, but that had been nearly over a year ago. He didn’t know what they might believe now, but he still missed them, and didn’t mind the subtle reminders he often had of them.
After breakfast (and lunch prep), Tyko’s usual routine brought him to the outskirts of the city next, where he either exercised his bending a bit as to avoid staying idle or did odd jobs for farmers to earn a bit of extra cash. Today, however, Tyko’d been a bit sluggish, and took his own sweet time about leaving the house. The sun had begun making its way upward now, but wasn’t quite at his zenith when he finally stepped out from the front door. His brown mop of hair was still messy from a night of rest, but he didn’t care too much about appearances, and left it.
He caught a short glimpse of Leia as she passed by his home, returning her wave with an odd sort of saluting gesture and a lazy grin, before she was quickly out of sight. He’d met her here in this city not too long after he moved in. She was kind and friendly, despite being a bit older than himself, and proved to be plenty tough despite not being a bender. In a way, Tyko respected her. He kept grinning for a short second after she’d disappeared, but fell when he felt someone nudge his attention.
“Hmm?” he made a sound and turned around to face a short lad with a messenger bag slung over his shoulder. The boy didn’t say anything, and only handed Tyko a small piece of folded parchment with the Lotus’ insignia neatly pressed into its wax seal. An order, no doubt. Tyko gave the kid a knowing smile and quietly took the parchment, allowing the boy to then hurry off to continue his business and for himself to hurry and open the letter.
“They want me to go back to that bloody camp?” Tyko spouted immediately after reading the few lines written on the parchment. "Do they not realize that they've placed themselves in the middle of the damn ocean?" He could feel the familiar twinge of irritation in the back of his mind, along with something more close to fear. He'd never liked the ocean very much, and for many more (grounded) reasons than simply being an earth bender. Ignoring all of that, he turned around and stomped back into his home, begrudgenly accepting the order. If he was going to travel to an island that far into the ocean though, then he’d need supplies. Food, mostly, and some emergency items. The ocean was an unforgiving place for the unprepared, and that thought alone made him cautious.
Tyko reemerged from his home about an hour later, a thick pack now strapped securely to his back, and a few more articles of clothing wrapped around his person, and began making his way towards the docks, where he rented out a small sailboat. He was lucky to have manned sand-sailors as often as he did while growing up, allowing for an easier transition to running the riggings of a sailboat, which were surprisingly similar. The ocean was calm while Tyko loaded himself and his luggage onto the tiny vessel. Low waves arched further out to sea, but didn’t look like anything he couldn’t handle weaving through. It wasn’t long before he untied himself from the docks and raised his single sheet of sail into the waiting breeze, sending him rushing across the water and towards The White Lotus’ base camp. | "This is my war as much as it is yours, and I want to fight!"
Name; Tyko
Nickname; Sandtrap
Age; 20
Gender; Male
Sexuality; Bisexual
Primary Element; Earth
Secondary Element; Sand bending and seismic sense.
In-depth Appearance;
Tyko is a short but sturdy fellow, with a lithe frame, a head of dark brown hair and very mossy green eyes. He has a lighter complexion, with very rosy skin and little brown freckles that often appear on his shoulders and nose when he’s been in the sun for a long time. Shoes are a rarity for him, and he prefers wearing more airy and breathable clothes. Although color doesn’t really matter to him, he favors greens and browns.
Likes;
- Turtle ducks
- Animals in general really
- Heights
- Tea and snacks
- Sand-sailing
- His parents
- Keeping busy/having something productive to do
- The feeling of hot sand on his feet
- Freedom
Dislikes;
- Restrictions/being told what to do
- Dead silence (will jabber to himself to fill it)
- Sunburns (he doesn’t tan very easily)
- His loved ones being anything but happy
- Swamps (he fell in one once; never again)
- Cold weather
- Any sort of disrespect to the people he cares for
Habits;
- Asking a lot of questions
- Forgetting that not everyone is trustworthy
- Leaving sand everywhere
Fears;
- Being trapped underwater/ suffocating
- Small, confined places.
- Loss
- Bugs (but he’s too nice to ever squish them)
Personality;
Having always been very independent, Tyko is a very energetic and mischievous individual with bit of a rebellious streak. With him, what you see is what you get: a tactless, rash, loud idiot who speaks his mind far more than he should and who doesn't often think before he speaks. He has an odd sort of charm to him though, which often makes it hard for people to stay angry at him for long.
Tyko has always been a very empathetic person, with a strong moral compass and absolutely no patience for cruelty. Although he won’t go looking for a fight, he isn’t afraid to stand up to others, even if there’s a good chance he’ll get the snot beat out of him for it. He’s scrappy, despite his size, but just a bit too stubborn. Tyko is also very loyal, to the point of being a bit protective, and is surprisingly dependable. He’s the sort of person who you could come to with anything and know he’d have your back. He likes spending time with his friends and makes a lot of dumb jokes, so he’s a pretty easy guy to get along with. All in all, he’s an obnoxious idiot with no verbal filter or sense of danger, but he’s also the kind of idiot who couldn’t refuse a friend even if he wanted to.
History;
Tyko was born in a large earth tribe city built around an oasis located a few miles into a large desert. There, he was raised by his parents, an older couple who ran a small tea shop on the edge of the city. They were kind people who didn’t believe in discrimination between the elements, and often taught Tyko that all people should be treated equal.
Tyko took their teachings very seriously as a kid, and often got into fights with bullies and street thugs because of it. He had the worst luck, and always managed to find himself in some sort of scuffle, even when he often didn’t start them himself. That’s how he first discovered his ability to bend, too. He’d found himself in a small tussle with a fire bender when the fool started acting reckless, shooting off fire like it was his job. A stray shot was fired near a few civilians and somehow, Tyko managed to block it with a shottily build wall of hardened sand. He can’t even recall how exactly he did it, only that he panicked and waved his arms and suddenly there was a wall of sand. The fire bender ran off while Tyko was in a daze, completely dumbfounded and almost in denial that he could bend.
The boy’s parents were very supportive when he told them about the event, and wasted no time finding him a teacher. He spent the next few months with a man named Garai, who despite being a huge grump, was a pretty good teacher. He only taught Tyko the basics before he let the brat loose to train on his own in the deserts. By the time he was sixteen, he was a decently proficient earth bender with a knack for kicking up sandstorms whenever he got into fights. It was around then that he picked up his nickname, Sandtrap, courtesy of his mother, who got tired of finding piles of sand in his bedroom and laundry.
At his seventeenth year, his parents gifted him with his very own sand-sailor with the hope that it’d be an outlet that would lead him away from fighting in the city. It did, somewhat, and helped to fine tune his sand-bending skills. After spending months drifting through the desert, he eventually began to pick up on an ability to use seismic sense. It was only slight at first, like looking through a very foggy, broken window, but the more he tried to see with his bending, the clearer things became. Maybe a little over a year later and he’d practiced enough to be considered proficient in that as well, much to his parents (and older teacher’s) surprise. A lot of his time after that was spent exploring the deserts and helping out his parents at the tea shop.
Eventually, when Tyko was 19, he found himself an opportunity to join The White Lotus. Most people in the city spoke rumors that the group was just a make-shift army of terrorists and cut throats, and that they wouldn’t do any by bringing together the four elements. Tyko’s parents spoke less about The White Lotus, but disagreed with a lot of the rumors that were spread about them. They were older folks, and by no means willing to fight in a war, but believed that those who were had to be good people. They were oddly adamant about their son staying out of the fray though, worried that they’d lose their only boy to a bloody war.
It took him maybe a week to decide from there, after which he accepted the offer made and joined The White Lotus. He hasn’t told his parents, and has made no plans to in order to avoid making them worry.
Extra: Definately Zuko. His character development was brilliant. |
10,033 | 281 | 4 | 2,129 | 3,308 | "Please... tell me we're there already..." came from the blue eyed woman as she sighed, the sound more like a whimper of pain. The response to her plead was an equally sad sounding roar that came from her pet Polar Leopard, Kavi. He had been so nice to her all this time as he carried her on his back while walking through the forest towards the nearest town. With her fingertips and shoes brushing the ground as she dangled over him, she looked like a towel draped across his back. Which was ironic since she was dripping with sweat and probably only causing Kavi more discomfort. This was why she hated hot weather. With each step Kavi took, her body swayed and Azome was starting to get dizzier and dizzier. She hardly had any drinking water left and sighing, she decided it would be best to give it to her more than deserving pet.
"Kavi. Rest." she said, starting to shift her body and turn to sit up. Before she had a chance though, the exausted cat flopped down onto the ground in a tired heap, causing her to slip off and onto her bottom next to him. "Really?" she said, standing and dusting herself off. She reached into the pouch that was strapped to Kavi's saddle, bringing out the large container of water that rested inside. Carrying it over to the front of him, she ordered him to open his mouth before pouring the rest of the warm water over his tongue. With the last little bit, she poured it on his head, hoping to cool him down. He gave a happy grunt, pushing his head into her belly and she hugged him in response before putting back the water jug. "Come on, let's rest in the shade over there." she said, scratching his ear and leading him towards the shade of a large tree. Immediately he followed and eventually walked past her, moving in a circle a few times and pawing at the ground under the tree. After a snort of satisfaction, he lay down, resting his head on his paws. Azome watched his routine with a smile, catching up to him eventually and sitting next to him, leaning against his side. She yawned, though not having done much to be sleepy, and blamed it on Kavi's soft fur. Closing her eyes, the two fell into a pattern of slow breathing as they always did. When she breathed in, he breathed out and visa versa.
She didn't know how long the two rested there, but the unforgiving heat never let up. With her mouth getting drier by the second, she debated whether to just drink her bending water or not, despite how gross that would be. "Damn..." she mumbled. With Kavi cat napping behind her, Azome allowed herself to relax while he took as much time as he needed to recuperate.
At some point, Kavi began rumbling and causing her body to tremble slightly. It roused her and she turned her head to look at his face. His head was raised, emerald eyes trained on the road they had been walking on before and teeth barred. Realizing the rumbling had been him growling, she pushed his bushy tail off of her and stood up. "What is it, Kavi?" she asked, placing her hand on his head to reassure him. He gave a grunt and stood too, raising up and moving to put himself between her and the road as if there was some threat waiting out there that she couldn't see. Placing her left hand on her water pouch, she readied herself for a fight and peered around Kavi's body, seeing a figure dressed in black coming towards them. "Woah, he must be hot..." she said curiously, though Kavi just gave another warning growl. "Hey do you need some water?" she called out to him, stepping around Kavi despite him trying to keep her behind him by stepping forward. Though she had none to give him, she was wondering what he needed, and as he stopped a few steps away from her, she patted Kavi's head and walked forward.
The figure held out a piece of paper towards her and she cautiously took it. Looking down and reading the paper, she realized it was from the White Lotus, and apparently they wanted her to meet them. Her eyebrows pushed together as she frowned. "Well where-" she looked up and the figure was gone. "Shit. Are you serious?" she said, turning and waiting for Kavi to reach her. He pressed his head into her and she hugged him before climbing up onto his back. "Alright Kavi, change of plans. Going towards the ocean. Remember the way to the camp?" she asked him, petting his neck. He gave a roar in response and started to run, turning to the east in the direction of the sea.
With Kavi running at full speed, the world flew by them in a blur, and soon they reached the edge of the water where some people were tending to canoes and fishing things. She smirked as they just flew by them, Kavi leaping up and running into the water without hesitation. As his head began to submerge, Azome bended a bubble around them so he could breathe, leaving his legs out so he could swim freely. As they were set off towards the camp, Azome kept one hand swirling to keep the bubble in tact and her other hand petted Kavi's neck again.
"Best cat a girl could ever want." she teased him. | "Time is like a river. You cannot touch the same water twice, because the flow that has passed will never pass again."
Name; Azome
Nickname; Zoe
Age; 25
Gender; Female
Sexuality; Heterosexual
Primary Element; Waterbending
Secondary Element; Healing
In-depth Appearance;
Azome stands at a height of 5 feet and 8 inches (173cm) and weighs in at 129lbs (58kg). She has a thin build with a slight curve to her hips, average bust, and minimal muscular strength. She has dark ebony hair that falls down to the small of her back. She always has tied back from her face, often set in long braids that are fastened at the ends. Her eyes are almond shaped and an ice blue color, giving her a rather intimidating gaze. A thin set of lips and long straight nose compliment her slim face well, overall giving her a very sharp look. Her clothing match the colors of a typical Water Tribe individual, though she keeps her clothing lighter than usual as she is not very affected by the cold. She typically wears the same outfit, not sporting any kind of jewelry other than a thin headband, and a pouch to carry water in as accessory.
Likes;
Long Quiet Walks
Hot Soup or Tea
Music/Dancing
Meeting New People
A Full Moon
Dislikes;
Hot Weather
Little Children
Most Insects/ Small Animals
Eating Meat
FISHING!!!
Habits;
Biting Her Lip
Swearing
Humming to herself
Fears;
Thunderstorms
Small Spaces
Death
Personality;
Azome has a kind personality that allows her to get along with nearly anyone. She is unlike the aloof or closed off type one would assume her to be based on her looks. Azome has managed to keep her same bubbly personality that keeps people wanting to know her, despite growing up secluded from most of the world, even other Water Tribes. She is tough at heart, determined, and stubborn, If she doesn't get what she wants right away, she will fight and fight, never letting up until she gets it. Though it once was easy to upset her, or get her to cry, it is much more difficult now. After years of trying to learn patience and control over her emotions, she had finally succeeded in such and is more laid back than she used to be. She has an uncanny way of making others uncomfortable by being bluntly honest, or rather embarrassingly honest, though with a bit of humor always tossed in. If she finds herself stuck in an embarrassing situation, she'll easily lie or laugh her way out of it. She is completely carefree and rarely seems anxious or under stress, even under difficult circumstances. Azome is very good at comforting others and is usually quite a joy to be around. She has extremely well-developed senses and an aesthetic appreciation for beauty, finding most things rather 'exciting to look at' as she would say. She's not interested in leading or controlling others, but more wanting to make sure everyone is safe and happy, even if that means her own happiness is challenged. She is flexible and open-minded about other people lives, traditions, stories, etc... She is also original and very creative and enjoys creating ice sculptures.
As a Bender, Azome is a quick thinker, unpredictable, and she hits hard every time, never letting up when faced with tough challenges. She refuses to ever let down anyone, and is extremely loyal. She can be trusted to follow through with tough tasks without hesitation.
History;
Azome was born in the Northern Water Tribe to a man and woman who told her that the key to survival was to ignore things going on in the land, and to look towards the unchanging sea. From an early age, Azome was adept in Waterbending. Both her parents being benders, she was able to learn from their strict rules and harsh training techniques to master the skill in a short amount of time. She was at a young age, moulded to be the perfect fighting machine, often wondering why her parents bothered to train her so desperately, if they believed in staying out of fights. She was always told, over and over by her parents: "Water is clear... passive. It takes on the color of its surroundings. To survive, we must be the color of water and do the same as it does. Blend in when we need to, and be fierce when our way of life is threatened." This confused the young Azome as it seemed her parents were contradicting themselves. She wouldn't come to know the deep meaning of this until much, much later in her life.
While her parents kept her mainly secluded from the rest of the world, Azome would sometimes manage to sneak away, out of the Tribe's main town to explore the world around her, a little at a time. When she was twelve years old, she met a baby Polar Leopard while exploring the near lands around the Northern Tribe. After attempting to heal the little creature with her bending, she realized she was not yet proficient enough to do so, and so she carried the little thing back home, protecting it from a heavy storm and trudging through the snow for hours after getting lost. When she arrived back, exhausted and freezing, both of them were treated. Azome being healed and given warm soup, and the little cub given a splint for the broken foot it had suffered. The two spent some days together until they were fully healed, but then her parents ordered her to take the thing back to the wild.
Obedient as she was, Azome would reluctantly take the creature back where she had found it, and together they searched for its mother, in the end not finding it. Deciding then that she would take on the responsibility of it and managing to convince her parents of this, she named the cub Kavi, and the two would grow up together, inseparable even to this day.
As Azome would slowly grow up, her need to explore the world outside the tribe grew with her. Always she challenged her parents and the Tribe leaders what the worst would happen if she were to go on a journey; explaining to them that she could take care of herself. Always she would get a no, being threatened to be banished if she broke this rule. Later learning that this was due the unsettling state of the world and the bonds between nations, Azome felt a deep need to try and unite the nations, so that the world could be more accessible to all. With this thought in mind, at her 24th birthday, she went to the Tribe leaders and told them she would leave with or without their permission. Accepting their rejection and banishment, Azome left the Northern Tribe along with Kavi, and the two have since been roaming about. It was when she was staying at a small Water Tribe settlement near a river, that she heard talk of an organization that was planning to do something about the state of things in the world. Determined to also make a difference, Azome decided she would join and fight to change the world.
Extra;
Azome has a pet Polar Leopard named Kavi - Male - About half the size of Naga, can carry up to two people.
My favorite character is Jinora because she has the name of my little sister! |
10,034 | 281 | 5 | 1,098 | 1,153 | Leia always enjoyed making her way to the camp because she enjoyed the calmness of the ocean. The day was pretty as not a single cloud was in the sky and the sun made its presence felt upon their nation. Her eyes looked up as she saw a figurine flying in the air then appeared beside her. Leia gasped and readied her oar for a strike but saw that it was Kira and didn't engage the initial strike. "Gosh, Kira. You scared me." She held her hand over her heart, breathing a bit heavily then eyed her as she asked if she could venture in the canoe with her. Leia nodded her head and stopped rowing momentarily for Kira to sit and take her place. Once Kira was well situated, Leia went back to rowing towards the camp.
"So, why do you think we were called for an emergency meeting?" She asked Kira but knew that she probably didn't have any answer for her. Leia was quite curious as they neared towards the White Lotus camp. The ride was smooth sailing and she actually enjoyed having a companion join her side. Once they made it to the camp, she got out of the canoe and even waited until Kira got out before pulling her canoe onto the small shoreline.
She turned heel and faced the White Lotus camp with a smile, remembering the first time she ever stepped foot here. It was awhile ago but she remembers it as if it yesterday. She was excited and nausea at the same exact time but now, she was comfortable and ready. Leia walked up to the door and knocked three times before someone opened the door and acknowledge her and Kira. "Ah, Leia." The Elder bender hugged her then looked towards Kira. "Hello there, Kira." The Elder bender would hug Kira as well then invite them inside.
All of the Elder benders were sitting around and awaiting the others. Leia sat down upon a nearby pillow and eyed everyone. "So, what's going on now?" She'd politely ask as one of the male benders spoke. "Patience, young one." Leia lowered her head with a nod then her ears twitched as soon was present at the door again. Leia was really anxious to know what was going on as she couldn't wait any longer for the other benders to get there. | "Don't fret, precious, I am here."
Name;
Leia Gao.
Nickname;
Leia was one that was never acceptable to nicknames though when she joined the White Lotus, she was often called Iris. It stuck with the other members and she has became in love with that nickname. She doesn't prefer to be called anything else.
Age;
26.
Gender;
Female.
Sexuality;
Iris is Sapiosexual, attracted to one's intellectual mind along with personality. Though, she also requires that they be a little tough to keep up with her fierce side.
Primary Element;
None. Leia is non bender though perfect at weapon combat along with hand to hand combat.
Secondary Element;
None. She is currently working on her Chi Blocking technique.
In-depth Appearance;
Leia is a very attractive female for anyone to look at that crosses her path. Leia stands at about five foot eleven though when she wears her boots, her height goes up by two inches and make her a little bit taller than usual. Leia usually wears her flat shoes though. She is a perfect weight size for her height, weighing about one-hundred and fifteen pounds. She is very toned and built athletically though feminine from her years of training. Leia has olive toned skin that basically glistens in the sun, at times. Her eyes are a deep, emerald green color, which have a piercing glare to them. She likes to keep her hair long but will always have it tied up in a high ponytail. Her hair is a brown color and cascades all the way down her back. Leia dresses is Earthbender robing simply because that is where she was birthed and stayed for the longest.
Likes;
✔Being apart of the White Lotus ✔Tea ✔Meaningful Conversations ✔Intellectual and Creative Minds ✔Being called Iris ✔Sunsets ✔Early Mornings ✔Training ✔Traveling
Dislikes;
✘Things that smell ✘Dumb People ✘Worthless Criminals ✘The War ✘Hypocrites ✘Being called a Damsel ✘Bullies
Habits;
♥Leia has a habit of singing to herself without even noticing; ♥In awkward silence, she will either hum or chuckle slightly; ♥Leia also has a habit of biting her bottom lip often; ♥Has a tendency to call people out for a friendly spar♥
Fears;
☠Dying young and dishonorably; ☠Disappointing the White Lotus☠
Personality;
{♦ Confident ♦ Intelligent ♦ Loyal ♦ Blunt ♦ Flirty}
Since being apart of the White Lotus, Leia has developed a new personality somewhat from her previous shy and reserved self. She is much more confident and open to her hidden talents. Things she never thought she could do, she has done. Leia thanked her masters for showing her the way of finding confidence within herself and others. Becoming confident in herself and others has became sort of natural to Leia now and she showcases that side of her every chance she gets. Iris is also very intelligent and it shows almost every single time she opens her mouth. She'll say some words that have others turn their heads up in confusion but she knows what she is talking about and hope that others would know as well.
Leia is loyal to her companions and the White Lotus as she doesn't really socialize with anyone but the members of the White Lotus, honestly. She trusts them more than she trusts anybody else and hope that they all feel the same about her. She has proved her loyalty to them time and time again. The one thing Leia probably hates about herself is her bluntness. She doesn't like most of the words that comes out of her mouth and hates when she makes somebody feel bad about themselves. Leia tries her best not to express this side of her simply because she doesn't want to harm those around her with words. But if you ask Iris for her brutally honest opinion, she will definitely be the person to give it to you despite what you might think of her afterwards.
She is also very flirty towards anyone with an intellectual mind like herself. Sometimes she will get very carried away and make the other person feel uncomfortable. She also hates this trait about herself. Leia is not an attention seeker or anything but she finds that people with creative minds are the most attractive and wants to snatch them up before anyone else does. She will also flirt with someone if it is apart of their mission. Overall though, Leia is a very dominant female that doesn't take any crap from no one. She will speak her mind on any subject matter but of course if she uses the wrong words, she'll ultimately feel bad. Leia is a great addition to the White Lotus due to her being so intelligent and clever. They are happy to have her and hopes that she becomes one with herself and others as time progresses.
History;
Leia was birthed to two Earth benders and they thought that she too was an Earth bender but saw that she wasn't. For years, Leia thought that she was a disappointment to her parents and the Earth Kingdom. She has even ran away from home a few times due to feeling that way for so long. Every time she returned back home, her parents would apologize and proudly show her off as their child. Most people thought that it was a little weird but neither Leia nor her parents cared.
While growing up, Leia was taught and trained by many other non benders on how to survive in the world without bending. She trained literally almost every single day until she perfected her techniques. Leia was also trained by a weapons master and due to her other style of training, it didn't take her long to pick up weaponry. She has been all over the world at such a young age and her parents allowed her to do so simply because of her eagerness to learn.
It wasn't until Leia was becoming a woman when the elder White Lotus members approached her and asked if she'd like to join. Leia immediately accepted but her parents argued the fact of changing her mind. She didn't. She instead once again sneaked out and ran off to join the White Lotus. Leia loves being apart of an anti War fighting group and training along side with them. She doesn't intend of leaving the White Lotus until the uprising war at hand has been settled and resolved. Until then, her loyal remains with the White Lotus.
Extra;
I'd have to say that my favorite avatar character(s) are Aang, Sokka, Katara, Zuko, Suki and Toph. |
10,035 | 282 | 0 | 694 | 2,139 | It was around 1:21 am, the coffee in both of the mugs was ice cold by this point. The stacks of paper works, folders, all strewn about on the glass tabletop as the two man were feeling the effects of this late night session. "Not going to lie Fury, this is one Hell of a team you've got here." The white, slightly balding man leaned back in his chair, adjusting his tie as he spoke. Still refusing to let his suit be loosened up even after all the time they spent working. "Correction Agent Coulson, what we've got here." The slightly larger stoic man told Coulson, his non patched eye glancing over to the other man as he remained standing. "Either way, we've got two science whiz kids, a possessed biker demon, an air force pilot, a billionaire and his former adopted son I guess, a magician straight out of Vegas, a Hawaiian who looks like refuses to wear a shirt, a..."
"I'm well aware what I'm working with Coulson." Fury's calm but focus tone quickly silenced the agent. "Trust me I realize what we have here, too many combustible elements, not nearly the level of field experience I want for someone to go into the kind of things they're going to go into. If Washington thinks this will work I'm glad they have such an active imagination, but they're frankly crazy." Nick Fury breathed quietly out of his nose as he glanced around at the various files that were all laid sloppily in front of him. Outside of 'Logan' and Virginia Potts, no one with any military experience. Some of them Fury was seriously curious if they've ever thrown an actual punch in their lives. Regardless, it was worth a try, as the corruption within the different cities and states were getting out of line, and it was about time to crack down on it all. Regular SHIELD agents weren't going to cut it, as the influx of metahumans and different phenomenon was increasing with each day, month, and year that passed. He would overlook this operation, and give it a single chance. He could make a plan B if he had to, he did before and he could again if need be. If shit hit the fan, however...he didn't want to think of the backlash. It could either go peacefully, with the team breaking up and going their separate ways, or it could go another, more destructive path. Plan B would have to work, in that worst case scenario. If he had to go to it though, it damn sure wasn't going to be pretty.
"We're going to brief them on the heli-carrier base, correct, Fury?" Coulson asked, rifling through a few of the assorted files. The assorted team truly was one of a kind. Fury grunted from across the table, bring a gloved hand up to rub the area around his eye patch. Migraines would be the least of his worries. "Yeah, I've sent notices of the location to them all. I want carriers ready to bring them from where ever to the helicarrier and have them here by 6 am local time sharp. If they have a problem with it let the agents know they can slap them or something, usually a good way to wake someone up." Fury's faint smile still hid wither he was being serious or not. Coulson personally figured it'd be best to assume so, slapping any one of these people would probably end poorly.
~The Next Morning~
The last few weeks for Peter Parker had been all at once stressful, strange, and depressing all at once. Sure the space station project was never his dream idea. However it was something he put so much time and effort into it still meant the world to him to see it working, to be a part of something so potentially history altering. Than it all came crashing down with a damn cosmic radiation shower no one saw coming. Well they did, but it came two weeks ahead of what they had calculated. Still Peter has been searching with no results for the other two, trying to help assess what happened with the station and if it can be repaired, finally just trying to figure out what happened to him, and why all of the sudden his one of those Stretch Armstrong dolls he had as a kid. Just hopefully without the weird ooze that came out of that doll when you cut it open. In between it all he saw his Aunt and Uncle and ended up showing them what had happened to him, his aunt fainted. He couldn't blame her, the first morning he woke up in a hospital and his body was a noodle like mess of limbs and torso all over the bed and floor he was about ready to pass out from the shock.
When it was all said and done however, Peter knew in his heart the blame laid at his lap. Even when his superiors at the program tried to assure him it was a freak occurrence, something that no one could of possibly seen coming. Peter just blamed himself, it was his protection plans that failed. It wasn't even that it failed, it failed on a spectacular level. It was all going through his mind as his still sleepy brain tried to adjust to being in the small craft carrier. “Mr. Parker we'll be arriving in a few moments.” The SHIELD agent told him. He gave her a small smile and nod in response but soon as the clouds before the craft parted, his jaw hit the floor when he saw the helicarrier itself.
“Mwghagh shafgh!” Having to pick his jaw back up off the ground and put it back in place Peter let his neck slowly stretch out. Getting a closer view of the front window that showed this magnificent piece of modern know how. “Wow...” Peter could only mutter in awe of what he saw. He wanted to know more about this thing, everything that made it tick. Hell now he wanted to see what else SHIELD had up its sleeve.
As Peter got his sole gym bag of things he brought for this little introduction Peter tried to keep his geeky excitement contained as he stepped off the craft and into the helicarrier for the first time. It was simply amazing how the craft was able to sustain flight like this even with the sheer mass of people and metal it held up in the air so high. Peter wanted to find some of the people responsible for this, and immediately shake their hands in glee.
As Peter got inside, the SHIELD agent directed him to a small auditorium, he was the first one in it seemed like. Which wasn't a biggie as he was set to pull out his 3DS and get back on his Pokemon catching adventure. However footsteps and the door automatically opening suddenly brought that plan to a screeching halt. Peter's jaw hung loose as he had to keep it from hitting the ground again. He stared on as the person coming in immediately stopped seeing him. “...Gwen?” Peter asked.
“...Peter?” Gwen Stacy could only meekly let out in her shock. Dropping her backpack haphazardly to the ground.
Peter wasn't sure what to do, but his body went to putting his gym bag down, and going for a warm friendly hug with a friend he hadn't seen in some time. However said warm friendly hug quickly turned to getting tackled and shaken like James Bond's favorite drink. “PETER HOW COULD YOU JUST UP AND LEAVE LIKE THAT WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU CAN'T EVEN SAY GOODBYE AND JUST LEAVE...!” Gwen's voice as she kept going was a weird combination of shock, glee, anger, frustration, and something else Peter was too busy getting his brain rattled in his head to figure out. “I just wanted a nice hug! I JUST WANTED A NICE HUG!” Peter called out in panic as the two SHIELD agents got Gwen off of Peter and the young man could get back to his feet.
Peter and Gwen needed a moment but they were able to slowly talk it out, sitting at two of the seats up front. Peter told Gwen about the think tank program, and how he ended up in space before cosmic radiation mutated him all elastic. Showing it off by stretching himself all the way from floor to ceiling of the room, and twisting himself around before snapping back to normal. Gwen on the other hand talked about Osborn Corp, and the spider that bit her leading to her powers. “Man, what the Hell happened to us?” Gwen casually asked leaning down on the nice padded seat. “Eh, considering how people looked at us I'm sure we fared better than expected.” Peter replied as he did likewise. Gwen paused for a moment, letting a soft smile creep onto her face as she glanced back at Peter. “Well, it is good seeing you again.” She told Peter, who glanced over and smiled back. “Yeah, likewise.” | Full name: Peter Parker
Alias: Mr. Fantastic
Age: 17
Birthplace: Washington, DC
Hometown: New York City, NY
Powers: Due to cosmic radiation mutating his body. Peter's body has changed completely as he is now completely bendable and elastic. Able to stretch any part of himself (and before you can ask, yes, even that.) upwards of 3 miles. He can also perform numerous feats like remolding limbs, inflate into a balloon or deflate himself flat. However for his body to accommodate for all this. His body underwent a metamorphosis. Where his bones and a lot of his organs mutated. Leaving him with a bacteria sack that allows him to survive off of oxygen only. Truthfully he doesn't like thinking about all this.
Skills: Has a knack for guitar, both acoustic and electric, and for singing. Has a very high intelligence and particularly is skilled in robotics, chemistry, and engineering.
Brief Bio: Peter Parker has had a particularly hard life, growing up he barely saw his mom and dad who both were very loving but very secretive. When he was 6 they both left him with his Aunt May and Uncle Frank in New York City. They kissed him, told him they loved him and that they'd be back soon. It was the last time Peter ever saw them again as they seemingly vanished into thin air.
Growing up Peter was picked on routinely for being smart, small, and meek. It was a constant struggle for him and a lot of times he came home bruised or wet from toilet bowl water. Things did change though when he met Gwen Stacy. A very sweet girl who happened to play drums in a few bands. One of which being The Mary Janes, led by Mary Jane Watson, another person who became friends with Peter. It was because of her Peter took to learning the guitar for solace and eventually performing himself in some bands with Gwen.
As Peter went through middle school and the start of high school Peter was approached by a non-profit think tank program called 'The Future Foundation'. They were impressed by Peter's intelligence and wanted him to join. Peter kept refusing until one particular day at high school, the big bully Flash Thompson made Peter's day a living hell and when Peter finally snapped and fought back was the one who got punished while Flash got off with nothing. Peter in a fit of anger called The Future Foundation and told them he was joining. He left without a word to anyone outside his aunt and uncle that night.
When he joined the program instantly life became much better. Peter became friends with a lot of the other intelligent young men and women at the program. In particular Reed Richards, someone who was working on a big space station project Peter happily joined onto. The other major figure in it was a young Eastern European named Victor Von Damme. The man had a cold disposition and had problems with Peter but considering the people he had to deal with in the past was easy enough to handle. Soon the space station was able to grow from designs to an actual prototype Peter got to go into space with for a planned year excursion. However four months in the station had an attack by a surprise cosmic radiation storm. The protection system Peter made for the station failed and the three had to escape through separate emergency escape pods.
When Peter arrived back on Earth the cosmic energy from the cosmic storm had mutated Peter leaving him elastic. The Future Foundation was able to find him quickly enough but both Reed and Victor are still considered missing. Originally while Peter enjoys the powers he figured he could keep them to himself. However the space station incident left The Future Foundation suddenly losing a lot of funding. Peter wanted to help badly but couldn't think of a concrete plan, that is until he met Nick Fury with SHIELD. Who wanted to speak to him about the space station. Through a lengthy discussion Peter and Nick came up with an idea that might help bring attention and funding to the foundation.
Full name: Gwen Stacy
Alias: Spider-Girl
Age: 17
Birthplace: Metropolis, MA
Hometown: New York City, NY
Powers: Gaining the powers through a radioactive spider's bite. Gwen's body went well beyond the peak of human capability. Her strength allows her to lift 20 tons with no problems, she can leap long distances, stick to walls with her fingers and toes allowing to crawl on them. Plus a durability and endurance allowing her to take a beating and keep going. She also has a power that she simply refers to as 'spider-sense'. A sort of sixth sense where she can detect when someone is about to attack her or something harmful is coming at her. Outside of that, SHIELD and Peter Parker helped her create a web fluid she can shoot out of her wrists through shooters. It allows her to swing from anything the webbing can stick too, as well as stick or tie up enemies.
Skills: Skilled drummer, violinist, and flute player, great with computers.
Brief Bio: Gwen Stacy has had a fairly normal life. Her family with her younger brother were nothing special. Her mother worked at a bakery, her father was a top police officer originally in Metropolis but later New York City. Gwen herself was a smart girl in school but never really had too much of an interest in anything. Until that is she joined the music program on a whim. She loved all the different instruments and the sounds they could make. While she enjoyed the violin and flute though, she loved playing the drums. Being in front of this large group of them and banging away with sticks. She begged her parents for a drum set that they eventually got her for Christmas. A move they quickly regretted when even from the garage they could very easily hear her.
As Gwen grew up she joined various bands, competed in music competitions, just enjoyed herself really. She made a good friend in Peter Parker. A guy who had a seeming bulls-eye on him for every horrible bully in the school. They were very good friends, one who made Gwen feel special around. She helped him learn how to play the guitar and enjoyed spending time with him. However after a hard day at school for Peter, he was suddenly gone. He left school, his aunt and uncle only saying he joined some special program. Gwen cried that night thinking she'd never see him again.
Another one of Gwen's friends was Henry Osborn. Son of Norman Osborn, the president of Osborn Corp. He was a good guy, though Gwen could always tell someone was troubling him in his life, and she had a very good reason it was his father. He always made her comfortable whenever she met him. Though she remained on good terms with Henry. So when Henry's father made a special day for the high school Gwen and Henry went too to come visit the factory Gwen went ahead with going.
The particular group Gwen was in with Henry included Flash Thompson, the football playing meat head who Gwen still fumed over because of Peter leaving. When they were in a section of the Osborn Corp HQ devoted to genetic testing Gwen and Flesh got into a yelling argument when Flash shoved her hard. Causing her to slam into a counter and inadvertently letting a spider that had been treated with modified radioactive nanites free. The spider crawled into Gwen's back as she was helped by some of the other students and staff. When the spider crawled around to her wrist, and bit into it.
Gwen soon became violently ill and that night fell into a coma for two days. When she came too however she felt great, better than great actually. Her body was much more toned, she no longer needed glasses. Soon though she realized she could lift a car, climb on walls, all kinds of crazy things. Gwen realizing the potential in all this started trying to figure out how to exploit her power for money or something of the sort. However when she was out that night trying to decide what to do, she watched a mugger rob a woman and left not wanting to get involved. A moment she would regret deeply as she found out her father was later in a violent shootout with the same crook. Quickly she whipped up something to hide her identity and went in to help him but was too late. By the time she was there he had been fatally shot. After stopping the criminal she had enough time to be there for him as he laid bleeding out. In a crying fit she admitted to him what had happened. His final words to him are what drive her to this very day, 'With great power, comes great responsibility'.
When the rest of the NYPD arrived they had pegged her as a suspect. Immediately she was able to escape but realized people were looking for her. SHIELD thankfully came to her aid, she was brought in with them and given protection from the police on the grounds they had evidence she didn't commit any crimes. However many journalists, including the great (self proclaimed) J. Jonah Jameson. Didn't buy it as he is very distrustful of SHIELD. Gwen though appreciated it completely. So when Nick Fury told her about the new program he was tasked with creating she was all ears. |
10,036 | 282 | 1 | 1,821 | 1,697 | There was a certain comfort that could be found in workout sessions. Pushing your body to your limit had a great way of relieving a certain anxiety that could build up. For some, that limit was still trying to be discovered. Virginia Potts, a Captain of the US Air Force and now titled "Marvel", appeared to have no limit as observers tried desperately to put a number to the twenty-two year old's strength. Using an advanced machine to apply massive amounts of resistance in a type of dead-lift format, they watched as the woman heaved godly amounts of weight, albeit straining and sweating at this point but still going.
The past six months of Virginia Pott's life have been an extraordinary experience, almost like she was born again and given the chance to experience live anew. Having now just taken up comic book reading, Veronica had to admit that there was no way to put into writing just how incredible it was to experience your body's new potential. Virginia felt like it was a true blessing.
Her only complaint was that she was still confined to a small facility on the fridges of society under the observation of SHIELD. Virginia knew little about SHIELD outside of a nondescript debrief and some scattered bits of dialogue. What she figured was that SHIELD appeared to be a genuine good but apparently so off the RADAR that not even a prototype pilot for the Air Force knew about them. It was something to raise an eyebrow at but SHIELD knew exactly how to dispel that disbelief. Chain of Command. Virginia had her orders, drafted straight from the Commander-in-Chief. So dispel she did.
"Alright Captain Potts, you may call it a day." Buzzed the room's intercom and with one last heave, Virginia managed to lift the machine off her back under her shaky arms. Tired, she collapsed to one knee and took a few long breaths before finding her strength quickly returning.
A second buzz sounded and following that immediately the door to the 'weight room' was opened. Virginia rose and turned to face whoever it was in an instant. Expecting a superior, Virginia snapped to attention and was ready to salute only to stop herself as the man was quicker to salute. "Morning, ma'am. I'm instructed to pass along your orders." He gave Virginia a nod before handing a manila envelope and saluting once more before turning and heading out the door. A quick glance inside revealed that she was being relocated...
--
"Woah..." Virginia muttered without ever realizing it and leaned closer the window. The largest aircraft carrier she had ever seen was floating among the clouds. She rubbed her eyes in disbelief before she finally settled on the fact that this was real. Virginia had flown some stuff that was amazing but this was completely blew all those things out of the water.
Virginia continued her gawking at the Helicarrier as she passed along the tarmac and then into the interior. She was being lead by an Agent to a small auditorium, whose only inhabitants were two other security personal and two kids. The security personal straightened into a salute as they saw Virginia was wearing her uniform, marking her rank. Her bag was slung over her shoulder. She put them at ease and found a seat a few places away from where the two kids sat. Immediately her head began to swim with questions, mainly concerning the kids. Giving into her curiosity she finally broke the ice, "Err.. Hello?". She said in an attempt to be friendly. | Full name: Virginia Potts
Alias: Captain Marvel
Age: 22
Birthplace: New York
Hometown: New York
Appearance:
Costume:
Powers:
Superhuman Strength: Not only is Virginia physically strong but she has great endurance and durability, being able to withstand harsher blows.
Superhuman Speed: Able to move and react faster than a human
Flight
Concussion Blasts: Capable of projecting and firing energy to explode with a heavy force
Energy Absorption: The most crucial part of Virginia's power as it fuels all her other powers. Due to her inexperience, she still doesn't quite fully understand how it works but she knows the basics of her power. Over time she produces and stores the energy required to perform her super abilities. That process is slow and requires recuperation time, but it is her primary means of recovery. Aided by her full concentration, she can channel herself to absorb energy for great bursts of energy but due to a reason unknown to her, that excess flows out rapidly.
Skills:
Pilot: Graduated at the top of her class in the Air Force
Brief Bio:
The oldest of four, Virginia was the brightest of her siblings but despite her potential for academics, her father didn't recognize her ability and refused to send her to college. Using the "gender roles" as his reason, Virginia never had a chance despite the convincing truth. Begrudgingly, Virginia's first job would come as receptionist for Stark Enterprises, but only after a year Virginia quit, seeing as there was no promotion in sight despite her talent, and sought opportunities else where.
Most likely out of spite for her father and her old boss, she joined the Air Force, hoping to fly. She received top marks and began service as an Airman. Recognized for her brilliance and flying skill, Virginia had the rare opportunity to fly 'blacklisted' prototypes just after two years of service.
Right before her twenty-second birthday, Virginia was flying a prototype jet that was designed for high altitude flights, reaching the very edge of the atmosphere. To her, it was truly a magnificent experience, almost a dream come true, but that's not why she dwells on that memory so much. Something odd occurred up there. Spontaneous flashes of Red, Gold, and Green is how Virginia remembers it best. She wasn't sure what it was but she soon found out that it wasn't something to be around.
It started sudden Bang just beyond the nose of her plane. Not even a second passed before Virginia was witnessing her plane being blown apart by the sudden concussion blast and then she faded into unconsciousness...
Virginia awoke days later in what was a medical institute that wasn't meant to be found. Virginia was briefed that she was now in service to a group known as SHIELD. From then on, things only got stranger as SHIELD helped Virginia explore and develop her powers. |
10,037 | 282 | 2 | 1,617 | 689 | Christian awoke early in the morning. He was doing physical exercises to keep himself in shape. One of the many philosophies Emma had taught him was that "your body needs to be as tough as your mind." So now he worked out his mind and body 5 hours a day each. He went up stairs to take a shower and when he got out, there was a present on his bed from Emma. He opened it and found a suit that was all white with a crossed shaped opening in the middle. A note fell out and he picked it up and read, "I know you don't have diamond skin so this should be the next best thing. Remember all Frost look good in white. Love Emma:)" Christian chuckled at the letter and stuffed the suit into his duffle bag along with the rest of his clothes. He had a satchel with his phone, computer and other technologies over his shoulder. He could here the SHIELD transport out side on the law and he went out to meet them.
He was going to be going with SHIELD to be on some dream team. Christian only agreed, because he wanted out of this house and Emma asked him to do it. Now he sat in a transport, headed to meet the others. One thing Christian didn't notice was that they were going up not straight and he soon saw the heli-carrier. It was massive and Christian might have been impressed if he was into the whole "engineering" thing. When they landed the agent led him inside the carrier to the auditorium were three others were already seated.
He sat on the edge next to the man and waited for the next big thing to happen. Christian decided to try to make friends so he turned to the man and introduce himself. "Hello I'm Christian Frost?" He said with a slightly British accent.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Zachary Zatara was on the streets of Vegas that morning. He was setting up for a side show he did for extra cash on the side and he needed to get a good spot. One thing was gnawing at the back of his mind though. He had received a letter a few weeks ago from SHIELD enclosed by the government. It stated that he had been drafted to join a "team of elites" and help the world. He was supposed to send a letter of conformation but he never did, Zachary was not about to give up his seemingly stable life for some audition. But SHIELD had other ideas. The week after he did not send the letter, he almost lost his job, his bank accounts were frozen, and he nearly got evicted. Two of the three problems were fixed with some magic and charisma, but he was pissed.
So now Zachary needed to make some extra money and was setting up his cardboard box podium. When he went down to fix the box, something zipped passed his head, missing it by a few center meters. "What the he-!" He was cut off by a SHIELD agent asking him to come with her quietly or she would have to use force. He reached for his wand and got stuck twice in the back. He fell to his knees, but before he passed out he pulled the two tranquilizer darts that said elephant on the side.
Zachary black out but his mind was still awake. He watched the SHIELD agents pick his body up and carry it to the transport and fly out of Vegas. While he was on the transport he starred at the female agent and it felt like she was staring back at him, no through his soul. "Wow these guys are creepy." He thought to himself. When they arrived he was carried to the auditorium and sat on the floor. Zachary saw that there was four other people in the room but he could say anything to them. So he just had to wait for himself to wake up.
"How much did they shoot me with?" | Full name: Bruce Wayne
Alias:Batman
Age: 24
Birthplace: Gotham
Hometown: Gotham
Appearance:
Costume:
Powers:
Equipment:
Grapple gun: Standard issue grappling hook. He uses it quite a lot.
Batarangs: His main throwing weapon. he has an explosive variety.
The Bat Cave: His main base and place he goes to investigate. He keeps the batmobile there.
The Batmobile: His large armored car capable of reaching 130 mph.
The Utility belt: He keeps a few different gadgets there.
Skills:
Amazing in hand to hand combat.
Incredible Intelligence.
Strong but not superhuman strong. More like Peak human strength
Does not quit.
Brief Bio:
Bruce Wayne was born into Gotham royalty. His family were rich beyond the imaginations of most people. Bruce never knew this but his families money was built off the blood and corruption the city thrived on. His parents were grooming him to take over this empire of sin and corruption. However one night after a movie, his parents were gunned down in the streets leaving him an orphan at the age of 14. It was about this time he learned about his families money origins.
Bruce stayed in Gotham but left when was around 15 and returned three years later a changed man. He became the Batman and used his position to scare the criminals of the city into submission. He mainly does it to atone for what his family did to the city. He met Dick Greyson and basically raised the boy. He still feels terrible for forcing him away. |
10,038 | 282 | 3 | 1,602 | 2,499 | A cigar's light lit up the darkness of the night and it's smoked snaked through the air escaping into the night sky as Logan made his way into a small pub. He was by no means a regular here at the 'Broken Glass' as it was called, but his face had been seen once or twice in the past week at the pub. The old wood of the floor creaked because of the extra weight of Logan's skeleton as he made his way across to the bartender. He ordered a pint of beer, and began to slowly drink from it when it arrived. It wasn't long before trouble stirred up though, trouble seemed to follow Logan like a bad smell.
Some local hicks had thought it was a great idea to try and pick a fight with Logan, obviously thinking that their number difference would give them the advantage over such a short, normal guy right? Wrong. Logan obviously wouldn't kill the men, they weren't exactly guilty of anything except being dickheads. He would, however, break a few bones. He cracked his metallic knuckles, and turned to the men as they slung mindless insults at him. He eventually interrupted them.
"Are you fucks gonna talk all night, or are you going to fight?" His voice was a low growl, the men just seemed to look at each other and laugh before readying into fighting positions. Logan rose from his chair, his thumbs hooked into his belt as he waited for a punch to come his way. When it did, it came from the left, Logan ducked to his right, grabbed the arm and chucked the owner of said arm across the pub and onto a table sitting against a wall. The next punch came from his right, Logan weaved under it and sent a literal rib-cracking punch into the chest of the guy. Logan then turned and done a sort of dempsey roll, dodging the swings coming from his opponent and sending punches to his opponents blindside. Of course, the man fell rather quickly.
Logan stood in the centre of the pub, the two unconscious bodies beside him and another sleeping on the top of a rather dirty table. He pulled his cigar holder from his pocket before pulling a cigar from said holder. He raised his lighter to his mouth as he lit it before turning to meet a shotgun to his face.
"Just get out, I don't want trouble in this pub so just leave if you want to keep your face" Said the bartender. Logan just grinned, shaking his head. He picked his jacket up and left the pub safe in the knowledge that a shotgun posed as much threat to him in the long term as a water gun did.
As he exited the pub, he was met with a rather weirdly proportioned, lanky man who tried to get his attention as Logan began to walk on his way. Logan was under the impression that the tall weirdo would leave him alone if he just ignored him. He realized this wasn't the case and turned and finally answered the man. As it turned out, S.H.I.E.L.D wanted him to come to something called a helicarrier. He'd probably have been glad if he knew who S.H.I.E.L.D was.
The Next Day
Logan looked out of the window of the rather high-tec plane he was being flown to the 'helicarrier' on. He hated planes. Not heights or anything, just planes. He didn't understand them, how could something so massive and so heavy fly? And, for that matter, how did helicopters fly? It wasn't worth thinking about to be honest and Logan was more set on finding out why he was being taken to a 'helicarrier'.
He was guided by a S.H.I.E.L.D agent through the hanger and into an auditorium in which a group of teenagers and what seemed to be someone of military status inside the auditorium. Logan was surprised to also receive a salute from the two guards who, unbeknownst to him, had been briefed on Logan's rank and his rather....short temper. To tell the truth he probably wouldn't have even noticed if he hadn't been saluted, he was more focused on finding out why he was here and why he was in a room filled mostly with teenagers. His mind drifted back to 'Kindergarden Cop' and he shuddered with dread. He thought he'd at least try to be civil though and he made his way over to the group, his thumbs hooked into his belt. He pulled a cigar from his holder, but he was quickly informed by a guard that smoking was not prohibited in the auditorium. Logan grimaced at the guard, sliding it back into his holder and stuffing it into his back pocket. He turned to the group.
"Pretty official, this, eh?" He looked up to the ceiling of the auditorium and then back to the group.
"Does anyone actually know why we're here then?" | James stands at a meager 5 foot 4 and has quite a bit of muscle on him. He has brown eyes and dark black hair.
Full name: Formerly James Howlett, Currently Logan
Alias: Wolverine
Age: Physically and mentally 24, although his history stretches back to the civil war
Birthplace: Alberta, Canada
Hometown: Calmar
The mask is a lot smaller though and more similar to a domino mask with the flaired corners.
Powers:-Adamantium Skeleton - Logan's skeleton has been replaced by an extremely strong adamantium skeleton that allows him to take a huge amount more damage than the average human and survive.
-Regenerative healing factor - Logan has an impressive healing factor that allows him to survive through just about anything with enough time to heal. Small wounds can take any time from seconds to minutes to heal, while bigger wounds can take hours or even days to heal.
-Superhumanly acute sense - Logan's senses are enhanced to the point where they are comparable to certain animals who are the best in their field of senses. He is able to see greater distances along with being able to see in the dark and also has a much greater sense of hearing than the average human. In accordance with this, he also has an extremely good sense of smell akin to that of a wolf that allows him to recognize people by scent along with being able to track things through scent.
-Superhuman strength - Logan's natural strength has been amplified by his adamantium skeleton and the weight put on by it.
-Superhuman speed - Logan is able to run at much greater speeds than any human and most superhumans and is able to attack at much quicker speeds as well.
-Claws - Of course, wolverine's metal claws are present.
Skills: -Master martial artist-Expert Swordsman-Mechanic-Can play the electric guitar and has a hefty baritone singing voice.
Brief Bio:
Logan, born James Howlett, was born in Alberta, Canada to two wealthy plantation owners sometime in the 1800s. Unbeknownst to his father, Logan was actually the illegitimate son between his mother and the groundskeeper of the plantation, Thomas Logan. James' brother, simply and aptly named 'Dog' grew to hate Logan and eventually created a false rape story that he told to his father who then promptly threw Logan out after getting other workers on the plantation to beat him up. Logan later returned in the dead of night and Killed James' father which sent James into a fit of rage in which he killed Logan with his bone claws.
James later abandoned the plantation and took on a variety of jobs while travelling America. Mainly manual jobs such as mining and hunting of course, but he did book keeping and the like here and there as well. James, now going by Logan, later tired of civilization and came to reside with the Blackfoot native Americans. He resided with the Blackfoot until his lover, Silverfox was murdered at the hands of Logan's brother, Sabretooth. Logan had a lengthy battle with Sabretooth which ended in a stalemate.
Logan was later recruited into the Canadian military during World War 1 in which he mainly fought in trenches and rose slowly through the ranks. He rejoined the army during World War 2 in which he fought instead for the US army. After the war, Logan returned to drifting and picking up work wherever he could. That is until the 70s when the Weapon X program started.
Logan was kidnapped and was forced to be a part of the program. They replaced every bone in his body with a hyper strong metal by the name of adamantium. He eventually grew too powerful for the relatively low tech of the 70s and escaped the facility, slaughtering all those who stood in his way in a fit of rage in the process. He became a recluse after that, living in the wilderness and hunting for food while only going back into society for clothes or equipment. It was around this time that his mind began to shut down. His healing process along with his adamanitum skeleton had begun to take it's toll on his mental state and he developed an alzheimers like condition that was effectively slowly turning him into a vegetable. He left the wilderness and returned to society, determined to find a cure. He searched high and low until he found another victim of the program who had went through the same process as him had found the cure to the disease just before they had died. Of course, Logan contacted their family who were more than happy to help him. He was cured and he returned to civilization, fighting criminals as a way of repaying the family for their loss. |
10,039 | 282 | 4 | 646 | 1,002 | Johnny Blaze
The Broken Glass
Johnny's botted foot slammed against the rough, wooden door of the bar, sending wood splintering across the dirty, dusty floor, and causing the attention of at least a dozen large, slobbering men to blare against his leather-wrapped form at almost the exact same time. The blonde-haired man didn't even flinch, silence now penetrating the previous loud atmosphere as Johnny made his way towards the bar, his combat boots cracking along the floor with each footstep. The stares continued, even as he casually sat down on one of the torn, barely cushioned seats, bring his elbows up to rest against the rough wooden surface of the counter top. Blue eyes glanced up at the bartender, locking eyes with the cautious greasy-haired man, whom had stopped wiping dirt into an already dirty shot glass. As he looked into the man's eyes, he felt it. The worming, slithering sin of a rapist, a conman, and a murderer. This is what he had been feeling...this is what his soul had been yearning to devour. This is what had kept him from sleeping the past night. With a snort, Johnny looked back down onto the wooden surface of the counter-top, his gloved fists clenching.
"Whiskey. The full bottle." He muttered, his deep, rough voice holding a slightly raspy undertone. The bartender was broken out of his reverie by the request, the greasy-haired man nodded once, reaching underneath the counter to grab a large bottle of dusty, oldened whisky. His perverse, sickening grin was barely hiddened as he bent down to grab the whiskey, but Johnny had already caught the sight. Then that's how it's gonna' go down... The bottle was slid across the counter to him, and Johnny caught it by the neck, popping the top with the tip of his thumb. Everyone watched the man, the thugs holding grins on their faces as they waited for the next fool to fall for the bartender's 'death whiskey' con.
Johnny stood, the 'death whiskey' now closer and closer to his lips. The thugs begin to edge closer, ready to grab him and take his money, jacket, and anything worth anything once he died from the poison overtaking his system. Johnny pressed the bottle fully to his mouth, and downed it all, amongst the clowd of onlookers. As the crowd began to laugh, Johnny wiped his mouth with the back of a gloved hand, before cracking his neck.
"Y'know..." He began, his voice beginning to grow more raspier with each syllable said, "That was som' really good whiskey!" At the end of his sentence, Johnny suddenly growled his words loudly, his voice turning deeper and disembodied, and much, much more demonic. The thugs were shocked, and began to back away, only for Johnny's head to begin shaking at an abornmal wait, growling as his face began to blacken. One man, a bald one, yelled and sprinted forward, a meaty fist slamming against Johnny's face, and throwing his head sharply to the right. The crowb began to gain their momentum back at the hit, and the bald man began laughing.
"Nice...hit." Crimson, searing hot fire suddenly blasted from every pore of Johnny's exposed body, blinding the thugs around him. As the light slowly began to become normal, the bald blinked his eyes, staring at the...thing in front of him. It took him seconds to completely gain his eyesight back, and when he did, he shat himself...literally. A flaming skeleton in spiked leather stared back at him, grabbing him by the neck with it's right gloved hand. A dark spot on the bald man's front side of pants showed that he had also pissed himself. The flaming skeleton tilted it's head, seeming to sniff the air, before it glanced down at the man's soiled trousers. It began to release a demonic yell, barfing flaming hell-fire and molten lava out of it's mouth, causing the bald man to scream as his skin and soul was melt alive where he stood. Johnny held him with one hand, even as he became nothing more than goop. He dropped the remains, lowly looking up at the crowd. They all stared back, each one shaking in their boots, and most having soiled themselves as well. The already disgusting-smelling pub began to smell even worse.
The sound of a shotgun cocking behind him caused Johnny to instinctively twist on his feet, his hand lashing out with the emptied whiskey bottle. A demonic laugh ripped from his skeletal throat as the whiskey bottle cracked against the bartender's head, sending him flying into the wall behind him. The Ghost Rider instantly blurred through the air, appearing on the table with his head twisted unnaturally, before appearing to the side of the bartender, his empty black eye sockets simply staring at the man. The broken entrance to the pub was suddenly blocked by Hell-Fire, and as one man tried to run through the wall of flames, he was instantly vaporized and melted. The Hell-Fire slowly began to spread to the walls of the pub. The Ghost Rider grabbed the bartender by the chest, picking the man up and slamming him into the wooden counter, easily breaking right through the wood, before picking the man up once again, hanging him in the air as he stared into the man's eyes. The man could only stare, along with everyone else in the pub, although some still attempted to escape, which ended with their demise. The Rider's eyes began to glow a deep, molten red, mirrored by Butch's own.
"You're all...guilty. For the sins...the overwhelming sins. But you, Butch Manning...do you remember the sobs that escaped your wife's heart as you plunged the knife deeper into her chest, cleaving any and all of the spirit and life she had left behind from your already abusive marriage? Do you remember the pain in your mother and father's eyes as you kicked them out of their own home, under the pretense of a retirement home? Do you remember...sneaking into their retirement home, and slitting their thro-"
"I-I'M SORR-"
"Forgiveness is only within the eye of the Beholder...and the Beholder have judged you as guilty. Live your sins, all of your sins...for eternity. Feel their pain, their betrayal...their humiliation, their sadness, their anger, and their desperation!"
As the fire began to consume them all, they could only watch as the bartender began to scream an ungodly, pain-filled scream, as his soul was sent to Hell.
____________________________________________________________________________
Outside of the Broken Glass
Johnny Blaze
Outside of the burning establishment, within the dark, shadowy Hell's Kitchen, a blonde-haired man in a leather jacket leaned against a parked low-riding motorcycle, a nottle of wine in his hands. He took a sip of the so-called 'Death Wine', feeling the hemlock squeeze going down his throat with the feeling of fire. The man grunted, a frown pulling at his lips. "How long're you gonna' stand there?" He called out, his blue eyes sharply turning to a slightly distorted shadow in the already darkened alleyway. A woman in a sharp uniform walked out into the open, and although there was a helmet and visor covering her face, he could practically see the fear wafting off of her professional form like the smell of sin wafted off of a guilty man. Johnny straightened up dropping the wine at his feet. As it fell against the ground, it suddenly exploded in a small circle of Hell-Fire, destroying it forever.
"Are you M-Mr. Blaze?" She asked, her voice wavering for a second, before steeling itself. Obviously, she had seen the show that had happened not too long ago. Johnny shrugged, his blue eyes beginning to narrow. "Depends on whose askin'." He responded, crossing his arms over his chest.
"S.H.I.E.L.D." The woman responded, taking a pair of keys out of her pockets. She clicked a button located on the keyring, and the sound of hovering began to grow louder and louder. This was the agent, then. He had already talked with Fury on this all...well, not all. The man had approached him at some bar, and had offered the proposition. He guessed that he had offered before-hand, since everyone apparently thought the Ghost Rider was 'unstable' and 'dangerous'. He guessed they'd be right. Regardless, he had agreed to this, and to respectable people, he would honor his word 'till they did something that made him say 'fuck it' and leave. He pushed off of his motorcycle bike, uncrossing his arns. The high-tec plane slowly uncloaked, revealling itself in all of it's sharpness. Johnny's right eyebrow rose, slightly. "Damn."
____________________________________________________________________________
As the SHIELD agent opened the door, bringing him into an auditorium, Johnny looked over his surroundings. It was a pretty big space, but the thing that brough the most attention to him was the people near the center. A rather short, yet stocky man that he thought he dully remembered from a few bars, a geeky-looking teen, a similarly geeky-looking girl that looked around the same age as the geeky boy, a girly, feminine-looking blonde boy, and a militarized woman. Johnny exhaled, cracking his hands, heat beginning to waft from his body.
"What are you doing?" The woman asked, stopping in her prompt walk. Johnny frowned, looking down at the agent.
"I guess I won't be beatin' their asses?" He asked, dropping his hands. He had to resist a demonic grin when the woman flinched back at the thought of him fighting. Well damn, he really did leave a lasting impression on her. As she began walking over to the group, Johnny followed, his bootsteps creating a clicking sound with each step. If these weren't some jackasses that he had to fight - which was a relief, since he didn't really sense sin on the younger kids - then, naturally, he assumed that this was that 'group' Fury had warned him about. Just his goddamn luck...to be paired with a bunch of brats, an effeminate weirdo, and...a guy he couldn't really insult within his mind, due to not really having any qualms with his outward appearance. Shit.
As they stopped close to the group, the Agent walked over to her other Agents, joining them in being all silent and intimidating. Johnny snorted, walking over to the group, and greeting them with a stiff 'Wassup' nod. "Name's Blaze." He said shortly, so that he wouldn't need to go through awkward introductions later. He felt like this was going to be a really shitty process. If they tried to stop him from doing his job, then that's when the real problem would come out... | Full name:
Johnathon 'Johnny' Blaze
Alias:
It varies. Most call him the Ghost Rider, but some have taken to calling him the 'Spirit of Vengeance', as well.
Age:
24
Birthplace/Hometown:
He grew up with the Quentin Carnival, never staying in one spot for too long.
Appearance:
Johnny Blaze's human form, is that of a man within his prime - as he is 24 years of age, himself. Standing at 6'2, Johnny possesses ldirty blondish-brown hair that is generally kept in it's natural state, the man not seeing any reason, at all, to stylize his appearance. This means that it's generally short-to-medium in length, and shaggy, with strands falling into his dark blue eyes. His physique is fairy normal for someone whom turns into a soul-burning spirit of vengeance during night times - muscular, albeit not bulky or disturbing. Enough to back up his already scary physical abilities. His face is a bit rugged, with a scuffle/shadow of a beard. As for his Ghost Rider form - it's much the same, as far as over-all size is apparent. He stays at 6'2, but, obviously, he turns into a vengeful, bone-white skeleton with blazing Hell-Fire surrounding his skull. In both forms, Johnny wears a clasped, dark black leather jacket, leather riding pants, and black combat boots, with spikes along the jacket's shoulders and arms, and spurs at the back of the boots. Contrary to what you might think, the spikes on his clothing are one-hundred percent metal, and one-hundred percent sharp, used to bludgeon and skewer enemies whenever he's in a fight.
Powers:
Johnny Blaze's powers are centered around his transformation into the Ghost Rider. As the Ghost Rider, Johnny has super physical attributes, such as strength, stamina, speed, and immense durability - even amongst the super-powered crowd. His skeletal body can survive run-ins with immense force, bludgeoning, high-caliber bullets and other piercing attacks, immense pressure, and general action. Similarly, if he's injured, his body self-regenerates, without any evidence of pain or discomfort - often used to highly intimidate and demoralized foes, by allowing them to get in an attack, only for Johnny to reform and make it seem hopeless. He also has the ability to manipulate his size to larger degrees, although this takes a lot of energy, as he has only just learned of the ability.
His 'major' powers are -
Hell-Fire Manipulation;; Ghost Rider possesses the ability to generate, control, and project mystical fire, or "hellfire" at will. Hellfire is an ethereal and supernatural flame that burns the soul of a person and can also be used to burn their physical body. He can utilize this fire in various ways, including projecting it from his eyes, hands, mouth, or even channel it from his body into his weapons like his chain and it's weaponized forms, form walls of hellfire, and even create a motorcycle completely out of hellfire. He can also unleash hellfire in omnidirectional explosions. This comes with the side-effect of Ghost Rider being, obviously, fire-proof.
Mystical Chain Projection;; Ghost Rider wields a mystical chain that is capable of growing in length, cutting through almost anything, and transforming into other weapons. He can also spew and project chains from his mouth or chest at will, although they lack the power of his original chain. The original chain is constantly wrapped around his right arm, making for a very intimidating, and powerful, weapon.
Penance Stare;; Ghost Rider possesses the supernatural ability to cause any individual who stares into his eyes to see and feel every bit of pain they have ever inflicted on anyone in their entire lifetime for all eternity.
Weaknesses:
Although he is powerful, the Ghost Rider has weaknesses, like all beings. Holy Weapons, and Holy Magic are somethings that he is simply weak to. Similarly, if you have enough firepower to take him out all at once, he cannot regenerate on the spot. Basically, he dies, although it is unknown on what happens to his spirit once he's dead...since, technically, he is undead, and alive, at the same time. He is the Spirit of Vengeance, and thusly, will kill anyone he has to kill. No one can stop him. This can easily cause problems within the group, amongst the more...moralistic of heroes. His way of killing definitely isn't merciful, either. They suffer. Despite seeming dark and grim, Ghost Rider is undeniably a high-adrenalined specter, and thusly, his way of life is very...high-risk, high-reward. If you can't keep up, you can get hurt, which is, in a way, a weakness for Johnny himself.
Skills:
Blaze is an expert and master stunt rider, allowing him to perform feats in vehicles - such as motorcycles and trucks/cars - that are otherwise deemed impossible to the common, and even uncommon, man. This has also given him insane hand-eye coordination, allowing him to do sleight-of-hand tricks and movements very easily. Although he's had no proper training, he is also a formidable hand to hand combatant, using a street sort of fighting style that utilizes brutal takedowns, punches, kicks/knees, and generally using whatever's at your disposal to kill your opponent.
Brief Bio:
Johnny's biography isn't something you can just find on the street. He was born to his father and mother, Barton Blaze and Naomi Kale, growing up in the 'oohs and aahs' of motorcycle grease, cheering crowds, and high-adrenaline stunts. Born into the travelling Quentin Carnival, with notable figures such as Craig 'Crash' Simpson, Johnny's life was rather stable, as a child, until his mother left him and his siblings after his father's death. His siblings were sent to the orphanage, while he was barely able to be adopted by Craig, and his wife, Mona. They attempted to pave a childhood for the now traumatized boy, but he knew that his mother left 'em all, and he didn't forget. Growing up, he loved Crash and Mona, as they were there for him when times were rough, and he grew closer and closer to their daughter, Roxanne Simpson. Meanwhile, his mother kept watch, on the off-chance the family curse surfaced...and the Ghost Rider was born anew.
Johnny became a performing member of Crash's stunt devil performance at the age of 12, using his 'dad's' old motorbike for amazing stunts that weren't really something you'd expect to see a child, whose balls hadn't even dropped, do. However, at 13, during a rather dangerous stunt, Mona was mortally wounded, and Johnny was injured. On her deathbed, his mother asked him not to ride anymore...and he agreed. The rest is history;; how he became the Ghost Rider, his life, his loss. All that's known is that Crash is now dead, Johnny is no longer married to Roxanne, and he has been the Ghost Rider for years now, starting when he was around 17 or 18. He travels the world on his motorcycle, a classic, rough-skinned biker during the day, and the intimidating Ghost Rider by night, claiming the souls of the sinful. When he was approached with this request, Johnny declined at first, but after more prodding, reluctantly agreed. This wasn't his sorta thing, however, and he bluntly told Nick that he wouldn't be 'pussy-footing'. The man agreed, and the Ghost Rider was left with his shot of whiskey, mulling over his decision. |
10,040 | 282 | 5 | 1,270 | 2,337 | Kaleolani was on top of the communication tower plucking away at his ukulele. He promised both his moms that he would not forget where he came from on the mainland, an hour a day for hula and an hour for ukulele. He never did them back to back so as to spread the influence out over the day.
Up here on the top of the ship, he could just look out over the edge and see the world. The whole of it all made him seem so small, what could he do to help it all? 'Little people need little things, big people need big things, but anything to help anyone is important.' It was an odd wisdom his momma told him to get him to always help strangers and neighbors.
"I see trees of green, red roses too-"
"MANA! GET DOWN HERE!"
He could tell they weren't yelling out of anger, just to be heard. Looking over the other edge of the tower stood one of the 'skittles' with a folder for him. Her name was Johannah Jameson and she at times seemed to straddle the line between friend and 'handler'. He rolled off the roof and dropped at least thirty feet to the titanium deck plate with a *THUD*.
"What was that for? You could have just floated down"
"Just taking the express elevator, ma'am."
"Don't "ma'am" me, I don't outrank you. You don't even have a rank for me to outrank you with. Now come on, you got a meeting. And put your damn shirt on!"
"Yes ma'am."
The Hawaiian pulled his black t-shirt from a back pocket to put on and came into the briefing room barefoot with his sandals tucked into the back pocket. Nodding to everyone present. Surely this slacker took the hang loose too seriously as he looked around for a bite to eat or something to drink. The ukulele was still in his hand as he took an open spot near Captain Potts.
" 'Loha."
His blue eyes kept nagging himself to look over at the guy in all the leather. There was something... fearful about that guy and He used lava for poi balls one time. This man evoked a sense of... vulnerability In Mana and it bothered him deeply. | Full name: Kaleolani (Heavenly voice) Kona (Hawaiian name meaning Lady. Also a lovely village in Hawaii where Iron Man Hawaii is held. Many well known products are named after the village such as Kona Coffee)
Alias: (super)Mana
Age: 20
Birthplace: Krypton
Hometown: Honolulu
Appearance:
Costume:
He wears the blanket he was brought to earth in as a sarong, he doesn't really need a costume since he is nearly invulnerable. Most often it is worn around his waist, if a need to be formal, he wears it up over his left shoulder.
Powers:
At the moment: Flight, superhuman endurance, superhuman senses, x-ray and heat vision.
To be developed: superhuman strength/speed(mental blockage), freeze breath
Skills:
Ukulele/guitar To teach him how to live in a world of grass
Scuba diving because of his ability to hold his breath for much longer than most.
Studying agricultural business at college so he can help the farm.
Hula dance to learn to control his body, yes men hula, really well.
Brief Bio:
In hawaii, there was a volcanic eruption and no one noticed the crashing ship from outer space plow through the wrath of Pele. The two sugarcane farmers lost their home to what they thought was a lava bomb but it revealed to have a baby within its shell. The couple adopted the baby and claimed it was left/given to them by a woman from the mainland who couldn't explain a new baby while her husband had been deployed for a year.
They raised him as best they could where he grew strong and tan under the tropical sun, When his powers started to manifest, they could blame it on one thing or another in the life of living on a volcano. they put him in the boyscouts from an early age and by the time he was done with highscool, he was an eagle scout with a troop of his own. When he finished highschool, he got a scholarship to study business in Star city. Too bad life has bigger plans for him.
The scholarship was a ruse by SHIELD to willingly remove him from his family. They wold still teach him what they promised, but they had a better use for his 'talents' |
10,041 | 282 | 6 | 1,180 | 1,981 | Dick yawned as his alarm beeped a little quietly. With a groan, he pulled himself up and out of bed, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He wasn't really a morning person, considering he did most of his stuff at night. Still, he wouldn't miss this for the world. Today, he was going up to the SHIELD Helicarrier. Join that new team that he was told about. He didn't like that the transport chopper was coming so early, but he was sure he could catch some sleep on the ride there anyways.
He set some coffee to brew, before putting on some civvies, a cyan tank top and some black jeans. Slipping his small utility belt on under it of course. He might not have had to follow Bruce's orders anymore, but, occasionally, the man did give good advice. He quickly checked to make sure all his stuff was there. Extra fear-serum canisters, a few smoke pellets, his grappling hook, and of course, his patented Crownai. His medical glove and cape were attached to his costume though, and he wouldn't be wearing his costume just yet.
He grabbed the backpack in-which he had stuffed his costume, and spare sets of everything. Also grabbing up a disposable cup and pouring some coffee into it, he made his way to the roof. He sipped on it silently as the cool Gotham City air nipped at him. He cursed himself for wearing a sleeveless shirt. Luckily, he didn't have to wait long, as only a few minutes later, a SHIELD agent met him, and introduced himself as such. "Hey." Dick exclaimed with a grin. The agent simply nodded, and summoned the helicopter. Dick huffed at getting stuck with such a spoil-sport, but stepped into the vehicle anyways.
"Get up."
Dick mumbled as he shook himself awake. It seemed, they were here. He took a peek out the window of the helicopter to the billion dollar explosion of extravagance. It looked cool, certainly. but it seemed like it had no purpose for how much money was blown on it. A lot of tax payer money funneled into maintaining something this was probably the reason they hired a small group of separate people. Didn't want to have to have the citizenry dying, as well as paying money for this military-like cause.
Dick hopped off the aircraft, and was guided to an auditorium room with some other people. Mostly young people, like him, but there were a few twenty-somethings. He was going to sneak out to explore the place later, but for now, he would introduce himself to the group. He situated himself near the nerdy boy, near the front, and told the team, "Hey, I'm Dick. You guys are?" | Full name: Dick Grayson
Alias: Scarecrow
Age: 19
Birthplace: ??? (Born on the Haly Circus train, in transit.)
Hometown: Gotham City
Powers:
Equipment
Crownai - Beak-shaped throwing knives. Able to explode or emit fear gas through contact, timer, or detonation.
Grappling Hook - A pretty self-explanatory gadget. Used to pull enemies to him, and himself to far-off locations.
Cape - Able to glide down slowly.
The Crow - Modified motorcycle, able to be remotely called, and goes up to 120 MPH.
Medical Glove - A glove with 5 hypodermic needles in it, that release fear serum whenever they make contact with skin.
Smoke Pellets - Small balls that release a large amount of smoke on contact. Useful for escape.
Skills:
Excellent hand-to-hand combatant, proficient in most martial arts
Incredibly intelligent
Ridiculously adept acrobat
Brave and courageous to a fault
Brief Bio: Dick Grayson was part of the Flying Graysons, a group of acrobats part of the famous Haly Traveling Circus. Unfortunately, his parents were gunned down by criminals, leading to him being picked up by Bruce Wayne. He was trained day and night to be the Dark Knight's successor, Robin. He accepted the role, and fought alongside his adoptive father. But as he grew older, he became more enamored with one of the roles of the batman, fear. He put his great intelligence to use developing a serum that would show people their fears. Batman, unhappy with the direction his sidekick was going, told him to hang up the Robin mantle. Dick, equally fed up with being in Bruce's shadow, left, adopting the new alias, Scarecrow, and finishing development on his "Fear Gas". |
10,042 | 282 | 7 | 1,329 | 2,344 | Rachael looked up. A colossal drop of shimmering water was plummeting towards her. Although the water wouldn't affect her even at her current size if it hit her, it would be good practice if she rolled out of the way regardless. Having done so in the nick of time, the water splashed at her heels as she stood upright and surveyed the rest of her boundless bathroom from the front of her sink. Occasionally in her free time, Rae would set up miniature obstacle courses in her bathroom, designed to test her strength and agility while also improving her ability with the Atom suit.
Suddenly she heard a knock at her door, dividing her attention for a split second from another drop crashing down onto her head, splashing over her visor. Rachael groaned as she leaped from the sink, regrew, and headed for the front door. She peered through the peephole, spying two individuals, one male, the other female. Were these the S.H.I.E.L.D agents sent to pick her up? She had been expecting them, but she wasn't sure when they would arrive. Feeling a tad restless, she shrunk down into the keyhole, and crawled through out the other side.
Rachael snuck up behind the two agents, grinning all the while as they waited for her to answer the door. She returned to her normal size as she spoke through her helmet. "Uh, is there something I can help you with?" The startled agents spun around before they regained their composure. That never got old.
"I'm assuming that since you're wearing her suit that you're Rachael Palmer?" the female agent inquired. Rachael unfastened the oxygen tubes connected to her helmet and removed it, revealing a reserved smile framed by messy brown hair. The male agent finally spoke up.
"Apologies for being curious, ma'am, but... Can I ask why you look like you've been out in the rain?" he said, looking at the water droplets all over the suit.
Rae simply stared at him blankly. "I just got out of the shower. Let me get dressed before we go."
____________________________________________________________________________
Rachael sat in the extravagant and lavish jet that she was travelling to the helicarrier in. She marveled at the technology aboard the jet, it was like none she had ever seen on this type of plane. She was more than excited to see whatever the 'heli-carrier' was. As she stared out of the window, clouds passed by as if it was a blur, and Rachael could barely contain the excitement within her chest, despite seeming composed on the outside. This is what she had even began this experiment for - this is why she had created the suit, and this is why she fought crime within the streets of Gotham and Ivytown. If only John were here with her to see it...
The plane she sat in began to slow down, and Rachael stood, face peering through the window as the heli-carrier came into view. It was even larger and grander than she had even expected, and the excitement became noticeable on her face, a smile beginning to split her lips into two. "Disembarking now." A monotone voice came from within the plane's speakers, and there was a minor bump as the plane landed on the platform. The door opened, springing sunlight within the plane's compartment, and Rachael leaped down onto the hot metal of the heli-carrier's heli-pad, her smile now turned into an eager grin.
____________________________________________________________________________
The auditorium was incredibly large, so much so that if she was the size of a fly, the room would seem to stretch into infinity. In the centre of the auditorium were a group of individuals, presumably the group she was supposed to meet. Rachael adjusted the strap of her white satchel containing her suit, and stepped forward. Before she could introduce herself, a glint from the shoulder of one of the group members caught her eye. "Are those real spikes? Nice." she pestered, as she gently tapped them. | Full name: Rachael Palmer
Alias: The Atom, Rae the Bae to her friends
Age: 23
Birthplace: Connecticut
Hometown: Ivytown
Appearance: Despite her shrinking ability, Rae is actually somewhat tall, standing at exactly six feet. Her hair is a medium-length, dark Auburn, which matches her eye colour. She is not overly muscular, but keeps in shape enough to retain a fit physique. When she is not wearing the Atom suit, and working in her laboratory she usually wears a white lab coat over her casual clothes.
Costume
The Atom suit could only be described as a hybrid of a Hazmat, and a Scuba suit. Attached to the back is a compact tank filled with five hours of oxygen, emblazoned with her trademark symbol. The tank is connected to the back of her helmet by two silver tubes. The suit itself is painted with a red and blue colour scheme, as well as patches of black at the joints. The helmet encases the entirety of Rae's head, with a voice amplifier extending slightly outwards from the chin. Embedded into the front of the helmet is an orange visor that can shift in between transparency and translucency to protect her face.
Powers:
Possible Unknown Metagene: Rae's physiology allows her to remain stable when she is miniaturized unlike other living things which explode after a short time of being miniaturized. She hypothesizes that her "microscopic stability" is due to some unknown metagene within her genetic makeup.
Size Alteration: Rae is able to shrink her body to varying degrees - including the subatomic level - this is achieved by storing most of her mass in a pocket dimension. As the Atom, Rae can assume any size from her normal six-foot stature down to the sub-microscopic. Recently she has developed an encepholpathic grid in her helmet that allows her to shrink on command mentally for greater accessibility and swifter transitions into smaller sizes.
Flight: Depending on her current size, Rae is capable of gliding on air currents and stiff breezes.
Skills:
Judo: Rae Palmer often finds herself in situation where physical violence become necessary. As such, she has developed a proficiency in Judo.
Education: Rae Palmer has a degree in physics, and microbiology from Ivy University.
Stealth: As Rae is able to shrink out of the view of the human eye, her ability is extremely useful for stealth missions.
Brief Bio: Rachael Palmer was born to a middle-classed family in Ivy Town, Connecticut, to a stable and very suited environment. Having always been a smart girl, even at a young age, she had a very bright future ahead of her, especially in math, physics, and chemistry, when she was in middle and high school. She graduated earlier than most, and was put at a National level, scholarship-wise.
Every major college and university wanted her, but eventually, she humbly settled for Ivy University at her hometown, and packed her bags with a few months to spare. There she began dating law student John Loring, and majored in chemistry, forensics, and physics, and the complex studies dealing with genetics. It was around this time, as she grew older, that she began to realise what was going on around her. Crime was erratic, people died, and this was further bolstered when she was walking back to her dorm on a dark night, and a man attempted to pull her into an alley. Thankfully, Judo lessons paid off, and the man was flipped onto his back, knocked out, before he knew what hit him.
As this began to pick up speed within her mind, Rae began to think of things that would help her clean the streets of her hometown... keep people safe. Having been recently investigating matter compression and nanotechnology within the safety of Harvard's funded laboratory, under the watchful eyes of professional scientists, Rae hit a breakthrough, never before seen in modern, and past, scientific achievements. The suit she was working on shrunk. Originally too small to see, but a high-powered magnification screen showed that the suit was simply subatomic. Glory was shared in the laboratory at that moment, and every single day, Rae went back to that lab, working and tinkering on the suit, enhancing its abilities. Finally, the prototype was finished and it was time to test it out. However, just as she was about to begin the test, onlookers watching, her boyfriend, John, offered to test it out. It was clear to see that he was concerned about her testing a potentially volatile piece of equipment. At first, Rae declined, not wanting him to be hurt if it backfired, but he convinced her, and she allowed him to equip the suit. The scene, not even ten minutes after, would forever be ingrained within her mind. She was stupid to allow him to try it on as the first tester. He imploded, to put it simply. His body caved in on itself, before the force of the shrinking technology proved too much, and he exploded. After that, the whole experiment was put on an indefinite hiatus, as it was proved to be too dangerous, and although deeply affected by the event, Rae didn't want to stop. She knew that there was a way for it to work...No, she knew that it would work. Months passed, with her working, in secret, on streamlining some of the problems with the suit. Finally, after a while of buttering up to the Headmaster, Rae was allowed to test out the suit, again, after the failure. She equipped the suit, put on the helmet, and activated it.
Exploring the testing site at the size of an ant was...well, it was really surprising, and very intriguing, to say the least. As she waved from atop of her teacher's shoulder, the crowd laughed and oohed and ahhed, Rae was proud of her achievement, although saddened that John could not be here to celebrate with her. As the days went on, she finalized the suit in its entirety, christening it the Atom suit, and finally graduated from Ivy, with a degree in Microbiology, and Physics. Her future was bright, but not in the way most thought. Although she achieved a high-paying job as a scientist with Wayne Enterprises, Rae would occasionally fought crime as the Atom. She never found out the true reason why she was the only one able to survive with the suit on, but she hypothesized that it may have been related to an unknown metagene she possessed. For now, she had to live in the present, and work on protecting the world, day after day. |
10,043 | 282 | 8 | 1,484 | 1,595 | Two hours till pickup,
Arron was awake now and there was no going back to sleep, he was standing on his parents back balcony with that bright light shining in his eyes, he could feel the word on the tip of his tongue, like dancing with magic. He smiled as the word left his lips, "Shazam!" The lightning struck him and transformed him into Morningstar.
Morningstar flew through the city at high speed, he continued to push the limit until he heard the telltale sound of the sound barrier breaking around him. He was enjoying flying and taking in the beautiful morning when he noticed a bunch of cop cars outside of The Metropolitan bank. "Aww yeah...let's get it started!" Morningstar dipped down and shot into the bank without slowing down, he nabbed one of the men and took him out into the sky, "Bank robbery...really?" The man went to curse Morningstar but was rendered unconscious by a quick slap from the back of Morningstar's hand. He was then dropped off to the police as Morningstar made another loop this time taking two of the remaining three men, knocking the hell out of them along the ride, the last guy was the one Arron wanted to really talk to. He landed inside with the man and held out his hand, "Just hand over the gun...this is over." The man looked around desperately before finally relenting and handing over the gun, and like that...the robbery was over.
----------------------------
By the time he made it home the agents had arrived to pick him up, Arron landed and smiled at the Agents, "Am I late?" one of the agents shook his head as the helicopter arrived to take them to the team meeting. Arron said the word turning him back to normal, "well...I'm as ready as I'll ever be."
Once they arrived Arron let out a gasp of awe at the massive helicarrier, then he was led inside where everyone else was and he let out a friendly was, Yo! Name's Arron...I like videogames and stuff... he let out a laugh since everyone else seemed way to serious. | Full name:
Arron Tyler McCall
Alias:
Morningstar
Age:
17
Birthplace:
New York
Hometown: New York
Appearance:
Costume:
Powers:
S for the Wisdom of Solomon As Morningstar, Arron has instant access to a vast amount of scholarly knowledge, including most known languages and sciences. He has exceptional photographic recall and mental acuity, allowing him to read and decipher hieroglyphs, recall everything he has ever learned, and solve long mathematical equations. He also has a great understanding of divine phenomena in the mortal world. The wisdom of Solomon provides him with counsel and advice in times of need.
H for the Strength of Hercules Hercules' power grants Morningstar immense superhuman strength, He is able to easily bend steel, punch through walls, and lift massive objects
A for the Stamina of Atlas Using Atlas' stamina, Morningstar can withstand quite a bit of physical assaults, and heal from them at a slowed pace. Additionally, he does not need to eat, sleep, or breathe, and can survive unaided in space when in Morningstar form.
Z for the Power of Zeus Zeus' power, besides fueling the magic thunderbolt that transforms Morningstar, also enhances Morningstar's other physical and mental abilities, and grants him resistance against most magic spells and attacks. The hero can use the lightning bolt as a weapon by dodging it and allowing it to strike an opponent or other target. The magic lightning has several uses, such as creating an apparatus and providing fuel for magic spells. If Jason is poisoned, for example, transforming will enable him to survive its effects.
A for the Light of Apollo, Using the power of Apollo Morningstar can use powerful sun based magic.
M for the Speed of Mercury By channeling Mercury's speed, Morningstar can move at superhuman speeds and fly,
Skills:
good with computers and normal teenage stuff.
Brief Bio:
Arron McCall was born into a pretty well set life, his father a business man and his mother a lawyer, Arron was raised with a strong sense of right and wrong and what justice was really all about. It was during a terrorist bombing that Arron really learned about right and wrong and what it meant to give your life for those around you. During the metropolitan train bombing one brave young soul inspired others to do something for their fellow man, one brave young man who had no special gifts or powers, threw himself into the burning wreckage over and over, appearing each time with more survivors in his arms, his bold and selfless actions struck the hearts of the people watching and of many of the survivors who had escaped unharmed themselves, in a matter of minutes Arron McCall a blonde teen born and raised in metropolis had formed an entire system and managed with the help of his fellow man to empty the destroyed train with hardly any casualties. The press wanted to make him a news hero but he refused simply stating, "I'm no hero...anyone in their right mind would have done exactly what I did." It was soon after this that his bravery and selflessness were noticed by one far greater than the press, The Wizard's spirit remained and Shazam granted new powers to a new word user one who would guide people from the darkness with the light of his just and kind actions, one who would stand against all odds for the lives of those around him, "Arron McCall...Morningstar!" |
10,044 | 282 | 9 | 85 | 286 | I- I don't know! I don't even know the guy!
The man's heartbeat was off the charts, he was afraid... and lying. The man was holding a fully loaded AK-74, but no amount of weaponry would make him feel safe from what was about to come... and he knows it.
"Oh... you don't know anything, huh?"
Her voice bounced around the alleyway, hidden in the shadows--hidden from sight. Daredevil had been tracking down a crime boss--and this just happened to be his top lieutenant. This man was afraid, but who could blame him? He had heard the stories of "The Devil of Hell's Kitchen", how this one woman could take down five bouncers to a hospital within minutes. Daredevil was fear personified, she struck fear into the hearts of criminals all around Hell's Kitchen as she stalked the streets at night. It's to the point when if you mention "Devil" to a crime-lord, they would shit themselves. Daredevil, this single woman, was why criminals breathed easier when the sun rose every morning.
"Th- that's right! And you ain't gonna see the light of day! 'Cause I'ma be the guy to kill ya'!"
He readied his AK-47 and smirked, "They say you're not human... but I don't believe that shit--you're just some pissed off girl on her period!"
Daredevil broke into a laugh, her laugh bounced all around the alley.
"I like you Kyle. I bet Nancy would like you too."
"Who the hell's Nancy?"
"The one who has to work overtime in the hospital to make sure poor thugs like yourself don't end up choking on their own blood after I beat them senselessly."
It was then, right then, she rushed from the shadows towards him. She was light on her feet yet running at the speed of an Olympic athlete. Daredevil tossed her billy club at the lieutenant's AK-47, knocking it out of his hands and sent skidding across the concrete. His heartbeat escalated quickly, no adjective able to describe the immense fear he felt at that very moment. Within the same four seconds, Daredevil delivered a spinning wheel kick to his skull--instantly incapacitating him and sending him collapsing to the ground.
"Anti-climatic. Mmmph."
Daredevil tilted her head upwards, she heard somebody was coming this way--no, two people. Both armed with a... she could smell the type of bullet but she couldn't place the name. But she knew that for sure those were military grade weaponry they were armed with. They were both behind her, staring at her. She could tell one of them was supposed to say something but was hesitating, so she took the initiative and spoke for them without even turning her head in their direction.
"You're with SHIELD, aren't you? I'm surprised you all came down from your flying fortress just for me."
She heard one of the agent's heartbeat fasten, not expecting her to know about SHIELD.
"Y- yes. We're here with an invitation. However, might I ask how you know about SHIELD?"
"That's..." She turned around closed her useless eyes and smiled, "...classified."
"It's louder than I predicted." Daredevil spoke as she stepped off the helicopter and onto the helicarrier. She was in-costume and ready to fight, just as she always was. Deep in her heart, Daredevil is her real self, Madelyn Murdock is simply a mask. She demonstrated this by showing up to the helicarrier in costume. Not to mention the agents found it nearly impossible to discover her identity, so they gave up with that approach and actually captured the lieutenant last night and set him right in the heart of Hell's Kitchen. All so they could get in contact with her.
She was led into the auditorium and spoke to no one, and instead just took a seat. She examined the others with her senses, but decided not to initiate any form of conversation with them. SHIELD is obviously forming some type of team... a "suicide squad" almost. Who can blame them? The other "people" could be used for things that SHIELD--or the government--couldn't accomplish on their own. Hell, they could just blame these individuals if the mission turns out for the worse. Luckily for her, she had done a little homework on this roster before she came in this morning. These people were all unique and they all had abilities--well, except one of them. However, his intellect and fear toxin made up for this.
The only reason Daredevil accepted the invitation to the team was because if these other individuals were to undergo mind control or turned on humanity, she would need more information on their abilities so she could come up with a plan to neutralize them if necessary. She wasn't here to fight monsters, she was really here to observe the others. | Full Name: Madelyn Murdock
Alias: Daredevil
Age: 21
Birthplace: Hell's Kitchen (modern day Clinton), NY
Appearance:
Powers:
Superhuman Sensory System: Originally coming from her exposure to a radioactive isotope, it was later discovered that many of Murdock's "powers" come from her natural aptitude and intense training at the hands of Stick.
Superhuman Touch: Murdock's sense of touch is so acute that her finger can feel the faint impressions of ink on a printed page allowing her to read by touch, though laminated pages prevent her from touching and thus reading the ink impressions at a much faster pace than a normal person would be able to read. The rest of her skin is equally sensitive, enabling him by concentration to feel minute temperature and pressure changes in the atmosphere around him. Even with her senses of smell and hearing blocked, he can feel the presence of a person standing five feet away from him simply by her or her body heat and disturbance of air. A side effect of her sense of touch is Murdock's ability to manipulate her muscles and internal organs. The sense of touch is not just external, but internal too (central nervous system), thereby giving him the ability to have total body control, increasing her strength and reflexes to peak human levels, increasing her agility to enhanced human levels and also giving him the ability to numb himself to pain.
Superhuman Smell: Murdock's sense of smell is so acute that he can distinguish between identical twins at twenty feet by minute differences in smell. She can detect odors of an atmospheric concentration of thirty parts per million. Further, her ability to remember smells enables her to identify any person she has spent at least five minutes with by smell alone, no matter how he or she might try to camouflage his or her natural odor. Her powers of concentration are such that she can focus upon a single person's smell and follow it through a crowd of people at a distance of fifty feet.
Superhuman Hearing: Murdock's sense of hearing enables him to detect an acoustic pressure change of one decibel at a pressure level of seven decibels (whereas the lowest threshold for average human hearing is twenty decibels.) She can hear a person's heartbeat at a distance of over twenty feet, or people whispering on the other side of a standard soundproofed wall. Through practice, Murdock is able to control her hearing acuity, mentally blocking out specific sounds like her own breathing and heartbeat, all ambient sounds to a normal human level of perception, or all sounds but a particular sound he is concentrating upon.
Lie Detection: By listening, feeling and/or smelling, Murdock can tell whether a person is lying by sweat, changes in body temperature and heartbeats (though he can be fooled by a pacemaker and those able to keep calm under pressure.)
Superhuman Taste: Murdock's sense of taste enables her to detect the number of grains of salt on a pretzel. Her ability to remember tastes enables her to determine every ingredient of a food or drink she tastes, as long as there are at least twenty milligrams of that substance present.
Superhuman Balance: It is a common misconception that balance isn't a sense, but Murdock's balance centers give her equilibrium at least on par with Spider-Girl's.
Telepathy: Due to Stick's training, Murdock has displayed minor telepathic abilities.
Radar Sense: A form of Human Echolocation via low wave projection, according to one theory, a energy within certain portions of the electromagnetic spectrum. The signal emanates from sending regions of her brain, after which it travels outward, bounces off objects around her, and returns to receiving regions of her brain. In any event, with this ability, Murdock synthesizes a very close analogue of three-dimensional 360% human sight.
Radar Substitute: An offshoot to Radar Sense this ability is the combination of all other sense (Excluding Radar Sense) and can allows to increase the stability of it as well as to be used as a sub-par replacement.
Person Identification: All of Murdock's senses help identify people by the specific patterns of their heartbeat, smell, touch, sound, and even Radar appearance as it allows to "see" through objects, specifically clothes.
Skills:
Expert Martial Artist: Murdock is a skilled, self-taught boxer due to watching her father compete and has been heavily trained in the ninja arts by Stick, a senior master and member of the secret order The Chaste.
Expert Stick Fighter: She is an expert in wielding all types of stick weapons which include staffs, batons, nunchaku, and paired short sticks.
Expert Marksman: She is a skilled marksman capable of throwing her sticks with great accuracy. Murdock is also skilled with most projectile-like weaponry, archery and is known to be utilizing military-grade weaponry in extreme situations.
Expert Detective: She has shown to be an expert detective using her intellect to figure out complex problems and hyper-senses to find clues and evidence to crime scenes.
Expert Tracker: With the aid of her hyper-senses, Murdock is able to track objects and people from miles away with ease.
Master Acrobat: She is classed as a superb-Olympic athlete, gymnast, acrobat, and aerialist due to constant training and exercise since her preteens.
Brief Bio:
The story of Madelyn Murdock began with her father. Jonathan "Battling Jack" Murdock raised his daughter alone, claiming Matt's mother had died. Jack wanted his daughter to be more successful than him. He impressed upon Madelyn the need to constantly study instead of playing sports with other kids. Jack hoped that Madelyn would become a doctor or a lawyer instead of an "uneducated pug" like himself. This led the neighborhood kids to bully the "cowardly" Madelyn as "Daredevil." Madelyn took out her frustrations by secretly training in his father's gym.
One day, Madelyn saw a blind man walking towards an oncoming truck. Madelyn pushed the man out of the way. The truck crashed and a radioactive isotope spilled out, striking Madelyn across the face and blinding her. While recovering in the hospital, Matt discovered her hearing, smell, taste, and touch were amplified to superhuman degrees. She also developed a "radar sense" that formed a mental picture of her surroundings.
During her time in the hospital, Madelyn was visited by a nun wearing a gold cross. Long thought dead, Matt would one day find his mother, "Maggie," was living as a nun. Madelyn wouldn't know who this woman was for many years.
A few months later, Madelyn received training from the ninja master Stick. From Stick, Madelyn learned how to control her new abilities and honed her skills in acrobatics and martial arts.
Meanwhile, Jack Murdock was desperate to fight. He reluctantly joined with a crooked fight promoter known as the "Fixer." The Fixer set up Jack to be a heavyweight contender, just to have him take a dive. Jack refused and won his fight. Later that night, Jack Murdock was shot dead by the Fixer and his men.
The now orphaned Matt searched for his father's killers. She finally found the Fixer's gang and punished them severely. She chased down and confronted the Fixer, who pulled a gun on Madelyn. Before he could fire it, the Fixer suffered heart attack and died. Madelyn tracked down Angelo, the last man remaining responsible for his father's death. She found him at a brothel. Madelyn confronted him but was attacked by the women who worked there. In the melee, Matt knocked one of the women out of the window and thought she was dead (she would return as Typhoid Mary). She ran away in horror over what he had done. She went searching for Stick, but Stick had abandoned her because of his actions.
Several years have passed since this incident and Madelyn currently fights crime alone to prevent any other children losing their parents to crime, while also attempting to pick up any clues leading to her former mentor. |
10,045 | 282 | 10 | 694 | 2,139 | With Peter and Gwen both having arrived first they got a front row seating to the showcase of all their new teammates. Course the both of them had bigger issues to fry. Namely catching up on old times as they hadn't seen one another in years. Peter talked a good bit about the program, though while he sounded proud about everything, a sudden drop in joy over the fated space station told Gwen a lot about it. She nodded in understanding, and while he wanted to know more she knew Peter enough to know prodding about these kind of things isn't good. 'Another time...' she told herself. After all if nothing else this was about the good times, not the downers.
Gwen on the other hand talked all about Oscorp, and was interested in how Peter talked about almost interning at the place. He didn't, due to a lot of reasons. The biggest thing though was everything about some of the projects he saw and Norman Osborn himself. The man just had an unsettling aura to him. Plus with some of the genetics experiments Peter made it clear he wanted no part of it. For Gwen it did explain some things. Randomly one day Henry Osborn just stopped wanting to be around Peter in general. The two got along great until suddenly they wanted nothing to do with one another. Gwen never got a reason why but now it started to make sense.
The two chit chatted some more about whatever as the rest came in, the first one being Virginia Potts. Peter and Gwen both looked over, giving a wave, head nod, and a collective “Hey.” and “Sup?”
Next up was Christian Frost, Gwen got a little hot under the collar for the guy as he was quite handsome, plus she loved the British accent. Peter rolled his eyes a little with Gwen seeing it.
“So uh, no one going to ask why the drunk dude just got dragged in here?” Peter asked aloud as it seemed like Zachary Zatara went unnoticed.
Logan was an interesting sight after the other various fellow young looking people. The gruff looking tough guy caught both of their attentions and neither wanted to say anything. Even Gwen, who could bench press the guy in her sleep. Wanted nothing to do since he just looked like someone who had seen shit.
If he wasn't bad enough, Johnny Blaze just straight up scared the two as they tried very actively to stay out of his way, even scooting over a few seats to get away from him. The guy just made both of them feel fearful for their lives. “Man they've really plucked out the cream of the crop for this didn't they?” Gwen muttered to Peter who could only meekly chuckle.
Kaleolani Kona also got some of Gwen's interest. But even Peter had to admit that guy was pretty good looking.
Dick seemed like a nice enough guy, but Peter still giggled at his name as quietly as possible to himself. He couldn't help it, he has the mentality of a child. Gwen quietly smacked him upside the head to make him stop.
Neither of them really paid too much attention to Rachel when she came in, however as Aaron was last in both Peter and Gwen immediately looked over at the mention of video games. “Woo yeah!” Peter shouted with a fist pump. “I like you already!” Gwen told him with a thumbs up.
Finally came Daredevil, they knew it was Daredevil mostly because despite the whole 'Arrive in normal clothes with costume in tow'. She apparently just decided to up and show up in costume. Course if the facts about her are to be believed... maybe she just didn't read the note on a count of the lack of eyes? Although Gwen dared Peter to ask if she didn't read the memo on a count of blindness. He figured that would be a good way to get twisted and knotted up like a pretzel.
“Alright alright settle down, we don't have all year.” Before Peter and Gwen could keep up the dorky act. Nick Fury had come into the room. Immediately grabbing attention from everyone as he was one to do. “Now then, my name is Nick Fury. You can call me Nick, Mr. Fury, doesn't really matter to me. All of you have been brought here for one reason and one reason only.” As Nick strolled around the large table at the end of the auditorium the table lit up revealing a holographic imagery of various news footage and newspaper clippings of super powered people having committed crimes or just general destruction around the world were coming up. Different languages and scenes with various levels of horror.
“The world has suddenly started becoming a not so friendly place. People gaining power are abusing them and hurting innocent civilians. Police can only do so much, Hell my organization even with its technology and training can only handle so much. That's where each of you come in. You were handpicked because of not just your abilities but your potential and character. This is a chance for each of you to do something about each of these stories. Every single life lost, every single thing stolen, each of you can do something about it. Now to get...” Before Nick could go any further a SHIELD agent came into the room. Awkwardly looking in and knocking, immediately getting Fury's ire as he sighed irritated and rubbed his forehead. “Sir sorry to interrupt but...” “This better be important agent.” Nick's glare at the agent turned however as the agent began muttering something to him, showing him some paperwork from inside a file.
“Sir our tracking searches for that weapons cache we never got, we were able to track down that they were intercepted.” The agent whispered to Nick Fury. “We believe it was the work of Kingpin, right now we don't have an exact location for the weapons since they must of scrambled the signal they're suppose to put out. We have three possible locations in New York they could be in.” Nick glanced down at the map then back up to the superhero team in front of him. The plan he had for the day was going to have to wait a bit but this might actually be in his best interest. “Alright, give all this to Coulson and tell him to ready up transportation, three undercover vehicles. Thank you.” Fury turned back to the heroes as the SHIELD agent ran off.
“Well guess we can all just go ahead and cut straight to the chase. My agent just informed me about a recent cache of weapons that went missing. Turns out they were stolen and are now hiding somewhere in New York City. So I can go ahead and start seeing all of you in action immediately.” Nick Fury had inputted into the table some information off of a small hidden away keyboard. “Now any and all weapon caches we acquire come with trackers for just such a situation. Turns out however our thieving friends knew this and scrambled them. We do now however know they're in a particular part of New York City, and in one of three locations. So with that in mind...” Nick Fury glanced around at the heroes quickly with his one eye. “Peter and Rachel, the both of you will be going to location A, Zachery and Richard, you'll both be going to location B, finally Christian and Gwen, the both of you will be going to location C. Just stay here for a moment and agent Coulson should be here to fill each of you in on the details. In the meantime Virginia, Jonathan, Logan, Aaron, Kaleolani, and Madelyn, the six of you will be going with me to our training area. I want to see just what exactly it is here I'm working with. Now then with all that settled, I'll speak to the six of you heading out later, and for the rest of you, follow me please.”
As Nick Fury left the room, taking the six more powerful heroes with him. Peter after a quick moment of silence in the room piped up. “Okay so which one of you is Rachel? I mean.... and I'm just taking a shot in the dark here, but its the only other girl in the room right?” Peter asked to Gwen's chuckle. | Full name: Peter Parker
Alias: Mr. Fantastic
Age: 17
Birthplace: Washington, DC
Hometown: New York City, NY
Powers: Due to cosmic radiation mutating his body. Peter's body has changed completely as he is now completely bendable and elastic. Able to stretch any part of himself (and before you can ask, yes, even that.) upwards of 3 miles. He can also perform numerous feats like remolding limbs, inflate into a balloon or deflate himself flat. However for his body to accommodate for all this. His body underwent a metamorphosis. Where his bones and a lot of his organs mutated. Leaving him with a bacteria sack that allows him to survive off of oxygen only. Truthfully he doesn't like thinking about all this.
Skills: Has a knack for guitar, both acoustic and electric, and for singing. Has a very high intelligence and particularly is skilled in robotics, chemistry, and engineering.
Brief Bio: Peter Parker has had a particularly hard life, growing up he barely saw his mom and dad who both were very loving but very secretive. When he was 6 they both left him with his Aunt May and Uncle Frank in New York City. They kissed him, told him they loved him and that they'd be back soon. It was the last time Peter ever saw them again as they seemingly vanished into thin air.
Growing up Peter was picked on routinely for being smart, small, and meek. It was a constant struggle for him and a lot of times he came home bruised or wet from toilet bowl water. Things did change though when he met Gwen Stacy. A very sweet girl who happened to play drums in a few bands. One of which being The Mary Janes, led by Mary Jane Watson, another person who became friends with Peter. It was because of her Peter took to learning the guitar for solace and eventually performing himself in some bands with Gwen.
As Peter went through middle school and the start of high school Peter was approached by a non-profit think tank program called 'The Future Foundation'. They were impressed by Peter's intelligence and wanted him to join. Peter kept refusing until one particular day at high school, the big bully Flash Thompson made Peter's day a living hell and when Peter finally snapped and fought back was the one who got punished while Flash got off with nothing. Peter in a fit of anger called The Future Foundation and told them he was joining. He left without a word to anyone outside his aunt and uncle that night.
When he joined the program instantly life became much better. Peter became friends with a lot of the other intelligent young men and women at the program. In particular Reed Richards, someone who was working on a big space station project Peter happily joined onto. The other major figure in it was a young Eastern European named Victor Von Damme. The man had a cold disposition and had problems with Peter but considering the people he had to deal with in the past was easy enough to handle. Soon the space station was able to grow from designs to an actual prototype Peter got to go into space with for a planned year excursion. However four months in the station had an attack by a surprise cosmic radiation storm. The protection system Peter made for the station failed and the three had to escape through separate emergency escape pods.
When Peter arrived back on Earth the cosmic energy from the cosmic storm had mutated Peter leaving him elastic. The Future Foundation was able to find him quickly enough but both Reed and Victor are still considered missing. Originally while Peter enjoys the powers he figured he could keep them to himself. However the space station incident left The Future Foundation suddenly losing a lot of funding. Peter wanted to help badly but couldn't think of a concrete plan, that is until he met Nick Fury with SHIELD. Who wanted to speak to him about the space station. Through a lengthy discussion Peter and Nick came up with an idea that might help bring attention and funding to the foundation.
Full name: Gwen Stacy
Alias: Spider-Girl
Age: 17
Birthplace: Metropolis, MA
Hometown: New York City, NY
Powers: Gaining the powers through a radioactive spider's bite. Gwen's body went well beyond the peak of human capability. Her strength allows her to lift 20 tons with no problems, she can leap long distances, stick to walls with her fingers and toes allowing to crawl on them. Plus a durability and endurance allowing her to take a beating and keep going. She also has a power that she simply refers to as 'spider-sense'. A sort of sixth sense where she can detect when someone is about to attack her or something harmful is coming at her. Outside of that, SHIELD and Peter Parker helped her create a web fluid she can shoot out of her wrists through shooters. It allows her to swing from anything the webbing can stick too, as well as stick or tie up enemies.
Skills: Skilled drummer, violinist, and flute player, great with computers.
Brief Bio: Gwen Stacy has had a fairly normal life. Her family with her younger brother were nothing special. Her mother worked at a bakery, her father was a top police officer originally in Metropolis but later New York City. Gwen herself was a smart girl in school but never really had too much of an interest in anything. Until that is she joined the music program on a whim. She loved all the different instruments and the sounds they could make. While she enjoyed the violin and flute though, she loved playing the drums. Being in front of this large group of them and banging away with sticks. She begged her parents for a drum set that they eventually got her for Christmas. A move they quickly regretted when even from the garage they could very easily hear her.
As Gwen grew up she joined various bands, competed in music competitions, just enjoyed herself really. She made a good friend in Peter Parker. A guy who had a seeming bulls-eye on him for every horrible bully in the school. They were very good friends, one who made Gwen feel special around. She helped him learn how to play the guitar and enjoyed spending time with him. However after a hard day at school for Peter, he was suddenly gone. He left school, his aunt and uncle only saying he joined some special program. Gwen cried that night thinking she'd never see him again.
Another one of Gwen's friends was Henry Osborn. Son of Norman Osborn, the president of Osborn Corp. He was a good guy, though Gwen could always tell someone was troubling him in his life, and she had a very good reason it was his father. He always made her comfortable whenever she met him. Though she remained on good terms with Henry. So when Henry's father made a special day for the high school Gwen and Henry went too to come visit the factory Gwen went ahead with going.
The particular group Gwen was in with Henry included Flash Thompson, the football playing meat head who Gwen still fumed over because of Peter leaving. When they were in a section of the Osborn Corp HQ devoted to genetic testing Gwen and Flesh got into a yelling argument when Flash shoved her hard. Causing her to slam into a counter and inadvertently letting a spider that had been treated with modified radioactive nanites free. The spider crawled into Gwen's back as she was helped by some of the other students and staff. When the spider crawled around to her wrist, and bit into it.
Gwen soon became violently ill and that night fell into a coma for two days. When she came too however she felt great, better than great actually. Her body was much more toned, she no longer needed glasses. Soon though she realized she could lift a car, climb on walls, all kinds of crazy things. Gwen realizing the potential in all this started trying to figure out how to exploit her power for money or something of the sort. However when she was out that night trying to decide what to do, she watched a mugger rob a woman and left not wanting to get involved. A moment she would regret deeply as she found out her father was later in a violent shootout with the same crook. Quickly she whipped up something to hide her identity and went in to help him but was too late. By the time she was there he had been fatally shot. After stopping the criminal she had enough time to be there for him as he laid bleeding out. In a crying fit she admitted to him what had happened. His final words to him are what drive her to this very day, 'With great power, comes great responsibility'.
When the rest of the NYPD arrived they had pegged her as a suspect. Immediately she was able to escape but realized people were looking for her. SHIELD thankfully came to her aid, she was brought in with them and given protection from the police on the grounds they had evidence she didn't commit any crimes. However many journalists, including the great (self proclaimed) J. Jonah Jameson. Didn't buy it as he is very distrustful of SHIELD. Gwen though appreciated it completely. So when Nick Fury told her about the new program he was tasked with creating she was all ears. |
10,046 | 282 | 11 | 1,617 | 689 | Frost
____________________________________________
After hearing about the situation Christian tired to wrap around his mind what was going on. He was going to be going on his first mission a few hours with someone he had never met before. In reality he knew that this was just some test to see if he was cut out for the job, but he could not understand what was so important about these weapons. He had tried to read Nick's mind but the man had a cage of steal up there and the only thing he could get was static.
Christian looked over to the girl named Gwen. He did not like to find out what he wanted by intruding on others minds, Christian thought it ruined the human experience. So he got up and went over to stand in front of the girl. "Hello I'm Christian, it's nice to meet you." Introductions were always an important thing to him, first impressions, you only get one.
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Zatara
____________________________________________
Zachary had been in stasis the entire time of the meet and greet. He was fuming, he always had authority issues but this was beyond that. SHIELD, had tried to ruin his life and kidnapped him, Nick had some explaining to do. Zachary listened to his whole speech and was still upset. Why did the over controlling, psychopathic maniac have to kidnap him if he just wanted to offer him a job. Nick could have just asked over the phone like any regular person, but NO!! He had to go all "Alpha-Male" and do things the hard way.
Zachary had finally woken up at the end of his speech. He could not complain about the great nap he had just taken but still was a little upset about being put in it in the first place. His partner was some guy named Richard. Dick, he thought to him self and began laughing. He could be childish, but now was not the time, Zachary stated to look around but it is not like Nicky have them photos of their blind dates so he would have to do this the hard way. Richard! Richard! Where are you? | Full name: Bruce Wayne
Alias:Batman
Age: 24
Birthplace: Gotham
Hometown: Gotham
Appearance:
Costume:
Powers:
Equipment:
Grapple gun: Standard issue grappling hook. He uses it quite a lot.
Batarangs: His main throwing weapon. he has an explosive variety.
The Bat Cave: His main base and place he goes to investigate. He keeps the batmobile there.
The Batmobile: His large armored car capable of reaching 130 mph.
The Utility belt: He keeps a few different gadgets there.
Skills:
Amazing in hand to hand combat.
Incredible Intelligence.
Strong but not superhuman strong. More like Peak human strength
Does not quit.
Brief Bio:
Bruce Wayne was born into Gotham royalty. His family were rich beyond the imaginations of most people. Bruce never knew this but his families money was built off the blood and corruption the city thrived on. His parents were grooming him to take over this empire of sin and corruption. However one night after a movie, his parents were gunned down in the streets leaving him an orphan at the age of 14. It was about this time he learned about his families money origins.
Bruce stayed in Gotham but left when was around 15 and returned three years later a changed man. He became the Batman and used his position to scare the criminals of the city into submission. He mainly does it to atone for what his family did to the city. He met Dick Greyson and basically raised the boy. He still feels terrible for forcing him away. |
10,047 | 282 | 12 | 1,270 | 2,337 | In the meantime Virginia, Jonathan, Logan, Aaron, Kaleolani, and Madelyn, the six of you will be going with me to our training area. I want to see just what exactly it is here I'm working with. Now then with all that settled, I'll speak to the six of you heading out later, and for the rest of you, follow me please.”
Kaleolani Was both pleased and worried at being kept back. He really didn't want to be near the sense of vulnerability Johny instilled in him but he also liked the idea of getting to show off before being assigned a mission. Call it ego, but he liked to demonstrate the punishment he could take and what he liked to call 'pele's kiss'.
He remembered the year he had to keep blindfolded when the 'gift' first came to him, it happened when a boy started bulling the others in the neighborhood. All he did was stare down at the boy's feet as he just got madder and madder until the skin suddenly blistered and burned. His Makuahine convinced everyone that it was a brown tree snake bite but after that he suddenly had a need for glasses. Just like the tattoos on his thighs, some things that were magical managed to work on him. Such as the non prescription lenses made from thin layers of blessed pahoehoe kept him from harming people with his eyes until he learned to control himself.
He filed out with the rest with his bare feet slapping on the deckplate.
282 13 2856891 alan-hawke 3 yrs ago 286 Madelyn followed behind Nick Fury as she was one of the few who were being left behind, she was planning to remain silent as she had planned to. However, she realized something about the hawaiian that she found... interesting. If her ears were correct, he was wearing glasses as she could hear the slight jiggle of the frame as he walked--however these couldn't have been prescriptions lenses. He would not need any glasses in the first place, from what she had heard about Kaleolani, his vision is heightened to that of a God. So why would he need glasses? She silently asked herself, but then her hypothesis came as fast as the question. Perhaps he could not--or found it difficult--to control his newfound vision abilites, such as the ability to being able to peek through walls and create heat beams from his pupils.
Perhaps, I could teach Kaleolani how to filter his senses naturally. But I should observe him in the training room beforehand, perhaps he has a way to control it I have yet to understand. Daredevil thought, preparing to take notes in her head of what Kaleolani was capable of. She was very interested in what she could learn about him and the others being led to the training room.
283 0 996936 agent-b52 4 yrs ago 408 Day 1 - Monday of Beginnings
Two messages were sent in your device today
The day of humanity has come into an end and the god will give a challenge for humanity that will last for 7 days but don't worry I forcibly downloaded the Demon Summoning Program in your phones.Let's survive!
(You tried to erase the app but it won't work)
At 14:00 a man is mysteriously murdered in Chiyoda
At 18:00 a massive explosion will occur in Ikebukuro
That's all, have a nice day
Current Time - 14:00 (1 IC Post= +30 min in time)
Akasaka-Safe-None
Aoyama-Safe-None
Chiyoda-Low Danger-Prevent The Laplace Mail!
Ikebukuro-Safe-None
Omotesando-Safe-None
Roppongi-Kinda Safe-Demon Battle(Optional)
Shibuya-Safe-None
Shinagawa-Safe-None
Shinjuku-Safe-None
Ueno-Safe-None
Remy Newman - ALIVE - 1
Milo Cash - ALIVE - 1
Mitsuki Fujiwara - ALIVE - 1
Colton Thoroughwood - ALIVE - 3
Leona Ramirez - ALIVE - 2
Michael Witherspoon - ALIVE - 2
Arthur Pipkin - ALIVE - 3
Emman Zimmerman - ALIVE - 1
Sayaka Miyazuki - ALIVE - 1
SEE MORE ABOUT YOUR CHARACTER
NOTES:
If there is an event on one of the locations, all players needs to be there when it is an optional event no need.
Also, free battles doesn't consume time
283 1 1014979 agent-b52 4 yrs ago 408 Shibuya 901 - 9:30
Mitsuki was walking in the mall with her friend when a soldier asked them for directions.The language was broken but she managed to understand that he was asking about directions to where is the old restaurant is.The old restaurant? I don't know any old restaurants here but there is a famous cheap restaurant.All you have to do is follow this path until you reached the end and in the end is where the restaurant lies" Mitsuki answered pointing in the north direction then they continued walking.
Mitsuki and her friend was in the new clothes store.They were very amazed because of the beatiful clothes.They then started to fill their shopping baskets with the clothes they want and payed it.They then go to the dessert shop to eat crepes and her friend started a conversation.
"We bought a lot today huh?" Her friend said
"Yeah" Mitsuki replied
"You know what? I got 2 strange messages today" her friend added then she showed her cellphone to Mitsuki and the message was the same message that was sent to Mitsuki
"Haha that is just a prank" Mitsuki said
"you're right.demons? that is just too unrealistic and that Laplace Mail was even more unrealistic" her friend replied
"Haha yeah right the guy who sent this must be very crazy" Mitsuki added while doing a craze face
---
Roppongi - 10:00
Emman was in his clinic when his cellphone rings.He opened his cell, there are two messages sent.The one about the Demon-Summoning Program and the Laplace Mail.He just ignored it and continued on his work. | Full name: Kaleolani (Heavenly voice) Kona (Hawaiian name meaning Lady. Also a lovely village in Hawaii where Iron Man Hawaii is held. Many well known products are named after the village such as Kona Coffee)
Alias: (super)Mana
Age: 20
Birthplace: Krypton
Hometown: Honolulu
Appearance:
Costume:
He wears the blanket he was brought to earth in as a sarong, he doesn't really need a costume since he is nearly invulnerable. Most often it is worn around his waist, if a need to be formal, he wears it up over his left shoulder.
Powers:
At the moment: Flight, superhuman endurance, superhuman senses, x-ray and heat vision.
To be developed: superhuman strength/speed(mental blockage), freeze breath
Skills:
Ukulele/guitar To teach him how to live in a world of grass
Scuba diving because of his ability to hold his breath for much longer than most.
Studying agricultural business at college so he can help the farm.
Hula dance to learn to control his body, yes men hula, really well.
Brief Bio:
In hawaii, there was a volcanic eruption and no one noticed the crashing ship from outer space plow through the wrath of Pele. The two sugarcane farmers lost their home to what they thought was a lava bomb but it revealed to have a baby within its shell. The couple adopted the baby and claimed it was left/given to them by a woman from the mainland who couldn't explain a new baby while her husband had been deployed for a year.
They raised him as best they could where he grew strong and tan under the tropical sun, When his powers started to manifest, they could blame it on one thing or another in the life of living on a volcano. they put him in the boyscouts from an early age and by the time he was done with highscool, he was an eagle scout with a troop of his own. When he finished highschool, he got a scholarship to study business in Star city. Too bad life has bigger plans for him.
The scholarship was a ruse by SHIELD to willingly remove him from his family. They wold still teach him what they promised, but they had a better use for his 'talents' |
10,048 | 283 | 2 | 59 | 408 | Events:(For All Players)
---
Wherever you are, you got attacked by a 2 demon(any weak demon in SMT).However, as you encounter them.All your demons summoned all of a sudden then you will fight them.
---
Roppongi;12:30
Remy was playing a PC game when Mari screams and he heard a door slam.
"Mari!?" Remy called her name
"Mari wherever you are show yourself" Remy said
"This is not funny" Remy added
Remy searched around the house and he confirmed that Mari was outside.A rush of adrenaline struck him and rushes to leave the house and searched around the streets of Roppongi.After minutes searching around Mari was still missing.He ran around like crazy just to search for his little sister.Also, she tried to ask around but nobody saw her.
"Mari! Mari!" Remy screamed her name again then he felt a presence someone was running behind his back.
He turned around and saw a little girl running to the alley.
"Mari!" Remy shouted her name and followed her
The little girl won't stop and Remy was tired of running.Both of them ran and ran until they reached a dead end.The little girl was really Mari.
"Mari there you are!" Remy said worried
"Big b-brother!!!" Mari cried her name then hugs him
"Ghosts are chasing me!" Mari cried
"Don't worry I'm here now" Remy comforted Mari
"B-big brother! They're behind you!" Mari said as she pointed at them
Remy turned around and it was a bunch of demons.
"Wha-what!? Who are you?" Remy asked
"Ahahhaha we're demons and by the way I'm Fairy Pixie and I'm here for blood" The little blue fairy said while mime punching
"I'm Touki Kobold and I want my friend back!" a standing dog with a weapon said
"Y-your friend?" Remy said
"Yeah! My friend and I want him back! Urghhh!!!" Touki Kobold replied and tried to hit Remy with his weapon but Remy managed to dodge the attack.
"Not so fast! Zio" Fairy Pixie casted a spell and Remy got electrocuted
"Aaahhhh!!" Remy groaned in pain
"Haha not so strong now to finish you" Touki Kobold said as he raises his weapon then a blue light appeared in front of Remy and it summons an another Touki Kobold
"I'm sorry my friend but I can't let you hurt my master!" The another Kobold said and hits the other Touki Kobold and it knocked down easily
"How about you pixie! You want to die?" Touki Kobold threatened Pixie
"N-no l-leave me alone" pixie replied with a scared voice and ran away
"Big brother!" Mari called his name and hugs him again
"Are you okay?" Mari asked
"Yes, I'm okay"
Remy looked at Kobold.He wondered why did he call him "master"? and where did those demon came from.Is this the demon summoning program? | Name: Remy Newman
Age: 18
Personality: Remy is very nice and smart but will do everything just to keep something
Bio: Remy Newman was born in New York,Manhattan but his family moved in to Tokyo 10 years later.Remy was a gamer at a very young age.He was famous in an mmorpg game named Heroes of Enchantia.He is also a smart student, he is not in the honour roll but he never fails a subject.Now, Remy had graduated in highschool and currently looking for a school where can he study in college
Starting Demon: Touki Kobold
Device: PSP
Power: Zio |
10,049 | 283 | 3 | 59 | 408 | 13:30 - Shibuya
"Who are you?" Mitsuki asked Lorelei and Peri
"We're demons" Lorelei answered
"You summoned us so you can be safe from the evil demons" Peri connected Lorelei's answer
"We forgot to introduce ourselves... By the way, I'm Fairy Lorelei" Lorelei introduced herself
"and I'm Femme Peri" Peri introduced herself as well
"This is a dream right?" Sayaka whispered Mitsuki
"Pinch me" Mitsuki whispered back then Sayaka pinched her
"Ouch!" She shouted in pain and the two demons are still here
"No... This is not a dream" Mitsuki said
"Oh well let's return them to our phones" Sayaka said and she raised her phone then returned Peri.Mitsuki did the same thing as well. | Name: Remy Newman
Age: 18
Personality: Remy is very nice and smart but will do everything just to keep something
Bio: Remy Newman was born in New York,Manhattan but his family moved in to Tokyo 10 years later.Remy was a gamer at a very young age.He was famous in an mmorpg game named Heroes of Enchantia.He is also a smart student, he is not in the honour roll but he never fails a subject.Now, Remy had graduated in highschool and currently looking for a school where can he study in college
Starting Demon: Touki Kobold
Device: PSP
Power: Zio |
10,050 | 284 | 0 | 1,351 | 744 | The village of Cantarco was usually a quiet place positioned in a small oasis area next to a gigantic volcano. It's soil bared some of the most tasty and sought after fruit, many traders stopping by to trade things like fish and other foods that were hard to come by in the volcanic region. The town was nothing massive only holding about 40 souls, so everyone knew everyone, unless you were new in town. But the majority of the towns folk were around there late 30's to mid 50's. Their own veteran hunter was around 56, unfortunately his career was cut short when his leg was violently broken by a Gravios. He admits it wasn't his finest moment, and says that he was going to retire soon anyway. Nobody believes him, they all know how much he loved his job.
So now the village is in search of new hunters. Be they emerging or well established, the village would welcome them with open arms and healthy smile. The village was in constant need of protection because of the many aggressive monsters that called the volcano home. And this is were our heroes come in. They would have to start out small and prove themselves before earning fame and eventually maybe even preventing some calamities. If they can hack it that is. | NPC Characters.
Cantarco Village
Cyrus
Appearance: Cyrus is a rather intense looking man, he's in his mid 60s having hunted for a large majority of that time. This left him with plenty of scars but never any on his face he considered himself lucky in that regard. He is well built not notably big but definitely not scrawny.
Personality: Cyrus is a relatively laid back person despite his look, but he knows how hunter works better than most. And when he sees people failing to comply with even the basic rules of it he is bound to get a little cross. He's been around the world and knows a lot of things be it nice vacation spots or where the meanest monsters hang out, you need information like that he'll be more than happy to impart it on you.
Narrative purpose: Cyrus is here to mentor for the new fledgling hunters who have come to replace him. He had once protected the village mostly on his own but it was not always that way. He'll give your characters tips and act as the first quest giver, later on he will also hand out some of the more difficult quest. He also lives in the town hall and will be there to make sure the team can function as a unit.
Chief
Apperance: We all know what's behind the hider.
Personality: The Chief is an odd one. She's far to active for her age and darts around like there's no tomorrow. She is basically a mum to everyone, but she doesn't like people being reckless. Recklessness makes managing the village harder, and she's got enough wrinkles to worry about without people being fools.
Narrative purpose: The Chief runs the village, it's as simple as that. She'll also be doubling as the buff kitchen serving soups with sides and sauces to provide the different buffs. She'll had out most of the urgent quests. |
10,051 | 284 | 1 | 1,966 | 2,593 | Armend Kinora ⚔
Armend felt cooked, hot to the very core of his being. He had looked at the volcano from a far and like an idiot, overestimated himself. His clothes were hanging off his torso and around his waist, dangling over the thick belt that acted fashionably and reasonably. There was something to be said about anything or anyone that could get his clothes off.
"Arghhhhh, what the fuck!" he screamed between labored breathes.
He trudged onward, the entrance to the village in sight now. "Who the hell told you being a Hunter would be fun? Oh yea, it was you dumbass. Trekking up a volcano must be pure jubilee for Hunters, either that or they're brains are fried from doing it." In a moment of aggravation, Armend finally yelled. "Who builds villages on volcanoes!!!"
To be honest, trekking up the super-hot mountain would had been easier if he hadn't jogged most of the way up there. So excited by testing his grit that he denounced his body's need for moisture. It all started when he read that a villager, in a village a few leagues back,
had completed the climb in an hour. The man's brother had said it would never be done again. Well... Armend had just done it in under forty minutes. Take that you rat bastard, thought Armend while he clawed his way through dirt roads; all in hopes that he was heading towards the Hunter's Guild. | Name: Armend Kindora (Armas)
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Height: 6'1"
Preferred Weapon: Dual Swords
Likes: The Hunt, Physical Exertion, and Exploration.
Dislikes: Commitment, Authoritative Figures.
Personality: Armend expects, demands, and will ultimately snatch freedom away for himself if the need should arise. In his village he was disregarded for having neither parents or advocates. He can be sarcastic and cynical, mostly because of the way his village treated him or the "Abandoned" as they liked to call him. However, he has grown fond of the warmth that sprouts when receiving thanks from others. When he's on the hunt he often become narrow-minded and stubborn. The only thing that really seems to rattle him is the mention of family.
Short Backstory: Armend was left in his former village by his father. The people there, the Village Chief in particular were nasty to the one's they nicknamed "Abandoned". The village had become famous as a dumping ground for the unwanted decades ago. After years of abuse, Armend staged a show of rebellion, telling the chief he'd eventually take everything the man held dear. He left the village to become a hunter soon after that, seeing it as the easiest method of gaining wealth and fame. Two things he would need to snatch the so-called "throne". He found his way to Cantarco, hoping to start his new career off with a bang. |
10,052 | 284 | 2 | 1,351 | 744 | The trek would have taken Armend around the base of the volcano to around to its side that faced the ocean, the village was nicely perched in and oasis that had fertile volcanic soil and easy access to the ocean's water via a stream that ran past the town. Once Armend entered the town he would have been greeted with a few looks, tho these looks were not hostile in any way. They were more amused seeing yet another traveller getting worn down by the trek to the town.
A spry little boy came running towards Armend then skidded to a halt in front of him. "You're here for the hunters job ain't ya!" The kid said with complete confidence. Armend was a new face in town, those were rare enough but the fact that he came alone was a dead giveaway of his intentions, even to the young boy. "Well don't just stand there! This way!" The kid then tried to lead Armend towards the hall.
-----
Clara was so taken back by being in the presence of Cyrus she forced herself to give a fairly clumsy bow. Cyrus chuckled, "Take a seat kid I'll go get the chief and we'll discuss your initiation." Clara watched Cyrus walk off and then heard a knock on the door. She didn't move, then it was knocked on again and she sighed walking over to the door and opened it. She then looked down on the boy who was practically vibrating with joy. "New hunter come to town! He looks kinda grumpy! But that's not bad! Look here he comes!" The kid was rattling out words far to quickly but Clara was able to understand and shooed him off the looked at the new hunter. He doesn't look that impressive. she thought to herself. | NPC Characters.
Cantarco Village
Cyrus
Appearance: Cyrus is a rather intense looking man, he's in his mid 60s having hunted for a large majority of that time. This left him with plenty of scars but never any on his face he considered himself lucky in that regard. He is well built not notably big but definitely not scrawny.
Personality: Cyrus is a relatively laid back person despite his look, but he knows how hunter works better than most. And when he sees people failing to comply with even the basic rules of it he is bound to get a little cross. He's been around the world and knows a lot of things be it nice vacation spots or where the meanest monsters hang out, you need information like that he'll be more than happy to impart it on you.
Narrative purpose: Cyrus is here to mentor for the new fledgling hunters who have come to replace him. He had once protected the village mostly on his own but it was not always that way. He'll give your characters tips and act as the first quest giver, later on he will also hand out some of the more difficult quest. He also lives in the town hall and will be there to make sure the team can function as a unit.
Chief
Apperance: We all know what's behind the hider.
Personality: The Chief is an odd one. She's far to active for her age and darts around like there's no tomorrow. She is basically a mum to everyone, but she doesn't like people being reckless. Recklessness makes managing the village harder, and she's got enough wrinkles to worry about without people being fools.
Narrative purpose: The Chief runs the village, it's as simple as that. She'll also be doubling as the buff kitchen serving soups with sides and sauces to provide the different buffs. She'll had out most of the urgent quests. |
10,053 | 284 | 3 | 1,966 | 2,593 | Armend Kinora ⚔
From his self-loathing place on the ground, he had missed the clinquant ocean. He stood to his boots, scratched his head and wondered. H-How did I miss this? Suddenly he wasn't as hot as before, his skin was still sticky with heat but now he felt the ocean's wet-whisper on his skin.
The young boy who was annoyingly eager for his arrival had led him to some pretty big shack. Armend followed casually, his hands locked behind his head as he took glances at his surroundings. There were elderly people everywhere. The few young people he had spotted weren't capable of stealing a kiss, forget wielding a blade or hunting monsters.
"Hey kid-" he blurted, wondering just whose home he was banging on.
When the door opened to revealed tanned-skinned girl with an eye-patch on. Armend raised a brow, cupped his chin in his hand, and glanced her up and down. She wasn't anything special. Her appearance told stories of hardship and callous work. It invoked some form of respect... or pity. As she stared, he fitted on his shirt and strode pass her into the shack. He pressed his hand firm against his head, poked his chin out a bit out of habit, looking near condescending, and smiled a princely, powerful, grin.
"I'm just gonna be blunt here, Pops, this shabby little village needs a Hunter, right? well look me up and down, inspect me, tell me you don't see greatness in these eyes of mines." | Name: Armend Kindora (Armas)
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Height: 6'1"
Preferred Weapon: Dual Swords
Likes: The Hunt, Physical Exertion, and Exploration.
Dislikes: Commitment, Authoritative Figures.
Personality: Armend expects, demands, and will ultimately snatch freedom away for himself if the need should arise. In his village he was disregarded for having neither parents or advocates. He can be sarcastic and cynical, mostly because of the way his village treated him or the "Abandoned" as they liked to call him. However, he has grown fond of the warmth that sprouts when receiving thanks from others. When he's on the hunt he often become narrow-minded and stubborn. The only thing that really seems to rattle him is the mention of family.
Short Backstory: Armend was left in his former village by his father. The people there, the Village Chief in particular were nasty to the one's they nicknamed "Abandoned". The village had become famous as a dumping ground for the unwanted decades ago. After years of abuse, Armend staged a show of rebellion, telling the chief he'd eventually take everything the man held dear. He left the village to become a hunter soon after that, seeing it as the easiest method of gaining wealth and fame. Two things he would need to snatch the so-called "throne". He found his way to Cantarco, hoping to start his new career off with a bang. |
10,054 | 284 | 4 | 1,351 | 744 | Clara watches Armend pass with a look of slight distaste. She closed the door behind him and watched him put his clothes back on, then she frowned at his disrespectful words about her village. "You would do well to watch that tongue." She hissed at him, she was about to say more but then she heard the sound of a walking stick on the stone floor of the hut. She instantly bowed her head to show respect to the chief.
-----
A soft and crocked voice came from the now open side room door. "I'm sorry but you're going to have to repeat that son. My hearing isn't what it used to be." the voice belonged to a very small old lady. She was easily only a meter tall and her face looked like it had been left out to dry for far to long. Cyrus chuckled "Don't worry about it Chief, he just said he wanted to be our new hunter as well." the old lady bounced up and down a little "Oh how exciting! I guess we would need more than one hunter if we are to replace you no?" Cyrus nodded with a modest look on his face "You are to kind. But I do agree, more hunters sooner would mean we are far better defended." the chief nodded.
"So! You two fancy yourselves as hunter material ayy?" The chief said with a slightly mocking tone. "Well you can't be a proper hunter without a weapon!" She snapped then hobbled over to a closed door and slowly pushed it open. Behind it was an assortment of weapons Ranging from bow's and bowguns to hammers and lances. "Take yeer pic! If ya tough enough!" | NPC Characters.
Cantarco Village
Cyrus
Appearance: Cyrus is a rather intense looking man, he's in his mid 60s having hunted for a large majority of that time. This left him with plenty of scars but never any on his face he considered himself lucky in that regard. He is well built not notably big but definitely not scrawny.
Personality: Cyrus is a relatively laid back person despite his look, but he knows how hunter works better than most. And when he sees people failing to comply with even the basic rules of it he is bound to get a little cross. He's been around the world and knows a lot of things be it nice vacation spots or where the meanest monsters hang out, you need information like that he'll be more than happy to impart it on you.
Narrative purpose: Cyrus is here to mentor for the new fledgling hunters who have come to replace him. He had once protected the village mostly on his own but it was not always that way. He'll give your characters tips and act as the first quest giver, later on he will also hand out some of the more difficult quest. He also lives in the town hall and will be there to make sure the team can function as a unit.
Chief
Apperance: We all know what's behind the hider.
Personality: The Chief is an odd one. She's far to active for her age and darts around like there's no tomorrow. She is basically a mum to everyone, but she doesn't like people being reckless. Recklessness makes managing the village harder, and she's got enough wrinkles to worry about without people being fools.
Narrative purpose: The Chief runs the village, it's as simple as that. She'll also be doubling as the buff kitchen serving soups with sides and sauces to provide the different buffs. She'll had out most of the urgent quests. |
10,055 | 284 | 5 | 1,966 | 2,593 | Armend Kinora ⚔
Armend's hair veiled his laughing eyes as he forced a smirk back. The world was so big, so huge, that it had literally everyone and everything possible inside its massive grasp. One just needed to know where to look to find the elusive dwarf. He lifted his head up, all hints of a smile gone and stared at the elderly woman. She's so small, he thought to himself, while sauntering towards the wall of weapons.
He eyed each of them with equal importance, as if a single detail would dictate his choice. When he scoured them for the second time, his attention was drawn by to the dual blades. He narrowed his gaze, imagined himself twisting and dancing with them in his hands. Suddenly his eyes were lit with life. "These! I want these!" He reached out to them, took them off the wall, and crudely swung them around. It was obvious he lacked the skills to actually use them.
"And I can have this for free, Lady?" | Name: Armend Kindora (Armas)
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Height: 6'1"
Preferred Weapon: Dual Swords
Likes: The Hunt, Physical Exertion, and Exploration.
Dislikes: Commitment, Authoritative Figures.
Personality: Armend expects, demands, and will ultimately snatch freedom away for himself if the need should arise. In his village he was disregarded for having neither parents or advocates. He can be sarcastic and cynical, mostly because of the way his village treated him or the "Abandoned" as they liked to call him. However, he has grown fond of the warmth that sprouts when receiving thanks from others. When he's on the hunt he often become narrow-minded and stubborn. The only thing that really seems to rattle him is the mention of family.
Short Backstory: Armend was left in his former village by his father. The people there, the Village Chief in particular were nasty to the one's they nicknamed "Abandoned". The village had become famous as a dumping ground for the unwanted decades ago. After years of abuse, Armend staged a show of rebellion, telling the chief he'd eventually take everything the man held dear. He left the village to become a hunter soon after that, seeing it as the easiest method of gaining wealth and fame. Two things he would need to snatch the so-called "throne". He found his way to Cantarco, hoping to start his new career off with a bang. |
10,056 | 284 | 6 | 1,351 | 744 | The chief nodded to Armend, "If you can look after the town yeer bound to get more then just some dull old blades." She smiled then looked back at Clara. "So Clara, what are you going to pick?" The chief's tone made it sound as if she already knew the answer. Cyrus was more focused on the lack of skill that Armend had just shown with the dual blades, those being on of his favoured weapons. He chuckled to himself They have a big journey ahead of them. Cyrus thought, unable to strike the grin from his face.
-----
Clara looked down at the chief then back up at the assortment of weapons. She reached in and pulled the massive Great sword from the wall. This seems to please the chief who then waddled over to Cyrus' side. "What's next?" Clara asked slightly unsure of what the response was going to be. Cyrus looked over at her with the grin still present on his face. "You two are going mushroom gathering!" Cyrus said with the amused grin still on his face making it seem as if he could be joking. Clara herself honestly couldn't tell if Cyrus was being serious, but either way she really wasn't sure how to react. | NPC Characters.
Cantarco Village
Cyrus
Appearance: Cyrus is a rather intense looking man, he's in his mid 60s having hunted for a large majority of that time. This left him with plenty of scars but never any on his face he considered himself lucky in that regard. He is well built not notably big but definitely not scrawny.
Personality: Cyrus is a relatively laid back person despite his look, but he knows how hunter works better than most. And when he sees people failing to comply with even the basic rules of it he is bound to get a little cross. He's been around the world and knows a lot of things be it nice vacation spots or where the meanest monsters hang out, you need information like that he'll be more than happy to impart it on you.
Narrative purpose: Cyrus is here to mentor for the new fledgling hunters who have come to replace him. He had once protected the village mostly on his own but it was not always that way. He'll give your characters tips and act as the first quest giver, later on he will also hand out some of the more difficult quest. He also lives in the town hall and will be there to make sure the team can function as a unit.
Chief
Apperance: We all know what's behind the hider.
Personality: The Chief is an odd one. She's far to active for her age and darts around like there's no tomorrow. She is basically a mum to everyone, but she doesn't like people being reckless. Recklessness makes managing the village harder, and she's got enough wrinkles to worry about without people being fools.
Narrative purpose: The Chief runs the village, it's as simple as that. She'll also be doubling as the buff kitchen serving soups with sides and sauces to provide the different buffs. She'll had out most of the urgent quests. |
10,057 | 284 | 7 | 1,966 | 2,593 | Armend Kinora ⚔
His curiosity piqued, Armend flourished the dual blades with a surprising amount of natural talent before turning to Cyrus. "Mushroom Hunting? That should be easy. Do you have like a basket or something? You guys making soup later? cause to be honest I'm soooo hungry."
He brought the blades to his side and peeked over towards Clara. I'm not surprise by the Greatsword, I could tell she'd be the manly type. | Name: Armend Kindora (Armas)
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Height: 6'1"
Preferred Weapon: Dual Swords
Likes: The Hunt, Physical Exertion, and Exploration.
Dislikes: Commitment, Authoritative Figures.
Personality: Armend expects, demands, and will ultimately snatch freedom away for himself if the need should arise. In his village he was disregarded for having neither parents or advocates. He can be sarcastic and cynical, mostly because of the way his village treated him or the "Abandoned" as they liked to call him. However, he has grown fond of the warmth that sprouts when receiving thanks from others. When he's on the hunt he often become narrow-minded and stubborn. The only thing that really seems to rattle him is the mention of family.
Short Backstory: Armend was left in his former village by his father. The people there, the Village Chief in particular were nasty to the one's they nicknamed "Abandoned". The village had become famous as a dumping ground for the unwanted decades ago. After years of abuse, Armend staged a show of rebellion, telling the chief he'd eventually take everything the man held dear. He left the village to become a hunter soon after that, seeing it as the easiest method of gaining wealth and fame. Two things he would need to snatch the so-called "throne". He found his way to Cantarco, hoping to start his new career off with a bang. |
10,058 | 284 | 8 | 1,351 | 744 | Cyrus nodded to Armend "Indeed it should. So I'll leave you two to it. Here's what you got to get." Cyrus handed Armend a parchment with a picture of a peculiar looking bright red mushroom Most people would be able to identify it as a Nitroshroom, it also had a little X10 on the side. Cyrus smiled, "When you get back I might have to show you a few tricks." He gestured to the dual blades.
The chief tapped the back of Clara's leg and nodded towards Armend. "You better get going you two. The faster you prove yourselves the faster you can fight some real baddies!" She seemed overly excited for one so old.
-----
Clara nodded to the chief and bowed to her then turned and bowed to Cyrus as well. "I will see you when we get back." She said in her firm slightly commanding voice. She then looked over Armend's shoulder at the quest paper easy. She thought then started to head towards the hall doors. "Lets get going... Partner." She said the last word with an amount of apprehension. | NPC Characters.
Cantarco Village
Cyrus
Appearance: Cyrus is a rather intense looking man, he's in his mid 60s having hunted for a large majority of that time. This left him with plenty of scars but never any on his face he considered himself lucky in that regard. He is well built not notably big but definitely not scrawny.
Personality: Cyrus is a relatively laid back person despite his look, but he knows how hunter works better than most. And when he sees people failing to comply with even the basic rules of it he is bound to get a little cross. He's been around the world and knows a lot of things be it nice vacation spots or where the meanest monsters hang out, you need information like that he'll be more than happy to impart it on you.
Narrative purpose: Cyrus is here to mentor for the new fledgling hunters who have come to replace him. He had once protected the village mostly on his own but it was not always that way. He'll give your characters tips and act as the first quest giver, later on he will also hand out some of the more difficult quest. He also lives in the town hall and will be there to make sure the team can function as a unit.
Chief
Apperance: We all know what's behind the hider.
Personality: The Chief is an odd one. She's far to active for her age and darts around like there's no tomorrow. She is basically a mum to everyone, but she doesn't like people being reckless. Recklessness makes managing the village harder, and she's got enough wrinkles to worry about without people being fools.
Narrative purpose: The Chief runs the village, it's as simple as that. She'll also be doubling as the buff kitchen serving soups with sides and sauces to provide the different buffs. She'll had out most of the urgent quests. |
10,059 | 284 | 9 | 1,966 | 2,593 | Armend Kinora ⚔
Armend shrugged his shoulders with a whimsical smile. So they were officially partners now. He locked his hands behind his head and sauntered behind her, following behind with a undeserving confidence. "Hey, can I get something to drink first? I'm thirsty."
"Claaaraaa? hey, ya hear me? I'm dying here." | Name: Armend Kindora (Armas)
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Height: 6'1"
Preferred Weapon: Dual Swords
Likes: The Hunt, Physical Exertion, and Exploration.
Dislikes: Commitment, Authoritative Figures.
Personality: Armend expects, demands, and will ultimately snatch freedom away for himself if the need should arise. In his village he was disregarded for having neither parents or advocates. He can be sarcastic and cynical, mostly because of the way his village treated him or the "Abandoned" as they liked to call him. However, he has grown fond of the warmth that sprouts when receiving thanks from others. When he's on the hunt he often become narrow-minded and stubborn. The only thing that really seems to rattle him is the mention of family.
Short Backstory: Armend was left in his former village by his father. The people there, the Village Chief in particular were nasty to the one's they nicknamed "Abandoned". The village had become famous as a dumping ground for the unwanted decades ago. After years of abuse, Armend staged a show of rebellion, telling the chief he'd eventually take everything the man held dear. He left the village to become a hunter soon after that, seeing it as the easiest method of gaining wealth and fame. Two things he would need to snatch the so-called "throne". He found his way to Cantarco, hoping to start his new career off with a bang. |
10,060 | 284 | 10 | 1,351 | 744 | Clara sighs and reaches into a small satchel on her hip and pulls out a nice cool drink. She then holds it out for Armend. God he really is new isn't he... She hadn't really interacted with many people from outside the village. Excluding traders but they knew how to survive everywhere. So someone not having a cool drink handy in her town was slightly baffling. "Just drink it quickly, we shouldn't waste time." She said and started off towards the village gates.
-----
The chief smiled as she watched the two walk off. "they'll be alright." She said with a slightly proud tone, "if you're say so." Cyrus replied as they watched the doors to the hall close. | NPC Characters.
Cantarco Village
Cyrus
Appearance: Cyrus is a rather intense looking man, he's in his mid 60s having hunted for a large majority of that time. This left him with plenty of scars but never any on his face he considered himself lucky in that regard. He is well built not notably big but definitely not scrawny.
Personality: Cyrus is a relatively laid back person despite his look, but he knows how hunter works better than most. And when he sees people failing to comply with even the basic rules of it he is bound to get a little cross. He's been around the world and knows a lot of things be it nice vacation spots or where the meanest monsters hang out, you need information like that he'll be more than happy to impart it on you.
Narrative purpose: Cyrus is here to mentor for the new fledgling hunters who have come to replace him. He had once protected the village mostly on his own but it was not always that way. He'll give your characters tips and act as the first quest giver, later on he will also hand out some of the more difficult quest. He also lives in the town hall and will be there to make sure the team can function as a unit.
Chief
Apperance: We all know what's behind the hider.
Personality: The Chief is an odd one. She's far to active for her age and darts around like there's no tomorrow. She is basically a mum to everyone, but she doesn't like people being reckless. Recklessness makes managing the village harder, and she's got enough wrinkles to worry about without people being fools.
Narrative purpose: The Chief runs the village, it's as simple as that. She'll also be doubling as the buff kitchen serving soups with sides and sauces to provide the different buffs. She'll had out most of the urgent quests. |
10,061 | 284 | 11 | 1,966 | 2,593 | Armend Kinora ⚔
Armend reached for the drink and took a nice swig of it. The regard he had for himself and other people's germs were non-existent, especially with the amount of dry mouth he held. A good gulp later and he was admiring the unusually clear sky of a volcano village. He imagined red billowing clouds would be the constant forecast for Cantarco. He jogged next to Clara and held her drink for her to grab.
"Thanks, Partner." Partner had a nice emphasis on it, one that was added upon with a smirk. | Name: Armend Kindora (Armas)
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Height: 6'1"
Preferred Weapon: Dual Swords
Likes: The Hunt, Physical Exertion, and Exploration.
Dislikes: Commitment, Authoritative Figures.
Personality: Armend expects, demands, and will ultimately snatch freedom away for himself if the need should arise. In his village he was disregarded for having neither parents or advocates. He can be sarcastic and cynical, mostly because of the way his village treated him or the "Abandoned" as they liked to call him. However, he has grown fond of the warmth that sprouts when receiving thanks from others. When he's on the hunt he often become narrow-minded and stubborn. The only thing that really seems to rattle him is the mention of family.
Short Backstory: Armend was left in his former village by his father. The people there, the Village Chief in particular were nasty to the one's they nicknamed "Abandoned". The village had become famous as a dumping ground for the unwanted decades ago. After years of abuse, Armend staged a show of rebellion, telling the chief he'd eventually take everything the man held dear. He left the village to become a hunter soon after that, seeing it as the easiest method of gaining wealth and fame. Two things he would need to snatch the so-called "throne". He found his way to Cantarco, hoping to start his new career off with a bang. |
10,062 | 284 | 12 | 1,351 | 744 | Clara shook her head and waved off Armend's hand. "Keep it. Heaven knows you're going to need it later." She didn't even bother to think that he might not have somewhere to put it. The giant sword sat on her back and she felt it's weight was quite welcome she could only imagine what it might like to also wear a heavy set or armor along with it. "I guess we're going to be working with each other for a while. Might as well get acquainted. I'm Clara, what was your name again? Almond?" She said with a straight face, she had legitimately not been paying attention when he talked.
-----
The two would trek for a around 20 minuets until they got to a secluded cave that housed a well crafted tent. The tent was home to a hard looking bed, a blue and red set of chests. The blue chest was full of supplies like more cool drinks some first aid equipment and some maps. The maps gave a fairly crude but still useful layout of a the volcano. There was a zone that was colored half blue and half green this was to indicate that it had a body of water and plant life, most likely where the herbivores would live this area was the only one connected to the camp by the map it was labeled area 1. Then 3 areas broke off from that one being a long dark grey area the was a dead end, most likely a cave some large monsters would retreat to once weakened, this was labeled area 4.
Area three was a bright red meaning that it would be intensely hot there and there would most likely be exposed lava, it was a fairly small round area. Area two was again dark grey but this one was by far the largest zone having at least 2 times the area of area 1, it was fairly formless but it looked fairly close to a deformed rectangle. Area 3 and 2 both linked up to area 5 which was again bright red, it was a y shape having two break off points leading to another set of red areas 6 and 7. 7 was a dead end that was possibly a cave that monsters who could take the heat would sleep in. Area 6 led to a very long red area labeled with a 8. area 8 had three branches one that went a tiny red ring that was possibly the top of the volcano, that was labeled area 11. Area 11 and 8 both led to area 9 which was again bright red but it had a dark red line in the middle possibly signifying a raise in terrain.
And finally area 9 led to area 10 which seemed to be a complex network of tunnels that no large monster could fit into, perfect for safe mining. Area 10 also had a pathway back to area 4 but it looked like it was a one way deal, only down from 10 to 4. | NPC Characters.
Cantarco Village
Cyrus
Appearance: Cyrus is a rather intense looking man, he's in his mid 60s having hunted for a large majority of that time. This left him with plenty of scars but never any on his face he considered himself lucky in that regard. He is well built not notably big but definitely not scrawny.
Personality: Cyrus is a relatively laid back person despite his look, but he knows how hunter works better than most. And when he sees people failing to comply with even the basic rules of it he is bound to get a little cross. He's been around the world and knows a lot of things be it nice vacation spots or where the meanest monsters hang out, you need information like that he'll be more than happy to impart it on you.
Narrative purpose: Cyrus is here to mentor for the new fledgling hunters who have come to replace him. He had once protected the village mostly on his own but it was not always that way. He'll give your characters tips and act as the first quest giver, later on he will also hand out some of the more difficult quest. He also lives in the town hall and will be there to make sure the team can function as a unit.
Chief
Apperance: We all know what's behind the hider.
Personality: The Chief is an odd one. She's far to active for her age and darts around like there's no tomorrow. She is basically a mum to everyone, but she doesn't like people being reckless. Recklessness makes managing the village harder, and she's got enough wrinkles to worry about without people being fools.
Narrative purpose: The Chief runs the village, it's as simple as that. She'll also be doubling as the buff kitchen serving soups with sides and sauces to provide the different buffs. She'll had out most of the urgent quests. |
10,063 | 284 | 13 | 1,966 | 2,593 | Armend Kinora ⚔
Almond? Well he couldn't say he had heard that one before. It was a tad dry but the mistake hadn't be looked over. "Oh come on, Almond? really? Its, Armend, Clara. Armend Kinora. And as your new partner, I sincerely hope you don't forget it." He shook his head and let the drink hang in his loose grip.
He had a bit on his mind during the long trek. Things that were too late to contemplate. Like "What did I get myself into?" and "All this just to show up one dirty bastard." Reminders on top of reminders flooded him. It was more than just some petty grudge. That son-of-a-cow had disgraced not only him but his comrades too. Taking everything he held dear was the least he could do. The most was outright killing him.
But he didn't want to do that. He liked to think he was better than a murderer.
The trek was lightweight for him. So he entered the tent, found a small stool, and squatted on it. For a moment he felt he owed, Clara a discloser. "Listen, Clara, I'm new to the hunting scene. If I fuck up, don't get yourself killed trying to save me. I dove headfirst into this, so I expect bumps and bruises, got it. In other words, if things get dicey because of myyyy... my lack-of-know-how just let me go." As he spoke calmly about his own demise, he made his way to the chest and gathered anything he felt necessary.
Plenty of drink, plenty of first aid, and of course that handy map. He opened it and just quickly closed it. "Uhh, can you read this thing?" he wondered. | Name: Armend Kindora (Armas)
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Height: 6'1"
Preferred Weapon: Dual Swords
Likes: The Hunt, Physical Exertion, and Exploration.
Dislikes: Commitment, Authoritative Figures.
Personality: Armend expects, demands, and will ultimately snatch freedom away for himself if the need should arise. In his village he was disregarded for having neither parents or advocates. He can be sarcastic and cynical, mostly because of the way his village treated him or the "Abandoned" as they liked to call him. However, he has grown fond of the warmth that sprouts when receiving thanks from others. When he's on the hunt he often become narrow-minded and stubborn. The only thing that really seems to rattle him is the mention of family.
Short Backstory: Armend was left in his former village by his father. The people there, the Village Chief in particular were nasty to the one's they nicknamed "Abandoned". The village had become famous as a dumping ground for the unwanted decades ago. After years of abuse, Armend staged a show of rebellion, telling the chief he'd eventually take everything the man held dear. He left the village to become a hunter soon after that, seeing it as the easiest method of gaining wealth and fame. Two things he would need to snatch the so-called "throne". He found his way to Cantarco, hoping to start his new career off with a bang. |
10,064 | 284 | 14 | 1,351 | 744 | Clara Baldwin
Clara shrugged "Sorry I must have misheard you the first time." She walked in silence thinking of just how easy it was to enrol. There had to be some kind of catch, some hidden detail to prove their worth. She raked her mind trying to think of what the chef and Cyrus' plan was sending them after mushrooms. Was it just to show the she could follow orders or that she could survive out in the field. She eventually decided that it didn't matter, she was on her way now. And she had a "companion". She briefly looked down at Armend and noticed he was deep in thought also, she didn't feel like saying anything. She'd only just met this guy and she really couldn't get a read on him.
When they got to the tent Clara had gone straight to the blue box to grab some supplies, she grabbed 2 cool drinks and some first aid meds. Then she looked back at Armend who had started talking. Her face turned to a slight frown upon hearing him cuss but immediately went back to its usual more stoic look upon him mentioning saving him. At this point she turned around fully to face him and had stepped out of the way of the chest. She sighed and shook her head. "Look you idiot. I'm new at this to alright, and I'm not going to just up and run if you get into trouble. Hell I'll drag your sorry butt out of there myself if I have to." She put a hand on his shoulder "I may have just met you, but I didn't sign up to be a hunter to watch others get hurt. You get me?" her tone had gone from a very stern one to a slightly softer one towards the end.
She then pat him on the back rather forcefully. "Let's get going you idiot. We don't want to keep them waiting." She said as she strode off looking at map, "Yeah I'm pretty sure it's this way." She was headed towards a clear pathway that could have possibly been carved from the rock to make it easier to get through. And surely enough it led to area one, at least it looked like area one. | NPC Characters.
Cantarco Village
Cyrus
Appearance: Cyrus is a rather intense looking man, he's in his mid 60s having hunted for a large majority of that time. This left him with plenty of scars but never any on his face he considered himself lucky in that regard. He is well built not notably big but definitely not scrawny.
Personality: Cyrus is a relatively laid back person despite his look, but he knows how hunter works better than most. And when he sees people failing to comply with even the basic rules of it he is bound to get a little cross. He's been around the world and knows a lot of things be it nice vacation spots or where the meanest monsters hang out, you need information like that he'll be more than happy to impart it on you.
Narrative purpose: Cyrus is here to mentor for the new fledgling hunters who have come to replace him. He had once protected the village mostly on his own but it was not always that way. He'll give your characters tips and act as the first quest giver, later on he will also hand out some of the more difficult quest. He also lives in the town hall and will be there to make sure the team can function as a unit.
Chief
Apperance: We all know what's behind the hider.
Personality: The Chief is an odd one. She's far to active for her age and darts around like there's no tomorrow. She is basically a mum to everyone, but she doesn't like people being reckless. Recklessness makes managing the village harder, and she's got enough wrinkles to worry about without people being fools.
Narrative purpose: The Chief runs the village, it's as simple as that. She'll also be doubling as the buff kitchen serving soups with sides and sauces to provide the different buffs. She'll had out most of the urgent quests. |
10,065 | 284 | 15 | 1,966 | 2,593 | Armend Kinora ⚔
He would have to explain himself properly to her one day. It never did sound right when he tried to play the martyr. Best guess would be it just didn't fit his persona. It was too angel-like, truth was though he was so use to being the martyr. It came second nature to him now. What he really wanted to tell her was, that he'd willing put his life on the line for her. But that was too mushy, too emotional.
So he took her words in, shrugged his shoulders, and smiled as he followed her down the beaten path. As Clara moved, he could see the fluidity of a disciplined fighter. She had potential, it wasn't just her form that told him that. It was her smarts, the amount of brainpower she had used so far was indicative of her grit.
"This isn't just some job to you is it, Claire?" he asked, hoping the nickname wasn't stepping on toes. | Name: Armend Kindora (Armas)
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Height: 6'1"
Preferred Weapon: Dual Swords
Likes: The Hunt, Physical Exertion, and Exploration.
Dislikes: Commitment, Authoritative Figures.
Personality: Armend expects, demands, and will ultimately snatch freedom away for himself if the need should arise. In his village he was disregarded for having neither parents or advocates. He can be sarcastic and cynical, mostly because of the way his village treated him or the "Abandoned" as they liked to call him. However, he has grown fond of the warmth that sprouts when receiving thanks from others. When he's on the hunt he often become narrow-minded and stubborn. The only thing that really seems to rattle him is the mention of family.
Short Backstory: Armend was left in his former village by his father. The people there, the Village Chief in particular were nasty to the one's they nicknamed "Abandoned". The village had become famous as a dumping ground for the unwanted decades ago. After years of abuse, Armend staged a show of rebellion, telling the chief he'd eventually take everything the man held dear. He left the village to become a hunter soon after that, seeing it as the easiest method of gaining wealth and fame. Two things he would need to snatch the so-called "throne". He found his way to Cantarco, hoping to start his new career off with a bang. |
10,066 | 284 | 16 | 1,351 | 744 | Clara Baldwin
Clara slid down a slight slope then folded up the map and looked around at what was area 1. There was a group of Aptonoth drinking from the small body of water. She looked around for some mushrooms then Armend asked his question, she was not fond of the nickname but let it slide because she called him almond. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I was a builder, lord knows we need them. But I never got a massive sense of enjoyment out of it. And I always admired Cyrus... So yeah, I think this is going to be more than just a job for me." Clara then found some mushrooms but they were all green and blue. She frowned but picked them anyway, she'd probably need them later. Clara absentmindedly put a hand on her eye patch and sigh quietly. "So what brings you to our fine village anyway? You catch news of us needing a hunter and decided to come and help us out?" Her voice displayed a distinct vibe of curiosity which Clara would not often show.
Environment
The group of Apatonoth was 6 strong with 1 child following close behind rather than drink from the water like the rest the baby decided it wanted to eat some shrubs, it chewed away happily making soft crunching noises. Area 1 seemed fairly tranquil, nothing really happening except for herbivores grazing. | NPC Characters.
Cantarco Village
Cyrus
Appearance: Cyrus is a rather intense looking man, he's in his mid 60s having hunted for a large majority of that time. This left him with plenty of scars but never any on his face he considered himself lucky in that regard. He is well built not notably big but definitely not scrawny.
Personality: Cyrus is a relatively laid back person despite his look, but he knows how hunter works better than most. And when he sees people failing to comply with even the basic rules of it he is bound to get a little cross. He's been around the world and knows a lot of things be it nice vacation spots or where the meanest monsters hang out, you need information like that he'll be more than happy to impart it on you.
Narrative purpose: Cyrus is here to mentor for the new fledgling hunters who have come to replace him. He had once protected the village mostly on his own but it was not always that way. He'll give your characters tips and act as the first quest giver, later on he will also hand out some of the more difficult quest. He also lives in the town hall and will be there to make sure the team can function as a unit.
Chief
Apperance: We all know what's behind the hider.
Personality: The Chief is an odd one. She's far to active for her age and darts around like there's no tomorrow. She is basically a mum to everyone, but she doesn't like people being reckless. Recklessness makes managing the village harder, and she's got enough wrinkles to worry about without people being fools.
Narrative purpose: The Chief runs the village, it's as simple as that. She'll also be doubling as the buff kitchen serving soups with sides and sauces to provide the different buffs. She'll had out most of the urgent quests. |
10,067 | 284 | 17 | 1,966 | 2,593 | Armend Kinora ⚔
Armend Kinora followed Clara's lead. He sensed her distaste for the name, Claire, and noted never to call her that again. If managing a group of "Abandoned" had taught him anything, it was picking up on the quaint vibes. Her question had paused him mid-pick, his thumb and forefinger loose on the stem of a mushroom. It was quiet but he let out a weird Hmmp!.
"Personal reasons, I suppose. There's some business I've gotta take care of. A promise of sorts," he told her while plucking another mushroom from the vibrant greenery. A kind breeze swept across him, the kind that he'd learn to embrace and enjoy. They came less frequently than he'd like. He face the wind, closed his eyes, and ceased all thought.
When it died down, a serene sigh left him. "Y'know, Clara, this isn't so bad. A little easier than I thought it'd be. It has me restless to be honest. But I could get use to it, y'know? Walking these lands has been the most free I've ever felt. Perhaps being a Hunter isn't as hard as I first thought." He laughed then, a hearty, powerful chuckle. | Name: Armend Kindora (Armas)
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Height: 6'1"
Preferred Weapon: Dual Swords
Likes: The Hunt, Physical Exertion, and Exploration.
Dislikes: Commitment, Authoritative Figures.
Personality: Armend expects, demands, and will ultimately snatch freedom away for himself if the need should arise. In his village he was disregarded for having neither parents or advocates. He can be sarcastic and cynical, mostly because of the way his village treated him or the "Abandoned" as they liked to call him. However, he has grown fond of the warmth that sprouts when receiving thanks from others. When he's on the hunt he often become narrow-minded and stubborn. The only thing that really seems to rattle him is the mention of family.
Short Backstory: Armend was left in his former village by his father. The people there, the Village Chief in particular were nasty to the one's they nicknamed "Abandoned". The village had become famous as a dumping ground for the unwanted decades ago. After years of abuse, Armend staged a show of rebellion, telling the chief he'd eventually take everything the man held dear. He left the village to become a hunter soon after that, seeing it as the easiest method of gaining wealth and fame. Two things he would need to snatch the so-called "throne". He found his way to Cantarco, hoping to start his new career off with a bang. |
10,068 | 284 | 18 | 1,351 | 744 | Clara Baldwin
Clara nodded to Armend, "Personal stuff. Got it. I'll not pry." she then plucked her first three Nitroshrooms then looked over at Armend. "Yeah. You're right it is kinda nice. But trust me, when we get into the gritty stuff. Any notion of this being easy is going to fall out of your head. Or be knocked out." She said this having seen Cyrus fight monsters that got to close to town. She then stood up and walked over to Armend. "Gotten any Nitroshrooms yet?" She said in a slightly more relaxed tone then what she'd be using previously. She rolled her shoulder and looked over at the Aptonoth with a slight smile.
Environment
The baby Aptonoth eventually joined its parents and started drinking it's tail wagging slightly. The larges male backed off from the water and then reared up on its hind legs, it looked all around making sure there was no sign of danger. | NPC Characters.
Cantarco Village
Cyrus
Appearance: Cyrus is a rather intense looking man, he's in his mid 60s having hunted for a large majority of that time. This left him with plenty of scars but never any on his face he considered himself lucky in that regard. He is well built not notably big but definitely not scrawny.
Personality: Cyrus is a relatively laid back person despite his look, but he knows how hunter works better than most. And when he sees people failing to comply with even the basic rules of it he is bound to get a little cross. He's been around the world and knows a lot of things be it nice vacation spots or where the meanest monsters hang out, you need information like that he'll be more than happy to impart it on you.
Narrative purpose: Cyrus is here to mentor for the new fledgling hunters who have come to replace him. He had once protected the village mostly on his own but it was not always that way. He'll give your characters tips and act as the first quest giver, later on he will also hand out some of the more difficult quest. He also lives in the town hall and will be there to make sure the team can function as a unit.
Chief
Apperance: We all know what's behind the hider.
Personality: The Chief is an odd one. She's far to active for her age and darts around like there's no tomorrow. She is basically a mum to everyone, but she doesn't like people being reckless. Recklessness makes managing the village harder, and she's got enough wrinkles to worry about without people being fools.
Narrative purpose: The Chief runs the village, it's as simple as that. She'll also be doubling as the buff kitchen serving soups with sides and sauces to provide the different buffs. She'll had out most of the urgent quests. |
10,069 | 284 | 19 | 2,076 | 255 | Edon Kruxs
Edon walked to the town hall the veteran hunter retired and he is interested in perhaps killing monsters. He asked around on where he can apply to become an hunter. He then found the town hall where he think he can talk with the chief of the village.Edon opened the door. "Hello is anyone here?" Suddenly a man approached him. | Name:Edon Kruxs
Age (at least 20): 26
Gender: Male
Height: 6'3"
Preferred weapon: Sword and Shield
Likes (3 or more please): Exploring,Hunting Monsters and Kind actions
Dislikes (at least 2): Monsters and Slavery
Personality: A young and adventurous man willing to kill every monster he see, he loves working as a team he believes it get things done quick.He never ever wished for a reward
Short backstory: Edon was the only son of his parents.He lived in Cantarco ever since he was a young lad.He always wished he was a explorer a hunter perhaps a warrior he wants to discover new things, and leave a mark in the world. He got his wish when the veteran protecting Cantarco retired he was trained and ready to fight! |
10,070 | 284 | 20 | 1,351 | 744 | Village chief/Cyrus
Cyrus smiled upon seeing Edon open the door to the hall. "Ah Edon, I was expecting you to turn up." he smiled and led Edon to the weapons cabinet were all the hunting gear was stored, he knew why Edon was there. "Here are you choices. Once you've picked go look for the Chief, she probably has a simple quest for you to start out with." He pointed to a door that lay open on the left if the massive fireplace. A quiet humming came from within the doorway. | NPC Characters.
Cantarco Village
Cyrus
Appearance: Cyrus is a rather intense looking man, he's in his mid 60s having hunted for a large majority of that time. This left him with plenty of scars but never any on his face he considered himself lucky in that regard. He is well built not notably big but definitely not scrawny.
Personality: Cyrus is a relatively laid back person despite his look, but he knows how hunter works better than most. And when he sees people failing to comply with even the basic rules of it he is bound to get a little cross. He's been around the world and knows a lot of things be it nice vacation spots or where the meanest monsters hang out, you need information like that he'll be more than happy to impart it on you.
Narrative purpose: Cyrus is here to mentor for the new fledgling hunters who have come to replace him. He had once protected the village mostly on his own but it was not always that way. He'll give your characters tips and act as the first quest giver, later on he will also hand out some of the more difficult quest. He also lives in the town hall and will be there to make sure the team can function as a unit.
Chief
Apperance: We all know what's behind the hider.
Personality: The Chief is an odd one. She's far to active for her age and darts around like there's no tomorrow. She is basically a mum to everyone, but she doesn't like people being reckless. Recklessness makes managing the village harder, and she's got enough wrinkles to worry about without people being fools.
Narrative purpose: The Chief runs the village, it's as simple as that. She'll also be doubling as the buff kitchen serving soups with sides and sauces to provide the different buffs. She'll had out most of the urgent quests. |
10,071 | 284 | 21 | 2,076 | 255 | Edon Cruxs
Edon looked for a weapon.The sword and shield would catch Edon's eyes he was trained in using those weapons. "These looks good." Edon was ready he wanted to be a hunter ever since he was a young lad. He wanted to go the volcano and fight a dragon but he will do that in time or perhaps now. He would grab the sword and shield and walk towards the door where Cyrus wanted me to go. | Name:Edon Kruxs
Age (at least 20): 26
Gender: Male
Height: 6'3"
Preferred weapon: Sword and Shield
Likes (3 or more please): Exploring,Hunting Monsters and Kind actions
Dislikes (at least 2): Monsters and Slavery
Personality: A young and adventurous man willing to kill every monster he see, he loves working as a team he believes it get things done quick.He never ever wished for a reward
Short backstory: Edon was the only son of his parents.He lived in Cantarco ever since he was a young lad.He always wished he was a explorer a hunter perhaps a warrior he wants to discover new things, and leave a mark in the world. He got his wish when the veteran protecting Cantarco retired he was trained and ready to fight! |
10,072 | 284 | 22 | 1,966 | 2,593 | Armend Kinora ⚔
"Nitroshrooms?" Armend plucked one of the stems he had gathering from a batch. He held it up for her to examine.
"Is this one?" he asked.
He paused with a curiously, blank face. Just a pinch of a smile, a crook of his lips. A hard second later and he was laughing hysterically. His life, as short as it was, had been hard. So very hard. And now, now he sat in a green wonderland, picking mushrooms... with a partner. A partner! That one word had not escaped him. It meant a lot, too much. Too much not to laugh off when considering the unsung weight it bore. | Name: Armend Kindora (Armas)
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Height: 6'1"
Preferred Weapon: Dual Swords
Likes: The Hunt, Physical Exertion, and Exploration.
Dislikes: Commitment, Authoritative Figures.
Personality: Armend expects, demands, and will ultimately snatch freedom away for himself if the need should arise. In his village he was disregarded for having neither parents or advocates. He can be sarcastic and cynical, mostly because of the way his village treated him or the "Abandoned" as they liked to call him. However, he has grown fond of the warmth that sprouts when receiving thanks from others. When he's on the hunt he often become narrow-minded and stubborn. The only thing that really seems to rattle him is the mention of family.
Short Backstory: Armend was left in his former village by his father. The people there, the Village Chief in particular were nasty to the one's they nicknamed "Abandoned". The village had become famous as a dumping ground for the unwanted decades ago. After years of abuse, Armend staged a show of rebellion, telling the chief he'd eventually take everything the man held dear. He left the village to become a hunter soon after that, seeing it as the easiest method of gaining wealth and fame. Two things he would need to snatch the so-called "throne". He found his way to Cantarco, hoping to start his new career off with a bang. |
10,073 | 284 | 23 | 1,351 | 744 | Village chief/Cyrus
Cyrus nodded. "Good, also warning. You might have to speak a little louder when talking to the chief, her hearing isn't what it used to be." a grumble came from the open door. "Well it's good enough to hear you, ya cheeky sod!" said a now grumpy old lady who stood stirring a large pot of soup. She required a stool to be able to reach the required vantage point for optimal stirring. "So you came to be a hunter to. It might actually be lucky you were a little later than the others." She pulled a paper with a picture of some raw meat on it and a X8 scribbled on it on it. "Now off with ya. I'll need that meat quick smart!" said the chief in a chirpy voice. Before returning to her giant pot of soup.
Clara Baldwin
Clara nodded showing Armend the ones she'd grabbed. "Yeah, ones like these." She then tilted her head as he started laughing. "Are you alright?" She was confused as to why he started laughing, she then stuffed the shrooms back into her pocket and stood up fully. She then produced her map "It doesn't matter. Let's get moving, Area three might be where we need to go next." She held an arm out for Armend then nodded towards a path that was just past the Aptonoth.
Environment
The large Male Aptonoth landed back onto all fours with a thud then if sniffed a push and started eating, the baby made a sound of surprise when Armend started laughing which in turn spooked its parents. Then those parents convinced the rest of the heard to start leaving this noisy area. They walked off towards area two. | NPC Characters.
Cantarco Village
Cyrus
Appearance: Cyrus is a rather intense looking man, he's in his mid 60s having hunted for a large majority of that time. This left him with plenty of scars but never any on his face he considered himself lucky in that regard. He is well built not notably big but definitely not scrawny.
Personality: Cyrus is a relatively laid back person despite his look, but he knows how hunter works better than most. And when he sees people failing to comply with even the basic rules of it he is bound to get a little cross. He's been around the world and knows a lot of things be it nice vacation spots or where the meanest monsters hang out, you need information like that he'll be more than happy to impart it on you.
Narrative purpose: Cyrus is here to mentor for the new fledgling hunters who have come to replace him. He had once protected the village mostly on his own but it was not always that way. He'll give your characters tips and act as the first quest giver, later on he will also hand out some of the more difficult quest. He also lives in the town hall and will be there to make sure the team can function as a unit.
Chief
Apperance: We all know what's behind the hider.
Personality: The Chief is an odd one. She's far to active for her age and darts around like there's no tomorrow. She is basically a mum to everyone, but she doesn't like people being reckless. Recklessness makes managing the village harder, and she's got enough wrinkles to worry about without people being fools.
Narrative purpose: The Chief runs the village, it's as simple as that. She'll also be doubling as the buff kitchen serving soups with sides and sauces to provide the different buffs. She'll had out most of the urgent quests. |
10,074 | 284 | 24 | 2,076 | 255 | Edon Cruxs
Edon would nod and exit the town hall with the paper and his new weapons "Well i guess we all have to start somewhere which is this case getting meat." Edon with his 'mission' on his mind he is ready to get meat
THE MAGMA HIGHLANDS
Edon hiked for 22 minutes because of a few stops. He climbed, he walked and he ate before he reached the highlands in order to get meat. He would put his shield at his back and his sword on a leather sheath with a few scratch marks. After the long hike he found himself on the magma highlands which is a little hot but nothing lethal. He looked around for something that can give him raw meat when saw a Aptonoth "Woah" Edon looked at the monster and he would slowly walk near it... | Name:Edon Kruxs
Age (at least 20): 26
Gender: Male
Height: 6'3"
Preferred weapon: Sword and Shield
Likes (3 or more please): Exploring,Hunting Monsters and Kind actions
Dislikes (at least 2): Monsters and Slavery
Personality: A young and adventurous man willing to kill every monster he see, he loves working as a team he believes it get things done quick.He never ever wished for a reward
Short backstory: Edon was the only son of his parents.He lived in Cantarco ever since he was a young lad.He always wished he was a explorer a hunter perhaps a warrior he wants to discover new things, and leave a mark in the world. He got his wish when the veteran protecting Cantarco retired he was trained and ready to fight! |
10,075 | 284 | 25 | 1,351 | 744 | Environment
The Aptonoth are walking around area 2 and none seem to be bothered by Edon's presence because he is being quiet. The massive herd leader again rears up and looks around for signs of danger, two of the other adult sniff the air the look around. The baby trots around and sniffs a dry tuft of grass before giving it a taste. | NPC Characters.
Cantarco Village
Cyrus
Appearance: Cyrus is a rather intense looking man, he's in his mid 60s having hunted for a large majority of that time. This left him with plenty of scars but never any on his face he considered himself lucky in that regard. He is well built not notably big but definitely not scrawny.
Personality: Cyrus is a relatively laid back person despite his look, but he knows how hunter works better than most. And when he sees people failing to comply with even the basic rules of it he is bound to get a little cross. He's been around the world and knows a lot of things be it nice vacation spots or where the meanest monsters hang out, you need information like that he'll be more than happy to impart it on you.
Narrative purpose: Cyrus is here to mentor for the new fledgling hunters who have come to replace him. He had once protected the village mostly on his own but it was not always that way. He'll give your characters tips and act as the first quest giver, later on he will also hand out some of the more difficult quest. He also lives in the town hall and will be there to make sure the team can function as a unit.
Chief
Apperance: We all know what's behind the hider.
Personality: The Chief is an odd one. She's far to active for her age and darts around like there's no tomorrow. She is basically a mum to everyone, but she doesn't like people being reckless. Recklessness makes managing the village harder, and she's got enough wrinkles to worry about without people being fools.
Narrative purpose: The Chief runs the village, it's as simple as that. She'll also be doubling as the buff kitchen serving soups with sides and sauces to provide the different buffs. She'll had out most of the urgent quests. |
10,076 | 284 | 26 | 1,966 | 2,593 | Armend Kinora ⚔
Armend barely remembered what the map looked like. Area three, it had to be close by. He pulled out his map and strode off towards it. The large monsters from before, rearing up to keep watch over its herd had his interest. It showed itself beyond more than just mindless beast, this creature was a protector and felt and thought just like any person.
He would pay it due respect if he ever had to kill it.
Why are we going to area-three? Don't we have enough, Nitroshrooms?" | Name: Armend Kindora (Armas)
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Height: 6'1"
Preferred Weapon: Dual Swords
Likes: The Hunt, Physical Exertion, and Exploration.
Dislikes: Commitment, Authoritative Figures.
Personality: Armend expects, demands, and will ultimately snatch freedom away for himself if the need should arise. In his village he was disregarded for having neither parents or advocates. He can be sarcastic and cynical, mostly because of the way his village treated him or the "Abandoned" as they liked to call him. However, he has grown fond of the warmth that sprouts when receiving thanks from others. When he's on the hunt he often become narrow-minded and stubborn. The only thing that really seems to rattle him is the mention of family.
Short Backstory: Armend was left in his former village by his father. The people there, the Village Chief in particular were nasty to the one's they nicknamed "Abandoned". The village had become famous as a dumping ground for the unwanted decades ago. After years of abuse, Armend staged a show of rebellion, telling the chief he'd eventually take everything the man held dear. He left the village to become a hunter soon after that, seeing it as the easiest method of gaining wealth and fame. Two things he would need to snatch the so-called "throne". He found his way to Cantarco, hoping to start his new career off with a bang. |
10,077 | 284 | 27 | 1,351 | 744 | Clara Baldwin
"Well I have 3 and you have two. So we're halfway there." She led the way along the path to area 3 and pulled out a cool drink and downed the whole thing, this made her feel very comfortable even in the intense heat. She pulled out the quest paper and held it out for Armend. "Remember, like the ones in the picture." She said with a slightly patronising tone and a cheeky smirk. She kinda enjoyed being in charge, well at least she felt like she was in charge.
Environment
Clara and Armend would travel along a steep rocky path to get to area 3 which would be intensely hot. There were even exposed patches of lava that could be seen flowing underneath the very ground they walked on. Lucky for them there was a massive clump of Nitroshrooms clearly viable close to the end of their path that led to area 3. Around the centre of the craggy plain ahead of the there were two Ioprey. The red raptors hadn't noticed the pair and continued wandering around the centre or the area. | NPC Characters.
Cantarco Village
Cyrus
Appearance: Cyrus is a rather intense looking man, he's in his mid 60s having hunted for a large majority of that time. This left him with plenty of scars but never any on his face he considered himself lucky in that regard. He is well built not notably big but definitely not scrawny.
Personality: Cyrus is a relatively laid back person despite his look, but he knows how hunter works better than most. And when he sees people failing to comply with even the basic rules of it he is bound to get a little cross. He's been around the world and knows a lot of things be it nice vacation spots or where the meanest monsters hang out, you need information like that he'll be more than happy to impart it on you.
Narrative purpose: Cyrus is here to mentor for the new fledgling hunters who have come to replace him. He had once protected the village mostly on his own but it was not always that way. He'll give your characters tips and act as the first quest giver, later on he will also hand out some of the more difficult quest. He also lives in the town hall and will be there to make sure the team can function as a unit.
Chief
Apperance: We all know what's behind the hider.
Personality: The Chief is an odd one. She's far to active for her age and darts around like there's no tomorrow. She is basically a mum to everyone, but she doesn't like people being reckless. Recklessness makes managing the village harder, and she's got enough wrinkles to worry about without people being fools.
Narrative purpose: The Chief runs the village, it's as simple as that. She'll also be doubling as the buff kitchen serving soups with sides and sauces to provide the different buffs. She'll had out most of the urgent quests. |
10,078 | 284 | 28 | 2,076 | 255 | Edon Cruxs
Edon looked for the most exposed Aptonoth he looks at the young Aptonoth and pulls out his shield, he plans to bash the creature with his shield followed by a 2 stabs from his sword a simple kill should everything go to plan
"Here goes......" Edon takes a deep breath and prepares to attack.
Edon emerges from the shadow and charges the Aptonoth. | Name:Edon Kruxs
Age (at least 20): 26
Gender: Male
Height: 6'3"
Preferred weapon: Sword and Shield
Likes (3 or more please): Exploring,Hunting Monsters and Kind actions
Dislikes (at least 2): Monsters and Slavery
Personality: A young and adventurous man willing to kill every monster he see, he loves working as a team he believes it get things done quick.He never ever wished for a reward
Short backstory: Edon was the only son of his parents.He lived in Cantarco ever since he was a young lad.He always wished he was a explorer a hunter perhaps a warrior he wants to discover new things, and leave a mark in the world. He got his wish when the veteran protecting Cantarco retired he was trained and ready to fight! |
10,079 | 284 | 29 | 1,351 | 744 | Environment
When Edon burst from the shadows the Aptonoth all get startled and run for the path back to area 1, but the Baby Aptonoth is far to slow and gets intercepted by Edon. The large male sees this and stops running, he then starts to turn for Edon and swings his tail up high in the air as a sign of aggression. The baby cries out for help making the Male charge at Edon (mind its very far away.), the rest of the herd runs back to area 1. | NPC Characters.
Cantarco Village
Cyrus
Appearance: Cyrus is a rather intense looking man, he's in his mid 60s having hunted for a large majority of that time. This left him with plenty of scars but never any on his face he considered himself lucky in that regard. He is well built not notably big but definitely not scrawny.
Personality: Cyrus is a relatively laid back person despite his look, but he knows how hunter works better than most. And when he sees people failing to comply with even the basic rules of it he is bound to get a little cross. He's been around the world and knows a lot of things be it nice vacation spots or where the meanest monsters hang out, you need information like that he'll be more than happy to impart it on you.
Narrative purpose: Cyrus is here to mentor for the new fledgling hunters who have come to replace him. He had once protected the village mostly on his own but it was not always that way. He'll give your characters tips and act as the first quest giver, later on he will also hand out some of the more difficult quest. He also lives in the town hall and will be there to make sure the team can function as a unit.
Chief
Apperance: We all know what's behind the hider.
Personality: The Chief is an odd one. She's far to active for her age and darts around like there's no tomorrow. She is basically a mum to everyone, but she doesn't like people being reckless. Recklessness makes managing the village harder, and she's got enough wrinkles to worry about without people being fools.
Narrative purpose: The Chief runs the village, it's as simple as that. She'll also be doubling as the buff kitchen serving soups with sides and sauces to provide the different buffs. She'll had out most of the urgent quests. |
10,080 | 284 | 30 | 2,076 | 255 | Edon Cruxs
Edon stabs the young Aptonoth 2 times before noticing the large Aptonoth. Edon prepares to fight with his shield block he pans to jump to the side then climb the Aptonoth and stab it many times. Without fear he follows his plan. | Name:Edon Kruxs
Age (at least 20): 26
Gender: Male
Height: 6'3"
Preferred weapon: Sword and Shield
Likes (3 or more please): Exploring,Hunting Monsters and Kind actions
Dislikes (at least 2): Monsters and Slavery
Personality: A young and adventurous man willing to kill every monster he see, he loves working as a team he believes it get things done quick.He never ever wished for a reward
Short backstory: Edon was the only son of his parents.He lived in Cantarco ever since he was a young lad.He always wished he was a explorer a hunter perhaps a warrior he wants to discover new things, and leave a mark in the world. He got his wish when the veteran protecting Cantarco retired he was trained and ready to fight! |
10,081 | 284 | 31 | 1,966 | 2,593 | Armend Kinora ⚔
Armend took note of the Ioprey, though their names were unknown to him. They were large reptilians, with stick thin necks, and frog-like neck sacs. He kept a eye on them as he scurried over to the Nitroshrooms and picked one. "Clara, are they aggressive? I mean I'm not afraid or anything, if they come I'll cut'em down. But... I'd just rather not y'know."
He stood up and touched the hard hilts of his dual-swords. | Name: Armend Kindora (Armas)
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Height: 6'1"
Preferred Weapon: Dual Swords
Likes: The Hunt, Physical Exertion, and Exploration.
Dislikes: Commitment, Authoritative Figures.
Personality: Armend expects, demands, and will ultimately snatch freedom away for himself if the need should arise. In his village he was disregarded for having neither parents or advocates. He can be sarcastic and cynical, mostly because of the way his village treated him or the "Abandoned" as they liked to call him. However, he has grown fond of the warmth that sprouts when receiving thanks from others. When he's on the hunt he often become narrow-minded and stubborn. The only thing that really seems to rattle him is the mention of family.
Short Backstory: Armend was left in his former village by his father. The people there, the Village Chief in particular were nasty to the one's they nicknamed "Abandoned". The village had become famous as a dumping ground for the unwanted decades ago. After years of abuse, Armend staged a show of rebellion, telling the chief he'd eventually take everything the man held dear. He left the village to become a hunter soon after that, seeing it as the easiest method of gaining wealth and fame. Two things he would need to snatch the so-called "throne". He found his way to Cantarco, hoping to start his new career off with a bang. |
10,082 | 284 | 32 | 1,351 | 744 | Clara Baldwin.
Clara gazed over at the Ioprey for a few moments before scanning the area for mushrooms. "Those are just Ioprey, they should leave us well alone as long as we don't get that close. Lucky for us the mushrooms are just over there." Clara pointed to the bunch of nitroshrooms and started walking over to them. "If they spot us then we'll just leave with the nitroshrooms, they won't be able to get to us before we pick them all. I'd rather not get poisoned today." Clara said in a tone that made it clear she'd been poisoned by these thing before.
Environment
Area 2
The Baby Aptonoth goes down from the two stabs, being only a baby it's hide was easily torn through. As for the large adult it skidded to a halt and angled it's large tail spikes towards Edon. It violently swung its tail down at him in an attempt to crush him with it's sheer weight rather than using the tail spikes.
Area 3
The Ioprey chattered to each other there odd beak like mouths lined with pointed teeth. They suddenly looked up and turned to a small cave in the wall and ran into it, as if they were summoned by something. | NPC Characters.
Cantarco Village
Cyrus
Appearance: Cyrus is a rather intense looking man, he's in his mid 60s having hunted for a large majority of that time. This left him with plenty of scars but never any on his face he considered himself lucky in that regard. He is well built not notably big but definitely not scrawny.
Personality: Cyrus is a relatively laid back person despite his look, but he knows how hunter works better than most. And when he sees people failing to comply with even the basic rules of it he is bound to get a little cross. He's been around the world and knows a lot of things be it nice vacation spots or where the meanest monsters hang out, you need information like that he'll be more than happy to impart it on you.
Narrative purpose: Cyrus is here to mentor for the new fledgling hunters who have come to replace him. He had once protected the village mostly on his own but it was not always that way. He'll give your characters tips and act as the first quest giver, later on he will also hand out some of the more difficult quest. He also lives in the town hall and will be there to make sure the team can function as a unit.
Chief
Apperance: We all know what's behind the hider.
Personality: The Chief is an odd one. She's far to active for her age and darts around like there's no tomorrow. She is basically a mum to everyone, but she doesn't like people being reckless. Recklessness makes managing the village harder, and she's got enough wrinkles to worry about without people being fools.
Narrative purpose: The Chief runs the village, it's as simple as that. She'll also be doubling as the buff kitchen serving soups with sides and sauces to provide the different buffs. She'll had out most of the urgent quests. |
10,083 | 284 | 33 | 2,076 | 255 | Edon Cruxs.
After taking a deep breath Edon prepares. He thinks that the Aptonoth will be slow which should give him an advantage. His plan shifts to climbing the monster and stabbing it from the top. He saw the loprey but thinks that he should focus at the Aptonoth.
Edon holds his position ready to roll to side stab the monster climb it and stab it again. If Edon climbs the monster and tries to attack him the monster will only hurt himself. | Name:Edon Kruxs
Age (at least 20): 26
Gender: Male
Height: 6'3"
Preferred weapon: Sword and Shield
Likes (3 or more please): Exploring,Hunting Monsters and Kind actions
Dislikes (at least 2): Monsters and Slavery
Personality: A young and adventurous man willing to kill every monster he see, he loves working as a team he believes it get things done quick.He never ever wished for a reward
Short backstory: Edon was the only son of his parents.He lived in Cantarco ever since he was a young lad.He always wished he was a explorer a hunter perhaps a warrior he wants to discover new things, and leave a mark in the world. He got his wish when the veteran protecting Cantarco retired he was trained and ready to fight! |
10,084 | 284 | 34 | 1,351 | 744 | Environment
Area 2
The Aptonoth's swing misses giving Edon an opening to jump onto the tail. But this would be a dangerous idea he could wait for it to wind up for another swing and safely mount it's side, or he could do the risky thing and try get onto it's back via it's tail. | NPC Characters.
Cantarco Village
Cyrus
Appearance: Cyrus is a rather intense looking man, he's in his mid 60s having hunted for a large majority of that time. This left him with plenty of scars but never any on his face he considered himself lucky in that regard. He is well built not notably big but definitely not scrawny.
Personality: Cyrus is a relatively laid back person despite his look, but he knows how hunter works better than most. And when he sees people failing to comply with even the basic rules of it he is bound to get a little cross. He's been around the world and knows a lot of things be it nice vacation spots or where the meanest monsters hang out, you need information like that he'll be more than happy to impart it on you.
Narrative purpose: Cyrus is here to mentor for the new fledgling hunters who have come to replace him. He had once protected the village mostly on his own but it was not always that way. He'll give your characters tips and act as the first quest giver, later on he will also hand out some of the more difficult quest. He also lives in the town hall and will be there to make sure the team can function as a unit.
Chief
Apperance: We all know what's behind the hider.
Personality: The Chief is an odd one. She's far to active for her age and darts around like there's no tomorrow. She is basically a mum to everyone, but she doesn't like people being reckless. Recklessness makes managing the village harder, and she's got enough wrinkles to worry about without people being fools.
Narrative purpose: The Chief runs the village, it's as simple as that. She'll also be doubling as the buff kitchen serving soups with sides and sauces to provide the different buffs. She'll had out most of the urgent quests. |
10,085 | 284 | 35 | 2,076 | 255 | Edon Cruxs
Edon looked at the opening but he chose to take the safe route because the monster can easily knock him out should he climb via the tail. Edon charged forward without a hint of fear to mount the Aptonoth. | Name:Edon Kruxs
Age (at least 20): 26
Gender: Male
Height: 6'3"
Preferred weapon: Sword and Shield
Likes (3 or more please): Exploring,Hunting Monsters and Kind actions
Dislikes (at least 2): Monsters and Slavery
Personality: A young and adventurous man willing to kill every monster he see, he loves working as a team he believes it get things done quick.He never ever wished for a reward
Short backstory: Edon was the only son of his parents.He lived in Cantarco ever since he was a young lad.He always wished he was a explorer a hunter perhaps a warrior he wants to discover new things, and leave a mark in the world. He got his wish when the veteran protecting Cantarco retired he was trained and ready to fight! |
10,086 | 284 | 36 | 1,351 | 744 | Environment
The Aptonoth let out a wail as it was mounted and started to rear up to stomp back down hopefully getting the assailant of it's side after that it would shake around weakly nothing that major. The open wounds on the corpse of the baby Aptonoth let out a sent that was sure to attract predators and scavengers alike. | NPC Characters.
Cantarco Village
Cyrus
Appearance: Cyrus is a rather intense looking man, he's in his mid 60s having hunted for a large majority of that time. This left him with plenty of scars but never any on his face he considered himself lucky in that regard. He is well built not notably big but definitely not scrawny.
Personality: Cyrus is a relatively laid back person despite his look, but he knows how hunter works better than most. And when he sees people failing to comply with even the basic rules of it he is bound to get a little cross. He's been around the world and knows a lot of things be it nice vacation spots or where the meanest monsters hang out, you need information like that he'll be more than happy to impart it on you.
Narrative purpose: Cyrus is here to mentor for the new fledgling hunters who have come to replace him. He had once protected the village mostly on his own but it was not always that way. He'll give your characters tips and act as the first quest giver, later on he will also hand out some of the more difficult quest. He also lives in the town hall and will be there to make sure the team can function as a unit.
Chief
Apperance: We all know what's behind the hider.
Personality: The Chief is an odd one. She's far to active for her age and darts around like there's no tomorrow. She is basically a mum to everyone, but she doesn't like people being reckless. Recklessness makes managing the village harder, and she's got enough wrinkles to worry about without people being fools.
Narrative purpose: The Chief runs the village, it's as simple as that. She'll also be doubling as the buff kitchen serving soups with sides and sauces to provide the different buffs. She'll had out most of the urgent quests. |
10,087 | 284 | 37 | 1,966 | 2,593 | Armend Kinora ⚔
Armend soaked up Clara's words, wondering if she had been attacked by them before. He kept the question to himself however, pondering even more their sudden departure. He scrambled over to Clara, though his attention was now on the vanishing loprey. "I know I ask alot of questions, I get it, but where are they going? that didn't look normal." He pointed out.
Then a mischievous grin fell upon him. "Maybe we should follow them. What do you say? feel like getting these weapons dirty?" | Name: Armend Kindora (Armas)
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Height: 6'1"
Preferred Weapon: Dual Swords
Likes: The Hunt, Physical Exertion, and Exploration.
Dislikes: Commitment, Authoritative Figures.
Personality: Armend expects, demands, and will ultimately snatch freedom away for himself if the need should arise. In his village he was disregarded for having neither parents or advocates. He can be sarcastic and cynical, mostly because of the way his village treated him or the "Abandoned" as they liked to call him. However, he has grown fond of the warmth that sprouts when receiving thanks from others. When he's on the hunt he often become narrow-minded and stubborn. The only thing that really seems to rattle him is the mention of family.
Short Backstory: Armend was left in his former village by his father. The people there, the Village Chief in particular were nasty to the one's they nicknamed "Abandoned". The village had become famous as a dumping ground for the unwanted decades ago. After years of abuse, Armend staged a show of rebellion, telling the chief he'd eventually take everything the man held dear. He left the village to become a hunter soon after that, seeing it as the easiest method of gaining wealth and fame. Two things he would need to snatch the so-called "throne". He found his way to Cantarco, hoping to start his new career off with a bang. |
10,088 | 284 | 38 | 1,351 | 744 | Clara Baldwin
Clara watched the Ioprey run off and let out a sigh of relief, she no longer had to continually look over her shoulder as she foraged fro Nitroshrooms. She then turned to Armend and frowned "Don't be stupid. We came here for the nitroshroom and now we got them. So lets get the heck out of here before something happens." Clara seemed adamant about this, her gaze alone made her point. She then stood up shoved all the nitroshrooms she could carry into her pouch then gestured for Armend to follow her back to area 1. | NPC Characters.
Cantarco Village
Cyrus
Appearance: Cyrus is a rather intense looking man, he's in his mid 60s having hunted for a large majority of that time. This left him with plenty of scars but never any on his face he considered himself lucky in that regard. He is well built not notably big but definitely not scrawny.
Personality: Cyrus is a relatively laid back person despite his look, but he knows how hunter works better than most. And when he sees people failing to comply with even the basic rules of it he is bound to get a little cross. He's been around the world and knows a lot of things be it nice vacation spots or where the meanest monsters hang out, you need information like that he'll be more than happy to impart it on you.
Narrative purpose: Cyrus is here to mentor for the new fledgling hunters who have come to replace him. He had once protected the village mostly on his own but it was not always that way. He'll give your characters tips and act as the first quest giver, later on he will also hand out some of the more difficult quest. He also lives in the town hall and will be there to make sure the team can function as a unit.
Chief
Apperance: We all know what's behind the hider.
Personality: The Chief is an odd one. She's far to active for her age and darts around like there's no tomorrow. She is basically a mum to everyone, but she doesn't like people being reckless. Recklessness makes managing the village harder, and she's got enough wrinkles to worry about without people being fools.
Narrative purpose: The Chief runs the village, it's as simple as that. She'll also be doubling as the buff kitchen serving soups with sides and sauces to provide the different buffs. She'll had out most of the urgent quests. |
10,089 | 284 | 39 | 1,966 | 2,593 | Armend Kinora ⚔
"Awwww," he complain. "Fine, fine. I hope you don't act this way everytime I want to go hunting." He picked the remainder of his Nitroshrooms. For some odd reason, his senses were prodding the back of his head. As if something wasn't right. He frowned a bit then pushed it aside. Clara wasn't acting strange so he was probably just being paranoid.
He followed behind her, keeping pace with his long strides. | Name: Armend Kindora (Armas)
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Height: 6'1"
Preferred Weapon: Dual Swords
Likes: The Hunt, Physical Exertion, and Exploration.
Dislikes: Commitment, Authoritative Figures.
Personality: Armend expects, demands, and will ultimately snatch freedom away for himself if the need should arise. In his village he was disregarded for having neither parents or advocates. He can be sarcastic and cynical, mostly because of the way his village treated him or the "Abandoned" as they liked to call him. However, he has grown fond of the warmth that sprouts when receiving thanks from others. When he's on the hunt he often become narrow-minded and stubborn. The only thing that really seems to rattle him is the mention of family.
Short Backstory: Armend was left in his former village by his father. The people there, the Village Chief in particular were nasty to the one's they nicknamed "Abandoned". The village had become famous as a dumping ground for the unwanted decades ago. After years of abuse, Armend staged a show of rebellion, telling the chief he'd eventually take everything the man held dear. He left the village to become a hunter soon after that, seeing it as the easiest method of gaining wealth and fame. Two things he would need to snatch the so-called "throne". He found his way to Cantarco, hoping to start his new career off with a bang. |
10,090 | 284 | 40 | 1,351 | 744 | Clara Baldwin
Clara didn't like Armend's insistence on going against the mission. "If our mission was to hunt monsters then by all means I would let you go. But our job is these nitroshrooms so that's what we're going to focus on." She said in a stern voice as she began down the path to area 1 thoroughly enjoying the cooling temperature. She check her own pack which already had eight nitroshrooms in it, so she had no doubt that Armend could easily fill in the remaining two. "so... What do you think they wanted us to get nitroshrooms for?" She asked this not 100% sure is Armend actually knew what a nitroshroom was because of previous evidance showing otherwise.
Environment
As Clara and Armend approached area one they would notice that the heard of Aptonoth was back, and it was lacking a few members. Clara was slightly saddened to see that the baby had perished she didn't like it when babies got hurt. She could now guess where the Ioprey had wandered off to. The remaining Aptonoth seemed a little jumpy, most likely due to the attack on their heard. She made them avoid Armend and Clara, some going so far as to run into the water. | NPC Characters.
Cantarco Village
Cyrus
Appearance: Cyrus is a rather intense looking man, he's in his mid 60s having hunted for a large majority of that time. This left him with plenty of scars but never any on his face he considered himself lucky in that regard. He is well built not notably big but definitely not scrawny.
Personality: Cyrus is a relatively laid back person despite his look, but he knows how hunter works better than most. And when he sees people failing to comply with even the basic rules of it he is bound to get a little cross. He's been around the world and knows a lot of things be it nice vacation spots or where the meanest monsters hang out, you need information like that he'll be more than happy to impart it on you.
Narrative purpose: Cyrus is here to mentor for the new fledgling hunters who have come to replace him. He had once protected the village mostly on his own but it was not always that way. He'll give your characters tips and act as the first quest giver, later on he will also hand out some of the more difficult quest. He also lives in the town hall and will be there to make sure the team can function as a unit.
Chief
Apperance: We all know what's behind the hider.
Personality: The Chief is an odd one. She's far to active for her age and darts around like there's no tomorrow. She is basically a mum to everyone, but she doesn't like people being reckless. Recklessness makes managing the village harder, and she's got enough wrinkles to worry about without people being fools.
Narrative purpose: The Chief runs the village, it's as simple as that. She'll also be doubling as the buff kitchen serving soups with sides and sauces to provide the different buffs. She'll had out most of the urgent quests. |
10,091 | 284 | 41 | 2,076 | 255 | Edon Cruxs.
Edon would ignore the fact that the Aptonoth's corpse is attracting others.The more the merrier.
Edon stabs the Aptonoth hoping it will die.. | Name:Edon Kruxs
Age (at least 20): 26
Gender: Male
Height: 6'3"
Preferred weapon: Sword and Shield
Likes (3 or more please): Exploring,Hunting Monsters and Kind actions
Dislikes (at least 2): Monsters and Slavery
Personality: A young and adventurous man willing to kill every monster he see, he loves working as a team he believes it get things done quick.He never ever wished for a reward
Short backstory: Edon was the only son of his parents.He lived in Cantarco ever since he was a young lad.He always wished he was a explorer a hunter perhaps a warrior he wants to discover new things, and leave a mark in the world. He got his wish when the veteran protecting Cantarco retired he was trained and ready to fight! |
10,092 | 284 | 42 | 1,351 | 744 | Environment
Area 2
The Aptonoth struggled in vain as Edon stabbed into its side, it slowly but surely collapsed. Edon would then be free to carve his rewards. There would be plenty of meat there far more than the 8 he needed. It was just a matter of carving it off before some nastier monsters came along. | NPC Characters.
Cantarco Village
Cyrus
Appearance: Cyrus is a rather intense looking man, he's in his mid 60s having hunted for a large majority of that time. This left him with plenty of scars but never any on his face he considered himself lucky in that regard. He is well built not notably big but definitely not scrawny.
Personality: Cyrus is a relatively laid back person despite his look, but he knows how hunter works better than most. And when he sees people failing to comply with even the basic rules of it he is bound to get a little cross. He's been around the world and knows a lot of things be it nice vacation spots or where the meanest monsters hang out, you need information like that he'll be more than happy to impart it on you.
Narrative purpose: Cyrus is here to mentor for the new fledgling hunters who have come to replace him. He had once protected the village mostly on his own but it was not always that way. He'll give your characters tips and act as the first quest giver, later on he will also hand out some of the more difficult quest. He also lives in the town hall and will be there to make sure the team can function as a unit.
Chief
Apperance: We all know what's behind the hider.
Personality: The Chief is an odd one. She's far to active for her age and darts around like there's no tomorrow. She is basically a mum to everyone, but she doesn't like people being reckless. Recklessness makes managing the village harder, and she's got enough wrinkles to worry about without people being fools.
Narrative purpose: The Chief runs the village, it's as simple as that. She'll also be doubling as the buff kitchen serving soups with sides and sauces to provide the different buffs. She'll had out most of the urgent quests. |
10,093 | 284 | 43 | 2,076 | 255 | Edon Cruxs.
Edon pulled out the paper "Time to get some meat.." Edon draws his sword and skins the large Aptonoth he would grab a leather bag and pull out 8 chunks of meat.Edon walked to the young Aptonoth and skins it getting 2 chunks of meat,he is keeping the meat from the young Aptonoth for himself.
Edon grabbed a few burnt sticks and a bowl shaped magma rock.The makeshift bowl was small so he had to chop the chunks of meat he collected for himself into 5 pieces.He made a makeshift cooking stove using the lava as a heat source. | Name:Edon Kruxs
Age (at least 20): 26
Gender: Male
Height: 6'3"
Preferred weapon: Sword and Shield
Likes (3 or more please): Exploring,Hunting Monsters and Kind actions
Dislikes (at least 2): Monsters and Slavery
Personality: A young and adventurous man willing to kill every monster he see, he loves working as a team he believes it get things done quick.He never ever wished for a reward
Short backstory: Edon was the only son of his parents.He lived in Cantarco ever since he was a young lad.He always wished he was a explorer a hunter perhaps a warrior he wants to discover new things, and leave a mark in the world. He got his wish when the veteran protecting Cantarco retired he was trained and ready to fight! |
10,094 | 284 | 44 | 1,966 | 2,593 | Armend Kinora ⚔
Armend shrugged his shoulders indifferently. If he had to guess, it was most likely some grunt-work that Cyrus or the Elder either didn't have the time for or didn't want to do. He refrained from voicing those concerns, figuring Clara would know better than him about her wise-ones. Instead, he ran ahead of her, grinning a rather childish smile and spoke, "Let's race, Clara. Surely that roof-work hasn't taken all the fun out of you."
He rushed ahead, and if Clara was perceptive enough, she would notice the near-lack of sound coming from his sprint. | Name: Armend Kindora (Armas)
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Height: 6'1"
Preferred Weapon: Dual Swords
Likes: The Hunt, Physical Exertion, and Exploration.
Dislikes: Commitment, Authoritative Figures.
Personality: Armend expects, demands, and will ultimately snatch freedom away for himself if the need should arise. In his village he was disregarded for having neither parents or advocates. He can be sarcastic and cynical, mostly because of the way his village treated him or the "Abandoned" as they liked to call him. However, he has grown fond of the warmth that sprouts when receiving thanks from others. When he's on the hunt he often become narrow-minded and stubborn. The only thing that really seems to rattle him is the mention of family.
Short Backstory: Armend was left in his former village by his father. The people there, the Village Chief in particular were nasty to the one's they nicknamed "Abandoned". The village had become famous as a dumping ground for the unwanted decades ago. After years of abuse, Armend staged a show of rebellion, telling the chief he'd eventually take everything the man held dear. He left the village to become a hunter soon after that, seeing it as the easiest method of gaining wealth and fame. Two things he would need to snatch the so-called "throne". He found his way to Cantarco, hoping to start his new career off with a bang. |
10,095 | 284 | 45 | 1,351 | 744 | Clara Baldwin
Clara frowned at Armend as he sped up. She then followed suit just because of the fact she wanted to make sure he didn't deviate off. She kept pace with him fairly easily just because of her slightly longer legs, "We're almost back to camp. Just slow it down, it gets a bit steep here remember." she warned as they came to a little slope that led back down to the camp. She then walked over to the red chest and deposited her nitroshrooms into the chest, then gestured for Armend to do the same. "The cats get it back faster than us so we leave it in the chest for them to deliver." she said this as if it were common knowledge (which it is but not everyone knows). | NPC Characters.
Cantarco Village
Cyrus
Appearance: Cyrus is a rather intense looking man, he's in his mid 60s having hunted for a large majority of that time. This left him with plenty of scars but never any on his face he considered himself lucky in that regard. He is well built not notably big but definitely not scrawny.
Personality: Cyrus is a relatively laid back person despite his look, but he knows how hunter works better than most. And when he sees people failing to comply with even the basic rules of it he is bound to get a little cross. He's been around the world and knows a lot of things be it nice vacation spots or where the meanest monsters hang out, you need information like that he'll be more than happy to impart it on you.
Narrative purpose: Cyrus is here to mentor for the new fledgling hunters who have come to replace him. He had once protected the village mostly on his own but it was not always that way. He'll give your characters tips and act as the first quest giver, later on he will also hand out some of the more difficult quest. He also lives in the town hall and will be there to make sure the team can function as a unit.
Chief
Apperance: We all know what's behind the hider.
Personality: The Chief is an odd one. She's far to active for her age and darts around like there's no tomorrow. She is basically a mum to everyone, but she doesn't like people being reckless. Recklessness makes managing the village harder, and she's got enough wrinkles to worry about without people being fools.
Narrative purpose: The Chief runs the village, it's as simple as that. She'll also be doubling as the buff kitchen serving soups with sides and sauces to provide the different buffs. She'll had out most of the urgent quests. |
10,096 | 284 | 46 | 1,966 | 2,593 | Armend Kinora ⚔
"You're all business aren't you?" commented Armend as he stashed his nitroshrooms in the chest as well. "Relax, Clara, I may be new to this whole Monster Hunting thing but I'm a quick learner. I'll pick up most of this along the way."
He strode forward and plopped down on a nearby stool, legs spread evenly apart, his arms resting on his thighs. "So, Cyrus is a pretty strong Hunter huh? I noticed he used Dual Blades too. Think he'll teach me a few things?" | Name: Armend Kindora (Armas)
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Height: 6'1"
Preferred Weapon: Dual Swords
Likes: The Hunt, Physical Exertion, and Exploration.
Dislikes: Commitment, Authoritative Figures.
Personality: Armend expects, demands, and will ultimately snatch freedom away for himself if the need should arise. In his village he was disregarded for having neither parents or advocates. He can be sarcastic and cynical, mostly because of the way his village treated him or the "Abandoned" as they liked to call him. However, he has grown fond of the warmth that sprouts when receiving thanks from others. When he's on the hunt he often become narrow-minded and stubborn. The only thing that really seems to rattle him is the mention of family.
Short Backstory: Armend was left in his former village by his father. The people there, the Village Chief in particular were nasty to the one's they nicknamed "Abandoned". The village had become famous as a dumping ground for the unwanted decades ago. After years of abuse, Armend staged a show of rebellion, telling the chief he'd eventually take everything the man held dear. He left the village to become a hunter soon after that, seeing it as the easiest method of gaining wealth and fame. Two things he would need to snatch the so-called "throne". He found his way to Cantarco, hoping to start his new career off with a bang. |
10,097 | 284 | 47 | 1,351 | 744 | Clara Baldwin
Clara also took a seat then looked over at Armend. "of coarse, you gotta work hard or not at all. Especially in this line of work, you mess around and you might get killed. There is no room for error." she then rolled her shoulders. "And Cyrus has been almost single handedly protecting Cantarco for almost 10 years now. He just got unlucky and his arm was broken by a Black Gravios. So he won't be able to show you everything, but he'll definitely give you pointers." Cyrus would have hidden the fact his arm was broken very well from Armend, Cyrus was tough. Like really tough.
Environment
Area 2
As Edon sat there cooking his meat he might have heard the rapid patting of clawed feet on stone, if he were to look over at the Corpses he left he would see an Iodrome with 5 Ioprey getting ready to feast on the bodies. They were to busy with that to care about him, but it might be in his best interests to evacuate. | NPC Characters.
Cantarco Village
Cyrus
Appearance: Cyrus is a rather intense looking man, he's in his mid 60s having hunted for a large majority of that time. This left him with plenty of scars but never any on his face he considered himself lucky in that regard. He is well built not notably big but definitely not scrawny.
Personality: Cyrus is a relatively laid back person despite his look, but he knows how hunter works better than most. And when he sees people failing to comply with even the basic rules of it he is bound to get a little cross. He's been around the world and knows a lot of things be it nice vacation spots or where the meanest monsters hang out, you need information like that he'll be more than happy to impart it on you.
Narrative purpose: Cyrus is here to mentor for the new fledgling hunters who have come to replace him. He had once protected the village mostly on his own but it was not always that way. He'll give your characters tips and act as the first quest giver, later on he will also hand out some of the more difficult quest. He also lives in the town hall and will be there to make sure the team can function as a unit.
Chief
Apperance: We all know what's behind the hider.
Personality: The Chief is an odd one. She's far to active for her age and darts around like there's no tomorrow. She is basically a mum to everyone, but she doesn't like people being reckless. Recklessness makes managing the village harder, and she's got enough wrinkles to worry about without people being fools.
Narrative purpose: The Chief runs the village, it's as simple as that. She'll also be doubling as the buff kitchen serving soups with sides and sauces to provide the different buffs. She'll had out most of the urgent quests. |
10,098 | 284 | 48 | 2,076 | 255 | Edon Cruxs.
"Time to get away.." Edon packed the uncooked meat and ran towards Area 1. | Name:Edon Kruxs
Age (at least 20): 26
Gender: Male
Height: 6'3"
Preferred weapon: Sword and Shield
Likes (3 or more please): Exploring,Hunting Monsters and Kind actions
Dislikes (at least 2): Monsters and Slavery
Personality: A young and adventurous man willing to kill every monster he see, he loves working as a team he believes it get things done quick.He never ever wished for a reward
Short backstory: Edon was the only son of his parents.He lived in Cantarco ever since he was a young lad.He always wished he was a explorer a hunter perhaps a warrior he wants to discover new things, and leave a mark in the world. He got his wish when the veteran protecting Cantarco retired he was trained and ready to fight! |
10,099 | 284 | 49 | 1,966 | 2,593 | Armend Kinora ⚔
Armend rubbed his chin. If Cyrus was as strong as Clara and his feats said, then he'd probably have unique skills to teach. That would be a big plus for him. His smile became crooked. "When can we head back? I'd love to ask him directly for those pointers."
"Maybe he'd take me out back and we can go toe-to-toe." The idea of him actually beating the man surfaced up. If he could do that then he would prove from the start that he was better. That he didn't need any of that. | Name: Armend Kindora (Armas)
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Height: 6'1"
Preferred Weapon: Dual Swords
Likes: The Hunt, Physical Exertion, and Exploration.
Dislikes: Commitment, Authoritative Figures.
Personality: Armend expects, demands, and will ultimately snatch freedom away for himself if the need should arise. In his village he was disregarded for having neither parents or advocates. He can be sarcastic and cynical, mostly because of the way his village treated him or the "Abandoned" as they liked to call him. However, he has grown fond of the warmth that sprouts when receiving thanks from others. When he's on the hunt he often become narrow-minded and stubborn. The only thing that really seems to rattle him is the mention of family.
Short Backstory: Armend was left in his former village by his father. The people there, the Village Chief in particular were nasty to the one's they nicknamed "Abandoned". The village had become famous as a dumping ground for the unwanted decades ago. After years of abuse, Armend staged a show of rebellion, telling the chief he'd eventually take everything the man held dear. He left the village to become a hunter soon after that, seeing it as the easiest method of gaining wealth and fame. Two things he would need to snatch the so-called "throne". He found his way to Cantarco, hoping to start his new career off with a bang. |
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