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8,300 | 225 | 20 | 1,529 | 520 | Chapter I
Day 2 after Fritz's death, early morning
The Vengeance Safe House
“The old man hasn’t been seen in at least a week, and even before his disappearance the rumours have begun to spread that he looked worn out. I talked to several people and all of them were certain that the old man was either dead or on his deathbed.”
Stalwart rocked back and forth in her chair. Her eyes were closed as she listened to the report given to her by the man who was her second-in-command. She wasn’t exactly sure how she felt about the thing she just heard.
“What do you propose Xeon?” She asked.
The man smirked. “It is simple. We need more resources and influence if we are to have any hope of challenging Mr. Shiro. I don’t have to tell you how juicy of a target the Asylum Island is right now, after years of people escaping to the safety of its neutrality, and we have one in a thousand chance right now to take it.”
“Oh? We do?” Stalwart raised an eyebrow.
“Yes! Shogun is busy devouring the Kingdom’s territory after King’s injury and Mr. Shiro doesn’t dare make any move that could weaken the White Blade after the Followers of Zig annihilated Braid’s gang. Veyles is the careful sort and he wouldn’t make the first move and Momo is not an expansionist. Besides those four and us, every other gang is too far away to really give a damn about the Asylum Island.”
Smirk was gone and in its stead the look of fierce determination appeared on Xeon’s face. “Just give me the word and you will have the Asylum Island by nightfall.”
Stalwart made a show of pondering the matter but the truth was she had already decided on her action before Xeon even said a word.
Day 2 after Fritz’s death, midday
The Asylum Island, outside of the Orphanage
Several men disembarked at the small pier of the Asylum Island. Neither of the bunch looked particularly friendly, but that was hardly an unusual thing in Yire-Alba. However, it was strange to see so many men who obviously were up to no good in the territory under the protection of the Old Man Fritz. Most of the island’s inhabitants who saw them come off the boat assumed that this unsavoury group would be trounced and sent packing as soon as the old man heard of their arrival.
The group made their way through the veritable labyrinth of passageways between shacks and other buildings. The complexity of navigating around the Dirt Town’s peculiar (and unstable) architecture had made the trip to the centre of the Asylum Island longer than one would assume looking at the size of the island from one of the river shores.
Once the men have reached the clearing around the orphanage the leader of the group, a young man who looked like he was fresh to the adulthood turned around towards the islanders who have by then gathered around his unfriendly crew – though they all still kept a safe distance, and shouted:
“People of the Asylum Island, from this day on this island is the territory of the Vengeance and its boss Stalwart!” | Name: Mary, Big sister
Age: 19
Gender: Female
Background: As long as any other orphan can remember, Mary has been in the orphanage. She is one of the first if not the first child old man Fritz took under his wing. Maybe she was the one who inspired him to take up such a philanthropic calling. Regardless, she was always there and she served as a big sister to the rest of the children.
Equipment: Nothing in particular.
Level: 1
Attribute: Fluid
Skills: Cooking, Cleaning, Child-rearing.
Affinity: Earth
Gift: None. Her magic power is too weak. |
8,301 | 225 | 21 | 1,274 | 608 | About 1 hour after Fritz's Death
Thames was still outside with Dodo, looking down at her in more ways than one as she squirmed around like a dumb animal, which she for all intents and purposes was as far as Thames was concerned. He sneered at her, turning away, but not wanting to look back at the orphange. That was when a puch dropped out of Thames's vest, falling onto the ground and unraveling, revealing a loaf of bread with a single bite on it. He looked down, awkwardly at the loaf. "Darn" he thought, quickly reaching down to pick it up before anyone else could snatch it away from him.
He hadn't eaten all morning and was famished at that point. He opened his mouth to finish what he started, before his conscience hit him. Thames turned back to Dodo and sighed before tearing his bread in half, with one side noticeably larger than the other. He reluctantly handed Dodo the smaller piece, then as he looked down at her, took the piece back. "Fine. Here." he said, handing her the larger half. | Name: Thames
Age: 14
Gender: Male
Background: At the start of his life, Thames could not remember the reassuring touch of his mother or father not could he remember any warm words spoken by them. From the beginning, all that Thames could remember hearing was an incessant ticking at the back of his head. Indeed, Thames was born among machinery and raised by clockwork constructs which fed, bathed, and clothed him until he was old enough to do these things himself and the constructs had eventually broke down when Thames was aged eight. At that year, he didn't have the ability to fix these machines, almost starving to death until being taken in by an orphanage where he lived the rest of his life. There, Thames worked on building machines, tinkering with watches in order to practice until he could work on larger machinery. At the age of ten, Thames manifested his abilities, though were unsure exactly of how to use them, simply because they appeared weak and their effects were subtle at best. When he finally realized what he was doing, he was fourteen.
Equipment: Apart from his clothing, Thames also carries around a pocket watch, a set of keys to a house which may or may not be torn down, and a watch repair kit.
Level: 1.
Attribute: Fluid
Skills: Machine Repair, History, Perceptiveness
Affinity: Wind
Gift: Thames possesses the power of limited time dilation. At will, everything in an immediate area of Thames experiences time differently from everything else around him. For the most part, he speed up time around himself so that he personally can appear to be moving faster, actually experiencing time at a slower rate than everything around him. He can also slow himself down, making himself experience things faster, giving him more leeway to react to incoming objects. Of course, all of this could be construed simply as super speed and everything in regards to time may be completely made up. |
8,302 | 225 | 22 | 315 | 290 | Dodo continued to peck at the dirt with her face; well she continued to until she heard the dropping of the pouch. She returned to an upright position as her eyes began to trace around the area where the sound seemed to originate from. But as soon as the object was dropped it was retrieved just as quickly. Shortly after that Dodo was offered the larger chunk of bread that Thames tore off.
"Pruu!" chirped up Dodo as she glanced at Thames with a wider smile. The birdcreature brought her wings closer together as she attempted to keep the bread up with the talons on her primary feathers. However the chunk of bread did not stay between those two bits and fell down to the ground. Dodo paused for a moment and lifted up her left leg. The bread was soon clutched between her talons. Shortly after acquiring the bread again Dodo sat down and moved the bread to a more advantageous spot to eat it. She began to ravenously gnaw at the bread, as unfortunately the varmint hunting was going poorly.
After taking a few more bites from the bread Dodo decided to stop. She began flapping her wings and squirming to remove her purse. Once it was now on the ground she used her horn to reach into the purse and move something out. She moved out a well worn, red, stress ball and pushed it with her head towards Thames.
"Mmrreu?" vocalized Dodo as she tilted her eyes focused attention between Thames and the ball. | Name: Dodo
Age: 12
Gender: Female
Background: The birth of Dodo was an event that was surely remembered by the parents and the midwife or doctor that delivered her. It made sense that Dodo was quickly abandoned alone in Dirt Town. This baby was reported to have been raised by a group of alley cats and pigeons, which helps explain Dodo's very odd communication habits, and the feral and predatorial front she presents to others.The abomination which showed that the universe clearly did not care about the fate of its inhabitants for the most part lived her life helping her adoptive family of pigeons and alley cats obtain food and protecting them from the wild packs of dogs. During one of the trash dives for food she was discovered by Fritz, who had to drag her to the orphanage while she was kicking and resisting. However she somewhat adapted to the orphanage as a few of the alley cats tracked her down and seemed to comfort Dodo, and at the orphanage she got a few items to play with. Now Fritz is dead and Dodo is on the loose.
Equipment: Lead-pipe, three stress balls and a worn purse
Level: 1
Attribute: Focus
Skills:
Intimidation
Bestiary
Juggling
Affinity: Light
Gift: Dodo's gift is the ability to cause the surface area around her talons to function as a prism to create a bright display of all the colors in the visible spectrum. |
8,303 | 225 | 23 | 2,033 | 9,320 | ~Senna~
Location: Main Hall, Dirt Town Orphanage
Day of Fritz's death.
Senna waited longer than she should have for a reply, really. Some misguided sense of sentimentality, perhaps? She couldn't help it. She desperately wanted some plan to help these fools stick together, she really did! But realistically speaking, staying here was going to be nothing but trouble, and she didn't fancy working for any of the more abusive gangs. Upon receiving no reply from Sai, or even Ansgar, Sen simply smiled sadly.
"Don't get a girls hopes up. That's mean, you know." She replied with a soft chuckle. Oh sure, she could lead them, she was fairly certain she could, at least for a time, but eventually she'd get bored of it. There was no denying that. She was already tired and bored of this conversation, for example. Stepping back from the two boys Sen headed for the exit of the orphanage. "I'll stick around for a few days and see if you can pull a miracle out of your ass, but after that...I'm gone."
With a flutter of her wings, Sen left the two where they stood.
Day 2 after Fritz’s death, midday
The Asylum Island, outside of the Orphanage
The past two days had been rather eventful for Sen. Weighing her options, deciding what she should and could do, and what would obviously be a bad idea. She thought about running, perhaps throwing her lot in with another of the gangs for a bit before going solo, or just going solo. Staying, talking with both Mary and trying to keep the little kiddos that remained from dying of fright. Surprisingly, most of them seemed rather content with her around as well as taking orders, or at least suggestions from her. It was amusing how much sheer confidence and words could be used to sway and manipulate people into doing things.
It was also rather sad, considering they must really have no one else to really cling to besides Mary if they were willing to listen to her of all people.
Almost made her feel a tad bit bad about having decided to jump ship later that night. Ah well, not her problem. Little kiddos need to learn not to rely so heavily on something other than themselves. Of course, on the second day it looked like something interesting was going to happen, no? Several men, likely from one of the gangs decided to show up on the island. The assumption of which was quickly confirmed by the mans words.
Senna watched from an open window, humming thoughtfully to herself as she tapped her fingers lightly on the open windowsill.
Vengeance, eh?
Now what did she know about the gang? Information was key in knowing how to best combat something after all. Vengeance was the smallest of groups - created after their leader split from Mr. Shiro and his White Blades, as well as the most immediate threat to the island in her opinion. Old Man Fritz had to really do a number on him before he decided to accept the treaty. Now the question here, what was Vengeance intentions? They could be good, or they could be bad. More often then not, it was definitely not the former. That was just what experience had taught the young girl.
Now, she could play the good guy here and try and appeal for everyone...or she could go for the most self-beneficial route here. Both had their pros and cons, as well as their risks. Trying to fight off every single gang in the area by themselves? Absolutely ridiculous. Ah, if only Momo had decided to be the one to show up. It'd make this somewhat easier, though Sen had always been suspicious of the gangs seemingly friendly nature. A friendly smile was just as dangerous as a knife to the back, sometimes even more so.
Well, it didn't seem like anyone else was going to be doing some talking, and the urge to meddle was getting quite a bit irresistible. With a smirk, Sen leaped out the window, wings fluttering playfully as she approached the group. First things first - find out what the enemy knows. If one was open to discourse, then one could be...swayed.
"Ho, that is a rather...quick assertion to make." The young girl giggled playfully. "Or perhaps you forgot what happened to the last person who pissed off Fritz, hm? Or are you just into having an old man beat you up? Kinky." She grinned impishly. What? She couldn't not just make a quick little joke or not get on someones nerves just a little. Wasn't like her. "Sorry, sorry, can't help but to joke a little." She continued with a somewhat more serious expression.
"So do tell, what exactly is Vengeance planning here? Fritz isn't going to be too happy, you know."
She asked for a number of reasons. To see what they knew, and if she could possibly use it to her advantage, as well as maybe sway them to leave without too much of a fuss. If not, at least if she knew what plans Vengeance had for this place it'd make gauging their threat a bit easier. | The first thing one would notice about Sen, is her incredibly pale, almost snow white skin tone. The next, would likely be the six horns of varying length protruding from her head. Two, long bull like horns curve around her skull from just above her ears which have slight elfin points, with two smaller ones growing in just above them with a final, small two growing barely an inch from the top of her forehead. She has long, black hair typically not styled in any particular fashion and is usually left to hang listlessly. A pair of bat like wings extend from her spine, though they aren't large enough to allow for actual flight, though could aid one in a controlled glide.
The fifteen year old sports rather decorative clothing, and stands about 5'4", a good few inches taller than the others of her age with a skirt and long stockings and platform boots adorning her feet. She has yellow colored eyes with cat like slits for pupils, and her horns don a few charms of unknown make and purpose. She comments they're only there for cosmetic effect. One should not mistake her for some delicate wallflower or other not so physically inclined person. Senna could likely give a few full grown men a run for their money in terms of strength, and her slender, toned body gives away that much at least.
Name:
Senna
Age:
15
Gender:
Female.
Background:
As far as Sen's personality goes, she's a troublesome sort and incredibly fickle most of the time. One moment she might be your best friend, the next she's liable to throw you under the bus if it something inconvenient for her or she grows bored of someone. She might be set on revenge one moment, and then decide to get all friendly with them later - with no intent for betrayal. Really, it just depends on her mood and how she feels at the moment. Generally though, she is fairly flirtatious and promiscuous in her mannerisms, and never shows open hostility towards anyone and treats most people with a fairly friendly demeanor. Of course, one should be wary of her affection of any sort and always take her words and loyalties with a grain of salt.
As she says - "Heh? What, me? Everyone's loyalties lie somewhere. Mine is to myself, and myself only. If I can get ahead by being friendly, I'll do it. If It'll serve me better to shank all of you guys in a dark alley...well, heh. I think it's obvious."
That said, she's not one for random stabbings or betrayals for giggles. One shouldn't have to worry too much about her fickle nature getting in the way of things unless the pros greatly outweigh the cons. Of course, this is only because she values long term partners higher than possibly temporary allies - basically meaning people she could manipulate to an extent with a little clever wording or other such things. Getting her to be completely on the side of any permanent cause, is going to be incredibly difficult, but in the unlikely event that you do have it, you would be surprised at the lengths she might go to repay a debt or help those she might care for.
Has somewhat refined tastes, and would love nothing more than to live in the lap of luxury through any means possible. She very rarely is angry or upset and tries to find humor in everything, but one should be careful of her temper.
Background:
Honestly, Senna has no real idea of her origins. As far as she remembers she was tossed out on the streets at a fairly early age - too young to even remember anything aside from her name, a thing she clung to as her only real possession for a fairly long time. Living on the streets wasn't exactly all that easy, but she managed well enough by showing some of the people around her who was boss and who could outsmart them. She quickly learned how to handle herself in quite a number of brawls, as while she liked to consider herself highly intelligent such things bored her to no extent. She needed things to get the blood flowing, to watch someones cranium implode while she smacked it. For a kid, she was perhaps fairly similar to what her appearance might have suggested, but without anything else to turn to, how could one survive if they didn't cut down the competition?
When Fritz found her, she was half beaten from a brawl and nearly dead when asked about what happened, all she'll comment is that she got out a lot better than those piss for brains, and 'their heads are gonna look reeeeal nice on that fence' She decided to stick around for awhile, see what this whole thing was about and decided to stay at the orphanage for awhile with the other kids.
Equipment:
The only weapons she needs are her fists legs, and gauntlets of stone.
Level:
1
Attribute:
Force
Skills:
Intelligence:
One might mistake Sen for a simple brute that likes to punch her way through everything. Well, they are mostly right. She doesn't have time to really finesse things too much. However, she greatly enjoys brain teasers and considers herself at least above average in the IQ department. She often likes to play chess in her spare time. Though, perhaps 'Clever and Resourceful' might be a better descriptor here. She is by no means going to be outsmarting any scholarly sort, since books and such things bore her to no end.
Manipulative:
Either through more friendly means or less such means, Sen has a surprising way with words when it comes to speaking. Where she picked this up from no one is quite sure, but she comments that sometimes brute force isn't enough, and perhaps a honeyed tongue and playing ones cards right with certain people could easily get one better results. Pitting people against each other and watching delightfully from the sidelines.
Cooking:
In a fairly surprising turn of events, one might find Senna is fairly talented in the cooking department and gets quite agitated if she's cooking and someone interrupts her or messes her up. If you are one of these fools who interrupts her, you won't be having a skull left after she's done with you.
Affinity:
Earth
Gift:
Senna's gift is fairly simple. It allows her to make stone gauntlets out of the earth itself. It is very simple in function, but fairly useful. Aside from enhancing her punches they are also sturdy enough to be able to deflect some blows and things. While perhaps not impressive as some other gifts currently, in time with a little training it would likely grow into something much more effective. |
8,304 | 225 | 24 | 315 | 290 | Two days had passed since the Keeper of Kids had passed on. Dodo had much time to draw a very important conclusion; Asylum Island had its fauna, particularly the rodent population, succumb to a noticeable population decrease. Without rats to chase and feast upon Dodo had come to a quick conclusion. The orphanage was no longer a suitable habitation to primarily roost at; perhaps if she found herself nearby and it wasn't that far of a flight she would consider stopping back there.
Due to lack of varmints to hunt, Dodo decided to venture out into the rest of the northern part of Dirt-Town in order to find more suitable mice to feast upon.
Her flight for food took her to the region known to be under the control of the 'Streetwise Samurai'. Surely this region led by expansionists would be full of varmints to feast upon. Dodo flew above an inconspicuous street nestled between many shanty buildings. Descending Dodo kept her eye focused for any skittering prey.
She landed down on a pole of one of these buildings and knocked down a paper lantern. Roosting upon this pole Dodo continued to look around for potential prey. "Pruu!" Dodo chirped out. | Name: Dodo
Age: 12
Gender: Female
Background: The birth of Dodo was an event that was surely remembered by the parents and the midwife or doctor that delivered her. It made sense that Dodo was quickly abandoned alone in Dirt Town. This baby was reported to have been raised by a group of alley cats and pigeons, which helps explain Dodo's very odd communication habits, and the feral and predatorial front she presents to others.The abomination which showed that the universe clearly did not care about the fate of its inhabitants for the most part lived her life helping her adoptive family of pigeons and alley cats obtain food and protecting them from the wild packs of dogs. During one of the trash dives for food she was discovered by Fritz, who had to drag her to the orphanage while she was kicking and resisting. However she somewhat adapted to the orphanage as a few of the alley cats tracked her down and seemed to comfort Dodo, and at the orphanage she got a few items to play with. Now Fritz is dead and Dodo is on the loose.
Equipment: Lead-pipe, three stress balls and a worn purse
Level: 1
Attribute: Focus
Skills:
Intimidation
Bestiary
Juggling
Affinity: Light
Gift: Dodo's gift is the ability to cause the surface area around her talons to function as a prism to create a bright display of all the colors in the visible spectrum. |
8,305 | 225 | 25 | 1,274 | 608 | An Hour and Maybe Twenty Minutes After Fritz's Death
Thames rolled his eyes. "I don't have time for your childish games." he scoffed, before putting his hands in his pockets and heading off. He paused for a moment, resisting the urge to turn back, before stepping off toward the island proper.
In spite of his time spent in the orphanage doing his research and tinkering, he had very little by way of actual resources, especially to reconstruct his caretakers. After several years, it was unknown as to whether or not they were even still there. As a child, he was forbidden from leaving the island. After all, it was dangerous to leave, though that was where his home was for more than half his life, not that his life was too long.
With his fellow orphans not liking him too much and with Mr. Fritz out of the way, there was nothing keeping him from leaving the island. Though, with all that was out there, it was far too dangerous. Thames could find himself killed. Though, it was also dangerous on the island. There was nothing keeping the other orphans from seeking out and killing him. He realized the world was unsafe.
Lucky for him, Thames had a unique power. Thames slept with his powers on, time slowed by a moment, allowing Thames to sleep for a bit longer and extend his life by a few moments. The distortion in time allowed him to slow down any night assailants- for the most part being mosquitos which he could trap in a time-bubble, giving him just enough time to smash them before returning to sleep.
Two Days Following That Past Day
With no one to look out for him and no actual survival skills, Thames was forced to steal in order to survive. He was not a particularly good thief. It was true he had special abilities, though it would be far more useful had others too not had abilities of their own.
In other words, Thames was starving to death. He managed to steal himself a tart out of someone's home. It was small, but it was also his breakfast, keeping him alive at least until he could somehow manage to snatch himself another meal. It was midday, and there was commotion.
Thames had snuck around, avoiding a group of people marching, according to Thames's calculations, toward the orphanage. He tried to remain undetected, of course ready to stab whoever was around with a mechanical push-dagger he managed to jurry-rig out of his stop watch along with various bits of discarded metal he found while digging for food. While he followed them, Thames counted exactly how many were there, planning to discover their actual intent. | Name: Thames
Age: 14
Gender: Male
Background: At the start of his life, Thames could not remember the reassuring touch of his mother or father not could he remember any warm words spoken by them. From the beginning, all that Thames could remember hearing was an incessant ticking at the back of his head. Indeed, Thames was born among machinery and raised by clockwork constructs which fed, bathed, and clothed him until he was old enough to do these things himself and the constructs had eventually broke down when Thames was aged eight. At that year, he didn't have the ability to fix these machines, almost starving to death until being taken in by an orphanage where he lived the rest of his life. There, Thames worked on building machines, tinkering with watches in order to practice until he could work on larger machinery. At the age of ten, Thames manifested his abilities, though were unsure exactly of how to use them, simply because they appeared weak and their effects were subtle at best. When he finally realized what he was doing, he was fourteen.
Equipment: Apart from his clothing, Thames also carries around a pocket watch, a set of keys to a house which may or may not be torn down, and a watch repair kit.
Level: 1.
Attribute: Fluid
Skills: Machine Repair, History, Perceptiveness
Affinity: Wind
Gift: Thames possesses the power of limited time dilation. At will, everything in an immediate area of Thames experiences time differently from everything else around him. For the most part, he speed up time around himself so that he personally can appear to be moving faster, actually experiencing time at a slower rate than everything around him. He can also slow himself down, making himself experience things faster, giving him more leeway to react to incoming objects. Of course, all of this could be construed simply as super speed and everything in regards to time may be completely made up. |
8,306 | 225 | 26 | 896 | 388 | The Black Tongs, usually lively with the clangs of metal against metal, was dead silent as its two occupants mourning the passing of a great man. Garrett was a world weary man of great stature, matching Trog in height and nearly in width, who had come to respect Old Man Fritz deeply on a professional level and took the news of his passing with a heavy heart. The forge merely embered as neither of them could dig up the heart to work, instead sitting in a contemplative silence that made Trog itchy.
A deep sigh left Garrett as he dragged his hands through what little hair he had left before speaking for the first time in what felt like an eternity, "So lad, what are you going to do?"
It was a simple question and it was one he didn't really have an answer to. The Orphanage was Trog's home, no question, but he didn't know how much longer that would be the case. Trog may not be the sharpest knife in the kitchen but he knew that without the threat of Old Man Fritz guardianship that all the other gangs, and anyone else for that matter, would be gearing to take what they wanted. Like rats stalking a sick dog. Talks were apparently had between some of the older kids, but Trog wasn't apart of them and didn't know the outcome. Ultimately, Trog's choices were fairly limited.
"I guess I stay 'ere sir... I don't 'ave anyplace else to go." the words came out evenly, most of the grief having emptied out last night and left with a dull acceptance of his lot.
Garrett gave a slight nod, as if he'd already known what Trog was going to say, but soon his attention was stolen as someone began to yell outside.
“People of the Asylum Island, from this day on this island is the territory of the Vengeance and its boss Stalwart!”
The words immediately changed the tone from one of silent mourning to high tension energy as the pair were stunned. It hadden't even been a full day since the Old Man had died and already there were vultures at the gate, and boy did it boil Trog's blood. His breathing became heavy as he began searching for a weapon, or anything he could use as one. Garrett opened his mouth to say something before swallowing it, one look at Trog made it clear that this wasn't going to end pretty. When Trog found a suitably heavy hammer and stalked out the door all Garrett could do was switch the sign to "Closed" and retreat to the back room, as far away as he could possibly go from the coming storm.
As much as he wanted to charge into the fray, yelling curses and stomping heads, Trog held back the Itch as he stalked forward only barely acknowledging Senna's presence. He moved silently but purposefully towards the gathering of Vengeance thugs, meaty fist tightening around the handle of the hammer he held and visions of violence dancing across his mind. It wasn't until he came upon them that Trog betrayed his presence, the last couple of steps being loud stomps. His eyes embedded in their sockets, Trog holding as much of himself back as he could in his current circumstance.
"Yer not wanted 'ere," he said, venom dripping from his words like a drooling snake and the threat of violence pulled taut against tense muscles. | Name: Trog
Age: 15
Gender: Male
Background: As is well known throughout the lands the city of Castalia is a hub for scientific, technological, and arcane development with a reputation for lax morals when it comes to human experimentation. Trog came about as a result of a group of scientists interested in creating soldiers more capable at crushing their enemies and guarding their secrets. So began a process of selective breeding, magical bombardment of the fetus, and the invasion of toxic spirits into their minds as they grew. Unsurprisingly many of the children didn't survive this treatment and the ones who did were born twisted, but incredibly promising.
Then there was the Midwife, a woman who had seen much in her time with these scientists but decided that what was going on was far too wrong to justify and spirited away with an infant Trog. She journeyed for many days before catching wind of a rumor of an Orphanage of sorts under the guardianship of a powerful man. Soon enough she was at the Orphanage's door and made her case before Old Man Fritz, leaving Trog into his care once she was certain he was a good enough man. She left soon after in an attempt to shake off any would be pursuers who came looking for their missing asset.
As far as Trog knows he's always been there and was just a heavily Tainted child, though there have been moments of doubt. While they have faded over the years the effects of the experiments still affect Trog to this day, like the uncontrollable anger that seeps its way into his thoughts and the way knowledge that doesn't pertain to hurting things seems to roll. However, despite all this, Trog tries to do right by those he's grown up to. He helps in the ways he can, tries to be as friendly as his emotions let him, and truly looks up to Old Man Fritz not unlike how a child would view their father.
Equipment:
-Tusk, a massive blade that appears to be the love child of a meat cleaver and a machete. Crafted from leftover scrap iron and a cannibalized belt, while appearing crude the blade is actually fairly functional and highlights the craftsman' pragmatism.
-Blacksmith Apprentice Tools, hammers and tongs of various sizes all kept in a leather apron.
Level: 1
Attribute: Force
Skills:
-Natural Blacksmith, While he has a long way to go to becoming a master blacksmith Trog is a complete natural to the trade, taking to it as naturally as breathing.
-Cunning, While by no means a smart man to dismiss him as an idiot would be a grave error in judgement. Trog is always watching, thinking, and calculating in his own way on how to solve any given problem, though to be fair most of his solutions are to just smash someone into the dirt. Just don't count on it always being the case.
-Sneaky, Despite his large size and twisted body Trog is an adept at moving about "All sneaky like." and remaining hidden from view which has lead to many a startled yelps when the giant that wasn't there a second ago suddenly is behind them.
Affinity: Fire
Gift:
-Frenzy, when aggression is in the air and blood begins to spill Trog begins to get... itchy. He begins to breath hard, he begins to twitch erratically, and he begins to "see red" as crimson flames burst from his eye sockets. Then the real fun starts as his strength is doubled, his pain tolerance skyrockets, and he's filled with an unstoppable urge to crush, cut, and stab at those he views as a threat. Oddly enough he isn't in control of this Gift and it only activates when Trog is hurt enough, becomes suitably enraged, or he feels something important to him is going to be lost. |
8,307 | 225 | 27 | 1,529 | 520 | On the way to the Orphanage
As Thames sneaked behind the newly arrived group he managed to count exactly seven gangsters. None of them looked particularly older than Thames himself. By his reckoning they were all at about Mary’s age, give or take a year or two. The group was quiet, but from time to time there would be a noticeable nervous glance casted in the direction of the group’s leader. The impression Thames got from most of them was that they didn’t want to be here. Probably the only thing keeping them on the Island was the confidence their leader displayed and maybe the fear of punishment that would follow if they attempted to skedaddle.
Outside of the Orphanage
Group’s leader gave Senna a measuring glance. His eyes flared up for a moment but he quickly managed to acquire an unimpressed demeanour. At hearing Senna’s words a mocking smirk appeared on his face and he invitingly spread his arms.
“He is free to come, if he’s able. But you coming to meet me instead of him has confirmed what I suspected before I came here.” He lowered his arms and put his hands on his waist. His left eyebrow arced as he continued speaking. “Tell me, is he dead? Or is he too weak to move?”
At his words the clearing exploded with voices.
‘The old man’s dead?’
‘Impossible!’
‘No way…’
‘I wondered why he stopped appearing.’
Many more reached Senna’s ears from the onlookers who followed the gang from their landing on the island to this clearing, but they all held two common emotions: disbelief and fear.
It is at this point that Trog made his appearance.
The leader’s face twisted into snarl, though it was hard to determine whether that was because of the anger at Trog’s threat or disgust at the huge orphan’s monstrous appearance. Other gangsters in the clearing readied themselves for a fight.
“I don’t care about your welcome freak. This island is now possession of my gang, and if you want to get violent I will be happy to do the world a favour and rid it of your ugly mug.”
The Streetwise Samurai territory
The new territory was rich in vermin, but not of the kind which Dodo tended to find palatable. Although she came across one or two critters which would be a good prey, the overwhelming majority of the region’s inhabitants were humans who went about their daily lives, whatever they might be. The place stank, but then again, so did the entirety of the Dirt Town.
Perched as she was on the pole, Dodo was clearly visible to most passersby. They all chose to pretend they didn’t see anything than acknowledge the preying stare of the weird humanoid bird.
Well, all but one.
A young man appeared before the pole Dodo was roosted on and pointed at her with his finger.
“Hey, who are you? I didn’t see you around here before! This area is under my jurisdiction by the command of Shogun. You don’t look like you are up to anything good. State your business!” | Name: Mary, Big sister
Age: 19
Gender: Female
Background: As long as any other orphan can remember, Mary has been in the orphanage. She is one of the first if not the first child old man Fritz took under his wing. Maybe she was the one who inspired him to take up such a philanthropic calling. Regardless, she was always there and she served as a big sister to the rest of the children.
Equipment: Nothing in particular.
Level: 1
Attribute: Fluid
Skills: Cooking, Cleaning, Child-rearing.
Affinity: Earth
Gift: None. Her magic power is too weak. |
8,308 | 225 | 28 | 236 | 181 | Oralee
Location: Main Hall, Dirt Town Orphanage
Day of Fritz's Death
Oralee listens, hiding in a corner, as Fritz dies. Tears silently fall down her cheeks. What's going to happen to us now? We don't have his protection anymore, and most of us are still learning things... The ten year old, being mature as always, doesn't make a sound, as she wallows in sadness in silence. She didn't want to burden the others. They all cared about Fritz, and they all needed support, but even if she was small, and only ten, that didn't mean she could be immature about it.
She grew up on the streets before Fritz found her, welcoming her into his family. She didn't know what a family was, before finding Fritz, but that didn't matter. She didn't want her family to break apart. They had to stick together. That was the focus of her thoughts. We must stick together if we're going to survive... Even though her heart was breaking, it just reminded her of how her heart broke at every mean word her mother sent her way.
Oralee heads back to her room, wanting to sleep the pain away. Maybe she'd feel better in the morning. She still remembers the day her mother kicked her out. It took her weeks to recover. She was stronger now, though. She knows what love is, and how it feels. She knows what she has to do to survive, and she knows that they were stronger together.
Location: Outside the Orphanage
Day 2, After Fritz's Death, Midday
Oralee wakes to the sound of unknown voices. Rubbing her eyes, trying to get rid of the sleep in them, she heads for a window that looked out to the front of the Orphanage. There, she sees Senna, and some unknown people gathered. She listens to everything that is being said, and frowns.
“People of the Asylum Island, from this day on this island is the territory of the Vengeance and its boss Stalwart!”
"...This is not good..." she mumbles to herself. Her frown turns into a glare at the leader's words to Trog. "No one is allowed to hurt Trog's feelings!" She concentrates hard, as she tries to form a mirage of Fritz at a window that the gang could easily see. There was no way she was going to let them off easily. If she could use her powers to their advantage, then she would.
She focuses hard, and is able to manage a 30 second flicker of Fritz, looking out at them, glaring. Taking a deep breath, she focuses again, this time sending the mirage to a different location, still of a glaring Fritz. She continues this for two minutes, trying to scare the gangsters away from the Orphanage. She didn't want Senna or Trog to get hurt. As she focuses on her power, she doesn't realise that her wings emerged from behind her hair, and were raised, as if she were ready to fly, much like an angel. | Name:
Oralee
Age:
10
Gender:
Female
Background:
Oralee is a very bubbly little girl. She is full of energy, and can be rather hyperactive. She loves to fly, as her wings grow with her. She hides them because she’s terrified someone might take them from her.
For the first 6 years of her life, Oralee never knew her father, and her mother always blamed her for something, though she could never tell what it was. Her mother constantly told her she was a demon, and that no one would love her with her wings. Her mother also said that if someone saw her wings, they’d take her wings from her.
This is why Oralee is rather self-conscious, and not at all confident in herself. It is also the true reason why she hides her wings. She was finally thrown out at 6 years of age, and found by Fritz at 8, trying to hide away in the shadows.
Equipment:
She has a small medical kit she carries around, and a small dagger she keeps on her.
Level:
1
Attribute:
Fluid
Skills:
Flight: Oralee has the ability to fly. Her wings are like a swan, and needs constant grooming. Learning on the streets, Oralee always needed a backup plan, and so her ability to fly became her greatest weapon. Whenever she needed to run away, she could easily fly out of reach.
Parkour: Oralee had to take care of herself for two years. She had to learn how to dodge, climb and swing into difficult places, easy for a small child to access, but hard for older men. This is why she’s a fantastic thief, though she never uses her skills. She’s too kind hearted to steal anything.
Medicine: Oralee was lucky enough that an old woman was able to teach her how to patch herself up. Along with many healing mixtures, Oralee was taught everything in those two years by the woman.
Affinity:
Light
Gift:
Oralee’s gift is the ability to, not create complete illusions, but more mirages to trick people. If she tries hard enough, she can create a short illusion to change someone’s features slightly. She is able to see flickers of the future, as long as it’s not her future, and the person she sees is someone she knows. |
8,309 | 226 | 0 | 875 | 200 | It was raining softly against the thatched roof of the local tavern in the small town of Tarrin. Alric was almost out of money. He was going to need to find work soon if he wanted to continue searching for his sister, Sarah. She had disappeared a little over a year ago and it was Alric’s life mission to find her, to bring her home safe.
Alric was getting cut off by the barkeep, he had learned recently what happened if Alric had just a little too much to drink and was not eager to see that side of the young blond man again. He did cut the imposing figure at a little over six feet tall, broad shouldered and muscled from his both his work on the farm and his year of searching for Sarah. He wore simple chain mail with a hooded cloak, his sword resting in its scabbard on his hip and his round metal shield on his back.
Alric finished off the last of his ale with a sigh, the amber liquid was his one vice, if the people of Vadena could see him they would not recognize him, he had always tried to be a good example as a lot of the children of his hometown looked up to him – he was regarded as the town hero. But here, in this place, no one knew him and he did not care to know him. They had brought him no closer to finding Sarah then he had been when he’d arrived nearly a week ago.
He stumbled out of the tavern, only mildly drunk. He leaned against a wooden beam for support but when he pulled his hand away a piece of parchment was stuck to it. It was a poster of sorts, offering 10,000 sovereigns for the adventurers who could recover something for the monks in Ulna Themar. He could handle that, and with his cut of the money he’d have enough to look for Sarah full time. He folded the wet parchment and placed it in his pack, now headed for Ulna Themar. It was only a few days journey from where he was.
The city of Ulna Themar was often referred to as the Gilded City, and it was no wonder, almost all of the buildings were made of marble with gold accents. Intricate carvings of woodland creatures could be found throughout the marbled buildings older than anything Alric had ever seen. He had entered through the south gate which emptied out into the district known as Kutmal Market. Shops as far as the eye could see lined the roads that ran throughout the city. Shopkeepers tried to entice passerby into their shops by shouting their sales over the heads of the crowd. Alric ignored them, he needed the religious district of Sarbost West, that is where the temple would be.
The temple of Eteyar was the most beautiful temple Alric had ever seen. Streams of water seemed to flow all around and through the temple, falling out of a marble statue into a golden pond in the epicenter of the temple. Here, monks were waiting to greet the adventurer’s who had gathered.
“This ought to be good,” Alric muttered to himself.
An older elf, not that the humans in the group of adventurer’s would really be able to tell without experience among the elves, greeted them all warmly. Welcome! Welcome! Now, you all know why you’re here. You are to retrieve for us, an artifact of Lord Eteyar. Nothing too special, just a bronze sphere with ancient runes on it. It is in the misted forest which I fear is far too dangerous for our monks to venture into. No one has been known to return from the Misted Forest which is why until just recently it was illegal to go there. To get past the guard posted outside the gates you will need to show a voucher signed off by the mayor of our fair city. He requires that you be well prepared for your venture into the woods and that you have a party of no less than 3 people. If you have any questions, feel free to ask me, I will remain here until the end of the day. If you mention to any of the shop keepers that you are part of Eteyar’s quest they will give you a discount. Good luck! May Eteyar guide you on your way!” | |
8,310 | 226 | 1 | 2,647 | 220 | OOC: I'm gonna assume the older elf is me, let me know if I'm wrong
It was always fun pretending to be old for Beivan, he was wearing a long grey cloak that covered most of his body and some shorts under it, he was slouching and holding a quarter staff with both hands, using it as a oversized walking stick, to the crowd he'd appear to be a frail old fart, when in reality it's likely he could beat up at least 50% of the people in front of him, this was done to make people underestimate him, enemies were everywhere and no one expects a old man to beat the crap out of you.
He was sad at the large amount of humans in the group, but hid that emotion from the crowd, he felt a fire burn his flesh every time he saw a human, those pathetic things that ruled his land, his home, all humans claimed they were special, when in reality to him they were demons, it wasn't fair that the same people who killed his parents would live 20 years when his parents would've lived 200.
Yet Beivan needed to rely on what he hated most. he knew his quest would be hindered by them as he wouldn't be able to tell them what the Artifact really does, legend has it that if the Bronze Sphere broke open, it would release a large flood that would drown all the humans and bring back the good old days when Ulna Themar was ruled by Elves.
However, his whole life had lead up to this moment, if he failed to find anyone who would join him, his quest would certainly end with his death, and 400 years of effort would slide down the drain. | Character NameBeivan Bevolo
Class & Level Monk 3
Race High Elf
Background Acolyte
Alignment Neutral
Experience Points 900
Abilities & Modifiers
Strength: 10
Dexterity: 20
Constitution: 15
Intelligence: 9
Wisdom: 16
Charisma: 13
NOTE: I didn't fill in all the skills for this, I only filled in the ones I am Proficient in Or added skills too, all Proficient skills have are bracketed).
Skills
(Acrobatics:) +9
Animal Handling: 4
Arcana: 0
Athletics: 1
Deception: 3
History:
(Insight:) +8
Intimidation: 3
Investigation:
Medicine: +5
Nature:
(Perception:) +7
Performance:
Persuasion: 3
(Religion:) +3
Sleight of Hand:
(Stealth:) +9
Survivial:
Armor Class: 18
Hit Point Maximum/Current Hit Points: 23/23
Personality Traits: I oftenly pretend to be old and Senile.
Ideals: I am a religious fanatic
Bonds: I must reclaim a lost artifact in order to restore the ways of the old
Flaws: I am racist towards humans
Features &Traits: Fey Ancestry
Trance
Martial Arts: 1d4 for fists+if you use a Monk Weapon, you punch again
Shelter of the Faithful
Ki save: 13
Flurry of Blows: 2 extra unarmed attacks
Patient Defence: Dodge
Step of the Wind: Dash
Deflect Missles: 1d10+8
Open Hand Technique: Dex or Prone, Str Or 15 Push, No reaction when hit by a Flurry of Blows
Equipment/Money: Quarter Staff
Book of Eteyar
Holy Water
Other Proficiencies & Languages:
Common, Elven, Orc, Draconic
Character Appearance (picture required):
Age: 550
Height: 5'5
Weight: 150
Eyes: Blue
Skin: Caucasian
Hair: White
Allies & Organizations: The Monks of Eteyar
Character Backstory:Beivan was born before Humans owned Ulna Themar, to a Soldier and a Doctor, he loved his parents very much, life was good, Then the Humans attacked and laid siege to the city hoping to take it over for a reason beyond Beivan, His Father died defending the walls while his Mother died trying to save him, eventually the Human’s won and the head’s of his family and friend’s adorned the walls.
Then to make matter’s worst, his home was taken from him and given to a family of human immigrants, Beivan had nothing else to do but cry in a alley all day and night until his eventual death of starvation, Beivan swore that he would make the human race pay for their crimes in time, no matter how long it would take. Beivan was a patient man.
But one day a Monk named Elanan met him and offered him a home in return that Beivan served the monastery, Beivan agreed and joined the monks, who trained him in the arts of fighting and religion, His family was replaced by his god and his fellow Monks.
But Beivan wanted revenge, he wanted a city free of Humans and restored to it’s former glory, so he asked Elanan how he could do this, Elanan told him about the legendary lost artifact of Eteyar and if it is found, he will likely get his wish, So Beivan became obsessed with it and searched far and wide for it, Centuries passed and he grew older and older, he almost gave up until he found a map to where the artifact could be.
But the Journey would be deadly and he would likely die if he went alone, none of the other monks wanted to help him so he hired the adventurer’s to help him find it.
Treasure: A Map to the artifact
A Tear drop shaped Earing made from tears
Spells Minor Illusion (Spell save:9. Spell Attack:1.)
Here is my character!. I copied the character from a character sheet I made earlier, here is the original |
8,311 | 226 | 2 | 378 | 158 | Just inside the gates of the Gilded City stood a giant, hooded figure, as motionless as the stone for which he was named. Pitanios couldn't help but gaze in wonder at the gold and marble structures that seemed to touch the very heavens themselves. "If this little adventure doesn't work out, I think I might just stay here," he thinks to himself. "If the people here have so much gold that they can afford to waste it on the sides of their houses, imagine what the insides of their purses look like!" Beginning to make his way through the city and moving with surprising quietness for a being over six and a half feet tall, Pitanios attempts to subtly choose his next target. Apparently, however, he wasn't subtle enough. Every time his gaze fell on someone for what he felt was just a fraction of a second, they noticed and crossed the street.
Pitanios eventually abandons his attempts at some quick cash and instead turns his attention to the gilded carvings on the buildings of creatures he had never even seen before. While he he had yet to learn what life in this city was really like, it was without a doubt, the most beautiful place he had ever seen. There was absolutely no comparing it to his home town, which was little more than a collection of dilapidated houses and hastily constructed shacks posing as shops. After a couple of hours of wandering aimlessly, the hulking dragonborn happens to stumble upon a group of monks waiting in front of what seemed to be a temple. He approaches the group with the most charming smile one could muster with a mouth full of razor sharp teeth. "Hello gentlemen," the words flow rich and smooth from his mouth like molten chocolate, "I heard you're in need of a hero?"
((OOC: Does chocolate exist in this world)) | Character Name: Pitanios Poulí
Class & Level: Rogue 3
Race: Dragonborn
Background: Urchin
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Experience Points: 900
Abilities & Modifiers
Strength: 15/ +2 Modifier
Dexterity: 17/ +3 Modifier
Constitution: 13/ +2 Modifier
Intelligence: 8/ -1 Modifier
Wisdom: 12/ +1 Modifier
Charisma: 18/ +4 Modifier
Saving Throws: Dexterity, Intelligence
Skills
Acrobatics: 5 (+2 Proficiency) (+3 Dexterity)
Animal Handling: (+1 Wisdom)
Arcana:
Athletics: 4 (+2 Proficiency)
Deception: (+4 Charisma)
History:
Insight: (+1 Wisdom)
Intimidation: 7 (+4 Expertise) (+4 Charisma)
Investigation:
Medicine: (+1 Wisdom)
Nature:
Perception: (+1 Wisdom)
Performance: (+4 Charisma)
Persuasion: (+4 Charisma)
Religion:
Sleight of Hand: (+3 Dexterity)
Stealth: (+2 Proficiency) (+3 Dexterity)
Survivial: (+1 Wisdom)
Armor Class: 15
Hit Point Maximum/Current Hit Points: 26
Personality Traits: I like to squeeze into small places where no one else can get to me.
Ideals: The low are lifted up, and the high and mighty are brought down. Change is the nature of things.
Bonds: I owe my survival to another urchin who taught me to live on the streets.
Flaws: Gold seems like a lot of money to me, and I’ll do just about anything for more of it.
Features &Traits:
You know the secret patterns and flow to cities and can find passages through the urban sprawl that others would miss.
When you are not in combat, you (and companions you lead) can travel between any two locations in the city twice as fast as your speed would normally allow.
Draconic Ancestry: Lightning resistance and lightning breath
Strength score +2, Charisma score +1
Equipment/Money: Thieves' tools, a map of the city you grew up in, common clothes, leather armor, an amber amulet on a thin chain, belt pouch containing 10 gp, one small knife, one dagger
Other Proficiencies & Languages:
Speaks Common, Draconic, Gnomish, Dwarvish, and Thieves Cant.
Proficient with athletics, acrobatics, stealth, and intimidation (+2).
Expertise: Proficiency bonus for Intimidation and Thieves Tools is doubled during checks.
Sneak Attack: Deal extra damage to foes you have the advantage against or are within 5 feet of an ally that isn't incapacitated and you are not at a disadvantage.
Thieves Cant: You know the secret language and symbols of thieves.
Cunning Action: Can take a bonus action to Dash, Disengage, or Hide.
Thief Archetype-
Fast Hands: You can use the Bonus Action granted by your Cunning Action to make a Dexterity (Sleight of Hand) check, use your thieves’ tools to disarm a trap or open a lock, or take the Use an Object action.
Second-Story Work: You gain the ability to climb faster than normal; climbing no longer costs you extra Movement.
In addition, when you make a running jump, the distance you cover increases by a number of feet equal to your Dexterity modifier.
Age: 15
Height: 6'8"
Weight: 320 pounds
Eyes: Gold
Skin: Blue
Hair: None
Allies & Organizations: Me, Myself, and I
Character Backstory:
Years before Pitanios' birth, a bloody rivalry arose between the dragonborn of his small tribe and the dwarves with whom they shared a mountain. The two factions had remained peaceful, if not friendly, neighbors for decades until a large group of humans decided they deserved the mountain more than its current inhabitants. Being relative newcomers themselves, the dragonborn lacked either the numbers or the defenses to hold against a much more numerous foe. Rather than be wiped out, the leaders of the tribe contacted the dwarven elders and pleaded for temporary asylum. Although they were reluctant at first, the dwarves agreed to provide shelter for the dragonborn as long as the dragonborn took care of the actual fighting themselves. With both sides satisfied and now impenetrable dwarven caves protecting their rear, the dragonborn quickly turned the tide of battle against the humans. Within a matter of days, the humans had been slaughtered and it was soon discovered that they had truly intended to settle on the mountain and, as such, had all of their riches with them.
The dragonborn, happy to thank their saviors, generously offered a third of the humans' goods to their dwarven savior. The dwarves, however, did not feel the offer was nearly so generous. They felt that the shelter they had offered the dragonborn was the only reason the draconic descendants were still alive and, as such, were entitled to the entirety of the captured treasure. Whether you'd like to call if pride or stubbornness, what started as a civil discussion between two allies soon devolved into flying fists and clashing blades as the mountain that had been the savior of the dragonborn, now became their deathbed. Surrounded on all sides by solid, stone walls and even stouter dwarves, the dragonborn stood no chance. A scant few hours later and the scraping of swords against flesh and armor had died down. In its place remained only the gasps of the dying, and the anguished wails of the prisoners the dwarves had taken. This sorry group consisted mainly of those too old or sick to fight, but also one hulking female of a dragon born who, although a fierce fighter, was cradling in one arm a large, sapphire egg.
As the young mother crouched in the corner of the cell which herself and the rest of the prisoners, growling threateningly at every passing dwarf, something tapped her on her broad, bloodstained back. She turned to face a small hole in the wall and was greeted by two glowing, green eyes. The whispered conversation that followed was quick and left the mother unsure of herself for the first time in her young life. From the hall leading to the cell came the rambunctious sound of approaching dwarven warriors, signalling that a decision had been made concerning the prisoners. She looks at the egg one last time as her eyes filled with love and, without a word, shoved the egg into the open arms of the green-eyed creature.
Mere minutes later, small being clad in fur emerged from a crack in the side of the mountain and expertly descended into the river valley below. He reached into the pack slung across his back and from it drew a large, gem-like egg. Holding it close to himself to keep it warm, he quickly looks to his rear to ensure his escape had been unnoticed, then begins following the river southward.
While most of Pitanios' race are greeted upon breaching their egg with the objectively terrifying view of a scaly face, intense eyes, and razor sharp teeth, his birthing experience was quite different. Instead, his first look at the world included a bearded smile and bespectacled, jade eyes. Pitanios soon learned that his foster father, a gnome named Pontiki, had secretly been living among a dwarf clan until witnessing the slaughter of Pitanios' family. After escaping the scene with egg in tow, he had begun their new life in the nearest human settlement and used his skills in the clandestine arts to keep his new son fed. Over the years, Pontiki attempted to teach Pitanios everything he knew about remaining unseen. While the dragonborn quickly showed a surprising agility and proclivity for acrobatics, he rapidly grew to a monstrous size that prevented him from ever being truly unseen. That does not mean, however, he was not a successful thief. On the contrary, he was even more successful than his diminutive father. While Pontiki had to rely on true stealth, it seemed as if all of Pitanios' targets preferred to just look the other way rather than risk a confrontation with the azure behemoth. For over a decade, the two scavenged, stole, and robbed for an existence which, although meager, was filled with joy. Alas, even the long-lived gnomes must one day pass on. During Pitanios' fourteenth year of life, his lifelong tutor, best friend, and father, died in his sleep. Even as he cried bitter tears, he had to admit that it was the most peaceful death for which a career thief could hope.
One year later, Pitanios is honoring his father in the only way he knows how: pick pocketing the patrons of an inn to pay for a night of drinking. This is when he notices a flyer spouting the usual rubbish about adventuring and being a hero. He begins to turn away when the promise of 10,000 sovereigns catches his eye. A smile spreads across his dumbfounded face as he returns to the hiding spot he calls home. Taking only minutes to pack his meager possessions, he is soon on the road to Ulna Themar.
Treasure:
A small box filled with different sized buttons. |
8,312 | 226 | 3 | 1,159 | 3,530 | Riven
As adventurers, be they thrill seekers or treasure hunters, those hoping to make some coin for themselves or those looking to actually help the monks, and those there for other, possibly personal, reasons. One held back though, sticking to the shadows of the nearby alleyways, staying close enough to hear the announcement. The figure, clad entirely in black and with a hood covering their face, leaned against the wall of the alley, their arms crossed. Once the announcement ended, they pushed themselves off the wall and walked down the alley, they cloak billowing behind them.
Not long after, the same figure walked into a weaponsmith's shop. Without lowering their hood, they walked among the collection of shaped metal and wood. He took his time before grabbing a hand crossbow and a full set of twenty bolts before walking up to the counter, angling his head so his face couldn't be seen. Last thing he needed was a shop keeper freaking out over his appearance.
"I would like to buy these." He said, his voice a low growl. He took his short bow off his shoulder and placed it on the counter along with all the arrows he had. the weapon had served him well, but he found it cumbersome for when he wanted to switch between ranged attacks and his blades. Maybe the smaller weapon would prove more useful in that regard. "I would also like the trade these in as well. I'm helping the Eteyar's in the expedition. I heard that can get me a discount."
--------
Aramil
Aramil was among the crowd as the elf gave his speech. As the old elf spoke, Aramil examined those around him, sizing them up and trying to make out if any of them were remotely trustworthy. None of them did so when the speech was over, he walked away from everyone and headed towards where the vouchers were, muttering to himself angrily. He needed to be with at least two more people but he didn't know or trusted anyone there. That alone could prove fatal if the group fell apart due to conflicting opinions or personalities. He was not eager to die, not until he found the people who had brought destruction to his tribe.
Once he reached where all the groups were gathering, he found somewhere to sit and went about checking his weapons, especially his bow and the arrows he had. He trusted this weapon more then any other he possessed and the last thing he needed was for it to break on him. The arrows might also need new feathers so that they flew straight and true and the edges of his blades might be in need of sharpening. So, he checked out his gear and waited to see if anyone would approach him. | Character Name:
Aramil Nailo
Class & Level:
Ranger 3
Race:
Wood Elf
Background:
Outlander
Alignment:
Chaotic Neutral
Experience Points
900
Abilities & Modifiers
Strength: 10
Dexterity: 18 (16 base + 2 racial bonus)
Constitution:12
Intelligence: 12
Wisdom: 17 (16 base + 1 racial bonus)
Charisma: 9 (9 base)
Skills
Acrobatics: 4
Animal Handling*: 8
Arcana: 1
Athletics*: 5
Deception: -1
History: 1
Insight: 3
Intimidation: -1
Investigation: 1
Medicine: 3
Nature*: 9
Perception*: 5
Performance: -1
Persuasion: -1
Religion: 3
Sleight of Hand: 4
Stealth*: 9
Survival*: 8
Armor Class:
15
Hit Point Maximum/Current Hit Points:
25
Personality Traits:
I place no stock in wealthy or well-mannered folk. Money and manners won't save you from a hungry owlbear.
Ideals:
Life is like the seasons, in constant change, and we must change with it.
Bonds:
My family, clan, or tribe is the most important thing in my life, even when they are far from me.
Flaws:
I am slow to trust members of other races, tribes, and societies.
Features &Traits:
Fey Ancestry. You have advantage on saving throws against being charmed, and magic can’t put you to sleep
Mask of the Wild (racial): You can attempt to hide even when you are only lightly obscured by foliage, heavy rain, falling snow, mist, and other natural phenomena
Favored Enemy: Beast
Natural Explorer/Favored Terrain (Forest): Gain double proficiency bonuses to Wis and Int checks involving skill you are proficient in involving your favored terrain. After traveling for one hour in your favored terrain, your group isn't slowed by difficult terrain and can't become lost in forest. For yourself, you remain alert for danger when doing other activities like foraging or tracking, can move stealthily at a normal pace, can find twice as much food while foraging, and can figure out more details about enemies you are tracking: how many there are, what size, and how long ago they passed through the area.
Fighting Style (Archery): +2 bonus to attack rolls with ranged weapons.
Hail of Thorns: The next time you hit a creature with a ranged weapon attack before the spell ends, this spell creates a rain of thorns that sprouts from your ranged weapon or ammunition. In addition to the normal effect of the attack, the target of the attack and each creature within 5 feet of it must make a Dexterity saving throw. A creature takes 1dlO piercing damage on a failed save, or half as much damage on a successful one.
Hunter's Mark: You choose a creature you can see within range and mystically mark it as your quarry. Until the spell ends, you deal an extra 1d6 damage to the target whenever you hit it with a weapon attack, and you have advantage on any W isdom (Perception) or W isdom (Survival) check you make to find it. If the target drops to 0 hit points before this spell ends, you can use a bonus action on a subsequent turn of yours to mark a new creature
Goodberry: Up to ten berries appear in your hand and are infused with magic for the duration. A creature can use its action to eat one berry. Eating a berry restores 1 hit point, and the berry provides enough nourishment to sustain a creature for one day. The berries lose their potency if they have not been consum ed within 24 hours of the casting of this spell.
Primeval Awareness: can expend one spell to sense aberrations, dragons, elementals, fey, fiends, and undead within one mile of you for 1 minute per level of the spell expended. You cannot sense the location or the number of these creatures.
Horde Breaker: When you make a weapon attack, you can make another attack with the same weapon against a different creature that is within 5 feet of the original target and within range of your weapon.
Equipment/Money:
Weapons:
Shortsword x2, Longbow, and 20 arrows
Armor
Leather
Misc:
Backpack, bedroll, a mess kit, a tinderbox, 10 torches, 10 days of rations, a waterskin, and 50 feet of hempen rope
Money:
10 GP
Other Proficiencies & Languages:
Languages:
Common and Elven
Character Appearance (picture required):
Age:
150
Height:
5'2
Weight:
125lbs
Eyes:
Silver
Skin:
Lightly Tan
Hair:
Black
Allies & Organizations:
None
Character Backstory:
Aramil was born as Faen and grew up in the vast forests to the north with his small, secluded tribe. Born into a family of hunters, Faen was taught how to use a bow almost from the moment he could walk and make a fist. His father was her main teacher and taught Faen how to track, stalk, and kill prey from a distance with a bow and arrow. He was taught how to live off the land, how to know how many resources he would need to survive the night, and how to find those resources.
Upon reaching his fiftieth birthday, Faen was sent out to the wilds to survive for two how decades by himself with only a knife and flint as his tools for survival. Facing wild beasts, harsh weather, and complete isolation, Faen was pushed to his limits to survive and grew stronger as a hunter and Ranger. By the time he had returned to the village, he already felt a deeper connection to nature but he had also developed a thirst for hunting stronger then any he felt before
On his hundredth birthday, a group of adventurers from the south visited his people and, under seemingly peaceful circumstances, spent some time in the village. However, unknown to the tribe, the group had stolen a treasured artifact from a tribe of nearby orcs, angering them. In the middle of the night, the orc launched a raid on the tribe, taking them by surprise. As Faen fought alongside his tribesmen and helped hold off the invaders, he caught the adventurers trying to sneak away with the artifact. Confronting them, he was struck by a bolt to the chest by one of the group before they made their escape and left the elf to die.
Thankfully, Faen was found by one of the village healers and was not among the dead that night. Taking in the sight of the ruined tribe and seeing that things would have to change, Faen felt anger for the cowards who dared run away after his tribe had provided them shelter. Swearing vengeance, he told the remaining elders of the tribe what he had discovered and requested to right the wrong that had been inflicted upon them. He was granted permission but only after he became an adult.
So Faen spent the next few decades training and upon his hundredth birthday, took the name Aramil. Packing his things, Aramil set off and began his hunt. Fifteen years have passed and he is no closer to finding his quarry. But, upon hearing about groups of adventurers being hired to find an ancient artifact, Aramil headed for Ulna Themar, hoping this would bring his closer to his tribe's vengeance.
Treasure:
Iron symbol of an unknown god. |
8,313 | 226 | 4 | 2,647 | 220 | Beivan approached the newcomer slowly, aching forward with his oversized walking stick, Beivan gave the man a equally charming smile whose teeth radiated like the sun Of course, if I wasn't I'd be halfway to the artifact by now The words showered from Beivan like a calm summer river, Beivan hunched forward, leaning on his cane as he extended his old wrinkled hand for him to shake, My name is Beivan Bevolio, it 'tis a pleasure to meet you, I take it you are the more roguish type?, and that you seek a fine hoard of gold to keep you company, trust me you will find only gold on this adventure Beivan spoke softly like a mouse.
Beivan had seen many rogues, thieves and charmers in his life, after all he wasn't too far away from one himself as he kept himself hidden beneath a thick layer of lies, he had been able to notice troublemakers himself, he did not blame them though, for those who made the most trouble often end up the richest and most successful in life while those who cower beneath the law get nowhere. it was simply how the world works. though, troublemakers have a unnatural habit of finding their neck tied to a gallow's noose. | Character NameBeivan Bevolo
Class & Level Monk 3
Race High Elf
Background Acolyte
Alignment Neutral
Experience Points 900
Abilities & Modifiers
Strength: 10
Dexterity: 20
Constitution: 15
Intelligence: 9
Wisdom: 16
Charisma: 13
NOTE: I didn't fill in all the skills for this, I only filled in the ones I am Proficient in Or added skills too, all Proficient skills have are bracketed).
Skills
(Acrobatics:) +9
Animal Handling: 4
Arcana: 0
Athletics: 1
Deception: 3
History:
(Insight:) +8
Intimidation: 3
Investigation:
Medicine: +5
Nature:
(Perception:) +7
Performance:
Persuasion: 3
(Religion:) +3
Sleight of Hand:
(Stealth:) +9
Survivial:
Armor Class: 18
Hit Point Maximum/Current Hit Points: 23/23
Personality Traits: I oftenly pretend to be old and Senile.
Ideals: I am a religious fanatic
Bonds: I must reclaim a lost artifact in order to restore the ways of the old
Flaws: I am racist towards humans
Features &Traits: Fey Ancestry
Trance
Martial Arts: 1d4 for fists+if you use a Monk Weapon, you punch again
Shelter of the Faithful
Ki save: 13
Flurry of Blows: 2 extra unarmed attacks
Patient Defence: Dodge
Step of the Wind: Dash
Deflect Missles: 1d10+8
Open Hand Technique: Dex or Prone, Str Or 15 Push, No reaction when hit by a Flurry of Blows
Equipment/Money: Quarter Staff
Book of Eteyar
Holy Water
Other Proficiencies & Languages:
Common, Elven, Orc, Draconic
Character Appearance (picture required):
Age: 550
Height: 5'5
Weight: 150
Eyes: Blue
Skin: Caucasian
Hair: White
Allies & Organizations: The Monks of Eteyar
Character Backstory:Beivan was born before Humans owned Ulna Themar, to a Soldier and a Doctor, he loved his parents very much, life was good, Then the Humans attacked and laid siege to the city hoping to take it over for a reason beyond Beivan, His Father died defending the walls while his Mother died trying to save him, eventually the Human’s won and the head’s of his family and friend’s adorned the walls.
Then to make matter’s worst, his home was taken from him and given to a family of human immigrants, Beivan had nothing else to do but cry in a alley all day and night until his eventual death of starvation, Beivan swore that he would make the human race pay for their crimes in time, no matter how long it would take. Beivan was a patient man.
But one day a Monk named Elanan met him and offered him a home in return that Beivan served the monastery, Beivan agreed and joined the monks, who trained him in the arts of fighting and religion, His family was replaced by his god and his fellow Monks.
But Beivan wanted revenge, he wanted a city free of Humans and restored to it’s former glory, so he asked Elanan how he could do this, Elanan told him about the legendary lost artifact of Eteyar and if it is found, he will likely get his wish, So Beivan became obsessed with it and searched far and wide for it, Centuries passed and he grew older and older, he almost gave up until he found a map to where the artifact could be.
But the Journey would be deadly and he would likely die if he went alone, none of the other monks wanted to help him so he hired the adventurer’s to help him find it.
Treasure: A Map to the artifact
A Tear drop shaped Earing made from tears
Spells Minor Illusion (Spell save:9. Spell Attack:1.)
Here is my character!. I copied the character from a character sheet I made earlier, here is the original |
8,314 | 226 | 5 | 2,483 | 4,745 | Laughter pinned her pamphlet to the bulletin board in the town square of Udena village. If the people of this village bothered reading what was on their board, she thought, maybe they would join the service of Cthulhu like she had. It was covering up another bulletin that she glanced at. Something about a mission to retrieve a religious artifact for a religious order. Interesting. Maybe it would have value to her master. If not, then it wouldn't matter if they had it, but their money would have use. She pulled it off the board and turned to leave the village. It would only take a few hours to walk there, and then she'd be able to figure out exactly what they wanted.
---
After the older elf's speech she walked out to find another person that had been there to hear the speech. He was sitting down checking his weapons. 'Well, hello there.' she thought at him, using her mind to speak to him as she couldn't truly speak. 'I wasn't expecting to find such an attracting man out here. And one that was a skilled adventurer as well. Nice to meet you.' She held out her hand. 'My name is Laughter.' | Character Name: Laughter
Class & Level: Warlock 3 (The Great Old One)
Race: High Elf (F)
Background: Sage
Alignment: Neutral
Experience Points 900
Abilities & Modifiers
Strength: 8
Dexterity: 14
Constitution: 14
Intelligence: 14
Wisdom: 10
Charisma: 15
Skills
Acrobatics: 2
Animal Handling: 0
Arcana: 4*
Athletics: -1
Deception: 4*+6
History: 4*
Insight: 0
Intimidation: 2
Investigation: 2
Medicine: 0
Nature: 2
Perception: 2
Performance: 2
Persuasion: 2+6
Religion: 4*
Sleight of Hand: 2
Stealth: 2
Survival: 0+4
Armor Class: 13
Hit Point Maximum/Current Hit Points: 24
Personality Traits:
- I'm used to helping out those who aren’t as smart as I
am, and I patiently explain anything and everything to
others.
-I am horribly, horribly awkward in social situations.
Ideals:
- Knowledge. The path to power and self-improvement
is through knowledge. (Neutral)
Bonds:
- I work to preserve a library, university, scriptorium, or monastery.
(building the Cult)
Flaws:
- Unlocking an ancient mystery is worth the price of a civilization.
Features &Traits:
Darkvision
Fey Ancestry
Indefinite Madness: She's incapable of being serious. The more serious the situation, the funnier she finds it.
Specialty: Astronomer
Feature: Researcher
Patron: Great Old One (Cthulhu)
Awakened Mind
Eldritch invocations:
Book of Ancient Secrets
Eldritch sight (detect magic at will)
Pact boon: Pact of the Tome
Equipment/Money:
LXbow, 20 bolts, Leather armor, 2x daggers, sickle
Arcane Focus (Tiara), Dungeoneer's pack
A bottle of black ink, a quill, a small knife,
a letter from a dead colleague posing a question you
have not yet been able to answer, a set of common
clothes, Amulet of Cthulhu
10gp
That is not dead which can eternal lie, and with strange aeons, even death may die.
Rejoice, for the time of his return is at hand. One day soon the lord Cthulhu will return to this world, and all shall be equal before him. None shall be treated differently because of status, or wealth, or power. Only those who serve him will receive his favor.
If you wish to join his service, seek out the one who posted this, or another priest of Cthulhu, and they will aid you in joining his service.
Other Proficiencies & Languages:
Languages: Common, Elvish, Celestial, Draconic, Deep
longsword, shortsword, shortbow, and longbow
light armor, simple weapons
Character Appearance (picture required):
But with a hooded robe on to cover up her features.
Age: 57
Height: 6'
Weight: 180 lbs
Eyes: Silver
Skin: Golden, Tattoos
Hair: White
Allies & Organizations:
-Cult of Cthulhu
Living in a shrine built in a cave, they teach those that come to them the ways of the Great Old One, prophesying that one day he will return, and all shall be equal on that day, as he takes the souls of the worthy and unworthy into himself.
None are turned away, regardless of crimes, alignment, species, or other factor.
Character Backstory:
Raised as a slave, she prayed to the gods to free her from the people who had cut out her tongue for speaking out of turn. None answered, but as she "tranced" she felt as if the mind of another being was there with her, as powerful as a god, difficult to comprehend, and hungry. It was impressed that she did not go mad from trying to comprehend it, and offered to answer the prayer that the gods ignored. She accepted the offer, and when her trance ended she found she was able to speak with the other slaves, or at least their minds.
Over the next several days she secretly spoke to the other slaves, teaching them of the Great Old One who spoke to her. When they were ready, they revolted, killing their masters, and fleeing into the wilds. There they survived, building a temple to the Great Old One in a cave where they would not be discovered.
When all of the other slaves had been initiated, she instructed them to free other slaves and to teach them the ways of Cthulhu, then left to grow stronger, and to spread the word of the Great Old One throughout the world.
Additional features and traits:
Tattooed on the inside of her right forearm:
1) A slave does not speak unless spoken to.
2) A slave does not speak inappropriately to or about their master.
3) Disobedient slaves are beaten for their disobedience.
4) If you can't be trained, you die.
She had her tongue cut out for violating #2.
Her arms have the following "poem" tattooed on them in Draconic.
Left arm: That is not dead which can eternal lie.
Right arm: And with strange eons, even death may die.
The backs of her hands contain symbols from her patron's holy teachings. Her head, from just above her forehead, and down her spine, is tattooed with scripture from those teachings as well.
Treasure:
a diary with 7 missing pages
Cantrips:
Mending (uses int to cast)
Eldrich blast
Mage hand
druidcraft
light
Spare the dying
Spells:
2 spell slots, 2nd lvl
Tasha's Hideous laughter
Dissonant Whispers
Detect thoughts
Invisibility
Comprehend languages (ritual lvl 1)
Detect poison and disease (ritual lvl 1) |
8,315 | 226 | 6 | 875 | 200 | Alric watched in disgust as a group of rough looking men bragged loudly about how the money would be theirs in no time as they picked up one of the vouchers that the mayor had to sign off of. Alric took one and grumbled to himself, he needed at least 2 other people to help him even get to the Misted Forest. He knew from experience that he needed a larger party if he hoped to make it back from the forest alive. More people meant a smaller cut of the reward but he'd get no reward if he was dead. With a sigh he looked around, sizing people up. He smiled to himself when he spotted the dragonborn, they were always good to have around, even if they intimidated others.
"I could use a hero to go with me into the forest. If you're interested that is. The name's Alric Seawood." Alric held his hand out to the dragonborn, in his experience they liked being respected just as much as they enjoyed being feared.
The merchant's district was filled with the normal folk going about their daily errands but was also filled with new coin to spend, and so Tordek Battlehammer, one of the local blacksmith's had outdone himself in making sure his shop was stocked with all manners of arms and armor. Not just the best weapons that dwarves had to offer but the cheap stuff that the adventurer's who didn't know much would buy because it fit their budget. The mayor had required all shops give discounts to the adventurer's but Tordek didn't mind, there was more than enough profit going into his purse today.
"That will be 10 sovereigns. But," Tordek looked around and lowered his voice like he was letting the man in on a secret. "I have a more powerful crossbow, just as compact and even lighter. For you, 25 sovereigns." | |
8,316 | 226 | 7 | 2,647 | 220 | Perhaps it would be wiser if you joined my expedition young man, after all 20 men is better than 2 Beivan interrupted, he smiled and offered to shake the mans hand as well with his frail small hand, Ah pardon me for interrupting, 'tis a bad habit of mine, my name is Beivan Bevolo and it is a pleasure to meet you Beivan apologetically introduced himself, and brushed off some dust from his robes, Beivan was quick to notice that this man was human, ironically most of his expedition consisted of dimwitted humans looking to make a pretty penny, but however Beivan didn't care, if Alric joined his group he'd be nothing more than a tool and a tool has it's uses. | Character NameBeivan Bevolo
Class & Level Monk 3
Race High Elf
Background Acolyte
Alignment Neutral
Experience Points 900
Abilities & Modifiers
Strength: 10
Dexterity: 20
Constitution: 15
Intelligence: 9
Wisdom: 16
Charisma: 13
NOTE: I didn't fill in all the skills for this, I only filled in the ones I am Proficient in Or added skills too, all Proficient skills have are bracketed).
Skills
(Acrobatics:) +9
Animal Handling: 4
Arcana: 0
Athletics: 1
Deception: 3
History:
(Insight:) +8
Intimidation: 3
Investigation:
Medicine: +5
Nature:
(Perception:) +7
Performance:
Persuasion: 3
(Religion:) +3
Sleight of Hand:
(Stealth:) +9
Survivial:
Armor Class: 18
Hit Point Maximum/Current Hit Points: 23/23
Personality Traits: I oftenly pretend to be old and Senile.
Ideals: I am a religious fanatic
Bonds: I must reclaim a lost artifact in order to restore the ways of the old
Flaws: I am racist towards humans
Features &Traits: Fey Ancestry
Trance
Martial Arts: 1d4 for fists+if you use a Monk Weapon, you punch again
Shelter of the Faithful
Ki save: 13
Flurry of Blows: 2 extra unarmed attacks
Patient Defence: Dodge
Step of the Wind: Dash
Deflect Missles: 1d10+8
Open Hand Technique: Dex or Prone, Str Or 15 Push, No reaction when hit by a Flurry of Blows
Equipment/Money: Quarter Staff
Book of Eteyar
Holy Water
Other Proficiencies & Languages:
Common, Elven, Orc, Draconic
Character Appearance (picture required):
Age: 550
Height: 5'5
Weight: 150
Eyes: Blue
Skin: Caucasian
Hair: White
Allies & Organizations: The Monks of Eteyar
Character Backstory:Beivan was born before Humans owned Ulna Themar, to a Soldier and a Doctor, he loved his parents very much, life was good, Then the Humans attacked and laid siege to the city hoping to take it over for a reason beyond Beivan, His Father died defending the walls while his Mother died trying to save him, eventually the Human’s won and the head’s of his family and friend’s adorned the walls.
Then to make matter’s worst, his home was taken from him and given to a family of human immigrants, Beivan had nothing else to do but cry in a alley all day and night until his eventual death of starvation, Beivan swore that he would make the human race pay for their crimes in time, no matter how long it would take. Beivan was a patient man.
But one day a Monk named Elanan met him and offered him a home in return that Beivan served the monastery, Beivan agreed and joined the monks, who trained him in the arts of fighting and religion, His family was replaced by his god and his fellow Monks.
But Beivan wanted revenge, he wanted a city free of Humans and restored to it’s former glory, so he asked Elanan how he could do this, Elanan told him about the legendary lost artifact of Eteyar and if it is found, he will likely get his wish, So Beivan became obsessed with it and searched far and wide for it, Centuries passed and he grew older and older, he almost gave up until he found a map to where the artifact could be.
But the Journey would be deadly and he would likely die if he went alone, none of the other monks wanted to help him so he hired the adventurer’s to help him find it.
Treasure: A Map to the artifact
A Tear drop shaped Earing made from tears
Spells Minor Illusion (Spell save:9. Spell Attack:1.)
Here is my character!. I copied the character from a character sheet I made earlier, here is the original |
8,317 | 226 | 8 | 378 | 158 | Pitanios' gaze switches between a young, blond-haired warrior, and a frail, old man. He apologetically looks at Beivan while saying, "I'm sorry old man, but I'd feel more comfortable traveling with someone that doesn't look like a stiff breeze could blow them away." Ignoring the outstretched hand of the elf, he instead turns to shake that of Alric, who had spoken with much more respect than he had grown accustomed to during a life as an urchin. "Pitanios Pouli, it's nice to meet you." As he releases the fighter's grip, the dragonborn takes advantage of his height and scans the crowd before asking, "Are you alone?" | Character Name: Pitanios Poulí
Class & Level: Rogue 3
Race: Dragonborn
Background: Urchin
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Experience Points: 900
Abilities & Modifiers
Strength: 15/ +2 Modifier
Dexterity: 17/ +3 Modifier
Constitution: 13/ +2 Modifier
Intelligence: 8/ -1 Modifier
Wisdom: 12/ +1 Modifier
Charisma: 18/ +4 Modifier
Saving Throws: Dexterity, Intelligence
Skills
Acrobatics: 5 (+2 Proficiency) (+3 Dexterity)
Animal Handling: (+1 Wisdom)
Arcana:
Athletics: 4 (+2 Proficiency)
Deception: (+4 Charisma)
History:
Insight: (+1 Wisdom)
Intimidation: 7 (+4 Expertise) (+4 Charisma)
Investigation:
Medicine: (+1 Wisdom)
Nature:
Perception: (+1 Wisdom)
Performance: (+4 Charisma)
Persuasion: (+4 Charisma)
Religion:
Sleight of Hand: (+3 Dexterity)
Stealth: (+2 Proficiency) (+3 Dexterity)
Survivial: (+1 Wisdom)
Armor Class: 15
Hit Point Maximum/Current Hit Points: 26
Personality Traits: I like to squeeze into small places where no one else can get to me.
Ideals: The low are lifted up, and the high and mighty are brought down. Change is the nature of things.
Bonds: I owe my survival to another urchin who taught me to live on the streets.
Flaws: Gold seems like a lot of money to me, and I’ll do just about anything for more of it.
Features &Traits:
You know the secret patterns and flow to cities and can find passages through the urban sprawl that others would miss.
When you are not in combat, you (and companions you lead) can travel between any two locations in the city twice as fast as your speed would normally allow.
Draconic Ancestry: Lightning resistance and lightning breath
Strength score +2, Charisma score +1
Equipment/Money: Thieves' tools, a map of the city you grew up in, common clothes, leather armor, an amber amulet on a thin chain, belt pouch containing 10 gp, one small knife, one dagger
Other Proficiencies & Languages:
Speaks Common, Draconic, Gnomish, Dwarvish, and Thieves Cant.
Proficient with athletics, acrobatics, stealth, and intimidation (+2).
Expertise: Proficiency bonus for Intimidation and Thieves Tools is doubled during checks.
Sneak Attack: Deal extra damage to foes you have the advantage against or are within 5 feet of an ally that isn't incapacitated and you are not at a disadvantage.
Thieves Cant: You know the secret language and symbols of thieves.
Cunning Action: Can take a bonus action to Dash, Disengage, or Hide.
Thief Archetype-
Fast Hands: You can use the Bonus Action granted by your Cunning Action to make a Dexterity (Sleight of Hand) check, use your thieves’ tools to disarm a trap or open a lock, or take the Use an Object action.
Second-Story Work: You gain the ability to climb faster than normal; climbing no longer costs you extra Movement.
In addition, when you make a running jump, the distance you cover increases by a number of feet equal to your Dexterity modifier.
Age: 15
Height: 6'8"
Weight: 320 pounds
Eyes: Gold
Skin: Blue
Hair: None
Allies & Organizations: Me, Myself, and I
Character Backstory:
Years before Pitanios' birth, a bloody rivalry arose between the dragonborn of his small tribe and the dwarves with whom they shared a mountain. The two factions had remained peaceful, if not friendly, neighbors for decades until a large group of humans decided they deserved the mountain more than its current inhabitants. Being relative newcomers themselves, the dragonborn lacked either the numbers or the defenses to hold against a much more numerous foe. Rather than be wiped out, the leaders of the tribe contacted the dwarven elders and pleaded for temporary asylum. Although they were reluctant at first, the dwarves agreed to provide shelter for the dragonborn as long as the dragonborn took care of the actual fighting themselves. With both sides satisfied and now impenetrable dwarven caves protecting their rear, the dragonborn quickly turned the tide of battle against the humans. Within a matter of days, the humans had been slaughtered and it was soon discovered that they had truly intended to settle on the mountain and, as such, had all of their riches with them.
The dragonborn, happy to thank their saviors, generously offered a third of the humans' goods to their dwarven savior. The dwarves, however, did not feel the offer was nearly so generous. They felt that the shelter they had offered the dragonborn was the only reason the draconic descendants were still alive and, as such, were entitled to the entirety of the captured treasure. Whether you'd like to call if pride or stubbornness, what started as a civil discussion between two allies soon devolved into flying fists and clashing blades as the mountain that had been the savior of the dragonborn, now became their deathbed. Surrounded on all sides by solid, stone walls and even stouter dwarves, the dragonborn stood no chance. A scant few hours later and the scraping of swords against flesh and armor had died down. In its place remained only the gasps of the dying, and the anguished wails of the prisoners the dwarves had taken. This sorry group consisted mainly of those too old or sick to fight, but also one hulking female of a dragon born who, although a fierce fighter, was cradling in one arm a large, sapphire egg.
As the young mother crouched in the corner of the cell which herself and the rest of the prisoners, growling threateningly at every passing dwarf, something tapped her on her broad, bloodstained back. She turned to face a small hole in the wall and was greeted by two glowing, green eyes. The whispered conversation that followed was quick and left the mother unsure of herself for the first time in her young life. From the hall leading to the cell came the rambunctious sound of approaching dwarven warriors, signalling that a decision had been made concerning the prisoners. She looks at the egg one last time as her eyes filled with love and, without a word, shoved the egg into the open arms of the green-eyed creature.
Mere minutes later, small being clad in fur emerged from a crack in the side of the mountain and expertly descended into the river valley below. He reached into the pack slung across his back and from it drew a large, gem-like egg. Holding it close to himself to keep it warm, he quickly looks to his rear to ensure his escape had been unnoticed, then begins following the river southward.
While most of Pitanios' race are greeted upon breaching their egg with the objectively terrifying view of a scaly face, intense eyes, and razor sharp teeth, his birthing experience was quite different. Instead, his first look at the world included a bearded smile and bespectacled, jade eyes. Pitanios soon learned that his foster father, a gnome named Pontiki, had secretly been living among a dwarf clan until witnessing the slaughter of Pitanios' family. After escaping the scene with egg in tow, he had begun their new life in the nearest human settlement and used his skills in the clandestine arts to keep his new son fed. Over the years, Pontiki attempted to teach Pitanios everything he knew about remaining unseen. While the dragonborn quickly showed a surprising agility and proclivity for acrobatics, he rapidly grew to a monstrous size that prevented him from ever being truly unseen. That does not mean, however, he was not a successful thief. On the contrary, he was even more successful than his diminutive father. While Pontiki had to rely on true stealth, it seemed as if all of Pitanios' targets preferred to just look the other way rather than risk a confrontation with the azure behemoth. For over a decade, the two scavenged, stole, and robbed for an existence which, although meager, was filled with joy. Alas, even the long-lived gnomes must one day pass on. During Pitanios' fourteenth year of life, his lifelong tutor, best friend, and father, died in his sleep. Even as he cried bitter tears, he had to admit that it was the most peaceful death for which a career thief could hope.
One year later, Pitanios is honoring his father in the only way he knows how: pick pocketing the patrons of an inn to pay for a night of drinking. This is when he notices a flyer spouting the usual rubbish about adventuring and being a hero. He begins to turn away when the promise of 10,000 sovereigns catches his eye. A smile spreads across his dumbfounded face as he returns to the hiding spot he calls home. Taking only minutes to pack his meager possessions, he is soon on the road to Ulna Themar.
Treasure:
A small box filled with different sized buttons. |
8,318 | 226 | 9 | 2,647 | 220 | Beivan simply laughed at Pitanios' insult he took away his unshaken hand and moved it back to his quarterstaff Very well, I shall take my leave then Beivan quickly said his goodbyes and limped his way back to the monastery, however he stopped and turned around and added Oh, by the way Pitanios, don't underestimate those you've just met then turned around and continued his slow limp back to the monastery. | Character NameBeivan Bevolo
Class & Level Monk 3
Race High Elf
Background Acolyte
Alignment Neutral
Experience Points 900
Abilities & Modifiers
Strength: 10
Dexterity: 20
Constitution: 15
Intelligence: 9
Wisdom: 16
Charisma: 13
NOTE: I didn't fill in all the skills for this, I only filled in the ones I am Proficient in Or added skills too, all Proficient skills have are bracketed).
Skills
(Acrobatics:) +9
Animal Handling: 4
Arcana: 0
Athletics: 1
Deception: 3
History:
(Insight:) +8
Intimidation: 3
Investigation:
Medicine: +5
Nature:
(Perception:) +7
Performance:
Persuasion: 3
(Religion:) +3
Sleight of Hand:
(Stealth:) +9
Survivial:
Armor Class: 18
Hit Point Maximum/Current Hit Points: 23/23
Personality Traits: I oftenly pretend to be old and Senile.
Ideals: I am a religious fanatic
Bonds: I must reclaim a lost artifact in order to restore the ways of the old
Flaws: I am racist towards humans
Features &Traits: Fey Ancestry
Trance
Martial Arts: 1d4 for fists+if you use a Monk Weapon, you punch again
Shelter of the Faithful
Ki save: 13
Flurry of Blows: 2 extra unarmed attacks
Patient Defence: Dodge
Step of the Wind: Dash
Deflect Missles: 1d10+8
Open Hand Technique: Dex or Prone, Str Or 15 Push, No reaction when hit by a Flurry of Blows
Equipment/Money: Quarter Staff
Book of Eteyar
Holy Water
Other Proficiencies & Languages:
Common, Elven, Orc, Draconic
Character Appearance (picture required):
Age: 550
Height: 5'5
Weight: 150
Eyes: Blue
Skin: Caucasian
Hair: White
Allies & Organizations: The Monks of Eteyar
Character Backstory:Beivan was born before Humans owned Ulna Themar, to a Soldier and a Doctor, he loved his parents very much, life was good, Then the Humans attacked and laid siege to the city hoping to take it over for a reason beyond Beivan, His Father died defending the walls while his Mother died trying to save him, eventually the Human’s won and the head’s of his family and friend’s adorned the walls.
Then to make matter’s worst, his home was taken from him and given to a family of human immigrants, Beivan had nothing else to do but cry in a alley all day and night until his eventual death of starvation, Beivan swore that he would make the human race pay for their crimes in time, no matter how long it would take. Beivan was a patient man.
But one day a Monk named Elanan met him and offered him a home in return that Beivan served the monastery, Beivan agreed and joined the monks, who trained him in the arts of fighting and religion, His family was replaced by his god and his fellow Monks.
But Beivan wanted revenge, he wanted a city free of Humans and restored to it’s former glory, so he asked Elanan how he could do this, Elanan told him about the legendary lost artifact of Eteyar and if it is found, he will likely get his wish, So Beivan became obsessed with it and searched far and wide for it, Centuries passed and he grew older and older, he almost gave up until he found a map to where the artifact could be.
But the Journey would be deadly and he would likely die if he went alone, none of the other monks wanted to help him so he hired the adventurer’s to help him find it.
Treasure: A Map to the artifact
A Tear drop shaped Earing made from tears
Spells Minor Illusion (Spell save:9. Spell Attack:1.)
Here is my character!. I copied the character from a character sheet I made earlier, here is the original |
8,319 | 226 | 10 | 1,159 | 3,530 | Riven
Riven frowned at the price, thinking it a bit steep since he was trading in a bow and arrows for basically the same thing. But the shop needed to make a profit, he understood that. When the shopkeeper brought up the possibility of a better weapon though, his interest was piqued and he watched the shopkeeper for signs of deception. He didn't see any but the price of the weapon was beyond the amount of coins in his purse.
"As nice as the offer is, I sadly cannot afford with my current finances. I thank you for the offer though. Hopefully, I do not come to regret it while on this expedition." He said to the shopkeeper. He pulled out the ten sovereigns that had been requested for the hand crossbow and the bolts, placing them next his shortbow and arrows on the counter.
---
Aramil
Aramil looked up when someone approached him, a high elf, female apparently. He was caught off guard when a voice appeared in his head, only to realize with the elf in front of him talking to him. Telepathy, great. He took in her words and his lips twitched into a frown for a slight second. The way she approached him was a little to heavy handed in terms of the compliments. Not only that, you couldn't trust anyone. Everyone outside of his tribe likely had ulterior motives.
"You need to open your eyes more woman. As you can see, there are plenty of adventurers here. Some of them might be more skilled then me. Now, speak the truth and your true name or leave me be. What do you really want?" He said, his tone cold and with a slight bit of anger. | Character Name:
Aramil Nailo
Class & Level:
Ranger 3
Race:
Wood Elf
Background:
Outlander
Alignment:
Chaotic Neutral
Experience Points
900
Abilities & Modifiers
Strength: 10
Dexterity: 18 (16 base + 2 racial bonus)
Constitution:12
Intelligence: 12
Wisdom: 17 (16 base + 1 racial bonus)
Charisma: 9 (9 base)
Skills
Acrobatics: 4
Animal Handling*: 8
Arcana: 1
Athletics*: 5
Deception: -1
History: 1
Insight: 3
Intimidation: -1
Investigation: 1
Medicine: 3
Nature*: 9
Perception*: 5
Performance: -1
Persuasion: -1
Religion: 3
Sleight of Hand: 4
Stealth*: 9
Survival*: 8
Armor Class:
15
Hit Point Maximum/Current Hit Points:
25
Personality Traits:
I place no stock in wealthy or well-mannered folk. Money and manners won't save you from a hungry owlbear.
Ideals:
Life is like the seasons, in constant change, and we must change with it.
Bonds:
My family, clan, or tribe is the most important thing in my life, even when they are far from me.
Flaws:
I am slow to trust members of other races, tribes, and societies.
Features &Traits:
Fey Ancestry. You have advantage on saving throws against being charmed, and magic can’t put you to sleep
Mask of the Wild (racial): You can attempt to hide even when you are only lightly obscured by foliage, heavy rain, falling snow, mist, and other natural phenomena
Favored Enemy: Beast
Natural Explorer/Favored Terrain (Forest): Gain double proficiency bonuses to Wis and Int checks involving skill you are proficient in involving your favored terrain. After traveling for one hour in your favored terrain, your group isn't slowed by difficult terrain and can't become lost in forest. For yourself, you remain alert for danger when doing other activities like foraging or tracking, can move stealthily at a normal pace, can find twice as much food while foraging, and can figure out more details about enemies you are tracking: how many there are, what size, and how long ago they passed through the area.
Fighting Style (Archery): +2 bonus to attack rolls with ranged weapons.
Hail of Thorns: The next time you hit a creature with a ranged weapon attack before the spell ends, this spell creates a rain of thorns that sprouts from your ranged weapon or ammunition. In addition to the normal effect of the attack, the target of the attack and each creature within 5 feet of it must make a Dexterity saving throw. A creature takes 1dlO piercing damage on a failed save, or half as much damage on a successful one.
Hunter's Mark: You choose a creature you can see within range and mystically mark it as your quarry. Until the spell ends, you deal an extra 1d6 damage to the target whenever you hit it with a weapon attack, and you have advantage on any W isdom (Perception) or W isdom (Survival) check you make to find it. If the target drops to 0 hit points before this spell ends, you can use a bonus action on a subsequent turn of yours to mark a new creature
Goodberry: Up to ten berries appear in your hand and are infused with magic for the duration. A creature can use its action to eat one berry. Eating a berry restores 1 hit point, and the berry provides enough nourishment to sustain a creature for one day. The berries lose their potency if they have not been consum ed within 24 hours of the casting of this spell.
Primeval Awareness: can expend one spell to sense aberrations, dragons, elementals, fey, fiends, and undead within one mile of you for 1 minute per level of the spell expended. You cannot sense the location or the number of these creatures.
Horde Breaker: When you make a weapon attack, you can make another attack with the same weapon against a different creature that is within 5 feet of the original target and within range of your weapon.
Equipment/Money:
Weapons:
Shortsword x2, Longbow, and 20 arrows
Armor
Leather
Misc:
Backpack, bedroll, a mess kit, a tinderbox, 10 torches, 10 days of rations, a waterskin, and 50 feet of hempen rope
Money:
10 GP
Other Proficiencies & Languages:
Languages:
Common and Elven
Character Appearance (picture required):
Age:
150
Height:
5'2
Weight:
125lbs
Eyes:
Silver
Skin:
Lightly Tan
Hair:
Black
Allies & Organizations:
None
Character Backstory:
Aramil was born as Faen and grew up in the vast forests to the north with his small, secluded tribe. Born into a family of hunters, Faen was taught how to use a bow almost from the moment he could walk and make a fist. His father was her main teacher and taught Faen how to track, stalk, and kill prey from a distance with a bow and arrow. He was taught how to live off the land, how to know how many resources he would need to survive the night, and how to find those resources.
Upon reaching his fiftieth birthday, Faen was sent out to the wilds to survive for two how decades by himself with only a knife and flint as his tools for survival. Facing wild beasts, harsh weather, and complete isolation, Faen was pushed to his limits to survive and grew stronger as a hunter and Ranger. By the time he had returned to the village, he already felt a deeper connection to nature but he had also developed a thirst for hunting stronger then any he felt before
On his hundredth birthday, a group of adventurers from the south visited his people and, under seemingly peaceful circumstances, spent some time in the village. However, unknown to the tribe, the group had stolen a treasured artifact from a tribe of nearby orcs, angering them. In the middle of the night, the orc launched a raid on the tribe, taking them by surprise. As Faen fought alongside his tribesmen and helped hold off the invaders, he caught the adventurers trying to sneak away with the artifact. Confronting them, he was struck by a bolt to the chest by one of the group before they made their escape and left the elf to die.
Thankfully, Faen was found by one of the village healers and was not among the dead that night. Taking in the sight of the ruined tribe and seeing that things would have to change, Faen felt anger for the cowards who dared run away after his tribe had provided them shelter. Swearing vengeance, he told the remaining elders of the tribe what he had discovered and requested to right the wrong that had been inflicted upon them. He was granted permission but only after he became an adult.
So Faen spent the next few decades training and upon his hundredth birthday, took the name Aramil. Packing his things, Aramil set off and began his hunt. Fifteen years have passed and he is no closer to finding his quarry. But, upon hearing about groups of adventurers being hired to find an ancient artifact, Aramil headed for Ulna Themar, hoping this would bring his closer to his tribe's vengeance.
Treasure:
Iron symbol of an unknown god. |
8,320 | 226 | 11 | 2,004 | 819 | Gabe and Gaby
The twins frowned as they reached another city. "Do we need to stock?" Gabe asked, glancing at his sister. He tried to remember if she had said anything the previous night about their provisions getting low but nothing struck out.
Gaby, however, began mentally calculating their supplies and the distance to the next town. "I don't know. We need a map." she replied to her brother. "Is this Ulna Themar? That's what the last town said, isn't it?" She knew how her brother would respond and, with a sigh, began slowly descending.
"Don't ask me." Gabe sighed. He glanced back at his sister, only to see her starting to descend. Being the craziest of the pair, Gabe elected the divebomb, pulling up a mere 3 meters before he hit the ground, landing by the gate with his hands up, looking at the gate guards. "You need not worry. I am not here to fight. I just need some information and provisions."
Gaby landed beside him from her slower spiral and proceeded to smack him on the back of the head. "You idiot!" she yelled in elven, "What would you have done if these guards started attacking?"
"Excuse my sister." he sighed, blocking the second smack from her. "She's a bit paranoid and overprotective sometimes." He grabbed her hand and proceeded to drag his sister, much to her dismay, into Ulna Themar. "We're low on cash too, right?" he asked, frowning. "And don't even suggest trying to sell my soldiers! They're my only memories of home!" | Character Name: Gabriel Hawkwing
Class & Level: Fighter 3
Race: Avariel (Winged Elf)
Background: Orphaned protector of his twin sister.
Alignment: NG
Experience Points
Abilities & Modifiers
Strength: 17 +3
Dexterity: 18 +4
Constitution: 15 +2
Intelligence: 16 +3
Wisdom: 10 +0
Charisma: 15 +2
Skills
Acrobatics: +6
Animal Handling: 0
Arcana: +3
Athletics: +5
Deception: +2
History: +3
Insight: +0
Intimidation: +2
Investigation: +3
Medicine: +0
Nature: +3
Perception: +0
Performance: +2
Persuasion: +2
Religion: +3
Sleight of Hand: +4
Stealth: +4
Survivial: +2
Armor Class: 15
Hit Point Maximum/Current Hit Points: 24/24
Personality Traits:
Ideals: Warlike
Bonds: His sister.
Flaws: Not very intelligent. Can come off as overprotective of his sister.
Features &Traits: Very handsome (18 comeliness) and average-tall (5'11).
Equipment/Money: Toga, pants, hard boots, padded armor, 2 shortswords, 2 bolas, 1 light crossbow, 2 daggers. 20gp, 5sp.
Other Proficiencies & Languages: Avariel, Common. Blind-fight, Endurance, Hunting, Tracking, Ambidexterity.
Character Appearance (picture required):
Age: 61
Height: 5'11
Weight: 91
Eyes: Green
Skin: Pale
Hair: Brunette
Allies & Organizations: His sister.
Character Backstory:
Treasure: 2 toy soldiers, one with a missing head.
Character Name: Gabriella Hawkwing
Class & Level: Wizard 3
Race: Avariel (Winged Elf)
Background: Orphaned "conscience" of her brother.
Alignment: NG
Experience Points
Abilities & Modifiers
Strength: 11 +0
Dexterity: 15 +2
Constitution: 13 +1
Intelligence: 19 +4
Wisdom: 17 +3
Charisma: 16 +3
Skills
Acrobatics: +2
Animal Handling: +3
Arcana: +6
Athletics: +0
Deception: +3
History: +4
Insight: +3
Intimidation: +3
Investigation: +4
Medicine: +3
Nature: +4
Perception: +3
Performance: +5
Persuasion: +3
Religion: +6
Sleight of Hand: +2
Stealth: +2
Survivial: +3
Armor Class: 10 +
Hit Point Maximum/Current Hit Points: 12/12
Personality Traits:
Ideals: Peaceful
Bonds: Her brother.
Flaws: Very intelligent. Can come off as stuck-up around less intelligent people, the only exception being her brother.
Features &Traits: Very beautiful (20 comeliness) and average (5'4).
Equipment/Money: Toga, pants, soft boots, padded armor, needle, thread, fabric, bola, dagger, dagger +1, staff. 5gp, 2sp, 2cp.
Other Proficiencies & Languages: Avariel, Common. Spellcraft, Astrology, Religion, Etiquette, Weathersense, Seamstress, Observation, Modern Languages, Ambidexterity.
Character Appearance (picture required):
Age: 61
Height: 5'4
Weight: 76
Eyes: Green
Skin: Pale
Hair: Brunette
Allies & Organizations: Her Brother.
Character Backstory:
Treasure: A receipt of deposit of a large sum of money in the far away city of Edlebastion.
Backstory
Gabriel and Gabriella Hawkwing were born twins atop their mountain home. From a young age, Gabriel was always active, running around and causing mischief. Gabriella, however, was too busy trying to figure out how to do everything or how everything worked. She was also able to fly half a year before Gabe's first attempt.
Over the years, Gabriel and Gabriella, who both shortened their names to Gabe and Gaby respectively, had learned much with each of their paths. Gabe was quick to learn with a sword, both on the ground and in the air, and had a near perfect aim with his bolas and crossbow in half the time it normally took their best soldiers. Gaby, on the other hand, had buried herself in her books, learning much about magic on her own, though her true education on it didn't start until her brother's martial training neared its end, for that is when she was taken under the High Mage's wing, more figuratively than literally.
With both twins climbing their respective ranks quickly, Gaby more so than her brother, it wasn't long until everyone knew who they were. And then they were attacked. The beings in red robes came from everywhere around their town, and even from inside their town with portals. These beings attacked with fire and, by the time Gabe and Gaby finished killing the few their brethren had yet to, they realized they were the last ones alive. They left with what little they could scavenge and flew for days, hoping to find somewhere they might find more avariel. So far, their travels have discovered naught. |
8,321 | 226 | 12 | 2,483 | 4,745 | 'But none are as handsome. It's nice to have some male company occasionally.' She moved slightly towards him, leaning forward slightly with a smile on her face. Maybe a bit of seduction could get her a companion for this quest. The fact that it was an attractive elf man was just the icing on the sweetroll, as they say. 'As for a name, I guess 2-1-9-F is the closest I have to a "real" name.' Laughter showed him her right forearm with the slave rules on it. 'I was the two hundred and nineteenth slave born of may master's slaves, daughter of 152M and 175F. Does that answer your question?' | Character Name: Laughter
Class & Level: Warlock 3 (The Great Old One)
Race: High Elf (F)
Background: Sage
Alignment: Neutral
Experience Points 900
Abilities & Modifiers
Strength: 8
Dexterity: 14
Constitution: 14
Intelligence: 14
Wisdom: 10
Charisma: 15
Skills
Acrobatics: 2
Animal Handling: 0
Arcana: 4*
Athletics: -1
Deception: 4*+6
History: 4*
Insight: 0
Intimidation: 2
Investigation: 2
Medicine: 0
Nature: 2
Perception: 2
Performance: 2
Persuasion: 2+6
Religion: 4*
Sleight of Hand: 2
Stealth: 2
Survival: 0+4
Armor Class: 13
Hit Point Maximum/Current Hit Points: 24
Personality Traits:
- I'm used to helping out those who aren’t as smart as I
am, and I patiently explain anything and everything to
others.
-I am horribly, horribly awkward in social situations.
Ideals:
- Knowledge. The path to power and self-improvement
is through knowledge. (Neutral)
Bonds:
- I work to preserve a library, university, scriptorium, or monastery.
(building the Cult)
Flaws:
- Unlocking an ancient mystery is worth the price of a civilization.
Features &Traits:
Darkvision
Fey Ancestry
Indefinite Madness: She's incapable of being serious. The more serious the situation, the funnier she finds it.
Specialty: Astronomer
Feature: Researcher
Patron: Great Old One (Cthulhu)
Awakened Mind
Eldritch invocations:
Book of Ancient Secrets
Eldritch sight (detect magic at will)
Pact boon: Pact of the Tome
Equipment/Money:
LXbow, 20 bolts, Leather armor, 2x daggers, sickle
Arcane Focus (Tiara), Dungeoneer's pack
A bottle of black ink, a quill, a small knife,
a letter from a dead colleague posing a question you
have not yet been able to answer, a set of common
clothes, Amulet of Cthulhu
10gp
That is not dead which can eternal lie, and with strange aeons, even death may die.
Rejoice, for the time of his return is at hand. One day soon the lord Cthulhu will return to this world, and all shall be equal before him. None shall be treated differently because of status, or wealth, or power. Only those who serve him will receive his favor.
If you wish to join his service, seek out the one who posted this, or another priest of Cthulhu, and they will aid you in joining his service.
Other Proficiencies & Languages:
Languages: Common, Elvish, Celestial, Draconic, Deep
longsword, shortsword, shortbow, and longbow
light armor, simple weapons
Character Appearance (picture required):
But with a hooded robe on to cover up her features.
Age: 57
Height: 6'
Weight: 180 lbs
Eyes: Silver
Skin: Golden, Tattoos
Hair: White
Allies & Organizations:
-Cult of Cthulhu
Living in a shrine built in a cave, they teach those that come to them the ways of the Great Old One, prophesying that one day he will return, and all shall be equal on that day, as he takes the souls of the worthy and unworthy into himself.
None are turned away, regardless of crimes, alignment, species, or other factor.
Character Backstory:
Raised as a slave, she prayed to the gods to free her from the people who had cut out her tongue for speaking out of turn. None answered, but as she "tranced" she felt as if the mind of another being was there with her, as powerful as a god, difficult to comprehend, and hungry. It was impressed that she did not go mad from trying to comprehend it, and offered to answer the prayer that the gods ignored. She accepted the offer, and when her trance ended she found she was able to speak with the other slaves, or at least their minds.
Over the next several days she secretly spoke to the other slaves, teaching them of the Great Old One who spoke to her. When they were ready, they revolted, killing their masters, and fleeing into the wilds. There they survived, building a temple to the Great Old One in a cave where they would not be discovered.
When all of the other slaves had been initiated, she instructed them to free other slaves and to teach them the ways of Cthulhu, then left to grow stronger, and to spread the word of the Great Old One throughout the world.
Additional features and traits:
Tattooed on the inside of her right forearm:
1) A slave does not speak unless spoken to.
2) A slave does not speak inappropriately to or about their master.
3) Disobedient slaves are beaten for their disobedience.
4) If you can't be trained, you die.
She had her tongue cut out for violating #2.
Her arms have the following "poem" tattooed on them in Draconic.
Left arm: That is not dead which can eternal lie.
Right arm: And with strange eons, even death may die.
The backs of her hands contain symbols from her patron's holy teachings. Her head, from just above her forehead, and down her spine, is tattooed with scripture from those teachings as well.
Treasure:
a diary with 7 missing pages
Cantrips:
Mending (uses int to cast)
Eldrich blast
Mage hand
druidcraft
light
Spare the dying
Spells:
2 spell slots, 2nd lvl
Tasha's Hideous laughter
Dissonant Whispers
Detect thoughts
Invisibility
Comprehend languages (ritual lvl 1)
Detect poison and disease (ritual lvl 1) |
8,322 | 227 | 0 | 2,530 | 602 | Drei T. Reinhardt
Drei scowled as he walked the streets in the southern Industrial Ring, on the hunt for a certain Child of the Dark reported to be in the area. He knew it was completely possible that she was already on the opposite side of the city, though his gut told him she was still here somewhere. Asking the locals had gotten him nowhere so far, so he resorted to simply relying on his eyes. Infrared vision in his left eye highlighted everything living with shades of red, while his right viewed the normal visible spectrum, giving Drei an overlap of the two to make identification easier.
She has to be here. I can feel it... When I find that little bi- Drei's thoughts were cut short as off in the distance a blur of red appeared momentarily on a rooftop, only to vanish shortly after. Out of instinct Drei jumped into the air, thrusters on his feet, hips and hands activating with a burst of energy and heat, leaving a scorch on the ground where he had stood.
Drei rose above the buildings that surrounded him, looking down at their roofs. Once more he saw a signature appear, angling his body with another sudden burst from his thrusters to propel him towards his target. The thrusters on Drei's shoulders sparked to life as he cut off the ones on his palms, straightening his arms in front of him. He quickly closed the gap between himself and his unsuspecting prey, getting ready to send his pile-bunkers straight through her body.
Bunny
Bunny hopped from rooftop to rooftop through the southern Industrial Ring. She had just visited one of her many stashes around the city, restocking on the tools she used to evade the Military Police. With the height difference between some of the buildings and how little fatigue shorts jumps brought on, this was her most efficient method of traversing this ring. She stayed on each roof only long enough to recuperate the stamina taken by the toll of her power, then hopped to the next roof with a shadow on it. Every now and then she gave a quick check to the streets, making sure there were no Children nearby being harassed by the MP.
As she stopped to rest on one of the rooftops Bunny took a seat and began inspecting her throwing knives. She pulled one from the pouch strapped to the belt holding her torn jeans up, feeling the balance of the weight. As she began to inspect the blade, Bunny began to hear a slight whine coming from a distance behind her. It wasn't until she noticed a flash move across her knife that she realised the sound had quickly moved towards her, and was still getting louder. She glanced behind herself just in time to notice a large familiar man not even a meter away.
"Bunny!" Drei shouted as the dust cleared. He pulled his pile-bunker from the rooftop with a yank of his arm, checking the tip. A small amount of blood could be seen on the tip. "Almost had her that time," Drei spoke as he stood and looked around.
"Still at it, huh Tiberius? When will you learn that it won't be so easy to do me in?" Bunny talked in a mocking voice, though she could feel the blood running down her leg from her right thigh. She stood on a nearby roof, looking down at the man who had nearly put her leg temporarily out of commision. "You know I can be anywhere in this city in less than a second, right?"
"Where you will be is a nice little cell in R&D!" He aimed his right arm at the woman, hand pulled back so the thruster on his palm was aimed forward. The circle in his palm glowed blue as it quickly charged itself, and with a boom launched a highly focused beam of energy at Bunny. The shot lit the roofs in the immediate area, eliminating shadows momentarily.
Bunny was forced to dive sideways to avoid the beam that would have put a hole through her chest. She landed with a thud, hitting her wound against the roof. "Tsch, you bastard... I will kill you one day." With those words she grabbed the pin attached to one of the smoke grenades on her belt, pulling it away with a jerk of her arm. The smoke began pouring from the cylinder, slowly darkening the area around her.
"You aren't getting away!" Drei shouted as he once more shot into the air, his thrusters at full strength. With a twist, and an adjustment of the thrusters on his body, Drei sent himself into a violent spin. The thrusters deactivated shortly, then fired off all at once in a low focus, high intensity burst. The smoke cleared from the force, another rooftop left scorched, though there was no sign of Bunny.
She had panicked. Reappearing close to the dome's ceiling, she began falling and was immediately bathed in the light of the hanging ceiling day lamps. She couldn't hop again now, and her speed only increased as she plummeted towards the buildings below. Her life had plenty of time to flash before her eyes, as it had many times before. The air rushing by tore at her clothes and hair, letting her know exactly how fast she was moving. Bunny noticed the buildings coming quickly, and knew she would need to hop as soon as she entered one of their shadows. The previous teleport had left her drained, her mind foggy. As she rushed past a large skyrise, Bunny closed her eyes, and vanished into the air, a small puff of blackness left in her wake. Bunny felt herself hit the ground hard before she lost consciousness, no idea where she had landed. | Drei T. Reinhardt
Age
26
Gender
Male
Appearance
Before his many body augmentations, Drei was still quite a large man. His body had little fat, along with large and defined musculature. Now the only muscles Drei has are in his torso, his four limbs having been completely replaced. Most of his pale Caucasian skin has also been replaced with a black high strength dermal armor, up to the top of the neck where it grafts with the skin at the jaw. The hair on top of Drei's head is a jet black in color, always cut fairly short. He has a masculine facial bone structure with high cheekbones, a wide and square jaw, and a strong, cleft chin. His eyes have both been replaced with black computerized prosthetics with golden pupils, with six thin blue lines leading from the pupil to the back of the eye, spaced evenly apart. Drei's nose, once proudly chiseled, is now crooked from being broken twice in fights. His thin lips are more often than not pulled into a grin, and his thin angled eyebrows frame his face well.
Height
207 cm
Weight
137 kg
Personality
Drei is a gruff man, having been in the Military Police nearly all his life. That isn't to say he's opposed to having a good time, he just has his own way of doing that. Drei loves fighting more than anything, and is always looking for challenges. He is quick tempered, arrogant, narcissistic, and generally an all around asshole (because someone has to play "that guy") which often leads to more fights.
Bio
Drei was born in the Political Ring, into a family with a long tradition of joining the Military Police. His father had already attained a high rank, and so life was very good for young Drei. As he grew, Drei always looked up to his father, listening in awe to tales of his heroic conquests over the despicable Children of the Dark. He knew he would one day be like his father, out on the streets capturing these terrorists.
As he went through his educations, Drei trained his body physically every day. By the time he was old enough to join the force Drei was a model of strength, nearly unbeatable in close quarters combat. As he advanced in his career and increased his rank, Drei began augmenting his body so as to be more suited to fighting the mutants in the city. He ended up replacing his limbs, eyes, and even some internal organs, becoming an even more lethal force. Today Drei holds the rank of Sergeant Major and enjoys his job hunting down the Children of the Dark.
Skills
Drei is near unbeatable in hand to hand combat, using both his tech and his favorite elements from multiple martial arts.
Drei is able to fly, and is nimble as fuck in the air. Screw parkour.
Drei is able to sustain large amounts of damage to his body and continue fighting.
Thanks to his strength, doors pose no issue. What is "lock pick"?
Tech
Panoptes Eye Prosthetic
Drei's "all-seeing" eyes. These prosthetics have multiple filters that allow Drei to sift through the entire spectrum of radiation as he wishes. Along with this these eyes have a built in Fog Detector which allows Drei to ascertain the whereabouts of nearby Children of the Dark.
Ear Prosthetic
The mechanical ears Drei had replace his originals, these hemishperical prosthetics are capable of picking up sound from twice the distance and over a much greater range of frequencies. His radio system is built into the ears, as is a sonar system with feedback to his eyes in order to create a motion tracking grid.
Achilles Dermal Armor
The armor which covers Drei's body, preventing a large amount of kinetic and thermal damage. It is grounded to prevent electrical damage, and emp shielded to protect his limbs and prosthetic organs.
Atlas Arm Prosthetics
These mechanical arms have replaced Drei's original ones. They offer unparalleled strength, allowing Drei to punch, lift, and grip things with twenty times the force of organic human arms. Along with increased strength, the arms feature impact dampaners to reduce recoil and stun knuckles for non-lethal takedowns.
Atalanta Leg Prosthetics
The fastest legs on the market, allowing Drei to outrun most criminals with ease and inhuman speed. These legs are capable of sustaining falls from up to ten meters, and can jump up to three meters. Not only are they capable of mobility, they are lethal in combat as well.
Cardio Prosthetic
This synthetic heart has a higher blood capacity than the human heart and a stronger pump, delivering blood through his body with greater ease. The heart has a built in adrenal dispenser which Drei can activate at will for bursts of energy.
Respiratory Prosthetic
These lungs are primarily used for the mitigation of gas attacks, as they filter oxygen out of nearly anything in the air. The oxygen intake is therefore also increased, as oxygen is separated from gases such as carbon dioxide as well to use. This increases Drei's vitality and decreases his fatigue rate.
Gae Bulg Pile-Bunkers
These four hydraulic rods are built into Drei's limbs, custom fitted into the prosthetics. In the arms these pile-bunkers are mounted in the forearm, with an opening in the palm and elbow for the rod to protrude from. In the legs they are located in the shins, where they can exit from the knee and bottom of the feet. These pile-bunkers extend two feet out of his prosthetics, and impact with almost twice the force of his punches.
Icarus Thrusters
This network of high intensity swiveling thrusters has been implanted in numerous places on Drei's body. Starting from the top, these thrusters are located on the front and back of each shoulder, the back of both elbows and on each palm, the front and back of the hips, and on the bottom of both feet. These thrusters have multiple strength and focus levels, which allows Drei to use them for combat as well as maneuvering.
Possessions
Standard MP holotag, worn proudly around his neck.
Two ballistic revolvers, modeled after the old Chiappa Rhino and chambered for .44 caliber ammunition.
Other
Extended heavy use of his prosthetics causes a build up of excess heat, which must be vented through the limbs if Drei doesn't want his prosthetics to malfunction.
Drei's prosthetics are manufactured with a superalloy comprised of tantalum, magnesium, tungsten, and chromium. This allows the prosthetics a balance of high tensile and yield strength, a high melting point, and impressive corrosion/wear resistance.
Although his body is heavily protected, Drei's head is still unshielded. His eyes and ears are susceptible to emp damage, and will need to reboot if they are exposed to an emp.
Bunny
Age
"Never ask a lady that."
Gender
Female
Appearance
Bunny is a petite woman, her small frame often used to her advantage while escaping from anyone who might want her contained. She has little fat, though also no defined musculature, giving her a feminine appearance despite her flat chest and buttocks.
Height
174 cm
Weight
72 kg
Personality
Bunny is a generally calm and kind woman, and she cares deeply about saving other Children of the Dark. She is reluctant to make personal connections with people, as they have always ended up dying on her. This has made her a bit jaded to death when it does occur close to her, although she is still able to have a good time when the opportunity presents itself. She often portrays a jovial exterior, but those who have gotten to know her understand she is a very serious person.
Bio
"It's a long story, maybe another time."
Skills
Bunny is good at free running. Fighting? Not so much.
Stealth has always been a large part of her existence as she is a high profile "terrorist".
She is an amazing pickpocket.
While not great at fighting, she does know a good deal about rebel tactics.
Power
Bunny has the ability to teleport, or "Hop" freely between any shadow or place devoid of light which she has seen (and she's lived in Domino for quite some time). This teleportation can be instantaneous or delayed, and while Bunny is in the dimension through which she travels her wounds are healed. Along with this, she is able to bring others with her so long as they stand within the same shadow, though they are essentially frozen in time during the Hop. Some reports have given circumstantial evidence that this is not the full extent of her powers, though no confirmation has been given by eyewitnesses.
Drawback
Every Hop fatigues Bunny upon reentry, the fatigue is greater upon further distances, and multiplies with each person brought along. Bunny's wounds are not healed instantly upon Hopping, she must delay her reentry in order for them to have time to heal.
Possessions
Two smoke grenades
Two emp grenades
Twenty throwing knives
One MP radio transmitter
One Fog detector
Other |
8,323 | 227 | 1 | 2,766 | 324 | Chaz Rolender
Chaz finished helping the last customer in the shop at the moment and saw them out the door, a smile on his face and in his voice, " Have a good day, and come back if there are any more problems, I would be more then happy to help fix them." Chaz waited until they were far enough away to not here him before the smile vanished. He had been dealing with one junk job after another, haveing to deal with people that didn't know what they wanted as well as people who didn't want to pay full price and tried to cheep him out, bargain it down, or just plain try to steal what they wanted. Luckily he maintained a full security system, with a door that wouldn't open if unpaid for merchandise tried to leave the store. For some reason thieves alwasy think they can get a multi thousand dollar upgrade for free. Worst of all were customers like his last one that thought they knew more then he did, and tried messing with his stuff, and then complaining to him and demanding he fix it, half the time trying to get it free of charge. "Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why do people have to mess with my merchandise and try to fix or 'upgrade' it themselves. If you don't know what you are doin..." Chaz mumbled, cutting off when he noticed someone getting ready to enter the store.
Chaz put his storekeeper face back on, and said, once again with a smile in his voice, "Hello, and how may I help you?" Hopefully it wasn't another 'repair' job. | Name: Chaz Rolender
Age: 23
Gender: Male
Height: 5'4"
Weight: 140
Personality: Chaz is mostly A nice person who doesn't really make friends. He often stops to help people out when he can, but doesn't allow people to get close to him in case they discover his secret. Because of this, he remains closed off from most people. However for those who do manage to enter into the realm of madness know as his circle of friends, they find a crazy, helpful, playfully insulting (he NEVER harms anyone with his words, he views that as just wrong), and scary person is hidden behind the calm exterior. Very few have seen Chaz get truly mad, and none have walked away from his direct anger.
When it come to the government, Chaz is very much against the way they handle thing in some areas, and very supportive in others. He would much rather have the government just keep a registry of the CotD then hunt them down. Just like you would keep a registry of people with a weapons permit. His views on other areas are similar, if it doesn't cause a problem, then it shouldn't be seen as a problem.
Bio: Chaz grew up in the corporate circle, and has had a relatively normal life. He went to school, learned how to run the family tech store, and got all of the licenses necessary. The only times he has ever had anything out of the ordinary happen is one time, when he was fifteen, his best friend was killed in an accident caused by the MPF, which caused him to close up; and a time when a CotD tried to kidnap him and he turned its own power (the power to cause major allergic reactions) against it, killing it. The fallout of the killing was actually pretty minor as the death was put down as an unlucky accident.
Skills: Bartering, cooking, organizing, finances, store-keeping/managing, understands how to use any piece of technology that doesn’t interface with the human body, as well most clean (aka doesn't need any extra tools or medical knowledge) interfacing tech. Advanced programming skills and basic electronic skills are also a necessity for his job.
Power: Chaz has the power to identify and copy and other Child of the Dark's power, however he can only identify a persons powers by seeing them; or mimic a persons power if he has touched them, and only for as long as he touched them. This can stack indefinitely, so if he knocks out a CofD, or interacts with them physically then he is building up the amount of time he can use their power. He can store any number of powers.
Drawback: Chaz has a headache that slowly builds up as he absorbs others power. The headache grows in relation to the amount of time he has charged for each power, however the headache goes away as long as he is not charging his power. Each power he charges causes a different headache, and they don't combine. This means that if he charges one power up to the point of a migraine, then goes and starts charging another, then the headache starts at the bottom again. However, if he starts charging the first power again, the headache goes right back to where it was. As of now, this limits him to no more then an hour long charge for any power, as that is all of the pain he can stand. In addition to his personal drawback, while using another's powers, he has all of their drawbacks.
Possessions: In addition to partial ownership of the store (to prevent anything going wrong if his parents died); he has a small amount of saved up wealth; a moderately good condition vehicle custom rigged by hand that he personally maintains; and several household tech devices. Nothing like what the R&D or political circles have (he can't afford it), but a fair amount nonetheless.
Other: Not much more to tell...yet. |
8,324 | 227 | 2 | 175 | 3,684 | Light
Light was traveling through the shopping ring of the city, popping in and out of holes she pulled from her dress to travel. There were spots full of people, or spots with no people, depending on the area, which she always thought odd considering it was the shopping area. As she popped out on top of a building, Light glanced at the city below. She was about to hop into another hole she had pulled out, when a thin lady popped out of a puff of black smoke in the empty side street below, hitting the ground from her fall. Curious, Light put her hole away and jumped down from the building, impacting the ground with a loud crash making an indent in the concrete of her silhouette.
Popping her head out of the hole a few moments later, Light gave the lady a smile. That smile would disappear shortly though when Light noticed that the women was unconscious. Pouting for a moment, Light picked herself out of her indent and moved over to her, making sure she was still alive. "You know, you'd think those police people would have better things to do. I bet I've stopped more crimes than most of those bullies." Light said to herself as she gave Bunny a lookover. Figuring that she wasn't dead, Light picked her up and took her out of the street to a nearby tech store and away from any prying eyes.
Dragging Bunny into Chaz's store, Chaz came out of the backroom to see who his next customer was. "This lady here needs some help. I found her a couple alleyways away. I'd do it, but I don't have any first aid stuff on me." Light said, putting Bunny down on a clean bit of floor, then standing to attention with a smile on her face as she looked at Chaz. | Name: Light
Age: 24
Gender: Female
Appearance: Light is a pure white humanoid figure. Her head is a large spherical shape with no nose, very large black and orange eyes, short blue hair, fin like ears, and a very very skinny neck. She has a noticeable hourglass shape to her due to her hips and chest. She has skinny biceps with large forearms and hands with pointed fingers. She wears a white dress with blue trim and a blue tanktop, the dress having an 'M' cut pattern in the front to reveal her legs, which look normal besides the bottom leg ending at a sharp point where her foot would be.
Height: 1.6 meters
Weight: Varies, usually around 60kg.
Personality: Light is a carefree, playful, lax, honest sort of person. She tends to view everything as a game and as such, usually has a poor grasp on long standing consequences. She also tends to try to be friends with anyone she finds interesting and isn't much in the habit of making enemies with people unless they wrong her first. While coming off as goofy, snarky, or michevious, under her playful persona is an incredibly intelligent person who will give you A Bad Time if you make her angry. Course shes sorta lazy in that regard, so it takes a lot to get her to that point.
Bio: Light, being an obvious Child of the Dark due to her strange appearance, has a difficult time staying in one part of Domino city for very long. This makes her more of a rumor than anything when compacted with the fact that she tends to help those in trouble if shes in the area or cheer up those who are downtrodden. While a bit weary of the military police, she isn't against helping them out if they're in trouble, just as long as they don't try to capture her. She tends to help other Children of the Dark though as they tend to be the ones in more trouble than the police however.
Skills: Intelligent
Genre Savvy
Observant
And boy oh boy, don't make her angry. Unless you wanna have A Bad Time. Seriously, you really don't wanna have a Bad Time.
Power:
Toonforce
Light has the powers, physics, ext... of a toon.
Toon Regeneration: Its said that its nearly impossible to kill a toon, and thats true in the case of Light. While she still takes damage as normal and can be knocked out like normal (and sometimes even easier than most people), she can regenerate from any aliment, including being vaporized, her mind shattered or erased, her spirit taken out of her body, ext... She regenerates by 'popping' back to her normal state after a bit of taking no damage, sometimes having bandages or something on her that indicates what she was last hit by. While she can regenerate from pretty much any state, more extreme states or supernatural states take her more time to regenerate from, especially nonlethal states such as being turned into a kid, ext... She can probably still be killed by cosmic forces though, maybe...
Toon Physics: Physics affect Light differently since she is a cartoon. This means...
Light's body 'stretches', usually in moments of rapid acceleration or if she is being pulled on from two sides. Her normal movements look cartoony as well. Her body can stretch and grow to hit something, but she can't stretch more than 1/5th of a meter in this way.
If Light walks off a high point, such as a cliff, but is unaware that she is walking off of an edge, she will continue to walk on air as if it was ground. When she realizes she is no longer on solid ground, she will fall like normal.
While falling, Light can stop when approaching the ground to readjust where she will land, before continuing to fall at the rate she was falling before she stopped.
Injuries affect her differently than normal. For example, being caught up in an explosive causes her to appear ash covered before possibly breaking apart into a pile of ash, or being crushed causing her to become a pancake, ext...
Light can't bleed.
If Light is hit by a sharp object or a hot object on her backside, she'll be propelled away from the object, usually on fire if it was a hot object.
If Light places her finger inside the barrel of a gun, she will cause the gun to misfire.
Eating very spicy things will let Light breath fire, while also running around wildly looking for water.
If stuck in hostile environments for long periods, Light will adapt to the environment and be able to function in it like normal.
For some reason, her eyeballs are far, far more durable than the rest of her body.
Light can pick up enchanted/DNA objects that other people usually wouldn't be allowed to pick up. However she will not gain the benefit from said objects unless she herself would fit the criteria for the enchantment/lock.
Light can parkour on walls for extended periods before falling.
Light has full control over her body pieces if she is chopped up. Sometimes she will form into tiny versions of herself is she is smashed or shattered, reforming after a bit of time running around.
Light herself is extremely resistant to reality changing attacks or attacks formed from reality warping.
Its very obvious to those around her when Light is dizzy, confused, knocked out, stunned, has an idea, ext.. due to various things appearing over her head depending on the state.
Things get confusing if Light is chased into a hallway with many doors...
If chasing something that is taking off from the ground, Light can step on the air for a time in order to chase them, but will eventually fall.
Light can additionally stall an impending fall by flapping or flailing her arms for a few seconds.
Can dress up in a disguise to fool the weak minded.
You REALLY don't wanna eat her unless you want her walking around inside your head freely.
A Shadow of Impending Doom appears below Light when an object is falling on her.
Light leaves an imprint of herself if she impacts the ground from a high height. Ditto if she runs through a wall.
Entering alternate dimensions or worlds that have something similar to what Light can do will often have Light take on that appearance. Or if a dimension calls for a certain kind of thing, IE its all underwater life or all anthropomorphic animals or something.
Among other nuances I might have forgotten.
Toon Strength: Light can exhibit enormous strength for her small frame. This strength is tied to her emotions, and if shes sad, she loses a massive amount of strength.
Toon Speed: Light exhibits short bursts of speed, using it to either dodge attacks or run at decent speeds. While she can dodge bullets with no problems with this, actual running speed Light is notably faster, but not anywhere near speedster territory (not that much faster than a top speed car). She can only dodge a few attacks every so often, and only if shes aware of the attacks. Outside of this, Light isn't very fast at all.
ACME Magic Satchel: Light can store and pull various objects from her dress. Stored objects are placed in an 'inventory' of sorts (Limit 5) and she can call upon them at will by pulling them out of her dress. She can additonally pull objects from her dress without storing them first. These items are adorned with an ACME logo and are completely random, are often cartoony or have a horrendous backfire effect, and as the name suggests, usually (But not always) explode in her face if held too long, even non lethal things such as pies! Storing a random object doesn't allow her to call it at will, and she can only pull a few random objects every 10 minutes, the cooldown reduced by her putting back said random objects. Light can't store living objects.
Portable Hole: Light can pull a black circular hole from her dress, allowing her to teleport to anywhere within her sightlines upon placing and entering it. The entrance and exit holes can be placed on anything, including air or space, but there is a noticable delay of her coming out of the exit hole if its not located on a surface. Only Light and objects stored in her Magic Satchel can go inside her holes.
Toon Touch: Being a toon, Light reacts to normal reality strangely and tends to bring things to her state of reality. When touching something, it is unable to receive energy from outside sources. This gives her touch some sort slight of a 'creepy' feeling. Additionally if shes in constant contact with something for extremely extended periods it will start to go through the stages of turning into a toon with no beneficial powers, and eventually fade from reality altogether (A massive amount of time. Probably a few weeks.), maybe going to a different dimension entirely? If Light stops touching the object at any point, it will regain its energy at its normal rate and basically reset their reality back to normal after a very short amount of time if it didn't disappear. Until its reality is restored, it can't gain energy from outside sources. This power is always on and Light has no control over its intensity.
Drawback:
Light takes extra damage from attacks due to her cartoon physics.
Light is weak to gas, poison, ext type attacks, and it doesn't take much of a substance to have an effect on her.
Light has an exceptionally difficult time breaking herself free of anything that binds her movement. Being encased in ice, tied down, stuck in a net, ext...
TDLR: Light is very easy to incapacitate for a time. Tape especially is pretty nasty.
A vast majority of her toon powers are tied to her emotional state, and most of them don't work well if she is feeling sad or depressed.
Light plays with her opponents instead of fights them seriously unless they make her extremely angry. If she is annoyed with someone she'll start showing Genre Savvy type of playful fighting however.
Light is very gullible due to her silly/playful/lazy persona, especially if she doesn't know or think poorly of someone. Shes not easy to directly turn on her friends though. She is also easy to talk down from a fight unless she is really angry.
Light often tries to be friends with her opponents if she thinks she can.
Light is unable to use Energy based weapons due to Cartoon physics, and ballistic based weapons have less power and speed if used by her. Bombs still have their full power, but a drastically reduced blast radius.
Light is very easily distracted by music or other fun things unless she is really angry.
Objects falling tend to home in slightly on Light, showing their Shadows of Impending Doom under her. Likewise occasionally Light will be hit by a falling anvil, safe, or piano out of nowhere. It probably came from a plane, probably.
Light is on the wrong end of the luck spectrum, and often is seen as having 'bad luck' that only affects her, especially if its bad luck that leads to slapstick.
Light is very slow to anger.
Possessions: None
Other: Light is made for slapstick, so autohit slapstick is fine by me. |
8,325 | 227 | 3 | 2,708 | 1,215 | Leila
Leila waited patiently for her drink. It had been over 10 minutes now, and there was no sign of the waitress. It's not that she was in a hurry; she had the day off after all, but being in public for too long-especially with the way things had been lately-wasn't the smartest idea. Leila looked down at some of the blueprints she had brought with her to keep he mind occupied. If luck was on her side, she would avoid the police for the remainder of the day and would be able to safely return home tonight.
"Here you go," the waitress said with a lack of enthusiasm as she approached the booth. Leila quickly thought of an insult in her mind but she knew better than to say it out loud.
"Thank you," Leila replied as she smiled at the waitress to fake being pleased with the service. After taking a quick sip, she turned her focus once more to the blueprint in front of her. The workload that Dr. Chaddrick had imposed on Leila was a bit overwhelming, but protesting against it was useless. He didn't care for petty complaints, and there would always be someone ready to replace her within hours if it came down to it. Without paying much attention to her surroundings, Leila continued with the task at hand hoping to return to Dr. Chaddrick with a solution rather than with additional doubts. | Name: Leila Rose
Age: 18
Gender: Female
Height: 5'2
Weight: 110 lbs
Personality: Leila is quiet and reserved, for the most part. She usually isn't the first to strike a conversation amongst strangers, but that doesn't mean she will ignore those who approach her. Leila enjoys pursuing goals for herself and helping others achieve theirs, and she's spent the majority of her life doing just that. She's a rather ambitious girl and believes life is meaningless without having a personal objective.
Bio: Born into a family of farmers in the Agriculture Ring, Leila often ventured to either neighboring district to find an adventure of her own. She lived with her parents as well as her uncle, her father's only remaining brother. With no siblings of her own, she would spend most of her time at home outside interacting with the various animals they owned. She found it easy to get along with them and she swore they were the best friends anyone could ever hope for her. They listened to her problems, weren't judgmental, and even comforted her in their own ways at times when she was filled with despair.
One evening while she was out, the day after her 14th birthday, her home was raided. She came back only to find total destruction as well as the blood of her loved ones scattered throughout the house. She rushed outside, but there was no sign of her family or any of their animals for that matter. After the initial shock of what she had just seen subsided, Leila came to the conclusion that she wasn't safe in her own home anymore. She ran upstairs, grabbed the locket she had in her room, and hurried outside before she herself became the next victim.
It took a few weeks of being homeless, suffering from starvation and exposure to the harsh weather along the way, before Leila was taken in by a nice quiet family of 4. She was flooded with grief when they found her, but the pain slowly eased with time. The parents as well as the brother and sister got along with her very well, any there wasn't any resentment or hostility towards one another. They were farmers as well, although they lived nearly on the other side of the ring from where her home was. For the next couple of years, a good chunk of her free time was then spent sneaking around the various districts attempting to find the individuals responsible for her family's murder. When she wasn't out and about, she spent some time researching and digging for information that may be of use to her in her quest for vengeance.
At the age of 17, she moved out on her own and got a job as a personal assistant to some scientist from the Corporate Ring. Her life goals slightly shifted as she finally realized that she may never get her revenge, and she's now focused on pursuing her own dreams.
Skills: A quick runner and an increased intelligence level.
Power: Leila has the ability to influence another person's current thoughts and emotions as well as implant false memories into that person's mind. In order for this to occur though, she must have some sort of physical contact with that individual, even if it's for a split second. Unfortunately, as time goes by, Leila's influence over her target decreases and confusion will temporarily set in before they recognize what's happened to them. Recovery time varies purely by individual.
Drawback: If a person's mind is stronger than her own and able to repel the attack, then she herself will be hit with whatever memory or emotion had been generated. Repeated use of this ability causes Leila to have extreme headaches and sometimes, she absorbs her target's own memories which, depending on the situation, may or may not stay with her permanently. Additionally, this ability doesn't work on cyborgs or androids as the target must have a purely organic brain structure.
Possessions: A silver locket that's been passed down by generations holding an image of her parents.
Other: N/A |
8,326 | 227 | 4 | 2,226 | 2,861 | Odin
Odin stepped out of a warm shower and wrapped a towel around his wet body drying off and did the usual steps taken after a good washing. His morning wasn't hasty or chaotic as you'd think someone with metal prosthetic limbs morning would be. It was a normal humanish morning in a not so normal day, yet another topic that often sent Odin into a deep almost bottomless pit of thought. Each day normal was supernatural events occurring every second when back then supernatural things were way out of the ordinary. Odin roamed his home with a towel wrapped around his waist covering everything from his waist down. On the living room couch his clothes laid awaiting his arrival.
A black short sleeved T-shirt that said "10 Men" which was probably a terrible pun to his self being since he was a cyborg. The often serious man had no choice but to wear the clothing since the person who placed them there was someone he owed dearly. He quickly dressed himself in a white beater, the black T-shirt, boxers, socks, and dark gray jogging pants. After he was finished he began to slip into his thoughts about the 'normal day' thing and stared blankly at the ceiling. "Oi! What are you doing!?" A feminine voice with a small hint of a English accent called out to him. Odin quickly snapped out of his trans and gave the loud woman his attention. She smiled her face full of happiness and pointed towards the kitchen soon walking in the direction of it.
"Katherine...." Odin spoke following the young woman to the kitchen. "...don't bother me when I'm thinking about something-." He added on as he entered the kitchen after her but was interrupted by Katherine. "Yeah yeah! Yah always deep in thought and I always bother yah that ain't ever gonna change now eat yah breakfast." As always Odin was defeated by her quick rebuttals and sat down eating his breakfast. This woman that spoke to the notorious Odin as if he was a teenager is named Katherine. She lives with Odin and repairs him now and then when he needs them. Odin usually doesn't even speak to people but Kat somehow out smarter him and managed to go as far as ending up living with him.
They're terms of relationship is that of a brother and sister with disputes that aren't always won by our robotic friend. While Odin ate his breakfast Kat paused eating her cereal and looked over in his direction wearing his causal smile. "I gave you those upgrades you asked for! Yah know! Installing that Fog detector thingy!!" Odin simply peeked up from his food and then looked back down at his plate. "The way you say it make it sound like a toy." He replied nibbling on a piece of a pancake. Kat smiled, she was a true tech nerd to the heart and loved tinkering so sometimes she couldn't help calling things she tinker with her toys. "Well.....whatever you say I installed it into your left arm! Its cool and everything! Like a computer compacted into your arm basically!" She quickly started to ramble on about how cool the detector was, how it spoke, and how it can navigate him towards the origin of the detected fog. She also mentioned how she snuck into his chambers at night to give him all these amazing upgrades. "Wait! You can't just ramble over sneaking into my room!" Odin shouted jumping to his feet and heading towards the door. Kat simply continued to smile an innocent smile as Odin exited their home pouting each step he takes. She knows he couldn't stay made at her and started to clean the kitchen humming as she did so. Odin sucked on his teeth and walked in the direction of the outer ring. Maybe hunting down some problem starters would get his mind off Kat sneaking into his room. | Name:
Odin
Age:
Appears to be in his Mid 20s but ages at an extremely slow rate.
Gender:
Male
Appearance:
Slick black hair and eyes to match. Odin doesn't exactly have eyes, well pupils to be exact. He has eye balls but that's mainly it. His four limbs are prosthetics made from Magnesium Alloy which will be explained more in Tech. He also has two slots on his cheek for flash drives.
Height:
5'9"
Weight:
110lbs
Personality:
Odin is border line emotionless. He barely show signs for sympathy and follows every order that's carried out to him. Sometimes he doesn't care about small things and that sometimes leads to him ignoring murder. He'd just see it has a predator killing its prey, the circle of life. Odin is often deep in thought and loves to keep to himself. Though he knows he was created and can potential regain his memories he doesn't aim to do so.
Bio:
Odin doesn't know of his past but knows that he can't go back to it now. For one thing he does know that he wasn't originally a cyborg. The knowledge he received tells him so, but doesn't try to get into more depth about things that relate to what he is. He believes knowing his past wouldn't change anything so he completely stopped thinking about it. His only objective is the present and future.
Skills:
•Even if he's almost 25% human he's still human, that means he has the potential to learn and become better at something.
•Odin is a perfect Strategist since he has a brain that can possibly calculate a plan for a situation that calls for one.
•Skilled in May Thai and knows Basic Karate, Kung Fu and a bit of Judo and Tai Chi.
Tech:
•Prosthetic Magnesium Alloy limbs
The alloy that makes up his limbs are the strongest and lightest alloy known to man. Stronger than titanium and lighter than aluminum. They are not simply attached to his upper body but are apart of him like true real limbs. Ripping them off would be as tough as it would be for a normal person getting their limbs ripped off. Although it is a bit harder to do so.
•Cyborg
Odin is basically not human anymore. His original body being only a torso and a head. With science he was successful transformed to a living human computer. The process destroyed a lot of his nerves and possibly his brain before it was altered to be compatible with the prosthetic limbs. Since his torso is still flesh he can be stabbed or shot and bleed. This can cause him to tire out which normal doesn't happen.
•Enhancements
With his new limbs he's now able to run, lift, and bend beyond the human limitations. No that doesn't mean he can matrix and dodge bullets like zero. That simple means he has a higher chance of surviving a lot of things that would be considered fatal to men.
•Genius level Intellect
Odin's brain has been altered to control his prosthetic limbs which causes his brain to use less energy then it usually uses sending messages to four human limbs. In response the energy used to run the limbs that's left over stays directly within the brain that helps him process things on a genius level. That and something similar to a computer software was implanted within his brain. This doesn't give him telekinesis or anything either, he's just really smart and knows a lot due to his brain and the computer software filling him with as much knowledge as possible.
Possessions:
None as of Now
Other:
•He may be a Cyborg but he is still able to procreate. I did say only his limbs are prosthetics after all.
•Doesn't need food to survive but can still eat, on the other hand he can still dehydrate so he does need water at some point.
•Rocket Launchers, Very large concentrated volts of electricity(Lightening), A Bullet to the head, and acid are seriously problematic things for Odin that can be fatal or really lethal for him. |
8,327 | 227 | 5 | 729 | 2,152 | Gregor Cross
Gregor was half asleep at his desk, cup already drained of coffee, feet propped up on the desk while he snoozed. His coat was hung up on the coat rack next to his desk, burnt out cigar resting in the ash tray while its owner was clearly not overly invested in the days activities. It was an off day, he wasn't on any specific case and he didn't go out on beat patrols anymore, he wasn't sent usually and kept around just in case. More like to keep a close eye on him, he would tell most folks who asked, and his rifle and gear was in the armory right now, he usually didn't even bother having to go through grabbing the stuff since most days ended with him heading home, having done some paperwork, maybe some interrogations or footwork. Made him regret taking the detective billet some days, but hell, he had enough good times to put up with the slow bits.
"GREGOR!"
Gregor snorted, nearly falling out of his chair, feet landing with a heavy thud as he spun the chair around to face his boss, an easy smirk on the detective's face. The man wasn't the overall, powers that be boss, but he was above him and usually dispatched him just to get him to go away. Which worked just fine with him. "Mornin' boss, interrupted a rather nice dream. And she was getting to the good bit too..." The man looked like he was trying to not smack Gregor, or try to, they both knew he would never have laid a finger on him without the detective allowing it. The man tossed a dispatch report, seemed like Child activity was on the rise, and he was getting sent out to do a witch hunt, as the old saying went. "Finally have something for your lazy ass to go do today. Reinhardt is off on his personal crusade again, so that leaves you to show some new guy the ropes. Head out to see if Reinhardt needs a hand, yes he's still your superior, and try not to get the rook killed, please?"
Gregor mockingly groaned, rolling his eyes and leaning back in the chair, feet going back up onto his desk. "You're letting some young, impressionable rookie come out with me? Boss, you shouldn't have. I love making new friends, I'll teach him everything I know." The older man scowled angrily at the detective, grinding his teeth briefly before sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose. Gregor still had his amused expression, clearly having too much fun cranking up the man, who's temper was rather well known. "I swear to any god that is left, Gregor, if you do anything stupid, I will string you up by the short and curlies from the office flagpole, you hear me?!" Gregor, just to spite the man, just gave him a knowing grin before walking off, waving vaguely in the man's direction. "Let rookie know to meet me in the garage, I'll have the patrol car warmed up, if he feels like tagging along after whatever you decide to tell him."
Gregor was casual to walk into the armory, most of his gear wasn't terribly complicated. His ace came from his genetics, not his equipment, unlike ol' blowhard Reinhardt. That man was teched out to holy hell, Gregor kept to a rather more old school, yet no less reliable, system of genetic augmentation and external attachments to his gear. That, and his rifle was probably the finest tuned in the precinct, which gave him an edge at a couple paces out, relatively speaking. Grabbing said rifle, and a couple magazines to stuff into his vest, he walked back past his desk to grab a couple miscellaneous items, the old Fog Detector, thing, included. He preferred visual evidence to this glorified Geiger counter, but hell, if it worked, it worked. Heading back down to the garage, he hopped into his patrol vehicle, an older model of hover craft that could still swap over to wheels instead of being purely hover. Sure, the hover wasn't nearly as smooth a ride, but it was nice to have back ups. Cycling channels on the radio, he worked on finding ol' Reinhardt before giving him a call, if he could find him. "Hey Rein, its Greg, how are you holdin' up, boss? Listen, some rookie and I are about to be heading out on a spin of the Industrial Rim, need a hand with that lady friend of yours?" | Name: Gregor Cross
Age: 47
Gender: Male
Appearance:
Height:
5'9"
Weight:
166lbs
Personality: Gregor is a pragmatic man, not concerned with niceties or due process in favor of doing what is necessary for the good of the city. His morality is fairly questionable, willing to overlook a lot in the name of the greater good for folks, whatever that might be defined as. While not outright corrupt, he is flexible, and can often overlook a lot in favor of getting the bigger fish, as the saying goes. Sure, some small fry might be able to skip out, but get the big ones and the little ones are left without their grand leadership. He can justify just about any of his actions through clever wording and rather flexible definitions on the rule of law. It's never theft, just reallocation of resources for State use. Murder is resisting arrest, Gregor really has no problem with bending the rules to bring in the worst. Fight fire with fire, as they say.
Bio:
Gregor was born to a gang leader, his mother a clerk within the Police force who was used for her contacts and information she could feed to her husband to keep him out of reach of the police while living in above average housing, out of reach of the leaking barriers of the city. He was orphaned rather quickly when his parents were caught in an information exchange and killed in the crossfire, leaving him orphaned and growing up in such an orphanage before joining the police force, going through their academy at the young age of 18 years old. At first, he would be a model cop, upholding every law in the fullest and trying to be the model police officer for the force. But he kept running into red tape and never catching the important targets when so many small fish and sheer numbers of petty criminals got in the way of his work.
Gregor started bending in small spots, figuring he could stop after getting who he needed to get to. But it got surprisingly easier, letting the small ones slip by in return for getting better info on the bigger ones, and his ability to flex the rules only grew, as did his pragmatism, especially after undergoing the intensive operations and gene therapy to increase his speed and agility. Some might blame that program, but it was a long, steady slide down a dark and slippery slope that Gregor fell along. He wasn't corrupt to the point of ignoring any crime for the right price, but he was playing with the rules in a dangerous way, too far and he would be no better than the criminals that he was going after. And in regards to Children of the Dark, he had hunted his fair share, they were typically innocent of any crime except existing, but there was no lee way with them, so that was that. He reached a firm, but dead end, posting as a detective in the force, where he was happy to relax and work at, having plenty of freedom of operation to do what he saw fit to solve cases and hunt the Children when they cropped up.
Skills:
Close Quarters Battle
Tracking
Operating Technical Devices
Detective Work
Tech:
Genetic Overhaul Program - Gregor is one of the first successful graduates of the GOP, or Genetic Overhaul Program, which was implemented to give certain members of the force an edge over increasingly dangerous Children of the Dark that normal tech could not, alone, overcome. The program intended to enhance agility or strength through genetic conditioning, eliminating genes that negatively impacted these traits while promoting the growth of genes that did. The initial tests failed miserably, but in time, at least by the time Gregor enrolled, it was finally becoming reliable. Gregor has inhuman speed and grace, although his metabolism is far higher to make up for the increased energy consumption.
Domino City Police Department Armor - Gregor's personal variation on the DCPD uniform, primarily to compensate for, and make up for, the enhanced agility. The armor itself uses a unique hard plate design over the vital areas, with an impact gel weaved in between the plates to compensate for the kinetic energy of rounds as well as absorb the energy from attacks that burn through the plates. Ironically, rounds that are potent enough to punch through the plate aren't remotely affected by the gel layer. Beyond his body armor, he has external mechanical amplifiers that enhance his strength without affecting his agility in a fight, and can be disabled and detached without slowing him down, if need be. Lastly of unique note is his helmet, which covers multiple spectrums of vision as well as providing protection against gasses and other harmful effects aimed at visual or respiratory systems.
M4X Match Carbine - Gregor took a personally bought match grade carbine near the beginning of his career and has been retooling and improving upon it over the past twenty years. The open holographic sight on top provides a clear sight picture of anything he is aiming at, while not forcing him to tunnel vision on a single target, while the combined laser/flashlight on the barrel of the weapon can be changed out at a whim. The weapon's integral suppressor reduces recoil, flash, and sound by redirecting the gasses of the round, while utilizing an integral magnetic charger to recover from any losses normally caused by the suppressor. Each round is match grade armor piercing, and the recoil dampening system in the stock helps make the weapon surprisingly dangerous despite overtly appearing to be a moderately altered carbine.
Possessions:
Secure PDA
Pack of Cigars
Lighter
Keys to his patrol vehicle
Other: Practices a form of close combat that focuses solely on killing someone as fast as possible, with whatever he can get his hands on. Whether this means literally killing someone with their shattered arm, or otherwise, each move is designed to maximize damage, and minimize the amount of time spent in a fight. |
8,328 | 227 | 6 | 1,090 | 737 | Jericho
He had woken up late that morning, the alarm on his clock failing to go off. He knew he should have tested the damn thing after tinkering with it the night before, but he had been so tired after putting the last touches for his updated suit. Serenai had detected some unusual bugs in his suits thermal imaging software, and he had to make sure is was ready for tomorrow. Just in case he was called up for duty. It hadn't happened yet, so far most of his duties had been refilling the coffee maker, taking down lunch orders, and monitoring traffic from behind a computer screen. The closest he had gotten to field duty yet was taking a 911 call from a lady whose stove caught on fire. And while talking down a hyperventilating woman enough to direct her on how to use a fire extinguisher was interesting, it was a far shot from what he had signed up for.
He pushed in through the doors, walking down to his locker and putting on his badge and earpiece. His suit was in its passive state, the nanites forming his gloves, belt, and boots. They'd cover his body in his suit if he gave Serenai the command to, but he didn't wear it as a civilian or in the station. His superiors had already told him to only wear it if he was on duty, and that any injuries were on his insurance, not theirs. He relented, knowing deep down that they were right. Going into the field without the standard armor or cybernetics was risky, but his suit would revolutionize the department when it was done! He just had to get the chance to fully field test it, to prove it was useful in the line of duty! Then there'd be no more MPs being slowed down by armor, no more bullet wounds or burns or even missed shots. Serenai and her as-of-yet imaginary siblings would enhance their targeting abilities, and protect them from any danger! Protecting the protectors!
He was jolted from his daydreaming as a senior officer, Kim, strolled up to him, clapping him on the back. Startled, Jericho turned to face him, fixing his posture and saluting. Why was he saluting? He had done it on reflex, and quickly put his arm down, much to the amusement of his senior.
"Hey kid, you're on patrol today, alright? Ol' Reinhardt was supposed to take you along, but he ain't here right now. So, you're stuck with old Cross, the lazy prick. Boss says you're gonna meet him downstairs in the garage, and head out to the industrial ring. Got it, rookie?" he asked. Jericho nodded with an excited fervor, practically glowing with enthusiasm.
"Yes sir! I understand, sir! I'll go suit up right now-" he was stopped as the grip of Kim's hand tightened.
"Kid, do yourself a favor. Don't wear that freaky suit of yours, you'll stand out like a sore thumb. Just play it cool, and follow Cross's lead, alright?"
"Y-Yes sir..."
Disappointed, Jericho headed down to the armory, picking up the weapons he needed. Standard issue plasma pistol, stun grenades, electric baton, and standard issue combat knife. He hadn't started work on any weapons systems for his suit, he hadn't thought he'd need it. Well, hopefully he wouldn't need to. He wanted his nanites to protect people, not kill them.
Tucking his locket into his shirt, he hurried on down to the garage, not wanting to be left behind on his first patrol. He had never been to the industrial ring before, the farthest he had ever gone was a class field trip to one of the dairy farms in the agricultural ring when he was 10. And even that had been closer to the border of the corporate ring. So of course, he was still buzzing with excitement at the prospect of venturing into unknown territory. It was human spirit, the curiosity of the unknown. The soul of the explorer, the pioneer, the conqueror. It was imbued within his very nature to push past previous limits, to seek out understanding, a higher power, a new frame of mind! Even if it was frightening and daunting, he was determined to rise to the challenge!
He had never met nor seen Gregor Cross before, but he quickly found him. There was only one patrol car started, with one man inside. Hurrying up, he crossed in front of the car, before opening up the passenger's door, hopping in. He turned to Gregor with an expression that could be most easily likened to that of an eager puppy, and he was filled with all the joy that had come on his first day on the job, a mere week ago. He held out his right hand, unable to suppress a wide grin.
"H-Hi sir! Jericho Mason, reporting for duty! You are Detective Cross, I presume? Wow, it's so great to meet you sir, thanks for agreeing to take me along! I'm really thrilled about finally going out into the field, I've never been to the industrial ring before! I'll bet you've been there a bunch of times, right? Wow, that must be so amazing! I-I promise I won't slow you down, sir! Officer Kim told me to follow your lead, so that's just what I'll do!" he babbled, unable to shut his mouth. He knew he should have after the fourth sentence, but he couldn't stop talking when he got excited. He was an overflowing fountain of enthusiasm, so much so that he didn't even notice the radio was still on. | Name: Jericho Mason
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Height: 5'7"
Weight: 150 lbs
Personality: Jericho is a cheery, pleasant, and cautious young man. A rookie on the force, he barely has a weeks worth of detail under his belt. Sharp, intelligent, and cunning, Jericho unfortunately lacks a lot of street smarts. He blindly puts his faith in authority and in his superiors, and truly believes that destroying the Children of Darkness will keep people safe. He has not met any thus far, but propaganda is a powerful tool, and has shaped Jericho since he was young. He is a very moral man, however, disapproving of theft, murder, hacking, and other serious crimes. His greatest wish is to protect and support his family and the many others in Domino City, though it is clear he has a lot to learn.
Bio: Jericho was born in the R&D ring to a wealthy family. His father was an inventor, his mother a pharmacist. Both were kind, upstanding citizens who raised their three children, Ramah, Nineveh, and Jericho. Ramah, the eldest brother, was sharp and sly, and took an interest in politics. Nineveh, the only daughter, was childish and longed to become and actress. And Jericho, the youngest, initially wanted to become an inventor like his father.
But things fall apart in Domino City, and not even the wealthy are safe from bad fortune. Jericho's father and mother were killed during an explosion that caused a small outbreak of the mutagen, and his sister Nineveh went blind from exposure. The incident was branded as a terrorist attack by Children of Darkness sympathizers, leading to a police crackdown. Ramah, now an adult, worked to take care of his younger siblings, securing a job as aide to a prominent politician. Nineveh was no longer able to support herself with her frail body, moved to the Political Ring with her older brother, and Jericho tried to pick up the pieces. Determined to not allow any other families be destroyed by mindless violence, he applied for a job as a security officer, eventually moving up from security to the main taskforce. Now, like many others, he works to hunt the Children of Darkness, believing them to be harmful terrorists or mindless monsters. Though inexperienced, he is highly determined, and values truth, honor, and security over power or freedom.
Skills: Having worked in his father's footsteps from a young age, Jericho has an astute knowledge of machinery and computers, particularly nano machines. He design his suit himself, going off of his father's initial designs. The suit he considers a prototype, hoping to improve it by field testing it on his missions. In addition, he is well versed in ancient religions, and considers himself a deist. He is aware of basic first aid, and has an average understanding of health and anatomy. His social skills, particularly with girls, could clearly use a touch up.
Tech: His armor is made of a network of self-replicating nano machines, who create a kevlar-like armor that can stop bullets, absorb kinetic and plasma energy, and is even water and fire proof. However, it is weak to electricity, and needs to recharge once every 48 hours, or the nano machines cease replicating. They are not fully immune to damage, and the suit can be broken or torn if there is enough stress. Generally, however, the nano machines replicate quickly enough to repair any damage to the overall suit. His nano suit also has camouflaging capabilities, though they can't hide his thermal signature. His suit can deactivate and retreat to a his belt, boots, and gloves for easy access and storage. The facial screen turns clear to show his face when speaking to others.
In addition, he wears a type of lens in his eye that acts as night vision, thermal vision, and facial recognition. The lens is so thin that it blends right into his iris, and is almost impossible to detect.
He wears an earpiece that acts as a phone, a video and voice recorder, and allows him to communicate with members of his team.
For weapons, he carries a standard issue plasma pistol, 2 stun grenades, an expandable electric baton, and a serrated combat knife, no mods. Because it's good to carry a backup in case all that tech fails.
Possessions:
- A bronze locket that he carries with him at all times, containing a holographic picture of his family.
- A "lucky" Captain Domino action figure he keeps in his locker.
-SeReNaI, or Self-Replicating Nano Intelligence. An artificial intelligence unit contained in a microchip in his collar that manages the programming and maintenance of the Nano Suit.
Other: Jericho is incredibly naive around women, having had little luck in talking to them outside his family and Serenai.
He also can't hold his liquor, and is scared of heights. Has a soft spot for small animals, children, pretty girls, and computers. He is on good terms with his brother, but suspects he's not always as honest or clean as he appears. Has a major sweet tooth. |
8,329 | 227 | 7 | 2,766 | 324 | Chaz Rolender
Great, just great. Two good looking women walk into his store, and what's going on? One is injured, but just needs to wake up, and they are both CotD, one of which so obviously so that he was surprised the MPs weren’t already here. He quickly looked at the street, knowing the area he was sure that the MPs would already be on their way, and said, "Get out of here. I'm going to have to call the MPs to keep this shop open. Oh, and If she is a friend don't worry, the med kit will heal enough of her wounds to allow her to wake up and move around again, and I have a system in place to block fog detectors. So a quick question and answer session with the MPs and she will be free to go." Grabbing an Automed Kit, and then picking her up, he turned around and asked "By the way, I wouldn't be lucky enough for you to have enough money to pay for this med kit would I?" He then turned around and headed for the Break-room without waiting for a response, hitting a switch to tell people that the store was closed at the moment. As he got there and set her down, he activated the med kit.
Chaz shook his head at the Child on the couch. He could of course put his hands on her and gather some more of her power then the minute or so he had already, but that would interfere with the med kit, and she could wake up. That would be awkward. He quickly got on the phone and called the incident in, as well as the arrival of a known CotD. He also made sure that the Fog Dampeners were in place and active. Knowing his luck, the one in the front of the store wouldn't leave. At least he would be able to turn off the dampeners if that happened. | Name: Chaz Rolender
Age: 23
Gender: Male
Height: 5'4"
Weight: 140
Personality: Chaz is mostly A nice person who doesn't really make friends. He often stops to help people out when he can, but doesn't allow people to get close to him in case they discover his secret. Because of this, he remains closed off from most people. However for those who do manage to enter into the realm of madness know as his circle of friends, they find a crazy, helpful, playfully insulting (he NEVER harms anyone with his words, he views that as just wrong), and scary person is hidden behind the calm exterior. Very few have seen Chaz get truly mad, and none have walked away from his direct anger.
When it come to the government, Chaz is very much against the way they handle thing in some areas, and very supportive in others. He would much rather have the government just keep a registry of the CotD then hunt them down. Just like you would keep a registry of people with a weapons permit. His views on other areas are similar, if it doesn't cause a problem, then it shouldn't be seen as a problem.
Bio: Chaz grew up in the corporate circle, and has had a relatively normal life. He went to school, learned how to run the family tech store, and got all of the licenses necessary. The only times he has ever had anything out of the ordinary happen is one time, when he was fifteen, his best friend was killed in an accident caused by the MPF, which caused him to close up; and a time when a CotD tried to kidnap him and he turned its own power (the power to cause major allergic reactions) against it, killing it. The fallout of the killing was actually pretty minor as the death was put down as an unlucky accident.
Skills: Bartering, cooking, organizing, finances, store-keeping/managing, understands how to use any piece of technology that doesn’t interface with the human body, as well most clean (aka doesn't need any extra tools or medical knowledge) interfacing tech. Advanced programming skills and basic electronic skills are also a necessity for his job.
Power: Chaz has the power to identify and copy and other Child of the Dark's power, however he can only identify a persons powers by seeing them; or mimic a persons power if he has touched them, and only for as long as he touched them. This can stack indefinitely, so if he knocks out a CofD, or interacts with them physically then he is building up the amount of time he can use their power. He can store any number of powers.
Drawback: Chaz has a headache that slowly builds up as he absorbs others power. The headache grows in relation to the amount of time he has charged for each power, however the headache goes away as long as he is not charging his power. Each power he charges causes a different headache, and they don't combine. This means that if he charges one power up to the point of a migraine, then goes and starts charging another, then the headache starts at the bottom again. However, if he starts charging the first power again, the headache goes right back to where it was. As of now, this limits him to no more then an hour long charge for any power, as that is all of the pain he can stand. In addition to his personal drawback, while using another's powers, he has all of their drawbacks.
Possessions: In addition to partial ownership of the store (to prevent anything going wrong if his parents died); he has a small amount of saved up wealth; a moderately good condition vehicle custom rigged by hand that he personally maintains; and several household tech devices. Nothing like what the R&D or political circles have (he can't afford it), but a fair amount nonetheless.
Other: Not much more to tell...yet. |
8,330 | 227 | 8 | 102 | 212 | Ayana
Ayana scurried along the side of the building in her hamster shape. Good thing he didn't catch me. I really shouldn't get my food from that seller. He doesn't seem very trustworthy. For all I know, he probably called the police. Even though it is hard to tell if Ayana was a CoTD or not when she was in her human form, she still felt the need to be cautious when she's in public. As soon as she was sure no one was looking, she changed back into her original form. She stretched out her limbs, feeling them pop. Being a hamster sure does hurt your elbows and knees! Is this what happens when you barely have any joints when you become a hamster?
She sat down on the side of the street, biting into the apple she had bought just before the MP showed up. Since she had the ability to shape shift into a bunny, she also had the senses of a bunny, therefore she was adapted to being a prey. Ayana had heard the MP as soon as she handed the apple to the seller, but, as always, they went as slowly as the world would allow them to. Although this really 'pissed off' Ayana, she couldn't do anything about it, for 1) people would definitely notice her and 2) she wasn't a bunny, so she couldn't express her anger as she would have liked to.
Living without her parents really did suck. They could have at least left her some money when they left, but no, they only left her a stupid piece of note that she couldn't read herself. She was lucky that she had been a social butterfly and already knew a lot of people around the ring. If Ayana had to pay back all of these people, she may as well be dead. It would take more than 50 years to earn pay back with money she earned herself, if she could even work. In Ayana's perspective, the MP weren't and still aren't thinking straight. If the CoTD were on their side, they would be struggling much less than they are now. Oh well. It's their fault. Although the MP should really stop chasing after CoTD, Ayana still wanted to do her best to save other fellow Children, even if it meant her turning into a carrot for an hour. Now THAT really hurt her body afterwards.
Ayana continued to chew on her apple, finishing by eating the seeds and the core so there wouldn't be any waste. | Name: Keith Maguire
Age: 34
Gender: Male
Appearance: His hair seems perpetually wet, and sticks uncomfortably to his scalp. Being slightly overweight, his waist bulges at the stomach and he walks with an odd gait. Hazel eyes, clean shaven face. Despite this, he will always appear tidy, usually in a pin stripe suit.
Height: 5ft 6
Weight: 165 lbs
Personality: No matter what emotional turmoil he’s feeling on the inside, Keith will always project as calm and even tempered on the outside. He will tend to treat all strangers with kindness. He’s also quite interested in architecture – one of the few passions he has in life.
Bio:
Keith was born with a pretty useful ability, considering he was born in the industrial ring. All large constructions used steel as a foundation, and Keith was able to do his job as a construction worker pretty quickly. Faster work, meant more work, meant more money (as much as you could earn on minimum wage) that he could use to support his horribly disfigured mother. Although the levels of fog at the rim were safe for most people, Keith’s mother reacted adversely to it. Her skin hardened into grey scales, and after years of accumulation she found it impossible to walk. Keith thought that living closer to the centre might cure her, but he didn’t dare risk the move. Plus, as the monster she looked now, Police would be likely to murder her on sight – as they had done to many of his co-workers.
Keith’s life followed a pattern of work, care, sleep, eat and work again, until his mother finally died when he was 28 years old. He lost the will to work so hard, gathering only enough money to feed himself. However, he does believe that everyone in the industrial ring should have the chance to live closer to the centre, so that tragedies like his mother should never reoccur. Every day, he dreams of a situation where this can be possible.
Skills: He knows the infrastructure and floor plan of nearly every building in a 10 mile radius within his home – after all, he was personally part of the construction teams who built them.
Power: Iron/Steel Manipulation
Drawback:
• Cannot manipulate metal with an electric current going through it. If an electric current is passed through metal that Keith is manipulating, he will get an electric shock from it
• The colder the metal, the slower it will move. Keith cannot move metal that is colder than -1oC
• Manipulation range is 100 meter radius
• Metal must have some amount of Iron in it, before Keith can manipulate it
Possessions: Nothing out of the ordinary
Other: N/A |
8,331 | 227 | 9 | 175 | 3,684 | Light
"Well, at least hes going to heal her up. But I'd better stick around to make sure some MP decides they wanna be violent. Some of those people are more screwed up than the criminals they're sworn to protect people from." Light said to herself as Chaz too the girl Light had rescued to the back room with a medkit. It was sort of a shame Light didn't have money herself, she really didn't need it due to her powers, but at least he was kind enough to not be too stingy about that.
Rummaging in her dress, Light pulled out a dapper looking suit, cane, monocle, and top hat with ACME logos on the inside. With a twirl and some smoke, Light put on the outfit. To the untrained or weak minded, Light would just look like some dapper lady with pale skin. With her disguise all set, Light walked around the tech store to see what the store owner had. Most of the stuff looked pretty interesting, although a good chunk of it was new, other bits seemed to look or have a 'second hand' feel to it, which would make sense due to the store not being located along a super busy street. Light wondered if Chaz himself was a child or not, considering his mentioning of fog dampiners. "Maybe he was a technopath? If so, man the MP would not like him!" Light said to herself with a laugh. | Name: Light
Age: 24
Gender: Female
Appearance: Light is a pure white humanoid figure. Her head is a large spherical shape with no nose, very large black and orange eyes, short blue hair, fin like ears, and a very very skinny neck. She has a noticeable hourglass shape to her due to her hips and chest. She has skinny biceps with large forearms and hands with pointed fingers. She wears a white dress with blue trim and a blue tanktop, the dress having an 'M' cut pattern in the front to reveal her legs, which look normal besides the bottom leg ending at a sharp point where her foot would be.
Height: 1.6 meters
Weight: Varies, usually around 60kg.
Personality: Light is a carefree, playful, lax, honest sort of person. She tends to view everything as a game and as such, usually has a poor grasp on long standing consequences. She also tends to try to be friends with anyone she finds interesting and isn't much in the habit of making enemies with people unless they wrong her first. While coming off as goofy, snarky, or michevious, under her playful persona is an incredibly intelligent person who will give you A Bad Time if you make her angry. Course shes sorta lazy in that regard, so it takes a lot to get her to that point.
Bio: Light, being an obvious Child of the Dark due to her strange appearance, has a difficult time staying in one part of Domino city for very long. This makes her more of a rumor than anything when compacted with the fact that she tends to help those in trouble if shes in the area or cheer up those who are downtrodden. While a bit weary of the military police, she isn't against helping them out if they're in trouble, just as long as they don't try to capture her. She tends to help other Children of the Dark though as they tend to be the ones in more trouble than the police however.
Skills: Intelligent
Genre Savvy
Observant
And boy oh boy, don't make her angry. Unless you wanna have A Bad Time. Seriously, you really don't wanna have a Bad Time.
Power:
Toonforce
Light has the powers, physics, ext... of a toon.
Toon Regeneration: Its said that its nearly impossible to kill a toon, and thats true in the case of Light. While she still takes damage as normal and can be knocked out like normal (and sometimes even easier than most people), she can regenerate from any aliment, including being vaporized, her mind shattered or erased, her spirit taken out of her body, ext... She regenerates by 'popping' back to her normal state after a bit of taking no damage, sometimes having bandages or something on her that indicates what she was last hit by. While she can regenerate from pretty much any state, more extreme states or supernatural states take her more time to regenerate from, especially nonlethal states such as being turned into a kid, ext... She can probably still be killed by cosmic forces though, maybe...
Toon Physics: Physics affect Light differently since she is a cartoon. This means...
Light's body 'stretches', usually in moments of rapid acceleration or if she is being pulled on from two sides. Her normal movements look cartoony as well. Her body can stretch and grow to hit something, but she can't stretch more than 1/5th of a meter in this way.
If Light walks off a high point, such as a cliff, but is unaware that she is walking off of an edge, she will continue to walk on air as if it was ground. When she realizes she is no longer on solid ground, she will fall like normal.
While falling, Light can stop when approaching the ground to readjust where she will land, before continuing to fall at the rate she was falling before she stopped.
Injuries affect her differently than normal. For example, being caught up in an explosive causes her to appear ash covered before possibly breaking apart into a pile of ash, or being crushed causing her to become a pancake, ext...
Light can't bleed.
If Light is hit by a sharp object or a hot object on her backside, she'll be propelled away from the object, usually on fire if it was a hot object.
If Light places her finger inside the barrel of a gun, she will cause the gun to misfire.
Eating very spicy things will let Light breath fire, while also running around wildly looking for water.
If stuck in hostile environments for long periods, Light will adapt to the environment and be able to function in it like normal.
For some reason, her eyeballs are far, far more durable than the rest of her body.
Light can pick up enchanted/DNA objects that other people usually wouldn't be allowed to pick up. However she will not gain the benefit from said objects unless she herself would fit the criteria for the enchantment/lock.
Light can parkour on walls for extended periods before falling.
Light has full control over her body pieces if she is chopped up. Sometimes she will form into tiny versions of herself is she is smashed or shattered, reforming after a bit of time running around.
Light herself is extremely resistant to reality changing attacks or attacks formed from reality warping.
Its very obvious to those around her when Light is dizzy, confused, knocked out, stunned, has an idea, ext.. due to various things appearing over her head depending on the state.
Things get confusing if Light is chased into a hallway with many doors...
If chasing something that is taking off from the ground, Light can step on the air for a time in order to chase them, but will eventually fall.
Light can additionally stall an impending fall by flapping or flailing her arms for a few seconds.
Can dress up in a disguise to fool the weak minded.
You REALLY don't wanna eat her unless you want her walking around inside your head freely.
A Shadow of Impending Doom appears below Light when an object is falling on her.
Light leaves an imprint of herself if she impacts the ground from a high height. Ditto if she runs through a wall.
Entering alternate dimensions or worlds that have something similar to what Light can do will often have Light take on that appearance. Or if a dimension calls for a certain kind of thing, IE its all underwater life or all anthropomorphic animals or something.
Among other nuances I might have forgotten.
Toon Strength: Light can exhibit enormous strength for her small frame. This strength is tied to her emotions, and if shes sad, she loses a massive amount of strength.
Toon Speed: Light exhibits short bursts of speed, using it to either dodge attacks or run at decent speeds. While she can dodge bullets with no problems with this, actual running speed Light is notably faster, but not anywhere near speedster territory (not that much faster than a top speed car). She can only dodge a few attacks every so often, and only if shes aware of the attacks. Outside of this, Light isn't very fast at all.
ACME Magic Satchel: Light can store and pull various objects from her dress. Stored objects are placed in an 'inventory' of sorts (Limit 5) and she can call upon them at will by pulling them out of her dress. She can additonally pull objects from her dress without storing them first. These items are adorned with an ACME logo and are completely random, are often cartoony or have a horrendous backfire effect, and as the name suggests, usually (But not always) explode in her face if held too long, even non lethal things such as pies! Storing a random object doesn't allow her to call it at will, and she can only pull a few random objects every 10 minutes, the cooldown reduced by her putting back said random objects. Light can't store living objects.
Portable Hole: Light can pull a black circular hole from her dress, allowing her to teleport to anywhere within her sightlines upon placing and entering it. The entrance and exit holes can be placed on anything, including air or space, but there is a noticable delay of her coming out of the exit hole if its not located on a surface. Only Light and objects stored in her Magic Satchel can go inside her holes.
Toon Touch: Being a toon, Light reacts to normal reality strangely and tends to bring things to her state of reality. When touching something, it is unable to receive energy from outside sources. This gives her touch some sort slight of a 'creepy' feeling. Additionally if shes in constant contact with something for extremely extended periods it will start to go through the stages of turning into a toon with no beneficial powers, and eventually fade from reality altogether (A massive amount of time. Probably a few weeks.), maybe going to a different dimension entirely? If Light stops touching the object at any point, it will regain its energy at its normal rate and basically reset their reality back to normal after a very short amount of time if it didn't disappear. Until its reality is restored, it can't gain energy from outside sources. This power is always on and Light has no control over its intensity.
Drawback:
Light takes extra damage from attacks due to her cartoon physics.
Light is weak to gas, poison, ext type attacks, and it doesn't take much of a substance to have an effect on her.
Light has an exceptionally difficult time breaking herself free of anything that binds her movement. Being encased in ice, tied down, stuck in a net, ext...
TDLR: Light is very easy to incapacitate for a time. Tape especially is pretty nasty.
A vast majority of her toon powers are tied to her emotional state, and most of them don't work well if she is feeling sad or depressed.
Light plays with her opponents instead of fights them seriously unless they make her extremely angry. If she is annoyed with someone she'll start showing Genre Savvy type of playful fighting however.
Light is very gullible due to her silly/playful/lazy persona, especially if she doesn't know or think poorly of someone. Shes not easy to directly turn on her friends though. She is also easy to talk down from a fight unless she is really angry.
Light often tries to be friends with her opponents if she thinks she can.
Light is unable to use Energy based weapons due to Cartoon physics, and ballistic based weapons have less power and speed if used by her. Bombs still have their full power, but a drastically reduced blast radius.
Light is very easily distracted by music or other fun things unless she is really angry.
Objects falling tend to home in slightly on Light, showing their Shadows of Impending Doom under her. Likewise occasionally Light will be hit by a falling anvil, safe, or piano out of nowhere. It probably came from a plane, probably.
Light is on the wrong end of the luck spectrum, and often is seen as having 'bad luck' that only affects her, especially if its bad luck that leads to slapstick.
Light is very slow to anger.
Possessions: None
Other: Light is made for slapstick, so autohit slapstick is fine by me. |
8,332 | 227 | 10 | 2,708 | 1,215 | Field 9, travelling through districts 8 and 7. Foreign object entered the air space from the southern boundary. Damage to building 4-East, black scorch marks on the roof. Foreigner disappeared.
Keith was sat in a gaping empty window pane of a building, whose construction was long abandoned. Places like this were part of the only place in the industrial rim that weren’t populated – looming constructions, asymmetrical in proportion, melted and bend over double by the blazing sun threatened to collapse or break at with the right kind of encouragement. Each one was part of a delicate artificial ecosystem; whether the building leaned on another diagonally for support, or whether it’s recently fallen remains gave shade to a gravelled spot where tough weeds could thrive. In short, it was a mess. But it was places like these that Keith found beautiful.
There wasn’t much left to do to pass the time these days, except document every single activity that happened within his “territory” from the lookout. Each day was waiting for the next to arrive, then to end again, while somehow trying to stay out of the way of the police and alive. Keith only really left his concrete garden for food every few days. Days like today, but he was worried about the new arrivals and upgrades that the military force were sending into the area. Monsters like Drei, who he has unwittingly assumed was an armoured attack drone at this distance.
“Nowhere is safe anymore…” he sighed, then lowered himself down to the ground by a tendril of steel beam wrapped around his waist. His joints were getting too old for stairs. “We’ll be forced out of Domino City altogether soon. Then we’ll live the rest of our short lives wonderfully mutated and disfigured. Maybe they’d prefer that. Maybe we’d prefer that.”
He lumbered over to his car, and slid inside. Rusted to the core and missing all the back windows, it looked like it was too old and beat up to function. Truth be told, it was, but to Keith it didn’t quite matter. As long as it was equipped with four good spoked metal wheels, it would do the job. | Name: Leila Rose
Age: 18
Gender: Female
Height: 5'2
Weight: 110 lbs
Personality: Leila is quiet and reserved, for the most part. She usually isn't the first to strike a conversation amongst strangers, but that doesn't mean she will ignore those who approach her. Leila enjoys pursuing goals for herself and helping others achieve theirs, and she's spent the majority of her life doing just that. She's a rather ambitious girl and believes life is meaningless without having a personal objective.
Bio: Born into a family of farmers in the Agriculture Ring, Leila often ventured to either neighboring district to find an adventure of her own. She lived with her parents as well as her uncle, her father's only remaining brother. With no siblings of her own, she would spend most of her time at home outside interacting with the various animals they owned. She found it easy to get along with them and she swore they were the best friends anyone could ever hope for her. They listened to her problems, weren't judgmental, and even comforted her in their own ways at times when she was filled with despair.
One evening while she was out, the day after her 14th birthday, her home was raided. She came back only to find total destruction as well as the blood of her loved ones scattered throughout the house. She rushed outside, but there was no sign of her family or any of their animals for that matter. After the initial shock of what she had just seen subsided, Leila came to the conclusion that she wasn't safe in her own home anymore. She ran upstairs, grabbed the locket she had in her room, and hurried outside before she herself became the next victim.
It took a few weeks of being homeless, suffering from starvation and exposure to the harsh weather along the way, before Leila was taken in by a nice quiet family of 4. She was flooded with grief when they found her, but the pain slowly eased with time. The parents as well as the brother and sister got along with her very well, any there wasn't any resentment or hostility towards one another. They were farmers as well, although they lived nearly on the other side of the ring from where her home was. For the next couple of years, a good chunk of her free time was then spent sneaking around the various districts attempting to find the individuals responsible for her family's murder. When she wasn't out and about, she spent some time researching and digging for information that may be of use to her in her quest for vengeance.
At the age of 17, she moved out on her own and got a job as a personal assistant to some scientist from the Corporate Ring. Her life goals slightly shifted as she finally realized that she may never get her revenge, and she's now focused on pursuing her own dreams.
Skills: A quick runner and an increased intelligence level.
Power: Leila has the ability to influence another person's current thoughts and emotions as well as implant false memories into that person's mind. In order for this to occur though, she must have some sort of physical contact with that individual, even if it's for a split second. Unfortunately, as time goes by, Leila's influence over her target decreases and confusion will temporarily set in before they recognize what's happened to them. Recovery time varies purely by individual.
Drawback: If a person's mind is stronger than her own and able to repel the attack, then she herself will be hit with whatever memory or emotion had been generated. Repeated use of this ability causes Leila to have extreme headaches and sometimes, she absorbs her target's own memories which, depending on the situation, may or may not stay with her permanently. Additionally, this ability doesn't work on cyborgs or androids as the target must have a purely organic brain structure.
Possessions: A silver locket that's been passed down by generations holding an image of her parents.
Other: N/A |
8,333 | 227 | 11 | 747 | 615 | Zero / Nathan Stryder
Meet Nathan, 21 years old fed up with the way his life and the way things had been going, he decided to move on with his life. As his latest research project flew through the air and hit the ever-growing pile of failed projects in the corner of his room with a metallic clunk, he slowly rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger as he let out a deep and heartfelt sigh. Recently it seemed as if none of his brilliant ideas would even become reality with the resources he had available.
If only you had stayed with your family, they could have supplied you with the best scientific materials Domino City has to offer... he thought sourly to himself as he let his body collapse into the only real chair in his room and took a sip of the now lukewarm coffee he had poured roughly an hour ago - before he had become obsessed with his current failure.
“Yea, well…” he retorted out loud to only himself and the few birds that had taken a living in the tree outside of his open window. “It’s not like I had a choice, remember?” he finished sourly as the strong taste of coffee disappeared from his mouth. “Urgh” he shuddered in disgust as the horrid taste of lukewarm coffee left his body in shivers, “nothing worse than a cup of bad coffee…”
As the echo of his last word disappeared into the ether his gaze fell on the now annoying big pile of failed projects that filled the larger part of the room’s eastern corner - and ‘room’ would be the best word for what had been his living quarters for the last few years of his life: it wasn’t as much a space for a human to live, rather it was more a impromptu research laboratory where all the equipment had been stitched together by himself from whatever he could find in this god-forsaken city. The once white walls had become a mismatch of all the colours you could imagine from failed experiments and other ‘accidents’ that seemed to be the only constant in his life. In one corner of this laboratory was a small military bed stacked up against the kitchen on one side and his bathroom on the other. All of the other space of his, albeit rather small room, had been filled to the brink with science-materials known to man. This was what the entity known to the general public as ‘Zero’ lived in.
Another sigh escaped his lips as his fingers once again found themselves rubbing the bridge of his nose. This really isn’t a place to live, is it? he thought to himself before he tossed his favourite coffee mug towards the kitchenette - instantly regretting his decision as the mug fell to its inevitable death in slow motion before it shortly after smashed into exactly 24 individual pieces - a detail Nathan’s mind had already worked out before his mind catched up. A cry of pure animalistic pain erupted from his throat and scared the birds in the tree outside of his window enough for them to flee - it was such a pure outcry that it could probably have been heard all over the city, though most people wouldn’t dream of hearing such a sound from a human being.
“My favourite cup!” he screamed in pain, “damn you!”
The consecutive swearing that escaped Nathan’s lips from this devastating situation is best not described in detail, but it has since then gone down in the history books as a perfect example of how not to act when you lose something as valuable as a coffee mug.
As the remnants of his sorrow drained from his body Nathan felt the need to get out of this place: it had only led him to misery and pain ever since he had gotten out of bed 2 days ago. Perhaps he should get a cup of coffee or take a visit to his favourite tech-store in the industry ring - a risky, but always enjoyable trip: he loved to browse the new items in the store and talk to the employee there, a certain Chaz that knew surprisingly a lot for someone with his intelligence.
Feeling a bit better with himself Nathan gathered his regular bag, his jacket and his black skate board and headed out. For some it might seem like pure magic that a young guy with astonishingly blond hair and heterochromia iridum, but because of the technological advances that had happened it was far from the weirdest thing to see in this city that a young boy riding a hoverboard through the streets, let alone cause alarm because of it.
Nathan himself enjoyed the feeling of gliding through the streets and through his endless hours of training he had gotten so used to it that he had become quite the skilled skater, without the reliance on his powers draining him of energy.
As he skated to the loud thumping of his latest favourite band, weaving in and out of the endless faceless sea of people in the streets of Domino City he spotted a silhouette he recognized in the sea. Quickly unplugging his ears from his earphones he let the noise of the city into his ears as he sped up to catch up to Leila Rose - one of the few individuals that he had gotten to know over the past couple of years, mostly because of her connections to a certain scientist - but also because he liked to keep a tap on any of The Children of the Dark that possessed interesting traits, and she most certainly fit this category.
Feeling a spur of cheekiness he catched up her, still on his board and almost completely silent. Leaning in closer to her ear he gently blew on her earlobe before opening his mouth in a crooked smile.
“Now what do we have here” he said in a light tone, as his smile turned into a grin. “Someone looking for her dreams, or perhaps a young girl lost in the wrong part of the city?” | Name: Nathan Stryder, though he doesn’t go by this name anymore. These days he is known as ‘Zero’
Age: 21
Gender: Male
All rights to the awesome artist: FeliceMelancholie
Nathan has a slim, but well honed body. His skin is naturally fair, with sharp features that makes him appear rather good looking. He was born with the naturally dark brown hair that is the symbol of all members of his family. His hair is cut in a messy semi long length that encompasses his face just right, however this isn’t what is most interesting about him as his hair and eyes began to stand out. From birth he was born with Heterochromia iridum: his left eye was born with a deep icy blue color while his right eye took on an almost shining amber colour. , while as his powers began to grow his hair changed color: it took on an increasingly blonde appearance because it blocked out the ultra violet rays in the atmosphere. On a few places on his body he has various tattoos etched into his skin, though the meaning behind them is something only a few individuals know about.
He usually wears rather simply clothing: a pair of tight black jeans and a loose white t-shirt and a pair of white and red running shoes. Often he also wears a tanned leather jacket with a hoodie on top of this. He can often be seen wearing a small black and red bag that runs from his right shoulder down his chest and onto his back underneath his left arm. He keeps his tools and ‘board’ along with other trinkets he has or is in the process of developing. In this bag.
Height: 181 cm
Weight: 75 kg.
Personality:
Nathan, or rather ‘Zero’ as he goes by these days, can best be summed up in one word: secretive. He rarely, if ever, opens up to anyone, instead he tends to lie and manipulate his way through the crowd. This doesn’t mean that he is a loner, in fact, he can be quite charming: he has figured out how to manipulate those around him into liking him, often cracking jokes or teasing those around him in order to obtain whatever he has in mind at that specific time. But, you should never trust him. For most parts he tends to act rather calm and calculative, measuring everything he can perceive around him before taking any actions. e loves his secrets, so if you dig too deeply into his past or his present you will not like what you find - this also means that while he definitely have friends, even these individuals know anything about him or his past - and if you are counted as one of the few that actually do, well, then you are indeed a very special individual to either have tracked his past down from rumours, tricked it out of him or even braver: gotten him to like you enough to open up to you.
This secrecy is also why he has decided to abandon his birth name and instead use a code-name.
Bio:
Nathan was born into the influential and wealthy family that for generations have stood their ground in Domino City’s political ring. His father as a well respected political and military leader, while his mother was one of Domino city’s leading scientists. Nathan’s life was really set out to be a breeze, an easy and relaxing journey that started from the top and would only get better from there, however, this wasn’t how fate had planned his life.
Because his mother was one of the leading scientists in Domino City in regards to nanotechnology and the impact of the ‘The Dark Fog’ she was often at the outer rim of the city in order to study this mysterious substance. She was, to put it frankly, a workaholic: she continued to continued her research even when the first early signs of pregnancy began to show - however, stubborn as she was she she discarded the first symptoms as merely being the result of excessive stress. It wasn’t until the signs were so clear that even the children began to ask her if it was a boy or a girl.
At this point it was already too late.
The fetus inside of her had already absorbed too much of The Dark Fog to have caused chronic changes within the unborn child. Yet, miraculously some would say, the only thing that was odd when their newborn boy was his eyes: The left eye was a deep icy blue color while his right eye took on an almost shining amber colour. Relieved that this mutation was the only change that The Dark Fog had seemingly brought with it, his parents decided to raise him as any other child. And what a child young Nathan grew into.
Even from an early age it became apparent that he was different in other ways than just his Heterochromia iridum: his parents soon realised that he had an incredibly gifted mind as well. He easily outsmarted most of his peers and at the young age of just 6 he was already following his mother’s work in science. This fascination with science continued to grow within young Nathan as he became older and smarter. As his genius grew he began to skip classes in school, and at the age of 15 he entered into Domino City’s most prestigious higher education in sciences. However, it was also at this time that he began to notice that he was different than others in more ways than he had originally thought. It started out with minor deviations: items would fly across the room as he tried to reach for them, he would suddenly jump many meters into the air with just the smallest of movements, and he began to notice how his naturally brown hair begun to take on a lighter tone in the tips. Luckily these abnormalities always happened when he was alone, so no one knew about it - and because his family had such a high profile in the social structure of Domino City he wasn’t scanned and whenever someone would raise questions regarding the oddity of things surrounding young Nathan: how sensors would start to go off, or why his hair had begun to turn blonde, his dad always covered for him, shutting down any gossip or probing that would occur. His family simply didn’t want to believe that their perfect son had become one of the abominations that children feared and told nightmarish tales about to each other in order to scare their friends.
Nathan, on the other hand, was intrigued by what was happening to him. He had always loved that he was special - but not to such an extent as what he really was: to be able to manipulate vectors (something he didn’t initially know, but quickly hypothesised) opened so many possibilities that even he, with all his calculative power, couldn’t fathom how many opportunities was going to be open for him in the future.
What should be mentioned was that at this point his young mind wasn’t considering the possibilities that actually occurred: instead he thought that he could change the world for the good through the combination of science and his newfound power.
What he didn’t consider was the prejudice towards The Children of The Dark.
A few years passed and the now 18 year old Nathan Stryder was enjoying his life filled with science, math, medicine, and knowledge. His abilities had somehow not been discovered, perhaps through a mixture of his parent’s influence and their willingness to turn the blind eye to the signs, his own discretion and a large dose of sheer blind luck. He had continued to hone them over the years and could at this point in his life easily control them.
What unsettled his stable world was the social distress that had been birthed from the existence and hunt of the abominations such as Nathan. While the changes in society wasn’t something that changed drastically since Nathan was born, the constant unrest within Domino City meant that as both sides fought against each other, each for their own cause, it was inevitable that Nathan, the still young Child of Dark, would be included in the conflict.
It was in the wake of one of the larger conflicts between the police force and The Children of the Dark which resulted in a few dead and many more injured. The security was naturally on high alert following this episode and unlucky for Nathan this unfortunate series of events took place right up to one of the days that he had long awaited with glee as he had always had a fascination with the political world of Domino City - albeit it was nothing more than a hobby for young Nathan. Because of the events that had preceded his trip with his father the level of security at the political center in Domino City was much higher and stricter than it had usually been. This meant that because of this when Nathan went through the security check the Children of the Dark-scanners naturally went off, but this time no matter how hard his dad tried, the security wouldn’t let him go.
It felt like just minutes later that young Nathan sat on the cold bench in the dark prison cell wondering what had went so wrong for him to be in that situation.
Even to this day he can hardly remember how long he was imprisoned. It felt like years of interrogation, experimentation, and his family’s sobbing visits. While many would perhaps have given up and left this world broken, Nathan somehow managed to stay somewhat sane. How Nathan managed to escape has become one of his best kept secrets that barely anyone know about, but what is clear is that since his escape the individual known as Nathan Stryder has disappeared in the chaos and ruins his escape created. Instead a Child of the Dark who simply called himself ‘Zero’ took up residence in the Industrial Ring shortly after these events, earning a living by fixing and selling various mechanical merchandise.
Skills:
Intelligence: Only one word really describes Nathan’s intelligence: genius. Even from a young age he kept surprising those around him and the world of his high levels of intellect that together with his calculative abilities puts him in a class of his own when it comes to raw intelligence that has yet to let him down. His intelligence has given him proficiencies in a wide array of different fields ranging from medicine, technology and science to something as diverse as lock-picking and sleight of hand.
Martial arts: Despite his rather slim body, Nathan has since an early age taken interest in martial arts. This interest wasn’t for something as pure hearted as to find something akin to ‘zen’ or inner peace, no instead it was simply because as the realization dawned on him that he was a Child of the Darkness he also knew that he could no longer stay the innocent child he had been: instead he would be fighting and running for his life and so, in order to defend his future self from harm he began to study the ancient wisdoms of martial arts in order to shape his body and his mind.
Tinkerer: While this could be described more as a hobby, the simple fact is that Nathan loves to tinker with all kinds of objects. He often tears something down, just to put it back together in order to understand it - or in most cases: simply to try and make something else. He has invented various of things over the years and his current place of living is more a impromptu research lab than an actual place to live - seriously, he has a single bed, somewhere… likely underneath that rubble of gizmos over there.
Power:
Nathan has the ability to manipulate the vectors around him. This allows him to change the magnitude and direction (vector) of an object to maneuver it in the desired way, regardless of preexisting vectors.
Drawback:
Range: The range of the vector manipulation isn’t very far, roughly extending 1 meter in diameter from his body. Anything further than this will increase the burden exponentially.
Focus: The use of his power requires a lot of calculation from Nathan, while for most things this isn’t a problem for him, but if he, for whatever reason, loses his attention, his powers can quite easily turn chaotic - as it has a few times over the 21 winters he has been alive, sometimes just causing damage to his surroundings, but at other times resulting in himself being hurt.
Energy-consumption: While it is possible for Nathan to envelope his entire body in his ability, this will draw increasing amounts of energy from his. Because of this and in the aim to conserve his energy he rarely does this. Instead he simply turns his power ‘on’ and ‘off’ whenever it is needed and for the most part only on parts of his body that requires them.
Possessions:
He always carries around black board akin to that of a skateboard in length and width, but without any form of wheels. Furthermore it appears to be made out of a black material that is cool to the touch, but he hasn’t told anyone what composite it is really made out of. He uses it to ‘skate’ around on, using his powers to create the speed and maneuverability.
He is often seen carrying around a black and red bag across his shoulders in which he keeps his most essential tools and medical kits.
Other:
Nathan has a tendency to always have earphones in his ears, often this means that he is blasting his ears with sweet sweet music, but other times he just wears them in order to ignore the world around him. And yes, that most definitely also includes you as well.
His rather childish appearance is a big no-no to mention as he has often been teased and, arguably, even worse: people have ignored his genius and abilities because he looked 'too young'. |
8,334 | 227 | 12 | 2,708 | 1,215 | Leila
Tina's Cafe, their pork is de-li-cious. Not fancy enough though. The Luxembourg? Nice atmosphere, a bit pricey, but Lukas could afford it. Yeah, he seemed like the type...
In her mind, Leila pictured herself alongside Lukas as he held her close to him while shooting down the surrounding group of MPs that were slowly closing in on the couple. It was like a movie scene, but that wasn't at all surprising given it was all in her head. Leila couldn't help but smile a little, her cheeks turning a soft shade of pink as she envisioned what would happen after the rescue mission she had randomly made up. Much too soon though, her fantasies were interrupted by an all-too familiar voice.
"Goddammit, Nathan!" She shut off the music, her heart beating faster than before from the sudden fright he had given her. "You know I hate it when people sneak up behind me."
She stared at his smile for a moment as she calmed down. At least she hadn't come across someone who wanted to hurt her, although at certain times he was like the plague.
"Are you here to ask me about Dr. Chaddrick's project again? Because you're going to get the same answer as before," she continued walking in the general direction of her home, not caring if he struggled to keep up with her accelerated pace, "besides, I'm off today and that means absolutely no chit-chat about work."
Leila bit her lip with disappointment, primarily aimed at herself, as she realized she was carrying the blueprints in her bag. Oh well, it's not like he would see them anyway. | Name: Leila Rose
Age: 18
Gender: Female
Height: 5'2
Weight: 110 lbs
Personality: Leila is quiet and reserved, for the most part. She usually isn't the first to strike a conversation amongst strangers, but that doesn't mean she will ignore those who approach her. Leila enjoys pursuing goals for herself and helping others achieve theirs, and she's spent the majority of her life doing just that. She's a rather ambitious girl and believes life is meaningless without having a personal objective.
Bio: Born into a family of farmers in the Agriculture Ring, Leila often ventured to either neighboring district to find an adventure of her own. She lived with her parents as well as her uncle, her father's only remaining brother. With no siblings of her own, she would spend most of her time at home outside interacting with the various animals they owned. She found it easy to get along with them and she swore they were the best friends anyone could ever hope for her. They listened to her problems, weren't judgmental, and even comforted her in their own ways at times when she was filled with despair.
One evening while she was out, the day after her 14th birthday, her home was raided. She came back only to find total destruction as well as the blood of her loved ones scattered throughout the house. She rushed outside, but there was no sign of her family or any of their animals for that matter. After the initial shock of what she had just seen subsided, Leila came to the conclusion that she wasn't safe in her own home anymore. She ran upstairs, grabbed the locket she had in her room, and hurried outside before she herself became the next victim.
It took a few weeks of being homeless, suffering from starvation and exposure to the harsh weather along the way, before Leila was taken in by a nice quiet family of 4. She was flooded with grief when they found her, but the pain slowly eased with time. The parents as well as the brother and sister got along with her very well, any there wasn't any resentment or hostility towards one another. They were farmers as well, although they lived nearly on the other side of the ring from where her home was. For the next couple of years, a good chunk of her free time was then spent sneaking around the various districts attempting to find the individuals responsible for her family's murder. When she wasn't out and about, she spent some time researching and digging for information that may be of use to her in her quest for vengeance.
At the age of 17, she moved out on her own and got a job as a personal assistant to some scientist from the Corporate Ring. Her life goals slightly shifted as she finally realized that she may never get her revenge, and she's now focused on pursuing her own dreams.
Skills: A quick runner and an increased intelligence level.
Power: Leila has the ability to influence another person's current thoughts and emotions as well as implant false memories into that person's mind. In order for this to occur though, she must have some sort of physical contact with that individual, even if it's for a split second. Unfortunately, as time goes by, Leila's influence over her target decreases and confusion will temporarily set in before they recognize what's happened to them. Recovery time varies purely by individual.
Drawback: If a person's mind is stronger than her own and able to repel the attack, then she herself will be hit with whatever memory or emotion had been generated. Repeated use of this ability causes Leila to have extreme headaches and sometimes, she absorbs her target's own memories which, depending on the situation, may or may not stay with her permanently. Additionally, this ability doesn't work on cyborgs or androids as the target must have a purely organic brain structure.
Possessions: A silver locket that's been passed down by generations holding an image of her parents.
Other: N/A |
8,335 | 227 | 13 | 1,940 | 842 | OOC: for those that may have not read the Character Bio, (especially the second half) please do so as it is the prelude to this post and will make more sense :)
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Chrono 0021:36
R&D Maximum Security Ward
Room #12 | Psyche Assessment
Subject ID#: 52-0A-351
Subject Name:"Ink"
The woman’s thoughts began to drift, her speech slurred, and all of the previous fervor and rage dissipated as the tranquilizing agents entered her bloodstream at a rapid pace, until all muscle control ceased. The laboratory gurney she was strapped to had been positioned almost perfectly vertical, with wires and tubes running along her body and sensors placed in various areas that could measure her vitals. The tattered clothing she wore previously had been cut from her body by a robotic surgical arm that hung from the ceiling, and replaced by a flexible gray mesh-like material that covered her chest and waist.
Laying face down on the floor near the gurney, bloodied and bruised, was the body of a young lab tech intern, accompanied by a cybernetic medical unit attempting to resuscitate their fallen colleague. Only minutes before, the unfortunate intern had the displeasure of hooking the patient up to be monitored, when she jolted from a previously sedated state, and her body’s defenses kicked in...
“Fuck off!” She screamed as best she could in her hazy state of mind.
The black inky abstract creatures along her tattooed body slithered and pulled away from the skin, striking out at the unsuspecting tech, and exploding into a cloud of black dust on impact. The boy recoiled, trying to fan away the particles, only to see the scaly dragon-like creature curl it’s way up and around the boy’s extended arm, causing him to lose balance and fall to the floor. Screaming for the other two lab tech’s assistance, their attempts to remove the creature were futile as it wrapped it’s long body around his neck and squeezed, cutting off any further sound from the boy.
The injection of tranquilizers came swiftly thereafter, and the patient’s writhing quickly slowed.
“Damn...I hate...all you shi-...”
“Okay she's out, begin the scan.” The lead scientist instructed from behind his steel and glass console. “And can someone get Anders out of here and into recovery. He’ll live. I also need the blood and whatever the hell that black stuff is cleaned up immediately. Smells like sulfur in here for cryin’ out loud!”
The robotic medical unit, complying with the instructions, lifted the body from the floor, and wheeled him out of the room. The two remaining techs, stunned by the events that occurred, shot each other a questionable look as though they had no idea what they were getting themselves into.
“Begin the scan, please!” The lead scientist barked out once again into the comm system from behind the glass.. “Or do you two have other pressing business? I’m sure Subject Ink will gladly wait...”
The scientist shook his head, removed his glasses, and rubbed the bridge of his nose, mumbling to himself. “ ‘Subject Ink’...” He scoffed. “Who the hell came up with that name anyway?”
The man appeared to be in his mid-fifties, average height, shaggy salt and pepper hair with matching stubble along his face. Bags hung under his eyes, an indicator that sleep didn’t come too easily for him. He turned, for a moment, with his back to the glass and pulled out a small steel flask from the side pocket of his lab coat.
“Just a few good hits is all I need, this is going to be a long night…” He whispered to himself, as he tipped the small bottle back and let the spicy-sweet alcoholic liquid run down his throat.
He returned his attention to the console, which showed a variety of profile screens, EKG readouts, history, and recent events. The scientist quickly noted the previous outburst in the log, taking special care to highlight the correlation between the woman’s hormonal and chemical imbalances and the effects of the tattoos.
“Ok Miss Salahori, let’s see what makes you tick…” | Name: Czigani Salahori
Nickname: “Ink”
Age: 28
Gender: F
Appearance: Czi stands taller than an average female. Her wardrobe is kept generally simple, from black denim pants covered in various belts, chains, and buckles that serve no purpose to simple leather and cloth tank tops varying in color and inked with custom artwork. Leather & steel “shit kicker” boots...if she’s wearing shoes at all. Depending on her mood, her head is shaved at times, or grows it out on one side about shoulder length and keeps the other side shaven to reveal a circular tribal tattoo. Various piercings adorn her ears and lip, and her body is mostly covered with black tattoos ranging from tribal patterns, to more elaborate mythical creatures.
Height: 6`1
Weight: Approx 150lbs
Personality: Czi has a tough exterior, and is even harder to please. She tends to come off as pushy and can be impatient with most people, even though she is a tattoo artist (lol). Her real only “joy” is delving into her artwork, whether it’s a simply doodle on a napkin in a restaurant, to a large mural on the side of a building, she takes it seriously enough.
Bio: (see below)
Skills:
Tattoo artist & street mural artist,
Raised in Industry Ring, has small tattoo shop and also specializes in airbrushing designs on prosthetics/cybernetics
Power:
- Art Manipulation (specializing in body art)
- Essentially, a telepathic ability that allows her limited control over tattoos on skin and (to an extent) the paint used on prosthetics, and to a smaller degree, black ink sketches on paper or solid objects can be made substantial and controlled.
- Natural ink created by plant dyes, animal minerals, salts and various other natural sources, etc work the best. Synthetic inks are generally weaker.
- If manipulating her own body art, then the results are more successful and effects stronger and longer lasting (i.e. a crow tattoo can fly off her and attack, but damage is minimal) or she could manipulate a drawing on the wall to reach out and grab an assailant, helping her to escape, or beat the pulp out of them.
Can manipulate targets tattoos (up to 30ft away) with varying results
Her body is covered with various tribal & cultural designs which can temporarily augment to protect her from physical damage (more out of self-preservation than willful act, i.e. defense mechanism)
Drawback: Each piece of artwork causes varying degrees of mental fatigue, and the longer it is sustained, the more lethargic she can become, to the point of unconsciousness if not careful. There are instances where art, if not conjured properly and kept in control, could turn on her and become violent until it dissipates on it’s own.
Possessions: messenger bag full of art supplies, namely ink vials, several pen tips, sticks, and reams of paper.
“At what point, Padre, do we forget who we are, what we stand for, and where the fuck we're going?”
The young woman, stained in sweat, blood, and soot sat on the floor at the base of the church altar, her head resting against the severely out-dated wooden paneling. The black mascara that once accentuated her emerald eyes ran down her cheeks like watercolor on canvas, covering the several cuts and bruises she’d suffered only an hour earlier. Her dark hair, shaven on one side revealing a circular tribal tattoo pattern, and on the other side hanging roughly jaw length tangled and wet with sweat, obscured her direct line of sight to the priest sitting and listening intently in the pew across from her.
“I'm not ashamed of what I did. He had it coming. So think whatever sick shit you want to conjure up in your small brain.” The girl flashed a wry grin, a slight cough building up from smoke inhalation earlier. “I bet you think I’m just some mutant street shit from the Indi, yeah?” She accused, trying to hold back any tears. “I bet all us tattooed freaks down in the slums look the same to you...” She forced a pathetic laugh, pushing her bangs behind her ear. “I know they did to...him...that prick I once called ‘family’.”
The priest leaned forward in the bench and gazed for a moment at the olive-skinned woman with the slim build, her dark-red tank top dotted with black soot and torn, and her jeans riddled with small holes. She had no shoes, which exposed her mud-covered feet and black toenails. He noticed several large dark symbolic and bestial tattoos that covered her arms were slowly moving, mesmerized, almost as though they wanted to peel away from her skin. A long dragon-like creature on her arm slithered in a hypnotic motion, and a crow on her chest with wings spanned from shoulder to shoulder, appeared as though it would launch at any moment. Most of her body, from what he could see, had various tattoos of tribal or cultural significance, many of which she inked herself as was her profession. He knew who she was. What she was. But it didn’t make being in her presence any less awkward.
Her kind were distastefully known as “Children of the Dark”, and their existence to many were a blight within the community. To a mother she never knew, possibly, but to her father, an honored ex-military police captain who was hailed as some hero from years ago, she was simply known as “Some kind of Damaged”. His love was to the job, and if that job meant keeping the Children in line, then his eye was ever fixed on his only daughter. No matter how often the beatings came, or being locked in her room for days without food, she wouldn’t change. She couldn’t be normal like he wanted. But it didn’t matter. He was gone now. Nothing but a charred corpse and a hollow building she once called a home.
“It’s God’s job to judge, not mine” The priest finally responded, trying to avert his eyes from following the path of the women’s ornate body art, which lead into areas he deemed inappropriate for a young lady to defile with such imagery. “And...yet you being here, confessing, allowing me to listen, is a step in the right direction to redemption. So I applaud you for that, child.”
The girl snickered “Child? I’m almost a hag...geez pushin’ thirty, bro. Meh, it doesn’t matter, you’re still way older than me, am I right?” She forced yet another snicker causing her husky cough to return.
The main sanctuary doors at the other end of the aisle quickly opened revealing a handful of uniformed Military Police officers, flashlights and assault firearms poised at the ready.
“Czigani Salahori, you’re under arrest for the murder of your father, Captain Jorgio Salahori” The lead officer held the girl at gunpoint “You sick piece of gypsy trash” He mumbled under his breath, but loud enough to be heard “Why’d you have to burn him alive…”
The girl, her eyes wide with a mix of anger and fear, looked back at the priest, whose somber expression gave away too much.
“Y-You called them?” She exclaimed, her voice echoing throughout the sanctuary hall. “Bastard Gadjo!...I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you! What the hell happened to that ‘seal of confession’, or whatever bullshit you assholes are supposed to follow?”
The priest shifted uncomfortably as he spoke. “I didn’t tell them anything, except that you were here. They already knew the rest Czigani…”
The woman, enraged, lunged out toward the priest from her sitting position “You son of a b-...” She was caught by one of the officers mid-way, spun around, and pushed back down onto the floor. “Fuck! He deserved it! You pricks knew he was corrupt and abusive-” Her words caught in her throat, as the lead officer pushed her face against the cold floor and clasped her wrists with handcuffs, taking extra care to tighten them until she screamed.
“Shut your whore mouth!" The arresting officer snarled, his knee pressed firmly against her back. "Cop-killer scum like you don’t have rights. And where you’re going, you’ll wish I’d put a bullet in your head right here.”
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The long trip to the R&D Ring was anything but pleasant, but why should it be? Thrown in the back of a police cruiser, chained to the seat, with two heavily armed and armored officers flanking doesn’t usually mean you’re being brought in on a misdemeanor charge. Although her snarky comments and sarcastic disposition did nothing to help her, and only awarded her a swift elbow in the jaw. No, this was some real damage Czigani had done, a scar to not only the community, but to the Military Police force. Her father, warts and all, was a well-respected and upstanding officer within the R&D, and his brutal death sent a ripple that would never be mended so easily.
They just didn’t see in him what she saw throughout most of her life.
The transport pulled up to the precinct, and the woman was practically dragged into the building by the two officers and tossed into a holding cell where she sat, swearing and banging on the cell door, until a few hours later was visited by a large figure she hoped to never see again.
“Hello Miss Salahori” The towering beast, more machine than man as he appeared, leaned against the barred door holding a holopad with a series of scrolling information, his expression painted with a hint of amusement, and his eyes glowed with an almost sinister intent.
“I see you’ve been a very bad girl.
“You!” Czigani’s eyes widened and mouth agape, but no sound came out.
“Officer Reinhardt actually, but you can call me Drei, or whatever...”
“Asshole”
“That works too” He grunted, keying in a few digits on the holopad before continuing. “So, you’ve got quite the rap sheet: petty theft, some vandalism, oh...and mostly graffiti related on private property…”
“Pfft, it’s not ‘graffiti’ you dick..” She interrupted, laying her head back against the stone wall. “It’s artwork, something you’ll never get through your cyberfreak neanderthal head”.
Reinhardt, paying little attention, continued scanning through the list until he stopped at a particular section.
“Ah, so that explains all the ink - you call “artwork” - covering that pretty little body of yours. The genetic mutation gave you power over them. A sort of ”Art Manipulation”, if you will. And I suppose that would also explain the black ink markings around your father’s neck”
“Yeah, I strangled his sorry ass for laying hands on me.” She lifted her right arm into the light, revealing a reptilian creature tattoo wrapped from her wrist to her shoulder. “This one here, he’s a nasty bugger when he wants to be, and it knows when to step in. So, it was your beloved ‘Captain’s’ own damn fault for touching me”
Reinhardt nodded, intrigued to a point, but trying his best to keep from putting his fist through her skull. “So, a defense mechanism? Interesting.”
“Look numbnuts, are we going to be here all fucking day? Isn’t there a quiet corner you could put me in so I don’t have to listen to your droning voice?”
The cell door suddenly slid open, and before Czigani could react, the large cybernetically enhanced officer had her pinned up against the cold wall, his metal hand slowly clamping down around her neck. The woman’s face was a mixture of surprise and anger, but she was helpless to do anything at that moment.
“Do you think this is a game? I could kill you right here, right now, and no one would give two shits about it” His voice was low, gritty, and a raging fire seemed to erupt in his cybernetic eyes.
“In fact, I would love nothing more than to tear you limb from limb and let those mutant shit-hounds that scour the lower sections feast on your pathetic remains. No one will remember you ever existed. And all of that precious work you call ‘art’?...well...it’ll be nothing but a bad memory. But you’re not going anywhere. Oh no, you’re not getting out of this as easily as death. You will get what is coming...”
Reinhardt gave her a swift elbow in the stomach and released his grip, causing her to double over onto the floor. He remained still for a moment before walking away.
“That was only a warning, bitch. Hard times will be ahead and one way or another you are going to cooperate with us.”
A slight chuckle replaced the previous heated anger.
“Re-Education is coming, my dear...” |
8,336 | 227 | 14 | 2,766 | 324 | Chaz Rolender
Chaz made sure the medical readout showed no need to visit the hospital for the injured girl's wounds, and then went to double check that the other girl had left. What he saw instead was the same girl in a moderately good disguise looking around his shop. Quickly checking his Fog dampeners to make sure they could handle this much, he was surprised to see them not even close to the maximum amount they could suppress. Now if only he could make portable units... Chaz shook his head before he could get too distracted. Looking back at the now dapperly dressed women in his store, he said, "I thought I asked you to leave?" A simple question. but before it needed to be answered Chaz reopened his store, and got back to the front counter. "When the MPs get here, just stay out of the way please, I have dealt with them before." Chaz said hoping she would listen. Then he pointed to the hidden tech section of his store, "If you want to hang around though, just act like your looking for something over there."
He was curious as to how they had stumbled upon his store of course, and he hoped neither of them had open tracking orders out that could actually be tracked to them. He couldn't have that kind of trouble. But dang it; it wasn't every day that he got to meet other Cotd. Not that he tried too much mind you, many of the Children were in hiding much as he was. He wondered if the government knew how much of its population was "infected" with the Fog. He also wondered what it would take for the Children to be accepted and normal members of society, or at the very least free members. | Name: Chaz Rolender
Age: 23
Gender: Male
Height: 5'4"
Weight: 140
Personality: Chaz is mostly A nice person who doesn't really make friends. He often stops to help people out when he can, but doesn't allow people to get close to him in case they discover his secret. Because of this, he remains closed off from most people. However for those who do manage to enter into the realm of madness know as his circle of friends, they find a crazy, helpful, playfully insulting (he NEVER harms anyone with his words, he views that as just wrong), and scary person is hidden behind the calm exterior. Very few have seen Chaz get truly mad, and none have walked away from his direct anger.
When it come to the government, Chaz is very much against the way they handle thing in some areas, and very supportive in others. He would much rather have the government just keep a registry of the CotD then hunt them down. Just like you would keep a registry of people with a weapons permit. His views on other areas are similar, if it doesn't cause a problem, then it shouldn't be seen as a problem.
Bio: Chaz grew up in the corporate circle, and has had a relatively normal life. He went to school, learned how to run the family tech store, and got all of the licenses necessary. The only times he has ever had anything out of the ordinary happen is one time, when he was fifteen, his best friend was killed in an accident caused by the MPF, which caused him to close up; and a time when a CotD tried to kidnap him and he turned its own power (the power to cause major allergic reactions) against it, killing it. The fallout of the killing was actually pretty minor as the death was put down as an unlucky accident.
Skills: Bartering, cooking, organizing, finances, store-keeping/managing, understands how to use any piece of technology that doesn’t interface with the human body, as well most clean (aka doesn't need any extra tools or medical knowledge) interfacing tech. Advanced programming skills and basic electronic skills are also a necessity for his job.
Power: Chaz has the power to identify and copy and other Child of the Dark's power, however he can only identify a persons powers by seeing them; or mimic a persons power if he has touched them, and only for as long as he touched them. This can stack indefinitely, so if he knocks out a CofD, or interacts with them physically then he is building up the amount of time he can use their power. He can store any number of powers.
Drawback: Chaz has a headache that slowly builds up as he absorbs others power. The headache grows in relation to the amount of time he has charged for each power, however the headache goes away as long as he is not charging his power. Each power he charges causes a different headache, and they don't combine. This means that if he charges one power up to the point of a migraine, then goes and starts charging another, then the headache starts at the bottom again. However, if he starts charging the first power again, the headache goes right back to where it was. As of now, this limits him to no more then an hour long charge for any power, as that is all of the pain he can stand. In addition to his personal drawback, while using another's powers, he has all of their drawbacks.
Possessions: In addition to partial ownership of the store (to prevent anything going wrong if his parents died); he has a small amount of saved up wealth; a moderately good condition vehicle custom rigged by hand that he personally maintains; and several household tech devices. Nothing like what the R&D or political circles have (he can't afford it), but a fair amount nonetheless.
Other: Not much more to tell...yet. |
8,337 | 227 | 15 | 747 | 615 | Zero / Nathan Stryder
The crooked smile stayed intact on Nathan’s face, but inside he felt a whirlwind erupting as Leila opened her mouth and spoke his name. It wasn’t for any childish reason like the bloom of a young love where everything tingles and sparkles as you come near or think of the person at the other end of your new love, no, for Nathan it was something much more simple and rudimentary: secrecy.
He was a person that lived off of the secrecy regarding his personal life - one of the many reasons as to why he didn’t open up to that many, and Leila had been one of the few he had actually loosened up and told her his real name - mind you, only his first name, he would never let anyone know of the blood that ran in his veins and what family it came from.
Now wouldn’t that be something to revel in experiencing? he thought sarcastically to himself, me, a Child of the Darkness that had family relations to the upper echelons of the political and scientific realms of Domino City? At least to Nathan it was something that almost made him laugh. Almost.
But of course he didn’t let any of this shine through the cracks of his perfect exterior, instead he kept his cheeky smile painted on his face as he listened to Leila’s voice.
“But you know, that is part of the fun to see your incredible reactions every time” he grinned, easily keeping up with her added pace on his board. At least she didn’t call me ‘Zero’ I suppose… he pondered, that name might have caused a bit more trouble than his first name had - after all ‘Zero’ had started to develop quite a rumor since he was birthed a couple of years ago…
“How is the kind Dr. anyway?” Nathan asked, avoiding the question somewhat, “you know I could probably help him quite a lot, right? Plus he didn’t seem to object last time I helped him, if you remember…”
Nathan let the sound of his voice echo off as the realization hit him: She was off work today, but knowing Leila this could only mean that she had already a few plans set in motion for what she could do. His grin widened.
“So, you’re off today?” he voice trailed off his lip with an almost silky smoothness - an obvious warning sign to anyone that knew him. “Got any plans for the rest of the day then?” | Name: Nathan Stryder, though he doesn’t go by this name anymore. These days he is known as ‘Zero’
Age: 21
Gender: Male
All rights to the awesome artist: FeliceMelancholie
Nathan has a slim, but well honed body. His skin is naturally fair, with sharp features that makes him appear rather good looking. He was born with the naturally dark brown hair that is the symbol of all members of his family. His hair is cut in a messy semi long length that encompasses his face just right, however this isn’t what is most interesting about him as his hair and eyes began to stand out. From birth he was born with Heterochromia iridum: his left eye was born with a deep icy blue color while his right eye took on an almost shining amber colour. , while as his powers began to grow his hair changed color: it took on an increasingly blonde appearance because it blocked out the ultra violet rays in the atmosphere. On a few places on his body he has various tattoos etched into his skin, though the meaning behind them is something only a few individuals know about.
He usually wears rather simply clothing: a pair of tight black jeans and a loose white t-shirt and a pair of white and red running shoes. Often he also wears a tanned leather jacket with a hoodie on top of this. He can often be seen wearing a small black and red bag that runs from his right shoulder down his chest and onto his back underneath his left arm. He keeps his tools and ‘board’ along with other trinkets he has or is in the process of developing. In this bag.
Height: 181 cm
Weight: 75 kg.
Personality:
Nathan, or rather ‘Zero’ as he goes by these days, can best be summed up in one word: secretive. He rarely, if ever, opens up to anyone, instead he tends to lie and manipulate his way through the crowd. This doesn’t mean that he is a loner, in fact, he can be quite charming: he has figured out how to manipulate those around him into liking him, often cracking jokes or teasing those around him in order to obtain whatever he has in mind at that specific time. But, you should never trust him. For most parts he tends to act rather calm and calculative, measuring everything he can perceive around him before taking any actions. e loves his secrets, so if you dig too deeply into his past or his present you will not like what you find - this also means that while he definitely have friends, even these individuals know anything about him or his past - and if you are counted as one of the few that actually do, well, then you are indeed a very special individual to either have tracked his past down from rumours, tricked it out of him or even braver: gotten him to like you enough to open up to you.
This secrecy is also why he has decided to abandon his birth name and instead use a code-name.
Bio:
Nathan was born into the influential and wealthy family that for generations have stood their ground in Domino City’s political ring. His father as a well respected political and military leader, while his mother was one of Domino city’s leading scientists. Nathan’s life was really set out to be a breeze, an easy and relaxing journey that started from the top and would only get better from there, however, this wasn’t how fate had planned his life.
Because his mother was one of the leading scientists in Domino City in regards to nanotechnology and the impact of the ‘The Dark Fog’ she was often at the outer rim of the city in order to study this mysterious substance. She was, to put it frankly, a workaholic: she continued to continued her research even when the first early signs of pregnancy began to show - however, stubborn as she was she she discarded the first symptoms as merely being the result of excessive stress. It wasn’t until the signs were so clear that even the children began to ask her if it was a boy or a girl.
At this point it was already too late.
The fetus inside of her had already absorbed too much of The Dark Fog to have caused chronic changes within the unborn child. Yet, miraculously some would say, the only thing that was odd when their newborn boy was his eyes: The left eye was a deep icy blue color while his right eye took on an almost shining amber colour. Relieved that this mutation was the only change that The Dark Fog had seemingly brought with it, his parents decided to raise him as any other child. And what a child young Nathan grew into.
Even from an early age it became apparent that he was different in other ways than just his Heterochromia iridum: his parents soon realised that he had an incredibly gifted mind as well. He easily outsmarted most of his peers and at the young age of just 6 he was already following his mother’s work in science. This fascination with science continued to grow within young Nathan as he became older and smarter. As his genius grew he began to skip classes in school, and at the age of 15 he entered into Domino City’s most prestigious higher education in sciences. However, it was also at this time that he began to notice that he was different than others in more ways than he had originally thought. It started out with minor deviations: items would fly across the room as he tried to reach for them, he would suddenly jump many meters into the air with just the smallest of movements, and he began to notice how his naturally brown hair begun to take on a lighter tone in the tips. Luckily these abnormalities always happened when he was alone, so no one knew about it - and because his family had such a high profile in the social structure of Domino City he wasn’t scanned and whenever someone would raise questions regarding the oddity of things surrounding young Nathan: how sensors would start to go off, or why his hair had begun to turn blonde, his dad always covered for him, shutting down any gossip or probing that would occur. His family simply didn’t want to believe that their perfect son had become one of the abominations that children feared and told nightmarish tales about to each other in order to scare their friends.
Nathan, on the other hand, was intrigued by what was happening to him. He had always loved that he was special - but not to such an extent as what he really was: to be able to manipulate vectors (something he didn’t initially know, but quickly hypothesised) opened so many possibilities that even he, with all his calculative power, couldn’t fathom how many opportunities was going to be open for him in the future.
What should be mentioned was that at this point his young mind wasn’t considering the possibilities that actually occurred: instead he thought that he could change the world for the good through the combination of science and his newfound power.
What he didn’t consider was the prejudice towards The Children of The Dark.
A few years passed and the now 18 year old Nathan Stryder was enjoying his life filled with science, math, medicine, and knowledge. His abilities had somehow not been discovered, perhaps through a mixture of his parent’s influence and their willingness to turn the blind eye to the signs, his own discretion and a large dose of sheer blind luck. He had continued to hone them over the years and could at this point in his life easily control them.
What unsettled his stable world was the social distress that had been birthed from the existence and hunt of the abominations such as Nathan. While the changes in society wasn’t something that changed drastically since Nathan was born, the constant unrest within Domino City meant that as both sides fought against each other, each for their own cause, it was inevitable that Nathan, the still young Child of Dark, would be included in the conflict.
It was in the wake of one of the larger conflicts between the police force and The Children of the Dark which resulted in a few dead and many more injured. The security was naturally on high alert following this episode and unlucky for Nathan this unfortunate series of events took place right up to one of the days that he had long awaited with glee as he had always had a fascination with the political world of Domino City - albeit it was nothing more than a hobby for young Nathan. Because of the events that had preceded his trip with his father the level of security at the political center in Domino City was much higher and stricter than it had usually been. This meant that because of this when Nathan went through the security check the Children of the Dark-scanners naturally went off, but this time no matter how hard his dad tried, the security wouldn’t let him go.
It felt like just minutes later that young Nathan sat on the cold bench in the dark prison cell wondering what had went so wrong for him to be in that situation.
Even to this day he can hardly remember how long he was imprisoned. It felt like years of interrogation, experimentation, and his family’s sobbing visits. While many would perhaps have given up and left this world broken, Nathan somehow managed to stay somewhat sane. How Nathan managed to escape has become one of his best kept secrets that barely anyone know about, but what is clear is that since his escape the individual known as Nathan Stryder has disappeared in the chaos and ruins his escape created. Instead a Child of the Dark who simply called himself ‘Zero’ took up residence in the Industrial Ring shortly after these events, earning a living by fixing and selling various mechanical merchandise.
Skills:
Intelligence: Only one word really describes Nathan’s intelligence: genius. Even from a young age he kept surprising those around him and the world of his high levels of intellect that together with his calculative abilities puts him in a class of his own when it comes to raw intelligence that has yet to let him down. His intelligence has given him proficiencies in a wide array of different fields ranging from medicine, technology and science to something as diverse as lock-picking and sleight of hand.
Martial arts: Despite his rather slim body, Nathan has since an early age taken interest in martial arts. This interest wasn’t for something as pure hearted as to find something akin to ‘zen’ or inner peace, no instead it was simply because as the realization dawned on him that he was a Child of the Darkness he also knew that he could no longer stay the innocent child he had been: instead he would be fighting and running for his life and so, in order to defend his future self from harm he began to study the ancient wisdoms of martial arts in order to shape his body and his mind.
Tinkerer: While this could be described more as a hobby, the simple fact is that Nathan loves to tinker with all kinds of objects. He often tears something down, just to put it back together in order to understand it - or in most cases: simply to try and make something else. He has invented various of things over the years and his current place of living is more a impromptu research lab than an actual place to live - seriously, he has a single bed, somewhere… likely underneath that rubble of gizmos over there.
Power:
Nathan has the ability to manipulate the vectors around him. This allows him to change the magnitude and direction (vector) of an object to maneuver it in the desired way, regardless of preexisting vectors.
Drawback:
Range: The range of the vector manipulation isn’t very far, roughly extending 1 meter in diameter from his body. Anything further than this will increase the burden exponentially.
Focus: The use of his power requires a lot of calculation from Nathan, while for most things this isn’t a problem for him, but if he, for whatever reason, loses his attention, his powers can quite easily turn chaotic - as it has a few times over the 21 winters he has been alive, sometimes just causing damage to his surroundings, but at other times resulting in himself being hurt.
Energy-consumption: While it is possible for Nathan to envelope his entire body in his ability, this will draw increasing amounts of energy from his. Because of this and in the aim to conserve his energy he rarely does this. Instead he simply turns his power ‘on’ and ‘off’ whenever it is needed and for the most part only on parts of his body that requires them.
Possessions:
He always carries around black board akin to that of a skateboard in length and width, but without any form of wheels. Furthermore it appears to be made out of a black material that is cool to the touch, but he hasn’t told anyone what composite it is really made out of. He uses it to ‘skate’ around on, using his powers to create the speed and maneuverability.
He is often seen carrying around a black and red bag across his shoulders in which he keeps his most essential tools and medical kits.
Other:
Nathan has a tendency to always have earphones in his ears, often this means that he is blasting his ears with sweet sweet music, but other times he just wears them in order to ignore the world around him. And yes, that most definitely also includes you as well.
His rather childish appearance is a big no-no to mention as he has often been teased and, arguably, even worse: people have ignored his genius and abilities because he looked 'too young'. |
8,338 | 227 | 16 | 2,530 | 602 | Drei T. Reinhardt
Drei stood in the center of the burn he had left on the rooftop, his frustration seething. Over the radio in his prosthetic ear came the voice of one of his subordinates, a man by the name of Cross is he remembered correctly. He activated his transmitter before replying. "I'm pissed, that's how I'm holding up. Hurry up with that new recruit, we're going on a hunt. The girl mana-" Drei was cut off as who he suspected was the rookie in question began going off on a tangent talking to Cross. "Ahem..." He cleared his throat in an attempt to announce his presence before continuing to talk through the radio. "As I was saying, the girl got away. Get your asses out here, I'll meet you." Without waiting for a response Drei deactivated his transmitter, jumping into the air again and taking off in flight.
Bunny
Bunny woke with a start in some room she didn't recognize, without a clue how she had ended up there. The wound on her leg had been healed, though she was still on the defensive. A quick look around revealed she was alone in a room on some couch, with a robotic healing kit next to her previously wounded leg. She pushed herself off the couch and made her way toward the door, poking her head out just enough to see two other people in the shop with her. Without hesitation Bunny pulled four of her throwing knives out of the pouch on her hip, ready to kill at a moment's notice.
"I don't know who you both are, but I am not going to be captured here. Both of you against the wall or so help me I'll take this whole place down." Waking up after being drained by her power always caused her to react this way, as there was no way to tell what had happened while she was out. "Both of you are going to tell me everything you know, now. And I swear if I so much as smell any MP, this place will be an even bigger mess. I'm not getting captured, not today or ever!" | Drei T. Reinhardt
Age
26
Gender
Male
Appearance
Before his many body augmentations, Drei was still quite a large man. His body had little fat, along with large and defined musculature. Now the only muscles Drei has are in his torso, his four limbs having been completely replaced. Most of his pale Caucasian skin has also been replaced with a black high strength dermal armor, up to the top of the neck where it grafts with the skin at the jaw. The hair on top of Drei's head is a jet black in color, always cut fairly short. He has a masculine facial bone structure with high cheekbones, a wide and square jaw, and a strong, cleft chin. His eyes have both been replaced with black computerized prosthetics with golden pupils, with six thin blue lines leading from the pupil to the back of the eye, spaced evenly apart. Drei's nose, once proudly chiseled, is now crooked from being broken twice in fights. His thin lips are more often than not pulled into a grin, and his thin angled eyebrows frame his face well.
Height
207 cm
Weight
137 kg
Personality
Drei is a gruff man, having been in the Military Police nearly all his life. That isn't to say he's opposed to having a good time, he just has his own way of doing that. Drei loves fighting more than anything, and is always looking for challenges. He is quick tempered, arrogant, narcissistic, and generally an all around asshole (because someone has to play "that guy") which often leads to more fights.
Bio
Drei was born in the Political Ring, into a family with a long tradition of joining the Military Police. His father had already attained a high rank, and so life was very good for young Drei. As he grew, Drei always looked up to his father, listening in awe to tales of his heroic conquests over the despicable Children of the Dark. He knew he would one day be like his father, out on the streets capturing these terrorists.
As he went through his educations, Drei trained his body physically every day. By the time he was old enough to join the force Drei was a model of strength, nearly unbeatable in close quarters combat. As he advanced in his career and increased his rank, Drei began augmenting his body so as to be more suited to fighting the mutants in the city. He ended up replacing his limbs, eyes, and even some internal organs, becoming an even more lethal force. Today Drei holds the rank of Sergeant Major and enjoys his job hunting down the Children of the Dark.
Skills
Drei is near unbeatable in hand to hand combat, using both his tech and his favorite elements from multiple martial arts.
Drei is able to fly, and is nimble as fuck in the air. Screw parkour.
Drei is able to sustain large amounts of damage to his body and continue fighting.
Thanks to his strength, doors pose no issue. What is "lock pick"?
Tech
Panoptes Eye Prosthetic
Drei's "all-seeing" eyes. These prosthetics have multiple filters that allow Drei to sift through the entire spectrum of radiation as he wishes. Along with this these eyes have a built in Fog Detector which allows Drei to ascertain the whereabouts of nearby Children of the Dark.
Ear Prosthetic
The mechanical ears Drei had replace his originals, these hemishperical prosthetics are capable of picking up sound from twice the distance and over a much greater range of frequencies. His radio system is built into the ears, as is a sonar system with feedback to his eyes in order to create a motion tracking grid.
Achilles Dermal Armor
The armor which covers Drei's body, preventing a large amount of kinetic and thermal damage. It is grounded to prevent electrical damage, and emp shielded to protect his limbs and prosthetic organs.
Atlas Arm Prosthetics
These mechanical arms have replaced Drei's original ones. They offer unparalleled strength, allowing Drei to punch, lift, and grip things with twenty times the force of organic human arms. Along with increased strength, the arms feature impact dampaners to reduce recoil and stun knuckles for non-lethal takedowns.
Atalanta Leg Prosthetics
The fastest legs on the market, allowing Drei to outrun most criminals with ease and inhuman speed. These legs are capable of sustaining falls from up to ten meters, and can jump up to three meters. Not only are they capable of mobility, they are lethal in combat as well.
Cardio Prosthetic
This synthetic heart has a higher blood capacity than the human heart and a stronger pump, delivering blood through his body with greater ease. The heart has a built in adrenal dispenser which Drei can activate at will for bursts of energy.
Respiratory Prosthetic
These lungs are primarily used for the mitigation of gas attacks, as they filter oxygen out of nearly anything in the air. The oxygen intake is therefore also increased, as oxygen is separated from gases such as carbon dioxide as well to use. This increases Drei's vitality and decreases his fatigue rate.
Gae Bulg Pile-Bunkers
These four hydraulic rods are built into Drei's limbs, custom fitted into the prosthetics. In the arms these pile-bunkers are mounted in the forearm, with an opening in the palm and elbow for the rod to protrude from. In the legs they are located in the shins, where they can exit from the knee and bottom of the feet. These pile-bunkers extend two feet out of his prosthetics, and impact with almost twice the force of his punches.
Icarus Thrusters
This network of high intensity swiveling thrusters has been implanted in numerous places on Drei's body. Starting from the top, these thrusters are located on the front and back of each shoulder, the back of both elbows and on each palm, the front and back of the hips, and on the bottom of both feet. These thrusters have multiple strength and focus levels, which allows Drei to use them for combat as well as maneuvering.
Possessions
Standard MP holotag, worn proudly around his neck.
Two ballistic revolvers, modeled after the old Chiappa Rhino and chambered for .44 caliber ammunition.
Other
Extended heavy use of his prosthetics causes a build up of excess heat, which must be vented through the limbs if Drei doesn't want his prosthetics to malfunction.
Drei's prosthetics are manufactured with a superalloy comprised of tantalum, magnesium, tungsten, and chromium. This allows the prosthetics a balance of high tensile and yield strength, a high melting point, and impressive corrosion/wear resistance.
Although his body is heavily protected, Drei's head is still unshielded. His eyes and ears are susceptible to emp damage, and will need to reboot if they are exposed to an emp.
Bunny
Age
"Never ask a lady that."
Gender
Female
Appearance
Bunny is a petite woman, her small frame often used to her advantage while escaping from anyone who might want her contained. She has little fat, though also no defined musculature, giving her a feminine appearance despite her flat chest and buttocks.
Height
174 cm
Weight
72 kg
Personality
Bunny is a generally calm and kind woman, and she cares deeply about saving other Children of the Dark. She is reluctant to make personal connections with people, as they have always ended up dying on her. This has made her a bit jaded to death when it does occur close to her, although she is still able to have a good time when the opportunity presents itself. She often portrays a jovial exterior, but those who have gotten to know her understand she is a very serious person.
Bio
"It's a long story, maybe another time."
Skills
Bunny is good at free running. Fighting? Not so much.
Stealth has always been a large part of her existence as she is a high profile "terrorist".
She is an amazing pickpocket.
While not great at fighting, she does know a good deal about rebel tactics.
Power
Bunny has the ability to teleport, or "Hop" freely between any shadow or place devoid of light which she has seen (and she's lived in Domino for quite some time). This teleportation can be instantaneous or delayed, and while Bunny is in the dimension through which she travels her wounds are healed. Along with this, she is able to bring others with her so long as they stand within the same shadow, though they are essentially frozen in time during the Hop. Some reports have given circumstantial evidence that this is not the full extent of her powers, though no confirmation has been given by eyewitnesses.
Drawback
Every Hop fatigues Bunny upon reentry, the fatigue is greater upon further distances, and multiplies with each person brought along. Bunny's wounds are not healed instantly upon Hopping, she must delay her reentry in order for them to have time to heal.
Possessions
Two smoke grenades
Two emp grenades
Twenty throwing knives
One MP radio transmitter
One Fog detector
Other |
8,339 | 227 | 17 | 1,940 | 842 | Chrono 002:10
R&D Maximum Security Ward
Room #12 | Extensive Testing
Subject ID:# 52-0A-351
Subject Name: Ink
The onset of the toxins rushed in quickly, once again sending the patient into a deep & terrible sleep...
The echoes pulsated throughout her mind. She had never heard the pathetic pleads for his own life until a real threat hung over his head. It had always been a string of insults and disappointing tones that escaped the man’s mouth as though he could never find an encouraging word to simply plunk from the air. No, this man was vile, a man others respected and revered as a leader and support system, and yet they were all blind to the monster he really was. How could a beast such as that become a Captain, oversee a police force, and yet allow his own flesh and blood family to collapse around him?
Panic ensued. The devil she once called “father” stood over her, his leather belt swinging back and forth as a taunt, stained with her blood from beatings only moments before. A stained sheet wrapped around her to cover her shame. A shame he brought unto her each time he decided to steal and taint another piece of her existence. He only added yet another nail into his own coffin, but she held the hammer to seal him away forever. Surprisingly it seemed, the tattoos which covered her body hadn’t truly manifested their abilities until later in her life, when it seemed desperation, anger, and fear were at their pinnacle. When her older brother, her once protector, had gone away for his own reasons, never to return, leaving Czigani to face her own horrors alone.
Czigani watched her father, wrapped in a thick coil of black ethereal ink, writhe and scream on the floor as the dark ooze slowly squeezed the breath from his lungs, cracking cartilage and bone along the way. She was now the one standing over him, and yet wasn’t smiling as he had always done when in that position. There was no emotion that moment. It was as though all feeling had momentarily vanished and yet her only thought was to thank him in her own way. To thank him for unlocking a survivalist instinct she never thought she had. To put him out of his own misery and to incinerate a past that she hoped would never catch her again. She reached for her father’s favorite stainless steel lighter laying on the floor, a gift that had been given to him when he was promoted to Captain, and flicked the flame to life.
“Fitting...” She bluntly stated as though she were speaking to herself, but knew the man suffocating on the floor could hear every word. “It’s quite ironic, Dad that this very lighter you threatened me with time and time again as a child, will be the tool to end you.” She tossed the flame onto the living room area rug, which ignited and quickly began its path of destruction, and headed toward the front door.
“Welcome to my version of hell, bitch”
Czigani’s mind came around, the nightmarish memories fading away along with the impairment of the tranquilizing effects. Two male voices could be heard in the background, probably in the same room, but she kept her eyes closed making sure this was not just another false reality.
“Yo man, don’t hog all the pizza bro, we need this to last us for the next...what, like five hours?”
“Yeah yeah, shut it and throw me another tall boy, this chick ain’t going anywhere and I’m starved bro” The other said, his speech slurred a bit.
The familiar smells and sounds of the testing laboratory and it’s myriad of equipment assaulted her senses. She cracked an eye open just enough to confirm what she already knew.
Fuck...still in the same place...I swear if I... Her hazy train of thought was suddenly cut off by the incessant chattering of two young techs.
“Yo, yo, Jake...c’mere bro” One of them blurted out as he stepped closer to their patient still shackled to the upright lab table. “Damn she’s hot” He mumbled to himself.
“Yo, check out this sweet tatt on her leg, looks like some kind of-”
“Mike!, shit man stay away from that freakshow, you remember what happened to that dumbass Anders, right?”
“Yeah but she’s out bro. That shit Doc Kordano gave her would put a mutated elephant out for like half a day, and you know how big those things are supposed to get!” Mike snorted, as he turned back to get a closer look at the women’s ornate tribal tattoo, criss-crossing from her lower leg and moving up to wrap around the back of her thigh and beyond what could be seen.
“It’s like some kind of spider...no a tarantula. Damn, I can’t see the rest of it with her leg secured.” While the kid was examining it, his hand slid up toward the manual release lever.
“Alright bro…” The other warned “But this’ll be your ass if something happens!”
The overly curious lab tech pulled the release and the shackles securing the woman’s left leg opened, which caused him to momentarily flinch. He turned back to his co-worker, a wry grin plastered on his face.
“See Jake, nothing to worry about, bro”
As he turned his head back to the patient, Czigani’s unsecured left knee jolted out and cracked the unsuspecting tech square in the nose, knocking him backwards and sending fresh blood splattering against the white floor.
“BOO MOTHER FUCKER!” She screamed, as the injured tech writhed on the floor holding his bloodied nose and sending out a barrage of profanities.
Czigani shot the other tech a piercing stare that could bore a hole into a metal wall. “GET. ME. the fuck out of this place you shithead!”
The technician, his expression full of fear and uncertainty, bolted for the door yelling for security.
“Great.” She took that as a cue to expedite her own release, but was having a tough time focusing due to the remaining toxins in her bloodstream. The same toxins that seemed to repress her defense mechanisms.
“You know, fucker?” She looked down at the poor kid still wriggling on the floor. “You would have been dead earlier under different circumstances, so why don’t be a good tool, and get me the hell off this torture rack?”
“Hell no...bitch” He said, his voice taking on a nasally overtone.
“NOW ASSHOLE!” She screamed at the top of her lungs, and a rage she hadn’t felt in a long time emerged as a ripple went through her body to awaken the mystical tattoos. She could feel a twinge of their essence rising up.
“Well, now look at what you’ve done genius. You’ve awoken the hounds…”
The tech, uncovering his face, looked up to see the black tendrils of several creatures beginning to pull from her skin. His eyes widened in fear.
“Okay!...geez, ok…” He pushed himself up from the floor, and began pulling the remaining levers until each shackle was opened.
Czigani, crumpled to the floor, the wires pulling out of sensors stuck to her body, her legs feeling like gelatin. She looked over at the lab technician who backed away from her.
“J-Just go…” He said, pointing to the door. “Take the left hallway...you’ll bypass the security guards headed here”
Czigani rose to her feet as quickly as she could, grunting from pain in her spine.
“I don’t know what kind of perverse shit you have going on here, but if I see you again, I swear I will stick my fist down your throat, pull out your intestines, and feed them to your other pansy co-workers!”
She quickly ran for the double doors leading out of the lab, unsure of just what mess she was in for next. | Name: Czigani Salahori
Nickname: “Ink”
Age: 28
Gender: F
Appearance: Czi stands taller than an average female. Her wardrobe is kept generally simple, from black denim pants covered in various belts, chains, and buckles that serve no purpose to simple leather and cloth tank tops varying in color and inked with custom artwork. Leather & steel “shit kicker” boots...if she’s wearing shoes at all. Depending on her mood, her head is shaved at times, or grows it out on one side about shoulder length and keeps the other side shaven to reveal a circular tribal tattoo. Various piercings adorn her ears and lip, and her body is mostly covered with black tattoos ranging from tribal patterns, to more elaborate mythical creatures.
Height: 6`1
Weight: Approx 150lbs
Personality: Czi has a tough exterior, and is even harder to please. She tends to come off as pushy and can be impatient with most people, even though she is a tattoo artist (lol). Her real only “joy” is delving into her artwork, whether it’s a simply doodle on a napkin in a restaurant, to a large mural on the side of a building, she takes it seriously enough.
Bio: (see below)
Skills:
Tattoo artist & street mural artist,
Raised in Industry Ring, has small tattoo shop and also specializes in airbrushing designs on prosthetics/cybernetics
Power:
- Art Manipulation (specializing in body art)
- Essentially, a telepathic ability that allows her limited control over tattoos on skin and (to an extent) the paint used on prosthetics, and to a smaller degree, black ink sketches on paper or solid objects can be made substantial and controlled.
- Natural ink created by plant dyes, animal minerals, salts and various other natural sources, etc work the best. Synthetic inks are generally weaker.
- If manipulating her own body art, then the results are more successful and effects stronger and longer lasting (i.e. a crow tattoo can fly off her and attack, but damage is minimal) or she could manipulate a drawing on the wall to reach out and grab an assailant, helping her to escape, or beat the pulp out of them.
Can manipulate targets tattoos (up to 30ft away) with varying results
Her body is covered with various tribal & cultural designs which can temporarily augment to protect her from physical damage (more out of self-preservation than willful act, i.e. defense mechanism)
Drawback: Each piece of artwork causes varying degrees of mental fatigue, and the longer it is sustained, the more lethargic she can become, to the point of unconsciousness if not careful. There are instances where art, if not conjured properly and kept in control, could turn on her and become violent until it dissipates on it’s own.
Possessions: messenger bag full of art supplies, namely ink vials, several pen tips, sticks, and reams of paper.
“At what point, Padre, do we forget who we are, what we stand for, and where the fuck we're going?”
The young woman, stained in sweat, blood, and soot sat on the floor at the base of the church altar, her head resting against the severely out-dated wooden paneling. The black mascara that once accentuated her emerald eyes ran down her cheeks like watercolor on canvas, covering the several cuts and bruises she’d suffered only an hour earlier. Her dark hair, shaven on one side revealing a circular tribal tattoo pattern, and on the other side hanging roughly jaw length tangled and wet with sweat, obscured her direct line of sight to the priest sitting and listening intently in the pew across from her.
“I'm not ashamed of what I did. He had it coming. So think whatever sick shit you want to conjure up in your small brain.” The girl flashed a wry grin, a slight cough building up from smoke inhalation earlier. “I bet you think I’m just some mutant street shit from the Indi, yeah?” She accused, trying to hold back any tears. “I bet all us tattooed freaks down in the slums look the same to you...” She forced a pathetic laugh, pushing her bangs behind her ear. “I know they did to...him...that prick I once called ‘family’.”
The priest leaned forward in the bench and gazed for a moment at the olive-skinned woman with the slim build, her dark-red tank top dotted with black soot and torn, and her jeans riddled with small holes. She had no shoes, which exposed her mud-covered feet and black toenails. He noticed several large dark symbolic and bestial tattoos that covered her arms were slowly moving, mesmerized, almost as though they wanted to peel away from her skin. A long dragon-like creature on her arm slithered in a hypnotic motion, and a crow on her chest with wings spanned from shoulder to shoulder, appeared as though it would launch at any moment. Most of her body, from what he could see, had various tattoos of tribal or cultural significance, many of which she inked herself as was her profession. He knew who she was. What she was. But it didn’t make being in her presence any less awkward.
Her kind were distastefully known as “Children of the Dark”, and their existence to many were a blight within the community. To a mother she never knew, possibly, but to her father, an honored ex-military police captain who was hailed as some hero from years ago, she was simply known as “Some kind of Damaged”. His love was to the job, and if that job meant keeping the Children in line, then his eye was ever fixed on his only daughter. No matter how often the beatings came, or being locked in her room for days without food, she wouldn’t change. She couldn’t be normal like he wanted. But it didn’t matter. He was gone now. Nothing but a charred corpse and a hollow building she once called a home.
“It’s God’s job to judge, not mine” The priest finally responded, trying to avert his eyes from following the path of the women’s ornate body art, which lead into areas he deemed inappropriate for a young lady to defile with such imagery. “And...yet you being here, confessing, allowing me to listen, is a step in the right direction to redemption. So I applaud you for that, child.”
The girl snickered “Child? I’m almost a hag...geez pushin’ thirty, bro. Meh, it doesn’t matter, you’re still way older than me, am I right?” She forced yet another snicker causing her husky cough to return.
The main sanctuary doors at the other end of the aisle quickly opened revealing a handful of uniformed Military Police officers, flashlights and assault firearms poised at the ready.
“Czigani Salahori, you’re under arrest for the murder of your father, Captain Jorgio Salahori” The lead officer held the girl at gunpoint “You sick piece of gypsy trash” He mumbled under his breath, but loud enough to be heard “Why’d you have to burn him alive…”
The girl, her eyes wide with a mix of anger and fear, looked back at the priest, whose somber expression gave away too much.
“Y-You called them?” She exclaimed, her voice echoing throughout the sanctuary hall. “Bastard Gadjo!...I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you! What the hell happened to that ‘seal of confession’, or whatever bullshit you assholes are supposed to follow?”
The priest shifted uncomfortably as he spoke. “I didn’t tell them anything, except that you were here. They already knew the rest Czigani…”
The woman, enraged, lunged out toward the priest from her sitting position “You son of a b-...” She was caught by one of the officers mid-way, spun around, and pushed back down onto the floor. “Fuck! He deserved it! You pricks knew he was corrupt and abusive-” Her words caught in her throat, as the lead officer pushed her face against the cold floor and clasped her wrists with handcuffs, taking extra care to tighten them until she screamed.
“Shut your whore mouth!" The arresting officer snarled, his knee pressed firmly against her back. "Cop-killer scum like you don’t have rights. And where you’re going, you’ll wish I’d put a bullet in your head right here.”
------------------------------------------------------
The long trip to the R&D Ring was anything but pleasant, but why should it be? Thrown in the back of a police cruiser, chained to the seat, with two heavily armed and armored officers flanking doesn’t usually mean you’re being brought in on a misdemeanor charge. Although her snarky comments and sarcastic disposition did nothing to help her, and only awarded her a swift elbow in the jaw. No, this was some real damage Czigani had done, a scar to not only the community, but to the Military Police force. Her father, warts and all, was a well-respected and upstanding officer within the R&D, and his brutal death sent a ripple that would never be mended so easily.
They just didn’t see in him what she saw throughout most of her life.
The transport pulled up to the precinct, and the woman was practically dragged into the building by the two officers and tossed into a holding cell where she sat, swearing and banging on the cell door, until a few hours later was visited by a large figure she hoped to never see again.
“Hello Miss Salahori” The towering beast, more machine than man as he appeared, leaned against the barred door holding a holopad with a series of scrolling information, his expression painted with a hint of amusement, and his eyes glowed with an almost sinister intent.
“I see you’ve been a very bad girl.
“You!” Czigani’s eyes widened and mouth agape, but no sound came out.
“Officer Reinhardt actually, but you can call me Drei, or whatever...”
“Asshole”
“That works too” He grunted, keying in a few digits on the holopad before continuing. “So, you’ve got quite the rap sheet: petty theft, some vandalism, oh...and mostly graffiti related on private property…”
“Pfft, it’s not ‘graffiti’ you dick..” She interrupted, laying her head back against the stone wall. “It’s artwork, something you’ll never get through your cyberfreak neanderthal head”.
Reinhardt, paying little attention, continued scanning through the list until he stopped at a particular section.
“Ah, so that explains all the ink - you call “artwork” - covering that pretty little body of yours. The genetic mutation gave you power over them. A sort of ”Art Manipulation”, if you will. And I suppose that would also explain the black ink markings around your father’s neck”
“Yeah, I strangled his sorry ass for laying hands on me.” She lifted her right arm into the light, revealing a reptilian creature tattoo wrapped from her wrist to her shoulder. “This one here, he’s a nasty bugger when he wants to be, and it knows when to step in. So, it was your beloved ‘Captain’s’ own damn fault for touching me”
Reinhardt nodded, intrigued to a point, but trying his best to keep from putting his fist through her skull. “So, a defense mechanism? Interesting.”
“Look numbnuts, are we going to be here all fucking day? Isn’t there a quiet corner you could put me in so I don’t have to listen to your droning voice?”
The cell door suddenly slid open, and before Czigani could react, the large cybernetically enhanced officer had her pinned up against the cold wall, his metal hand slowly clamping down around her neck. The woman’s face was a mixture of surprise and anger, but she was helpless to do anything at that moment.
“Do you think this is a game? I could kill you right here, right now, and no one would give two shits about it” His voice was low, gritty, and a raging fire seemed to erupt in his cybernetic eyes.
“In fact, I would love nothing more than to tear you limb from limb and let those mutant shit-hounds that scour the lower sections feast on your pathetic remains. No one will remember you ever existed. And all of that precious work you call ‘art’?...well...it’ll be nothing but a bad memory. But you’re not going anywhere. Oh no, you’re not getting out of this as easily as death. You will get what is coming...”
Reinhardt gave her a swift elbow in the stomach and released his grip, causing her to double over onto the floor. He remained still for a moment before walking away.
“That was only a warning, bitch. Hard times will be ahead and one way or another you are going to cooperate with us.”
A slight chuckle replaced the previous heated anger.
“Re-Education is coming, my dear...” |
8,340 | 227 | 18 | 2,766 | 324 | Chaz Rolender
Just as Chaz finished asking the lady who had brought the injured girl in, said girl entered the room, pulled out some knives, and said, "I don't know who you both are, but I am not going to be captured here. Both of you against the wall or so help me I'll take this whole place down. Both of you are going to tell me everything you know, now. And I swear if I so much as smell any MP, this place will be an even bigger mess. I'm not getting captured, not today or ever!"
Chaz flinched a bit as the outer door locked, the open sign he had just lit shut off again, and his built in security turrets popped down out of the ceiling and turned on the ex-patient. Chaz then eyed the girl calmly and said, "One, put the knives away. Two, the MP are already on their way, but not to arrest you. Three, I have fog dampeners in the building, so they wont be able to tell that your a Child unless you continue to act like and idiot. Four, she" pointing to Light, "brought you in here and I used one of my med kits to fix your injuries. If you stay calm and do as I say for the next half hour or so, you'll be able to go on your way." | Name: Chaz Rolender
Age: 23
Gender: Male
Height: 5'4"
Weight: 140
Personality: Chaz is mostly A nice person who doesn't really make friends. He often stops to help people out when he can, but doesn't allow people to get close to him in case they discover his secret. Because of this, he remains closed off from most people. However for those who do manage to enter into the realm of madness know as his circle of friends, they find a crazy, helpful, playfully insulting (he NEVER harms anyone with his words, he views that as just wrong), and scary person is hidden behind the calm exterior. Very few have seen Chaz get truly mad, and none have walked away from his direct anger.
When it come to the government, Chaz is very much against the way they handle thing in some areas, and very supportive in others. He would much rather have the government just keep a registry of the CotD then hunt them down. Just like you would keep a registry of people with a weapons permit. His views on other areas are similar, if it doesn't cause a problem, then it shouldn't be seen as a problem.
Bio: Chaz grew up in the corporate circle, and has had a relatively normal life. He went to school, learned how to run the family tech store, and got all of the licenses necessary. The only times he has ever had anything out of the ordinary happen is one time, when he was fifteen, his best friend was killed in an accident caused by the MPF, which caused him to close up; and a time when a CotD tried to kidnap him and he turned its own power (the power to cause major allergic reactions) against it, killing it. The fallout of the killing was actually pretty minor as the death was put down as an unlucky accident.
Skills: Bartering, cooking, organizing, finances, store-keeping/managing, understands how to use any piece of technology that doesn’t interface with the human body, as well most clean (aka doesn't need any extra tools or medical knowledge) interfacing tech. Advanced programming skills and basic electronic skills are also a necessity for his job.
Power: Chaz has the power to identify and copy and other Child of the Dark's power, however he can only identify a persons powers by seeing them; or mimic a persons power if he has touched them, and only for as long as he touched them. This can stack indefinitely, so if he knocks out a CofD, or interacts with them physically then he is building up the amount of time he can use their power. He can store any number of powers.
Drawback: Chaz has a headache that slowly builds up as he absorbs others power. The headache grows in relation to the amount of time he has charged for each power, however the headache goes away as long as he is not charging his power. Each power he charges causes a different headache, and they don't combine. This means that if he charges one power up to the point of a migraine, then goes and starts charging another, then the headache starts at the bottom again. However, if he starts charging the first power again, the headache goes right back to where it was. As of now, this limits him to no more then an hour long charge for any power, as that is all of the pain he can stand. In addition to his personal drawback, while using another's powers, he has all of their drawbacks.
Possessions: In addition to partial ownership of the store (to prevent anything going wrong if his parents died); he has a small amount of saved up wealth; a moderately good condition vehicle custom rigged by hand that he personally maintains; and several household tech devices. Nothing like what the R&D or political circles have (he can't afford it), but a fair amount nonetheless.
Other: Not much more to tell...yet. |
8,341 | 227 | 19 | 2,708 | 1,215 | Leila
It Nathan was good at anything, it was being persistent. A lot of the times, Leila found herself having to usher him away to regain her peace of mind. Not only that, but the two of them walking side by side or being seen together could only mean that her chances of confronting an MP doubled. And she definitely didn't want that, not when her own actions didn't warrant it.
"If you want to see the 'kind doctor' that bad, you're more than welcomed to stop by his shop. He'll hear you out, unless you've given him trouble in the past. If that's the case, then I'm afraid all you'll get is his door being closed on your face."
Her anxiety was slowly increasing again. Nathan didn't annoy her to that extent, but now she had to be extra careful. As his questions continued, she decided to turn into a narrow path extending between two tall buildings.
"I... No, no plans. Not until next week anyway." She decided at this point that she might as well tell him the truth. "Your level of boredom must be really high if you want to hang out with me," she added with a smirk on her face. | Name: Leila Rose
Age: 18
Gender: Female
Height: 5'2
Weight: 110 lbs
Personality: Leila is quiet and reserved, for the most part. She usually isn't the first to strike a conversation amongst strangers, but that doesn't mean she will ignore those who approach her. Leila enjoys pursuing goals for herself and helping others achieve theirs, and she's spent the majority of her life doing just that. She's a rather ambitious girl and believes life is meaningless without having a personal objective.
Bio: Born into a family of farmers in the Agriculture Ring, Leila often ventured to either neighboring district to find an adventure of her own. She lived with her parents as well as her uncle, her father's only remaining brother. With no siblings of her own, she would spend most of her time at home outside interacting with the various animals they owned. She found it easy to get along with them and she swore they were the best friends anyone could ever hope for her. They listened to her problems, weren't judgmental, and even comforted her in their own ways at times when she was filled with despair.
One evening while she was out, the day after her 14th birthday, her home was raided. She came back only to find total destruction as well as the blood of her loved ones scattered throughout the house. She rushed outside, but there was no sign of her family or any of their animals for that matter. After the initial shock of what she had just seen subsided, Leila came to the conclusion that she wasn't safe in her own home anymore. She ran upstairs, grabbed the locket she had in her room, and hurried outside before she herself became the next victim.
It took a few weeks of being homeless, suffering from starvation and exposure to the harsh weather along the way, before Leila was taken in by a nice quiet family of 4. She was flooded with grief when they found her, but the pain slowly eased with time. The parents as well as the brother and sister got along with her very well, any there wasn't any resentment or hostility towards one another. They were farmers as well, although they lived nearly on the other side of the ring from where her home was. For the next couple of years, a good chunk of her free time was then spent sneaking around the various districts attempting to find the individuals responsible for her family's murder. When she wasn't out and about, she spent some time researching and digging for information that may be of use to her in her quest for vengeance.
At the age of 17, she moved out on her own and got a job as a personal assistant to some scientist from the Corporate Ring. Her life goals slightly shifted as she finally realized that she may never get her revenge, and she's now focused on pursuing her own dreams.
Skills: A quick runner and an increased intelligence level.
Power: Leila has the ability to influence another person's current thoughts and emotions as well as implant false memories into that person's mind. In order for this to occur though, she must have some sort of physical contact with that individual, even if it's for a split second. Unfortunately, as time goes by, Leila's influence over her target decreases and confusion will temporarily set in before they recognize what's happened to them. Recovery time varies purely by individual.
Drawback: If a person's mind is stronger than her own and able to repel the attack, then she herself will be hit with whatever memory or emotion had been generated. Repeated use of this ability causes Leila to have extreme headaches and sometimes, she absorbs her target's own memories which, depending on the situation, may or may not stay with her permanently. Additionally, this ability doesn't work on cyborgs or androids as the target must have a purely organic brain structure.
Possessions: A silver locket that's been passed down by generations holding an image of her parents.
Other: N/A |
8,342 | 227 | 20 | 175 | 3,684 | Light
Well, things were getting interesting. First the guy who was healing the girl Light had picked off the street came out from his back room to tell Light off due to the imminent arrival of MP which Light wasn't too worried about. Then a few moments later, the lady Light had dragged in came out of the backroom brandishing a weapon yelling about not getting captured or something.
"Aw, aren't you cute? Put the butterknife away dear, unless you actually think a merchant storefront and who is clearly a CotD would be here to kidnap you. Especially considering said CotD got you off the street." Light said, pulling off her top hat to give Bunny a toothy grin, before putting it back on. Looking at Chaz, making animated motions to empthesis her point. "Not like the MP is of much consequence, or at least the grunts. Most of the grunts get fooled by disguises like this all the time! Heck, this one time I even got one of them to go on a date with me..." Light said, trailing off with a laugh, leaving things up to the imagination of the other two.
"Anyway, just sit down. Worse comes to worse I make things act like a robbery and steal you away again so I don't hurt this man's business." Light said smiling. Rummaging inside her dress bottom, Light began pulling out random objects with the logo ACME on them, much like her outfit. It took her a few tries before she pulled out a tea set, the first few items being in order; A Turtle Shell, a Bowling Pin, and a Wrench. Whispers could be coming from Light along the lines of "Please don't be an explosive one this time..." as she tried to pour some tea. Unfortunately, the moment a drop hit the cup she was pouring in, it exploded in her face, causing her upper body to be covered in black soot which she shook away after a few moments, the soot magically disappearing. | Name: Light
Age: 24
Gender: Female
Appearance: Light is a pure white humanoid figure. Her head is a large spherical shape with no nose, very large black and orange eyes, short blue hair, fin like ears, and a very very skinny neck. She has a noticeable hourglass shape to her due to her hips and chest. She has skinny biceps with large forearms and hands with pointed fingers. She wears a white dress with blue trim and a blue tanktop, the dress having an 'M' cut pattern in the front to reveal her legs, which look normal besides the bottom leg ending at a sharp point where her foot would be.
Height: 1.6 meters
Weight: Varies, usually around 60kg.
Personality: Light is a carefree, playful, lax, honest sort of person. She tends to view everything as a game and as such, usually has a poor grasp on long standing consequences. She also tends to try to be friends with anyone she finds interesting and isn't much in the habit of making enemies with people unless they wrong her first. While coming off as goofy, snarky, or michevious, under her playful persona is an incredibly intelligent person who will give you A Bad Time if you make her angry. Course shes sorta lazy in that regard, so it takes a lot to get her to that point.
Bio: Light, being an obvious Child of the Dark due to her strange appearance, has a difficult time staying in one part of Domino city for very long. This makes her more of a rumor than anything when compacted with the fact that she tends to help those in trouble if shes in the area or cheer up those who are downtrodden. While a bit weary of the military police, she isn't against helping them out if they're in trouble, just as long as they don't try to capture her. She tends to help other Children of the Dark though as they tend to be the ones in more trouble than the police however.
Skills: Intelligent
Genre Savvy
Observant
And boy oh boy, don't make her angry. Unless you wanna have A Bad Time. Seriously, you really don't wanna have a Bad Time.
Power:
Toonforce
Light has the powers, physics, ext... of a toon.
Toon Regeneration: Its said that its nearly impossible to kill a toon, and thats true in the case of Light. While she still takes damage as normal and can be knocked out like normal (and sometimes even easier than most people), she can regenerate from any aliment, including being vaporized, her mind shattered or erased, her spirit taken out of her body, ext... She regenerates by 'popping' back to her normal state after a bit of taking no damage, sometimes having bandages or something on her that indicates what she was last hit by. While she can regenerate from pretty much any state, more extreme states or supernatural states take her more time to regenerate from, especially nonlethal states such as being turned into a kid, ext... She can probably still be killed by cosmic forces though, maybe...
Toon Physics: Physics affect Light differently since she is a cartoon. This means...
Light's body 'stretches', usually in moments of rapid acceleration or if she is being pulled on from two sides. Her normal movements look cartoony as well. Her body can stretch and grow to hit something, but she can't stretch more than 1/5th of a meter in this way.
If Light walks off a high point, such as a cliff, but is unaware that she is walking off of an edge, she will continue to walk on air as if it was ground. When she realizes she is no longer on solid ground, she will fall like normal.
While falling, Light can stop when approaching the ground to readjust where she will land, before continuing to fall at the rate she was falling before she stopped.
Injuries affect her differently than normal. For example, being caught up in an explosive causes her to appear ash covered before possibly breaking apart into a pile of ash, or being crushed causing her to become a pancake, ext...
Light can't bleed.
If Light is hit by a sharp object or a hot object on her backside, she'll be propelled away from the object, usually on fire if it was a hot object.
If Light places her finger inside the barrel of a gun, she will cause the gun to misfire.
Eating very spicy things will let Light breath fire, while also running around wildly looking for water.
If stuck in hostile environments for long periods, Light will adapt to the environment and be able to function in it like normal.
For some reason, her eyeballs are far, far more durable than the rest of her body.
Light can pick up enchanted/DNA objects that other people usually wouldn't be allowed to pick up. However she will not gain the benefit from said objects unless she herself would fit the criteria for the enchantment/lock.
Light can parkour on walls for extended periods before falling.
Light has full control over her body pieces if she is chopped up. Sometimes she will form into tiny versions of herself is she is smashed or shattered, reforming after a bit of time running around.
Light herself is extremely resistant to reality changing attacks or attacks formed from reality warping.
Its very obvious to those around her when Light is dizzy, confused, knocked out, stunned, has an idea, ext.. due to various things appearing over her head depending on the state.
Things get confusing if Light is chased into a hallway with many doors...
If chasing something that is taking off from the ground, Light can step on the air for a time in order to chase them, but will eventually fall.
Light can additionally stall an impending fall by flapping or flailing her arms for a few seconds.
Can dress up in a disguise to fool the weak minded.
You REALLY don't wanna eat her unless you want her walking around inside your head freely.
A Shadow of Impending Doom appears below Light when an object is falling on her.
Light leaves an imprint of herself if she impacts the ground from a high height. Ditto if she runs through a wall.
Entering alternate dimensions or worlds that have something similar to what Light can do will often have Light take on that appearance. Or if a dimension calls for a certain kind of thing, IE its all underwater life or all anthropomorphic animals or something.
Among other nuances I might have forgotten.
Toon Strength: Light can exhibit enormous strength for her small frame. This strength is tied to her emotions, and if shes sad, she loses a massive amount of strength.
Toon Speed: Light exhibits short bursts of speed, using it to either dodge attacks or run at decent speeds. While she can dodge bullets with no problems with this, actual running speed Light is notably faster, but not anywhere near speedster territory (not that much faster than a top speed car). She can only dodge a few attacks every so often, and only if shes aware of the attacks. Outside of this, Light isn't very fast at all.
ACME Magic Satchel: Light can store and pull various objects from her dress. Stored objects are placed in an 'inventory' of sorts (Limit 5) and she can call upon them at will by pulling them out of her dress. She can additonally pull objects from her dress without storing them first. These items are adorned with an ACME logo and are completely random, are often cartoony or have a horrendous backfire effect, and as the name suggests, usually (But not always) explode in her face if held too long, even non lethal things such as pies! Storing a random object doesn't allow her to call it at will, and she can only pull a few random objects every 10 minutes, the cooldown reduced by her putting back said random objects. Light can't store living objects.
Portable Hole: Light can pull a black circular hole from her dress, allowing her to teleport to anywhere within her sightlines upon placing and entering it. The entrance and exit holes can be placed on anything, including air or space, but there is a noticable delay of her coming out of the exit hole if its not located on a surface. Only Light and objects stored in her Magic Satchel can go inside her holes.
Toon Touch: Being a toon, Light reacts to normal reality strangely and tends to bring things to her state of reality. When touching something, it is unable to receive energy from outside sources. This gives her touch some sort slight of a 'creepy' feeling. Additionally if shes in constant contact with something for extremely extended periods it will start to go through the stages of turning into a toon with no beneficial powers, and eventually fade from reality altogether (A massive amount of time. Probably a few weeks.), maybe going to a different dimension entirely? If Light stops touching the object at any point, it will regain its energy at its normal rate and basically reset their reality back to normal after a very short amount of time if it didn't disappear. Until its reality is restored, it can't gain energy from outside sources. This power is always on and Light has no control over its intensity.
Drawback:
Light takes extra damage from attacks due to her cartoon physics.
Light is weak to gas, poison, ext type attacks, and it doesn't take much of a substance to have an effect on her.
Light has an exceptionally difficult time breaking herself free of anything that binds her movement. Being encased in ice, tied down, stuck in a net, ext...
TDLR: Light is very easy to incapacitate for a time. Tape especially is pretty nasty.
A vast majority of her toon powers are tied to her emotional state, and most of them don't work well if she is feeling sad or depressed.
Light plays with her opponents instead of fights them seriously unless they make her extremely angry. If she is annoyed with someone she'll start showing Genre Savvy type of playful fighting however.
Light is very gullible due to her silly/playful/lazy persona, especially if she doesn't know or think poorly of someone. Shes not easy to directly turn on her friends though. She is also easy to talk down from a fight unless she is really angry.
Light often tries to be friends with her opponents if she thinks she can.
Light is unable to use Energy based weapons due to Cartoon physics, and ballistic based weapons have less power and speed if used by her. Bombs still have their full power, but a drastically reduced blast radius.
Light is very easily distracted by music or other fun things unless she is really angry.
Objects falling tend to home in slightly on Light, showing their Shadows of Impending Doom under her. Likewise occasionally Light will be hit by a falling anvil, safe, or piano out of nowhere. It probably came from a plane, probably.
Light is on the wrong end of the luck spectrum, and often is seen as having 'bad luck' that only affects her, especially if its bad luck that leads to slapstick.
Light is very slow to anger.
Possessions: None
Other: Light is made for slapstick, so autohit slapstick is fine by me. |
8,343 | 227 | 21 | 747 | 615 | Nathan/Zero
”Ah” Nathan interrupted, ”but you forget one important factor” he continued with his patent-pending cheeky smile, ”you have to be there so I can you tease and make me look even better – else it is no fun!”
The last part he said with a genuinely fake smile that could be spotted miles away, but of course that was the very point of it: he liked to see how far he could push those around him.
However, he didn’t get a chance to see what this conversation could develop into because just as he had just let the last word escape his lips, Leila decided to stumble through a rather messy sentence – that of course immediately caught young Nathan’s attention.
"I... No, no plans. Not until next week anyway." Leila spoke, but before he could comment on her alarmingly suspicious sentence she decided to deflect the attention towards him – or at least that was how Nathan understood it as she added with a smirk: "Your level of boredom must be really high if you want to hang out with me".
Nathan didn’t reply instantaneously, instead he gracefully jumped off his board and at the same time he activated his powers for a split second, manipulating the vectors of his board to gracefully jump up into his outreached hand – it wasn’t anything incredible or incredibly unnatural, it was perhaps just 1% off of what a normal human was capable off. In fact, it was done rather gracefully – if he had to say so himself.
After having performed this incredibly graceful feat he once again turned his attention towards the fellow Child of the Dark beside him. “Ah, it seems like you caught me red handed!” he spoke in a sweet, innocent kind of way. “I am indeed very bored – all the ‘projects’ I had been working on for the past two days have somehow turnout out to be various degrees of failures, so instead of staring into the wall back home, I decided to get out for a cup of coffee”
His tone had slowly turned more and more normal, almost as if he was mindlessly stating the facts of his life, but as he ended his small speech his attention once again became a shining spotlight directed straight towards Leila.
“However,” he began, “I had actually decided to head over to one of my favorite shops before you passed by my life just moments ago, though now that I have met you I think I have found something much more interesting”.
His sweet, yet somehow chill inspiring smile that shone down upon the girl besides him could best be translated into the look of a cat just before it would pounce in and push its owner’s favorite cup off the table. “Why did you stammer just before?” he said, smile still painted beautifully on his face, “are you hiding something from me? You know I hate it when you hide something from me!”
The last part was added in a comically intense tone that would make any soap-opera or teen-drama on television to instantly cast him in a leading role – or at least that is what Nathan would like to think. | Name: Nathan Stryder, though he doesn’t go by this name anymore. These days he is known as ‘Zero’
Age: 21
Gender: Male
All rights to the awesome artist: FeliceMelancholie
Nathan has a slim, but well honed body. His skin is naturally fair, with sharp features that makes him appear rather good looking. He was born with the naturally dark brown hair that is the symbol of all members of his family. His hair is cut in a messy semi long length that encompasses his face just right, however this isn’t what is most interesting about him as his hair and eyes began to stand out. From birth he was born with Heterochromia iridum: his left eye was born with a deep icy blue color while his right eye took on an almost shining amber colour. , while as his powers began to grow his hair changed color: it took on an increasingly blonde appearance because it blocked out the ultra violet rays in the atmosphere. On a few places on his body he has various tattoos etched into his skin, though the meaning behind them is something only a few individuals know about.
He usually wears rather simply clothing: a pair of tight black jeans and a loose white t-shirt and a pair of white and red running shoes. Often he also wears a tanned leather jacket with a hoodie on top of this. He can often be seen wearing a small black and red bag that runs from his right shoulder down his chest and onto his back underneath his left arm. He keeps his tools and ‘board’ along with other trinkets he has or is in the process of developing. In this bag.
Height: 181 cm
Weight: 75 kg.
Personality:
Nathan, or rather ‘Zero’ as he goes by these days, can best be summed up in one word: secretive. He rarely, if ever, opens up to anyone, instead he tends to lie and manipulate his way through the crowd. This doesn’t mean that he is a loner, in fact, he can be quite charming: he has figured out how to manipulate those around him into liking him, often cracking jokes or teasing those around him in order to obtain whatever he has in mind at that specific time. But, you should never trust him. For most parts he tends to act rather calm and calculative, measuring everything he can perceive around him before taking any actions. e loves his secrets, so if you dig too deeply into his past or his present you will not like what you find - this also means that while he definitely have friends, even these individuals know anything about him or his past - and if you are counted as one of the few that actually do, well, then you are indeed a very special individual to either have tracked his past down from rumours, tricked it out of him or even braver: gotten him to like you enough to open up to you.
This secrecy is also why he has decided to abandon his birth name and instead use a code-name.
Bio:
Nathan was born into the influential and wealthy family that for generations have stood their ground in Domino City’s political ring. His father as a well respected political and military leader, while his mother was one of Domino city’s leading scientists. Nathan’s life was really set out to be a breeze, an easy and relaxing journey that started from the top and would only get better from there, however, this wasn’t how fate had planned his life.
Because his mother was one of the leading scientists in Domino City in regards to nanotechnology and the impact of the ‘The Dark Fog’ she was often at the outer rim of the city in order to study this mysterious substance. She was, to put it frankly, a workaholic: she continued to continued her research even when the first early signs of pregnancy began to show - however, stubborn as she was she she discarded the first symptoms as merely being the result of excessive stress. It wasn’t until the signs were so clear that even the children began to ask her if it was a boy or a girl.
At this point it was already too late.
The fetus inside of her had already absorbed too much of The Dark Fog to have caused chronic changes within the unborn child. Yet, miraculously some would say, the only thing that was odd when their newborn boy was his eyes: The left eye was a deep icy blue color while his right eye took on an almost shining amber colour. Relieved that this mutation was the only change that The Dark Fog had seemingly brought with it, his parents decided to raise him as any other child. And what a child young Nathan grew into.
Even from an early age it became apparent that he was different in other ways than just his Heterochromia iridum: his parents soon realised that he had an incredibly gifted mind as well. He easily outsmarted most of his peers and at the young age of just 6 he was already following his mother’s work in science. This fascination with science continued to grow within young Nathan as he became older and smarter. As his genius grew he began to skip classes in school, and at the age of 15 he entered into Domino City’s most prestigious higher education in sciences. However, it was also at this time that he began to notice that he was different than others in more ways than he had originally thought. It started out with minor deviations: items would fly across the room as he tried to reach for them, he would suddenly jump many meters into the air with just the smallest of movements, and he began to notice how his naturally brown hair begun to take on a lighter tone in the tips. Luckily these abnormalities always happened when he was alone, so no one knew about it - and because his family had such a high profile in the social structure of Domino City he wasn’t scanned and whenever someone would raise questions regarding the oddity of things surrounding young Nathan: how sensors would start to go off, or why his hair had begun to turn blonde, his dad always covered for him, shutting down any gossip or probing that would occur. His family simply didn’t want to believe that their perfect son had become one of the abominations that children feared and told nightmarish tales about to each other in order to scare their friends.
Nathan, on the other hand, was intrigued by what was happening to him. He had always loved that he was special - but not to such an extent as what he really was: to be able to manipulate vectors (something he didn’t initially know, but quickly hypothesised) opened so many possibilities that even he, with all his calculative power, couldn’t fathom how many opportunities was going to be open for him in the future.
What should be mentioned was that at this point his young mind wasn’t considering the possibilities that actually occurred: instead he thought that he could change the world for the good through the combination of science and his newfound power.
What he didn’t consider was the prejudice towards The Children of The Dark.
A few years passed and the now 18 year old Nathan Stryder was enjoying his life filled with science, math, medicine, and knowledge. His abilities had somehow not been discovered, perhaps through a mixture of his parent’s influence and their willingness to turn the blind eye to the signs, his own discretion and a large dose of sheer blind luck. He had continued to hone them over the years and could at this point in his life easily control them.
What unsettled his stable world was the social distress that had been birthed from the existence and hunt of the abominations such as Nathan. While the changes in society wasn’t something that changed drastically since Nathan was born, the constant unrest within Domino City meant that as both sides fought against each other, each for their own cause, it was inevitable that Nathan, the still young Child of Dark, would be included in the conflict.
It was in the wake of one of the larger conflicts between the police force and The Children of the Dark which resulted in a few dead and many more injured. The security was naturally on high alert following this episode and unlucky for Nathan this unfortunate series of events took place right up to one of the days that he had long awaited with glee as he had always had a fascination with the political world of Domino City - albeit it was nothing more than a hobby for young Nathan. Because of the events that had preceded his trip with his father the level of security at the political center in Domino City was much higher and stricter than it had usually been. This meant that because of this when Nathan went through the security check the Children of the Dark-scanners naturally went off, but this time no matter how hard his dad tried, the security wouldn’t let him go.
It felt like just minutes later that young Nathan sat on the cold bench in the dark prison cell wondering what had went so wrong for him to be in that situation.
Even to this day he can hardly remember how long he was imprisoned. It felt like years of interrogation, experimentation, and his family’s sobbing visits. While many would perhaps have given up and left this world broken, Nathan somehow managed to stay somewhat sane. How Nathan managed to escape has become one of his best kept secrets that barely anyone know about, but what is clear is that since his escape the individual known as Nathan Stryder has disappeared in the chaos and ruins his escape created. Instead a Child of the Dark who simply called himself ‘Zero’ took up residence in the Industrial Ring shortly after these events, earning a living by fixing and selling various mechanical merchandise.
Skills:
Intelligence: Only one word really describes Nathan’s intelligence: genius. Even from a young age he kept surprising those around him and the world of his high levels of intellect that together with his calculative abilities puts him in a class of his own when it comes to raw intelligence that has yet to let him down. His intelligence has given him proficiencies in a wide array of different fields ranging from medicine, technology and science to something as diverse as lock-picking and sleight of hand.
Martial arts: Despite his rather slim body, Nathan has since an early age taken interest in martial arts. This interest wasn’t for something as pure hearted as to find something akin to ‘zen’ or inner peace, no instead it was simply because as the realization dawned on him that he was a Child of the Darkness he also knew that he could no longer stay the innocent child he had been: instead he would be fighting and running for his life and so, in order to defend his future self from harm he began to study the ancient wisdoms of martial arts in order to shape his body and his mind.
Tinkerer: While this could be described more as a hobby, the simple fact is that Nathan loves to tinker with all kinds of objects. He often tears something down, just to put it back together in order to understand it - or in most cases: simply to try and make something else. He has invented various of things over the years and his current place of living is more a impromptu research lab than an actual place to live - seriously, he has a single bed, somewhere… likely underneath that rubble of gizmos over there.
Power:
Nathan has the ability to manipulate the vectors around him. This allows him to change the magnitude and direction (vector) of an object to maneuver it in the desired way, regardless of preexisting vectors.
Drawback:
Range: The range of the vector manipulation isn’t very far, roughly extending 1 meter in diameter from his body. Anything further than this will increase the burden exponentially.
Focus: The use of his power requires a lot of calculation from Nathan, while for most things this isn’t a problem for him, but if he, for whatever reason, loses his attention, his powers can quite easily turn chaotic - as it has a few times over the 21 winters he has been alive, sometimes just causing damage to his surroundings, but at other times resulting in himself being hurt.
Energy-consumption: While it is possible for Nathan to envelope his entire body in his ability, this will draw increasing amounts of energy from his. Because of this and in the aim to conserve his energy he rarely does this. Instead he simply turns his power ‘on’ and ‘off’ whenever it is needed and for the most part only on parts of his body that requires them.
Possessions:
He always carries around black board akin to that of a skateboard in length and width, but without any form of wheels. Furthermore it appears to be made out of a black material that is cool to the touch, but he hasn’t told anyone what composite it is really made out of. He uses it to ‘skate’ around on, using his powers to create the speed and maneuverability.
He is often seen carrying around a black and red bag across his shoulders in which he keeps his most essential tools and medical kits.
Other:
Nathan has a tendency to always have earphones in his ears, often this means that he is blasting his ears with sweet sweet music, but other times he just wears them in order to ignore the world around him. And yes, that most definitely also includes you as well.
His rather childish appearance is a big no-no to mention as he has often been teased and, arguably, even worse: people have ignored his genius and abilities because he looked 'too young'. |
8,344 | 227 | 22 | 1,940 | 842 | Chrono 002:20
R&D Maximum Security Ward
Subject ID:# 52-0A-351
Subject Name: Ink
Status: Quarantine Escape
The hallway ahead was much longer than she imagined, but little time could be spent worrying about the distance she actually had to travel. Pure idiocy carried her across the cold metal floor, and being a glutton for punishment, Czigani didn't hesitate even when the few random guards came barreling out of side doors, shock batons gripped tightly in their hands.
She maneuvered around the first, a fat clumsy oaf, whose wide swing sent him off balance and face first to the floor. The second tried charging toward the woman in hopes of tackling her, but again Czigani was able to slip past by spinning her lean frame, avoiding a head-on collision and diving through the first door on the left. She scrambled to her feet, pushed the door control to the close position, and quickly headed down the empty hallway.
“ALERT STATUS: Breach in Sector 3, Corridor 15. Lock down sequence initiated. Proceed with caution” A monotone and robotic voice announced over the broadcast system, causing the hallway lights to cut out and dimly lit red auxiliary lights to switch on.
“Bitch nuts!” The woman exclaimed, slowing the pace to get her bearings. “All you fuckers will pay when I get out of this shit hole!”
Czigani could feel the anxiety and fear building up again. She hated the feeling of being trapped like an animal, despised it even, and her body’s defenses seemed to respond, as the runic and creature-like tattoos that covered her body slowly crawled and lifted their blackened tentacles. It was an uncomfortable sensation, that burned the inside of her body, yet in turn fueled their protection even more from the pain it caused. Her powers, for all intents and purposes, were a vicious cycle that she found difficult to control.
But control she did not want at this point. She wanted out at any cost…
Her feet picked up the pace once again, heading for one of the doors at the end of the dimly lit corridor, and slipped through it before it had closed permanently. She took a moment to catch her breath and refocus, trying to block out the blaring sirens and flashing lights from their internal security system. An overwhelming feeling of nausea washed over her, and she suddenly found herself collapsing onto the floor with barely any muscle response, yet her senses were fully intact.
“What the fuck...” Her words came out very breathy, as though her lungs couldn’t take in and push out enough air as normal, and the tattoos began to slowly cease their movements, and retreat back to their place of origin on her body.
“Your innate defenses, Miss Salahori, have caused your body to experience a massive amount of fatigue, to the point where your muscle tissue has systematically shutdown until you've fully recovered.”
The voice on the speaker system sounded very much like the lead scientist back in the room they had initially kept Czigani in, however a bit more artificial.
“Please stop this foolishness, and let us help you.”
The woman, laying on the floor in a fetal position, slowly reached out an arm, hoping to grab the metal chair nearby. Movement came, but sluggish and painful, as she slid closer to the chair, eventually taking hold of it’s leg to pull herself up. Her hand ran up the metal leg, feeling for a place to grab, but managing to cause a small slice in her finger from the jagged fragments on the back of the leg. The pain was momentary, but at least she felt something...
The overhead speaker crackled on once again, repeating the earlier “alert status” in the robotic voice, followed by the voice of the lead scientist.
“Do you hear that, Miss Salahori?. They know your location, and are coming for you. Give up the fight, and let us help you.”
Her senses were sharp, and the will to push on was ever present, but her body lacked the strength it needed. She felt drained and helpless, laying on the floor like some poor strung out junkie in the slums. Maybe this is where she belonged, with the freaks, the outcasts, and the wretched that the rest of society didn’t even want to know existed. Her thoughts dwelled for a moment on those nights, a young punk with no direction, picking fights anywhere and everywhere, and despising her life as the “daughter of a respected police captain”.
She often wondered if the real reason she had killed him was to blot that title from her history completely, but knew what she was doing and aware that the freedom she once had would be no more after all was said and done. This place, however, wanted to tear her down. This building run by the elitist Science Division in the R&D sector wanted her for only one reason. No. They weren’t going to get this guinea pig for their perverse pet projects and freakish research. She knew who they were, and didn’t want them to have the last laugh.
“Go to hell, ASSHOLES!” She screamed, allowing the last words to drag on, as she viciously scraped her wrist against the jagged metal chair leg, tearing through her veins, causing blood to pour out, run down her arm, and onto the white floor into a dark puddle where she lay.
The speaker crackled on, followed by the frantic voice of the scientist.
“Dammit girl, what have you done?...CODE BLUE! Immediate medical crash cart needed in Sector 3, Room A-6! Self-inflicted lacerations to her wrist!”
The man’s voice faded in and out as the blood drained from the woman's body, and the black veil of final death approached to greet her with a wicked grin. | Name: Czigani Salahori
Nickname: “Ink”
Age: 28
Gender: F
Appearance: Czi stands taller than an average female. Her wardrobe is kept generally simple, from black denim pants covered in various belts, chains, and buckles that serve no purpose to simple leather and cloth tank tops varying in color and inked with custom artwork. Leather & steel “shit kicker” boots...if she’s wearing shoes at all. Depending on her mood, her head is shaved at times, or grows it out on one side about shoulder length and keeps the other side shaven to reveal a circular tribal tattoo. Various piercings adorn her ears and lip, and her body is mostly covered with black tattoos ranging from tribal patterns, to more elaborate mythical creatures.
Height: 6`1
Weight: Approx 150lbs
Personality: Czi has a tough exterior, and is even harder to please. She tends to come off as pushy and can be impatient with most people, even though she is a tattoo artist (lol). Her real only “joy” is delving into her artwork, whether it’s a simply doodle on a napkin in a restaurant, to a large mural on the side of a building, she takes it seriously enough.
Bio: (see below)
Skills:
Tattoo artist & street mural artist,
Raised in Industry Ring, has small tattoo shop and also specializes in airbrushing designs on prosthetics/cybernetics
Power:
- Art Manipulation (specializing in body art)
- Essentially, a telepathic ability that allows her limited control over tattoos on skin and (to an extent) the paint used on prosthetics, and to a smaller degree, black ink sketches on paper or solid objects can be made substantial and controlled.
- Natural ink created by plant dyes, animal minerals, salts and various other natural sources, etc work the best. Synthetic inks are generally weaker.
- If manipulating her own body art, then the results are more successful and effects stronger and longer lasting (i.e. a crow tattoo can fly off her and attack, but damage is minimal) or she could manipulate a drawing on the wall to reach out and grab an assailant, helping her to escape, or beat the pulp out of them.
Can manipulate targets tattoos (up to 30ft away) with varying results
Her body is covered with various tribal & cultural designs which can temporarily augment to protect her from physical damage (more out of self-preservation than willful act, i.e. defense mechanism)
Drawback: Each piece of artwork causes varying degrees of mental fatigue, and the longer it is sustained, the more lethargic she can become, to the point of unconsciousness if not careful. There are instances where art, if not conjured properly and kept in control, could turn on her and become violent until it dissipates on it’s own.
Possessions: messenger bag full of art supplies, namely ink vials, several pen tips, sticks, and reams of paper.
“At what point, Padre, do we forget who we are, what we stand for, and where the fuck we're going?”
The young woman, stained in sweat, blood, and soot sat on the floor at the base of the church altar, her head resting against the severely out-dated wooden paneling. The black mascara that once accentuated her emerald eyes ran down her cheeks like watercolor on canvas, covering the several cuts and bruises she’d suffered only an hour earlier. Her dark hair, shaven on one side revealing a circular tribal tattoo pattern, and on the other side hanging roughly jaw length tangled and wet with sweat, obscured her direct line of sight to the priest sitting and listening intently in the pew across from her.
“I'm not ashamed of what I did. He had it coming. So think whatever sick shit you want to conjure up in your small brain.” The girl flashed a wry grin, a slight cough building up from smoke inhalation earlier. “I bet you think I’m just some mutant street shit from the Indi, yeah?” She accused, trying to hold back any tears. “I bet all us tattooed freaks down in the slums look the same to you...” She forced a pathetic laugh, pushing her bangs behind her ear. “I know they did to...him...that prick I once called ‘family’.”
The priest leaned forward in the bench and gazed for a moment at the olive-skinned woman with the slim build, her dark-red tank top dotted with black soot and torn, and her jeans riddled with small holes. She had no shoes, which exposed her mud-covered feet and black toenails. He noticed several large dark symbolic and bestial tattoos that covered her arms were slowly moving, mesmerized, almost as though they wanted to peel away from her skin. A long dragon-like creature on her arm slithered in a hypnotic motion, and a crow on her chest with wings spanned from shoulder to shoulder, appeared as though it would launch at any moment. Most of her body, from what he could see, had various tattoos of tribal or cultural significance, many of which she inked herself as was her profession. He knew who she was. What she was. But it didn’t make being in her presence any less awkward.
Her kind were distastefully known as “Children of the Dark”, and their existence to many were a blight within the community. To a mother she never knew, possibly, but to her father, an honored ex-military police captain who was hailed as some hero from years ago, she was simply known as “Some kind of Damaged”. His love was to the job, and if that job meant keeping the Children in line, then his eye was ever fixed on his only daughter. No matter how often the beatings came, or being locked in her room for days without food, she wouldn’t change. She couldn’t be normal like he wanted. But it didn’t matter. He was gone now. Nothing but a charred corpse and a hollow building she once called a home.
“It’s God’s job to judge, not mine” The priest finally responded, trying to avert his eyes from following the path of the women’s ornate body art, which lead into areas he deemed inappropriate for a young lady to defile with such imagery. “And...yet you being here, confessing, allowing me to listen, is a step in the right direction to redemption. So I applaud you for that, child.”
The girl snickered “Child? I’m almost a hag...geez pushin’ thirty, bro. Meh, it doesn’t matter, you’re still way older than me, am I right?” She forced yet another snicker causing her husky cough to return.
The main sanctuary doors at the other end of the aisle quickly opened revealing a handful of uniformed Military Police officers, flashlights and assault firearms poised at the ready.
“Czigani Salahori, you’re under arrest for the murder of your father, Captain Jorgio Salahori” The lead officer held the girl at gunpoint “You sick piece of gypsy trash” He mumbled under his breath, but loud enough to be heard “Why’d you have to burn him alive…”
The girl, her eyes wide with a mix of anger and fear, looked back at the priest, whose somber expression gave away too much.
“Y-You called them?” She exclaimed, her voice echoing throughout the sanctuary hall. “Bastard Gadjo!...I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you! What the hell happened to that ‘seal of confession’, or whatever bullshit you assholes are supposed to follow?”
The priest shifted uncomfortably as he spoke. “I didn’t tell them anything, except that you were here. They already knew the rest Czigani…”
The woman, enraged, lunged out toward the priest from her sitting position “You son of a b-...” She was caught by one of the officers mid-way, spun around, and pushed back down onto the floor. “Fuck! He deserved it! You pricks knew he was corrupt and abusive-” Her words caught in her throat, as the lead officer pushed her face against the cold floor and clasped her wrists with handcuffs, taking extra care to tighten them until she screamed.
“Shut your whore mouth!" The arresting officer snarled, his knee pressed firmly against her back. "Cop-killer scum like you don’t have rights. And where you’re going, you’ll wish I’d put a bullet in your head right here.”
------------------------------------------------------
The long trip to the R&D Ring was anything but pleasant, but why should it be? Thrown in the back of a police cruiser, chained to the seat, with two heavily armed and armored officers flanking doesn’t usually mean you’re being brought in on a misdemeanor charge. Although her snarky comments and sarcastic disposition did nothing to help her, and only awarded her a swift elbow in the jaw. No, this was some real damage Czigani had done, a scar to not only the community, but to the Military Police force. Her father, warts and all, was a well-respected and upstanding officer within the R&D, and his brutal death sent a ripple that would never be mended so easily.
They just didn’t see in him what she saw throughout most of her life.
The transport pulled up to the precinct, and the woman was practically dragged into the building by the two officers and tossed into a holding cell where she sat, swearing and banging on the cell door, until a few hours later was visited by a large figure she hoped to never see again.
“Hello Miss Salahori” The towering beast, more machine than man as he appeared, leaned against the barred door holding a holopad with a series of scrolling information, his expression painted with a hint of amusement, and his eyes glowed with an almost sinister intent.
“I see you’ve been a very bad girl.
“You!” Czigani’s eyes widened and mouth agape, but no sound came out.
“Officer Reinhardt actually, but you can call me Drei, or whatever...”
“Asshole”
“That works too” He grunted, keying in a few digits on the holopad before continuing. “So, you’ve got quite the rap sheet: petty theft, some vandalism, oh...and mostly graffiti related on private property…”
“Pfft, it’s not ‘graffiti’ you dick..” She interrupted, laying her head back against the stone wall. “It’s artwork, something you’ll never get through your cyberfreak neanderthal head”.
Reinhardt, paying little attention, continued scanning through the list until he stopped at a particular section.
“Ah, so that explains all the ink - you call “artwork” - covering that pretty little body of yours. The genetic mutation gave you power over them. A sort of ”Art Manipulation”, if you will. And I suppose that would also explain the black ink markings around your father’s neck”
“Yeah, I strangled his sorry ass for laying hands on me.” She lifted her right arm into the light, revealing a reptilian creature tattoo wrapped from her wrist to her shoulder. “This one here, he’s a nasty bugger when he wants to be, and it knows when to step in. So, it was your beloved ‘Captain’s’ own damn fault for touching me”
Reinhardt nodded, intrigued to a point, but trying his best to keep from putting his fist through her skull. “So, a defense mechanism? Interesting.”
“Look numbnuts, are we going to be here all fucking day? Isn’t there a quiet corner you could put me in so I don’t have to listen to your droning voice?”
The cell door suddenly slid open, and before Czigani could react, the large cybernetically enhanced officer had her pinned up against the cold wall, his metal hand slowly clamping down around her neck. The woman’s face was a mixture of surprise and anger, but she was helpless to do anything at that moment.
“Do you think this is a game? I could kill you right here, right now, and no one would give two shits about it” His voice was low, gritty, and a raging fire seemed to erupt in his cybernetic eyes.
“In fact, I would love nothing more than to tear you limb from limb and let those mutant shit-hounds that scour the lower sections feast on your pathetic remains. No one will remember you ever existed. And all of that precious work you call ‘art’?...well...it’ll be nothing but a bad memory. But you’re not going anywhere. Oh no, you’re not getting out of this as easily as death. You will get what is coming...”
Reinhardt gave her a swift elbow in the stomach and released his grip, causing her to double over onto the floor. He remained still for a moment before walking away.
“That was only a warning, bitch. Hard times will be ahead and one way or another you are going to cooperate with us.”
A slight chuckle replaced the previous heated anger.
“Re-Education is coming, my dear...” |
8,345 | 227 | 23 | 2,708 | 1,215 | Leila
Leila's patience was cut short before she and Nathan were able to reach the end of the alley. His demanding questions and unbalanced attitude were enough for her to decide that it was best to send him on his way.
"Okay, you're right...I'm dodging your questions, but it's only because I have something to do that I'd rather keep private..." She feigned a look of concern to solidify her lie, but she knew that she wouldn't be able to get rid of him that easily. "So, if you want, we can go see Dr. Chaddrick tomorrow. Let's meet at the diner for breakfast in the morning, okay? I have to go now, but I'll see you tomorrow."
She gave him a smile, then approached him to give him a goodbye hug. Leila placed the palm of her hand against the back of his neck. As she left it there for a couple of seconds, she implanted a memory in his head. Nathan now believed that he had to go see a friend of his in the Political Ring. She knew no serious harm would come to him, unless he was caught, of course. This "friend" of his doesn't really exist, but the memory would be long gone before he even makes it to his destination so she wasn't at all concerned. Giving him a quick wave, she took off in the opposite direction to go back home, glad to have finally gotten rid of him. | Name: Leila Rose
Age: 18
Gender: Female
Height: 5'2
Weight: 110 lbs
Personality: Leila is quiet and reserved, for the most part. She usually isn't the first to strike a conversation amongst strangers, but that doesn't mean she will ignore those who approach her. Leila enjoys pursuing goals for herself and helping others achieve theirs, and she's spent the majority of her life doing just that. She's a rather ambitious girl and believes life is meaningless without having a personal objective.
Bio: Born into a family of farmers in the Agriculture Ring, Leila often ventured to either neighboring district to find an adventure of her own. She lived with her parents as well as her uncle, her father's only remaining brother. With no siblings of her own, she would spend most of her time at home outside interacting with the various animals they owned. She found it easy to get along with them and she swore they were the best friends anyone could ever hope for her. They listened to her problems, weren't judgmental, and even comforted her in their own ways at times when she was filled with despair.
One evening while she was out, the day after her 14th birthday, her home was raided. She came back only to find total destruction as well as the blood of her loved ones scattered throughout the house. She rushed outside, but there was no sign of her family or any of their animals for that matter. After the initial shock of what she had just seen subsided, Leila came to the conclusion that she wasn't safe in her own home anymore. She ran upstairs, grabbed the locket she had in her room, and hurried outside before she herself became the next victim.
It took a few weeks of being homeless, suffering from starvation and exposure to the harsh weather along the way, before Leila was taken in by a nice quiet family of 4. She was flooded with grief when they found her, but the pain slowly eased with time. The parents as well as the brother and sister got along with her very well, any there wasn't any resentment or hostility towards one another. They were farmers as well, although they lived nearly on the other side of the ring from where her home was. For the next couple of years, a good chunk of her free time was then spent sneaking around the various districts attempting to find the individuals responsible for her family's murder. When she wasn't out and about, she spent some time researching and digging for information that may be of use to her in her quest for vengeance.
At the age of 17, she moved out on her own and got a job as a personal assistant to some scientist from the Corporate Ring. Her life goals slightly shifted as she finally realized that she may never get her revenge, and she's now focused on pursuing her own dreams.
Skills: A quick runner and an increased intelligence level.
Power: Leila has the ability to influence another person's current thoughts and emotions as well as implant false memories into that person's mind. In order for this to occur though, she must have some sort of physical contact with that individual, even if it's for a split second. Unfortunately, as time goes by, Leila's influence over her target decreases and confusion will temporarily set in before they recognize what's happened to them. Recovery time varies purely by individual.
Drawback: If a person's mind is stronger than her own and able to repel the attack, then she herself will be hit with whatever memory or emotion had been generated. Repeated use of this ability causes Leila to have extreme headaches and sometimes, she absorbs her target's own memories which, depending on the situation, may or may not stay with her permanently. Additionally, this ability doesn't work on cyborgs or androids as the target must have a purely organic brain structure.
Possessions: A silver locket that's been passed down by generations holding an image of her parents.
Other: N/A |
8,346 | 227 | 24 | 1,940 | 842 | Chrono 018:24
R&D Maximum Security Ward
Subject ID:# 52-0A-351
Subject Name: Ink
Status:
The woman was asleep on the floor in the middle of the ten by twenty meter cell surrounded by various small plastic bottles of paint, and a few boxes of used charcoal sticks. The once off-white colored walls had been completely covered with various abstract and impressionistic murals and imagery, many of which depicted mythological creatures destroying buildings, chasing people, and transforming into militia soldiers with the letters “R & D” on their chests . Symbols of unknown origins were drawn on the floor, starting from the corners of the room, and moving into the center. Along the wall, a small cot with a thin mattress, and torn sheets, as well as a small table with a tray of untouched food.
A buzzer sounded, opening the door that lead into the room just outside Czigani’s cell, and startled her out of an otherwise deep sleep.
“...the fuck!...” She blurted out in an incoherent slur, blinking her eyes rapidly to adjust her vision, and wiping the little bit of drool from her cheek.
“Pulling an all-nighter again I see, Miss Salahori?” The lead scientist said, stepping up close to the energy shielding that served as the cell door, and looked around the interior. “I also see your feelings for R&D haven’t changed much in the last few days…”
“Yeah well, you bitches suck, your food is shit, and I’ve barely seen anyone come through here, so don’t go telling me what I can and can’t paint old man.”
The woman sat up and sprawled her legs out to stretch. Her wrist had been bandaged from the recent incident, and the short dark hair she once had was shaved off completely, revealing several more runic and tribal tattoos, a few that matched what was already on her body. And her silver and onyx piercings were removed, leaving only the holes in her ears, nose, and lip to serve as a reminder. Her clothes, a simple light gray tank top and matching cotton pants, were plain, awkward fitting, and a hard contrast against her tattooed skin.
“My apologies Mis-”
“I don’t want your stupid apologies, okay...Doc?” She exclaimed, grabbing one of the bottles of dried paint and throwing it at the energy field, causing it to crackle and waver momentarily. “And stop trying to be my friend for fuck’s sake...”
Doctor Kordano let out an empathic breath, and held up the datapad he’d been carrying. “Well, as hard as it is to believe, you’ve been less aggressive since the treatments after your attempted suicide. The massive blood loss you incurred seemed to have put your special abilities in a kind of stasis.”
“So what are you telling me, I’m free to go because I’m not a threat to the common asshole on the street anymore?” She said with a wry grin. “Oh wait...that’s right, I killed someone, so ‘no Czigani, you are not free because you are a cold blooded murderer and we need to keep you here for the rest of your crappy life to poke you with needles and shit’ “. Her hand balled up in a fist as she mocked holding a large syringe stabbing herself in the head. “So does that about sum it up, Doc?”
The man couldn’t hold back a smile while he stood and watched the woman’s theatrics. “No, you aren’t free, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have something special planned for you.”
“Oh? Is it my birthday?” She said, turning her body to lay flat on her stomach, and proceed to do pushups. “Or maybe, just maybe I actually get some fucking brushes to use with the cheap paint you’ve given me, so I don’t have to use my fingers anymore?”
The doctor smirked, and pulled up a chair to sit down in front of the cell, placing the datapad face down on his lap. He leaned forward, staring at the woman for a moment before speaking.
“Do you know what happened to your brother, Miss Salahori?”
He let the question hang, and Czigani, continuing her pushups, stayed silent up until the doctor was about to speak again, and interrupted him.
“Yeah. Dumb shit left when I was a teenager and I never saw him again. I hope he’s dead. End of story.”
“What if I told you that he didn’t leave you, but he had been kidnapped and held for ransom because of who his father was. Your father, Captain Jorgio Salahori.”
Czigani pushed herself up, rolled back into a sitting position, and stared back at the aging doctor with a wide grin on her face. “I’d say you’re a few cards short of a full deck, Doc. And why in the nine hells would you tell me this anyway?”
“Because Miss Salahori, your father was a high profile target by resistance groups run by the children of the dark. These mutant gangs essentially kidnapped, tortured, and ransomed his life for a large sum of money. When your father wasn’t able to pay on time what they asked for, they killed your brother, and sent the police department footage of everything as a warning. He had nothing to do with any of this, but they used him as bait...”
Czigani sat there, her grin faded away and replaced by a burning anger, and tears welled up that she hadn’t felt in a very long time. She stood up, balled both hands into fists, clenched her teeth, and stepped up only inches from the energy field separating her and the doctor.
“Show me the fucking footage…” | Name: Czigani Salahori
Nickname: “Ink”
Age: 28
Gender: F
Appearance: Czi stands taller than an average female. Her wardrobe is kept generally simple, from black denim pants covered in various belts, chains, and buckles that serve no purpose to simple leather and cloth tank tops varying in color and inked with custom artwork. Leather & steel “shit kicker” boots...if she’s wearing shoes at all. Depending on her mood, her head is shaved at times, or grows it out on one side about shoulder length and keeps the other side shaven to reveal a circular tribal tattoo. Various piercings adorn her ears and lip, and her body is mostly covered with black tattoos ranging from tribal patterns, to more elaborate mythical creatures.
Height: 6`1
Weight: Approx 150lbs
Personality: Czi has a tough exterior, and is even harder to please. She tends to come off as pushy and can be impatient with most people, even though she is a tattoo artist (lol). Her real only “joy” is delving into her artwork, whether it’s a simply doodle on a napkin in a restaurant, to a large mural on the side of a building, she takes it seriously enough.
Bio: (see below)
Skills:
Tattoo artist & street mural artist,
Raised in Industry Ring, has small tattoo shop and also specializes in airbrushing designs on prosthetics/cybernetics
Power:
- Art Manipulation (specializing in body art)
- Essentially, a telepathic ability that allows her limited control over tattoos on skin and (to an extent) the paint used on prosthetics, and to a smaller degree, black ink sketches on paper or solid objects can be made substantial and controlled.
- Natural ink created by plant dyes, animal minerals, salts and various other natural sources, etc work the best. Synthetic inks are generally weaker.
- If manipulating her own body art, then the results are more successful and effects stronger and longer lasting (i.e. a crow tattoo can fly off her and attack, but damage is minimal) or she could manipulate a drawing on the wall to reach out and grab an assailant, helping her to escape, or beat the pulp out of them.
Can manipulate targets tattoos (up to 30ft away) with varying results
Her body is covered with various tribal & cultural designs which can temporarily augment to protect her from physical damage (more out of self-preservation than willful act, i.e. defense mechanism)
Drawback: Each piece of artwork causes varying degrees of mental fatigue, and the longer it is sustained, the more lethargic she can become, to the point of unconsciousness if not careful. There are instances where art, if not conjured properly and kept in control, could turn on her and become violent until it dissipates on it’s own.
Possessions: messenger bag full of art supplies, namely ink vials, several pen tips, sticks, and reams of paper.
“At what point, Padre, do we forget who we are, what we stand for, and where the fuck we're going?”
The young woman, stained in sweat, blood, and soot sat on the floor at the base of the church altar, her head resting against the severely out-dated wooden paneling. The black mascara that once accentuated her emerald eyes ran down her cheeks like watercolor on canvas, covering the several cuts and bruises she’d suffered only an hour earlier. Her dark hair, shaven on one side revealing a circular tribal tattoo pattern, and on the other side hanging roughly jaw length tangled and wet with sweat, obscured her direct line of sight to the priest sitting and listening intently in the pew across from her.
“I'm not ashamed of what I did. He had it coming. So think whatever sick shit you want to conjure up in your small brain.” The girl flashed a wry grin, a slight cough building up from smoke inhalation earlier. “I bet you think I’m just some mutant street shit from the Indi, yeah?” She accused, trying to hold back any tears. “I bet all us tattooed freaks down in the slums look the same to you...” She forced a pathetic laugh, pushing her bangs behind her ear. “I know they did to...him...that prick I once called ‘family’.”
The priest leaned forward in the bench and gazed for a moment at the olive-skinned woman with the slim build, her dark-red tank top dotted with black soot and torn, and her jeans riddled with small holes. She had no shoes, which exposed her mud-covered feet and black toenails. He noticed several large dark symbolic and bestial tattoos that covered her arms were slowly moving, mesmerized, almost as though they wanted to peel away from her skin. A long dragon-like creature on her arm slithered in a hypnotic motion, and a crow on her chest with wings spanned from shoulder to shoulder, appeared as though it would launch at any moment. Most of her body, from what he could see, had various tattoos of tribal or cultural significance, many of which she inked herself as was her profession. He knew who she was. What she was. But it didn’t make being in her presence any less awkward.
Her kind were distastefully known as “Children of the Dark”, and their existence to many were a blight within the community. To a mother she never knew, possibly, but to her father, an honored ex-military police captain who was hailed as some hero from years ago, she was simply known as “Some kind of Damaged”. His love was to the job, and if that job meant keeping the Children in line, then his eye was ever fixed on his only daughter. No matter how often the beatings came, or being locked in her room for days without food, she wouldn’t change. She couldn’t be normal like he wanted. But it didn’t matter. He was gone now. Nothing but a charred corpse and a hollow building she once called a home.
“It’s God’s job to judge, not mine” The priest finally responded, trying to avert his eyes from following the path of the women’s ornate body art, which lead into areas he deemed inappropriate for a young lady to defile with such imagery. “And...yet you being here, confessing, allowing me to listen, is a step in the right direction to redemption. So I applaud you for that, child.”
The girl snickered “Child? I’m almost a hag...geez pushin’ thirty, bro. Meh, it doesn’t matter, you’re still way older than me, am I right?” She forced yet another snicker causing her husky cough to return.
The main sanctuary doors at the other end of the aisle quickly opened revealing a handful of uniformed Military Police officers, flashlights and assault firearms poised at the ready.
“Czigani Salahori, you’re under arrest for the murder of your father, Captain Jorgio Salahori” The lead officer held the girl at gunpoint “You sick piece of gypsy trash” He mumbled under his breath, but loud enough to be heard “Why’d you have to burn him alive…”
The girl, her eyes wide with a mix of anger and fear, looked back at the priest, whose somber expression gave away too much.
“Y-You called them?” She exclaimed, her voice echoing throughout the sanctuary hall. “Bastard Gadjo!...I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you! What the hell happened to that ‘seal of confession’, or whatever bullshit you assholes are supposed to follow?”
The priest shifted uncomfortably as he spoke. “I didn’t tell them anything, except that you were here. They already knew the rest Czigani…”
The woman, enraged, lunged out toward the priest from her sitting position “You son of a b-...” She was caught by one of the officers mid-way, spun around, and pushed back down onto the floor. “Fuck! He deserved it! You pricks knew he was corrupt and abusive-” Her words caught in her throat, as the lead officer pushed her face against the cold floor and clasped her wrists with handcuffs, taking extra care to tighten them until she screamed.
“Shut your whore mouth!" The arresting officer snarled, his knee pressed firmly against her back. "Cop-killer scum like you don’t have rights. And where you’re going, you’ll wish I’d put a bullet in your head right here.”
------------------------------------------------------
The long trip to the R&D Ring was anything but pleasant, but why should it be? Thrown in the back of a police cruiser, chained to the seat, with two heavily armed and armored officers flanking doesn’t usually mean you’re being brought in on a misdemeanor charge. Although her snarky comments and sarcastic disposition did nothing to help her, and only awarded her a swift elbow in the jaw. No, this was some real damage Czigani had done, a scar to not only the community, but to the Military Police force. Her father, warts and all, was a well-respected and upstanding officer within the R&D, and his brutal death sent a ripple that would never be mended so easily.
They just didn’t see in him what she saw throughout most of her life.
The transport pulled up to the precinct, and the woman was practically dragged into the building by the two officers and tossed into a holding cell where she sat, swearing and banging on the cell door, until a few hours later was visited by a large figure she hoped to never see again.
“Hello Miss Salahori” The towering beast, more machine than man as he appeared, leaned against the barred door holding a holopad with a series of scrolling information, his expression painted with a hint of amusement, and his eyes glowed with an almost sinister intent.
“I see you’ve been a very bad girl.
“You!” Czigani’s eyes widened and mouth agape, but no sound came out.
“Officer Reinhardt actually, but you can call me Drei, or whatever...”
“Asshole”
“That works too” He grunted, keying in a few digits on the holopad before continuing. “So, you’ve got quite the rap sheet: petty theft, some vandalism, oh...and mostly graffiti related on private property…”
“Pfft, it’s not ‘graffiti’ you dick..” She interrupted, laying her head back against the stone wall. “It’s artwork, something you’ll never get through your cyberfreak neanderthal head”.
Reinhardt, paying little attention, continued scanning through the list until he stopped at a particular section.
“Ah, so that explains all the ink - you call “artwork” - covering that pretty little body of yours. The genetic mutation gave you power over them. A sort of ”Art Manipulation”, if you will. And I suppose that would also explain the black ink markings around your father’s neck”
“Yeah, I strangled his sorry ass for laying hands on me.” She lifted her right arm into the light, revealing a reptilian creature tattoo wrapped from her wrist to her shoulder. “This one here, he’s a nasty bugger when he wants to be, and it knows when to step in. So, it was your beloved ‘Captain’s’ own damn fault for touching me”
Reinhardt nodded, intrigued to a point, but trying his best to keep from putting his fist through her skull. “So, a defense mechanism? Interesting.”
“Look numbnuts, are we going to be here all fucking day? Isn’t there a quiet corner you could put me in so I don’t have to listen to your droning voice?”
The cell door suddenly slid open, and before Czigani could react, the large cybernetically enhanced officer had her pinned up against the cold wall, his metal hand slowly clamping down around her neck. The woman’s face was a mixture of surprise and anger, but she was helpless to do anything at that moment.
“Do you think this is a game? I could kill you right here, right now, and no one would give two shits about it” His voice was low, gritty, and a raging fire seemed to erupt in his cybernetic eyes.
“In fact, I would love nothing more than to tear you limb from limb and let those mutant shit-hounds that scour the lower sections feast on your pathetic remains. No one will remember you ever existed. And all of that precious work you call ‘art’?...well...it’ll be nothing but a bad memory. But you’re not going anywhere. Oh no, you’re not getting out of this as easily as death. You will get what is coming...”
Reinhardt gave her a swift elbow in the stomach and released his grip, causing her to double over onto the floor. He remained still for a moment before walking away.
“That was only a warning, bitch. Hard times will be ahead and one way or another you are going to cooperate with us.”
A slight chuckle replaced the previous heated anger.
“Re-Education is coming, my dear...” |
8,347 | 227 | 25 | 1,940 | 842 | The woman clenched her teeth as she sat and watched the small screen on the datapad, the image quality was sub par, but still clear enough to identify her brother Jaysen, naked, beaten, bloodied, and strapped into an old wooden high back chair. The person holding the camera drew in close, getting a good shot of his frightened expression, and then pull back to a wide shot again, before placing the camera onto a tripod pointed at the chair. A hand came into view for a moment, making a middle finger gesture, and quickly disappearing. Jaysen’s mouth was moving, saying something, but void of sound to pick up his voice.
“I apologize, but there was no audio in the copy they sent us” Doctor Kordano frowned.
For several minutes, it had only been him alone in a room with a hanging halogen light above his head, but then a half dozen figures, some thin built and others muscular, strolled in all wearing costume masks of various mythological creatures.
“Those sick fucks” She scoffed while cracking her knuckles. “They knew he was into fantasy type shit, stuff from centuries back that doesn’t even exist anymore. Pricks thought it would be funny to play dress up just for him.”
“Is that where you got the ideas for your tattoos? From Jaysen?” Kordano asked, looking over at the prisoner whose emerald eyes remained fixed on the dimly lit screen.
“Yeah...” She whispered after a long pause.
As the video played, the mob could be seen surrounding her brother, taking pot shots at him with chains, crowbars, and electrified bullwhips. One of the figures stepped up closer, wrapped what appeared to be barbed wire around their gloved hand, and punched Jaysen in the chest, and side of his head, causing thin lines of blood to run down his face and torso. He screamed, that much was apparent without the need for sound, and the more he struggled the worse his beatings became. One after another, each member of the circle stepped in to take yet another shot at the otherwise defenseless man, each adding another deep bloody wound, dark bruise, or large welt on his body.
“We don’t need to watch any-”
“Leave it!” Czigani scolded him, hitting the metal chair with her fist. “Just. Leave it.”
A taller dark skinned male figure stepped behind the chair, placed his hands on both sides of Jaysen’s head and instantly created blue veins of electricity that caused his target’s body to convulse and scream in silence. Each group member took a turn, employing some horrific display of supernatural power that, with every stroke, caused greater pain and suffering. A razor blade was used to shave his head down to the skin, leaving nothing but patches of hair, cuts, and running lines of blood.
Doctor Kordano, having seen the brutality of the footage a few times already, cringed still. “Ms Salahori, I think you get the point though-”
“Doc, I swear if you turn that off, I will reach through this fucking energy field that sits between us and strangle your old, scrawny-ass neck until you're dead.”
As the woman continued to watch her bloodied brother used as a tool of revenge, one of the masked figures, possibly a female, wearing a fitted chain mail top, mesh stockings, and stiletto high heels, stepped in front of Jaysen and kneeled down in between his shaking legs. She had a long tail that could be seen swaying like a serpent, and metal razors at the tip that gleamed in the poor lighting. The creature lifted her mask enough to expose her mouth, placed a clawed hand on his knee, and bit into his thigh, causing him to recoil in pain and terror. A pool of blood formed at the foot of the chair as the beast released her hold and turned to the camera to flash a wry grin through sharp and bloodied teeth. She dipped her clawed finger into the pool of blood, and proceeded to slowly form crude letters on his chest that read:
The Children Shall Survive
Czigani shifted uncomfortably in her seat, closing her eyes for a moment, before reopening them. The “Children”, she assumed, referred to the offhanded name given to those born different within Domino City. “Mutants”, however, definitely fit as a better description though. Czi held her head in her hands, trying to understand the reasons for such erratic and brutal behavior among the Children. But deep down she knew, and her lowlife father had been the one responsible for initiating such a vicious retaliation. Sadly, the ones to truly suffer from his past transgressions were his own kids.
“I am one of these monsters” She mumbled under her breath, staring at the screen for the last time.
As a final jab into the very heart of morality and a huge cock shoved up the ass of the R&D and it's corruption, Czigani’s brothers life was ended with a swift decapitation by some kind of plasma laser imbued sword. The masked executioner tore the head from the remaining charred neck tissue and held it up to the camera, smiling through jagged yellow stained teeth, before the image went black.
Czigani screamed at the top of her lungs, rising from her sitting position and throwing the chair across the cell, only to yell some more until there was no breath left in her lungs to expend. She wanted so badly to release her own powers and all the rage that would follow, for the ink to be set free from her body, lashing out in a chaotic and bloody frenzy, yet she couldn’t. The drugs that were pumped into her system, coupled with neural inhibitors attached to her brain, dulled any further use of her power, suppressing whatever triggered it’s manifestation until R&D was ready.
“Doc, you need to get me the fuck out of this place so I can find these pricks!” She exclaimed, getting as close to the energy screen as she could without touching its electrical charge. “I’ll do whatever it takes, but I can’t stay here while the assholes who did this roam free.”
The doctor stood up and turned off the datapad, returning her gaze with a grin of his own.
“That’s excellent news, Miss Salahori. Excellent indeed.” | Name: Czigani Salahori
Nickname: “Ink”
Age: 28
Gender: F
Appearance: Czi stands taller than an average female. Her wardrobe is kept generally simple, from black denim pants covered in various belts, chains, and buckles that serve no purpose to simple leather and cloth tank tops varying in color and inked with custom artwork. Leather & steel “shit kicker” boots...if she’s wearing shoes at all. Depending on her mood, her head is shaved at times, or grows it out on one side about shoulder length and keeps the other side shaven to reveal a circular tribal tattoo. Various piercings adorn her ears and lip, and her body is mostly covered with black tattoos ranging from tribal patterns, to more elaborate mythical creatures.
Height: 6`1
Weight: Approx 150lbs
Personality: Czi has a tough exterior, and is even harder to please. She tends to come off as pushy and can be impatient with most people, even though she is a tattoo artist (lol). Her real only “joy” is delving into her artwork, whether it’s a simply doodle on a napkin in a restaurant, to a large mural on the side of a building, she takes it seriously enough.
Bio: (see below)
Skills:
Tattoo artist & street mural artist,
Raised in Industry Ring, has small tattoo shop and also specializes in airbrushing designs on prosthetics/cybernetics
Power:
- Art Manipulation (specializing in body art)
- Essentially, a telepathic ability that allows her limited control over tattoos on skin and (to an extent) the paint used on prosthetics, and to a smaller degree, black ink sketches on paper or solid objects can be made substantial and controlled.
- Natural ink created by plant dyes, animal minerals, salts and various other natural sources, etc work the best. Synthetic inks are generally weaker.
- If manipulating her own body art, then the results are more successful and effects stronger and longer lasting (i.e. a crow tattoo can fly off her and attack, but damage is minimal) or she could manipulate a drawing on the wall to reach out and grab an assailant, helping her to escape, or beat the pulp out of them.
Can manipulate targets tattoos (up to 30ft away) with varying results
Her body is covered with various tribal & cultural designs which can temporarily augment to protect her from physical damage (more out of self-preservation than willful act, i.e. defense mechanism)
Drawback: Each piece of artwork causes varying degrees of mental fatigue, and the longer it is sustained, the more lethargic she can become, to the point of unconsciousness if not careful. There are instances where art, if not conjured properly and kept in control, could turn on her and become violent until it dissipates on it’s own.
Possessions: messenger bag full of art supplies, namely ink vials, several pen tips, sticks, and reams of paper.
“At what point, Padre, do we forget who we are, what we stand for, and where the fuck we're going?”
The young woman, stained in sweat, blood, and soot sat on the floor at the base of the church altar, her head resting against the severely out-dated wooden paneling. The black mascara that once accentuated her emerald eyes ran down her cheeks like watercolor on canvas, covering the several cuts and bruises she’d suffered only an hour earlier. Her dark hair, shaven on one side revealing a circular tribal tattoo pattern, and on the other side hanging roughly jaw length tangled and wet with sweat, obscured her direct line of sight to the priest sitting and listening intently in the pew across from her.
“I'm not ashamed of what I did. He had it coming. So think whatever sick shit you want to conjure up in your small brain.” The girl flashed a wry grin, a slight cough building up from smoke inhalation earlier. “I bet you think I’m just some mutant street shit from the Indi, yeah?” She accused, trying to hold back any tears. “I bet all us tattooed freaks down in the slums look the same to you...” She forced a pathetic laugh, pushing her bangs behind her ear. “I know they did to...him...that prick I once called ‘family’.”
The priest leaned forward in the bench and gazed for a moment at the olive-skinned woman with the slim build, her dark-red tank top dotted with black soot and torn, and her jeans riddled with small holes. She had no shoes, which exposed her mud-covered feet and black toenails. He noticed several large dark symbolic and bestial tattoos that covered her arms were slowly moving, mesmerized, almost as though they wanted to peel away from her skin. A long dragon-like creature on her arm slithered in a hypnotic motion, and a crow on her chest with wings spanned from shoulder to shoulder, appeared as though it would launch at any moment. Most of her body, from what he could see, had various tattoos of tribal or cultural significance, many of which she inked herself as was her profession. He knew who she was. What she was. But it didn’t make being in her presence any less awkward.
Her kind were distastefully known as “Children of the Dark”, and their existence to many were a blight within the community. To a mother she never knew, possibly, but to her father, an honored ex-military police captain who was hailed as some hero from years ago, she was simply known as “Some kind of Damaged”. His love was to the job, and if that job meant keeping the Children in line, then his eye was ever fixed on his only daughter. No matter how often the beatings came, or being locked in her room for days without food, she wouldn’t change. She couldn’t be normal like he wanted. But it didn’t matter. He was gone now. Nothing but a charred corpse and a hollow building she once called a home.
“It’s God’s job to judge, not mine” The priest finally responded, trying to avert his eyes from following the path of the women’s ornate body art, which lead into areas he deemed inappropriate for a young lady to defile with such imagery. “And...yet you being here, confessing, allowing me to listen, is a step in the right direction to redemption. So I applaud you for that, child.”
The girl snickered “Child? I’m almost a hag...geez pushin’ thirty, bro. Meh, it doesn’t matter, you’re still way older than me, am I right?” She forced yet another snicker causing her husky cough to return.
The main sanctuary doors at the other end of the aisle quickly opened revealing a handful of uniformed Military Police officers, flashlights and assault firearms poised at the ready.
“Czigani Salahori, you’re under arrest for the murder of your father, Captain Jorgio Salahori” The lead officer held the girl at gunpoint “You sick piece of gypsy trash” He mumbled under his breath, but loud enough to be heard “Why’d you have to burn him alive…”
The girl, her eyes wide with a mix of anger and fear, looked back at the priest, whose somber expression gave away too much.
“Y-You called them?” She exclaimed, her voice echoing throughout the sanctuary hall. “Bastard Gadjo!...I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you! What the hell happened to that ‘seal of confession’, or whatever bullshit you assholes are supposed to follow?”
The priest shifted uncomfortably as he spoke. “I didn’t tell them anything, except that you were here. They already knew the rest Czigani…”
The woman, enraged, lunged out toward the priest from her sitting position “You son of a b-...” She was caught by one of the officers mid-way, spun around, and pushed back down onto the floor. “Fuck! He deserved it! You pricks knew he was corrupt and abusive-” Her words caught in her throat, as the lead officer pushed her face against the cold floor and clasped her wrists with handcuffs, taking extra care to tighten them until she screamed.
“Shut your whore mouth!" The arresting officer snarled, his knee pressed firmly against her back. "Cop-killer scum like you don’t have rights. And where you’re going, you’ll wish I’d put a bullet in your head right here.”
------------------------------------------------------
The long trip to the R&D Ring was anything but pleasant, but why should it be? Thrown in the back of a police cruiser, chained to the seat, with two heavily armed and armored officers flanking doesn’t usually mean you’re being brought in on a misdemeanor charge. Although her snarky comments and sarcastic disposition did nothing to help her, and only awarded her a swift elbow in the jaw. No, this was some real damage Czigani had done, a scar to not only the community, but to the Military Police force. Her father, warts and all, was a well-respected and upstanding officer within the R&D, and his brutal death sent a ripple that would never be mended so easily.
They just didn’t see in him what she saw throughout most of her life.
The transport pulled up to the precinct, and the woman was practically dragged into the building by the two officers and tossed into a holding cell where she sat, swearing and banging on the cell door, until a few hours later was visited by a large figure she hoped to never see again.
“Hello Miss Salahori” The towering beast, more machine than man as he appeared, leaned against the barred door holding a holopad with a series of scrolling information, his expression painted with a hint of amusement, and his eyes glowed with an almost sinister intent.
“I see you’ve been a very bad girl.
“You!” Czigani’s eyes widened and mouth agape, but no sound came out.
“Officer Reinhardt actually, but you can call me Drei, or whatever...”
“Asshole”
“That works too” He grunted, keying in a few digits on the holopad before continuing. “So, you’ve got quite the rap sheet: petty theft, some vandalism, oh...and mostly graffiti related on private property…”
“Pfft, it’s not ‘graffiti’ you dick..” She interrupted, laying her head back against the stone wall. “It’s artwork, something you’ll never get through your cyberfreak neanderthal head”.
Reinhardt, paying little attention, continued scanning through the list until he stopped at a particular section.
“Ah, so that explains all the ink - you call “artwork” - covering that pretty little body of yours. The genetic mutation gave you power over them. A sort of ”Art Manipulation”, if you will. And I suppose that would also explain the black ink markings around your father’s neck”
“Yeah, I strangled his sorry ass for laying hands on me.” She lifted her right arm into the light, revealing a reptilian creature tattoo wrapped from her wrist to her shoulder. “This one here, he’s a nasty bugger when he wants to be, and it knows when to step in. So, it was your beloved ‘Captain’s’ own damn fault for touching me”
Reinhardt nodded, intrigued to a point, but trying his best to keep from putting his fist through her skull. “So, a defense mechanism? Interesting.”
“Look numbnuts, are we going to be here all fucking day? Isn’t there a quiet corner you could put me in so I don’t have to listen to your droning voice?”
The cell door suddenly slid open, and before Czigani could react, the large cybernetically enhanced officer had her pinned up against the cold wall, his metal hand slowly clamping down around her neck. The woman’s face was a mixture of surprise and anger, but she was helpless to do anything at that moment.
“Do you think this is a game? I could kill you right here, right now, and no one would give two shits about it” His voice was low, gritty, and a raging fire seemed to erupt in his cybernetic eyes.
“In fact, I would love nothing more than to tear you limb from limb and let those mutant shit-hounds that scour the lower sections feast on your pathetic remains. No one will remember you ever existed. And all of that precious work you call ‘art’?...well...it’ll be nothing but a bad memory. But you’re not going anywhere. Oh no, you’re not getting out of this as easily as death. You will get what is coming...”
Reinhardt gave her a swift elbow in the stomach and released his grip, causing her to double over onto the floor. He remained still for a moment before walking away.
“That was only a warning, bitch. Hard times will be ahead and one way or another you are going to cooperate with us.”
A slight chuckle replaced the previous heated anger.
“Re-Education is coming, my dear...” |
8,348 | 228 | 0 | 220 | 2,523 | (While most OOC should be kept in the OOC tab, small amounts of OOC can be added to the beginning or end of your post if necessary by using the parentheses symbols '( )'. Also, I do not expect your posts to be this long, please do not feel the pressure to perform like this at all times, but do make a good entrance post!)
New York Slums: Alley Between 12th and Porter
The sound of heavy breaths echoed softly through the alleys of the slums. Large boots over tiny feet pounded the puddles of the murky corridor, frantic, unknowing. The desperate gasps belonged to a young girl, no older than flowering age, likely just entering the cusp of adulthood. Tears cascaded down from her red eyes, her lip quivering, rain and teardrops alike painting her face with each desperate slam of her boot. She was adorned with torn, filthy rags; it was clear she belonged to the one of the countless orphan groups of the slums.
*TAK TAK TAK* Trailing behind her by no more than a few bounds length was one of them. Dark, mysterious, lanky, deadly, just a few of the words used to describe the towering Seekers. The race for freedom was hopeless for the frail girl, even in hurling refuse bins into the nightmare's path while, it simply hurdled over them with ease to continue chase. Rounding into the final neck of the alley, it seemed the girl might actually make it to safety. Closer and closer she inched towards the dimly lit avenue, hoping the crowd of the street would save her, until...
A soft crack echoed through the alleys of the slums
The frail girl let out a faint yelp before falling silent. The large, craning hand of the metal apparition had crossed paths with her skull. Crimson splatter misted into the atmosphere. The victim ragdolled onto the pavement, her face colliding with the cobbled alley floor with a sickening crunch. She was defenseless. The looming figure ripped the delicate body from the pavement by one of her unkempt hair-tails. Slinging the body over its shoulder, the metal contraption returned to the depths of the alley, the light of the street vanishing once more...
---------------------------------
4 Hour Later. Location: Abandoned Apartment Complex 149
Where am I... Why does my head hurt so bad...
Slowly opening her blood-crusted eyes, the feeble girl glanced about the room. She was laying on a decayed mattress in a derelict apartment. Trash pooled to nearly the counter tops, vermin scurrying through the refuse. The girl went to move, only the find her injured body bound to the mattress frame with chain and wire. Her lips were silenced with several layers of packers tape. The young fawn struggled with all her might to escape captivity, but to no avail; She would remain audience to her captors for the time being. Craning her neck, the girl let out a muffled yelp as the bloody scab on her head injury ripped from her skull, remaining with the mattress where it had dried. A small tear escaped, but the had to be strong. She could not show it fear.
From the shadow the beast came lurking. Tall, thin, sophisticated. The violet plating of its armor absorbing the rays of light that poured in from the broken window pain, casting no reflection. It lumbered forward, slowly, step by step, stopping at the end of the decayed bed. The girl squirmed, frantically, the bindings digging into her flesh as she tried with every fiber of her being to escape. The creature did not respond. The towering giant emitted strange, indecipherable sounds. Out of the blue, without hesitation, as almost if it was completed it one fell swoop, the beast raised it's metallic arm high into the air, its mechanical fingers uniting into a menacing blade, preparing to crash down.
The sound of glass shattering echoed through the air, accompanied by the terrified shrills of the small girl. But nothing happening. Her eyes peeked open a moment later. The creature lie twitching, the remnants of its head painted onto the adjacent wall.
FFFFFWWWWWOOOSSSSSSHHHHHCHCHCHCHHCHCH
The soundwave of the high-caliber round boomed through the air, catching up with its projectile seconds too late. The girl knew she was safe. They had come for her after all.
---------------------------------
"Good work Sierra, keep an eye on the girl until the extraction team arrives. Once they get back to base, clean the girl up and let her rest before debriefing. She's got a lot of valuable intel if our scouts are to be trusted."
"Of course Miss Lyn, right away."
Why do they call me miss, I hate proper titles...
Lyn spun in her pivot chair several times before hoping out in a dizzy-stupor, stumbling over to the guard rail overlooking her compound. Covering the overlook to her small room was a one-way, bulletproof glass. To everyone below it just looked like another sheet of plate metal on the ceiling of the base. Little did they know the figure they all idolized was right above their noses, literally. Of course this was not her permanent base, almost nothing POLTAVA did was permanent, in the interest of security. This forward base was deemed useful for looking over their supply lines in and out of the east wing of 'Midtown', the name given to the cities middle-class ring. From this post Lyn could provide feedback to the surrounding bases on what supplies they could expect to receive, leaving the occupants confused and grateful, wondering how The Thinker obtained such knowledge 'without ever stepping foot outside her tree.'
Near the rail was a bowl of one of her favorite 'indulgences'. When Lyn invited someone to visit her, it was always for hot chocolate, never for a meal. Why? Because hot chocolate was much more appetizing than sardines and mandarin oranges sprinkled with poppy-seeds. But ohhhh is it good, she thought, letting one of the preserved fish slide down her throat.
Turning her attention back to the base, Lyn thought about venturing out to greet her comrades. Lyn was a very 'hands on' type of person, always stopping to give the younger girls a hug or peck on the cheek. Lyn was considered the mother figure of The Three Kings, and was treated as such, being the most highly respected. In return Lyn was always kind to the girls she met, whether just for her love of the girls to be happy or free, or for her own personal motives (Lyn proverbially 'walked both sides of the street')**.
But for now she would just watch... And eat a few more sardines.
(**Left this in here because even though I completely overhauled almost every sentence of my old, atrocious writing, this is just hilariously me from over 5 years ago. And who knows, it could always open a romance route!) | Name: Miroslav AKA Miro AKA The Demon of the Construction Site.
Sex: Male
Age: 19
Faction: Resistance-cooperator Citizen.
Appearance: Miro is a lean, shorter than average scruffy youth with slavic features. He has icy blue eyes, pale complexion, and short black hair. Beneath his clothes, he's actually very toned and muscular, and he has a couple of faded out scars in his body, as well as a couple of bullet scars, more recent.
Clothing: Miro usually dresses in baggy, non restrictive clothes, such as cargo pants, loose, monochromatic Tshirts, and a baggy sweater. The most outstanding piece are his clothing is his boots. Sturdy,steel reinforced and high quality, these are one of the pieces Miro cares for, as they aid him to perform to his fullest.
Personality: Miro is rather gruff to approach, and rather sparse in his words. He often makes very laconic statements, even when he's impressed. Underneath his rough shell, lies a rather scarred and tormented kind person, who has seen the horrors of humanity up close even as a child. For that very reason, he's very supportive and protective of the underdogs, and specially of kids and teenagers like him. Loyal to those few who managed to befriend him, Miro doesn't hesitate when it comes to trading blows, specially for the sake of his loved ones, and he does it with a viciousness and vindictiviness only seen in war-torn people.
Weapons: His fists and legs. He's actually a MMA fighter, as well as a good traceur. He knows how to shoot a gun, but he rarely carries one of those, what with all the Martial Law and whatnot.
Equipment: His clothes, a wallet, a cellphone, and a pocket knife (more a tool than a weapon). He also owns a motorbike and a Gymnasium in the slums where he sleeps and trains (and doubles as safe house for GMG).
Bio:Miroslav and his sister Olga were a couple of war-orphans hailing from a eastern europe country. In the world-upsetting wake of the Life 0 virus, little Miro did his best to keep him and his sister alive, as the Order of the world crumbled around them. Fortunately for them, this caught the eye of an american foreigner, which brought them to the USA as child refugees. Olga was then soon adopted by the government, although at that time Miro wasn't aware of the implications of such a thing. He was happy he had fulfilled his elder brother obligations. Unlike Olga, he was never adopted, and in time, he sunk in hopelessness and bitterness, becoming some sort of a troublesome youth. What drove him the most mad, though, was that he never, once received news of his sister.
Fortunately, a charitable soul intervened. A former washed out martial artist and traceur, who picked him out of the streets because he was nimble. He taught him discipline, education, restraint, martial arts, parkour, and morals. He in turn, participated in tournaments to bring the fame his master could never achieve, both legal and illegal. It was a harsh life, full of pain, blood and tears, but at least Miro knew he could make a living, and sleep well at night, not once worrying wether the next time he would wake up would have a gun aimed at his face.
However, eventually, all things would come to an end. Vincent Banks, the man who took Miro in, was dying from a strange freak cancer, fruit of years of substance abuse. Miro found himself on the situation to take care of his gymnasium and funeral, since Vincent had alienated himself from all his past acquaintances. However, Miro took it in stride, and did as the old man who had been his surrogate father wished. But then the dilemma struck. What to do after? He had won a tournament. He had taken care of his master remains.
Fate had a funny way to tell him. In front of his eyes, on a certain night in the slums, someone who never expected to run again into appeared. It was Olga. Her sister, all grown up. But she was dishevelled, wounded and in intense fear. Despite that, she managed to recognize him aswell, as she pleaded for help as she ran into a nearby block, panicked. His shock widened as a whole squad of SWAT followed, guns blazing, after her.
Government or not, he would never ignore a plea of his sister, and with a disgusted grimace, he set out after the squad. It was reliving his old life again. With hostile soldiers everywhere. But now, he had something. He could fight back to an extent. The first of them never knew what had snuck up him, as two deft hands suddenly appeared from his behind, twisting his neck in an unnatural angle, before jumping and vanishing on the many pillars and blocks of the construction building. The second was only a little luckier, as he saw the fast motion of the shovel before it cleanly cleaved its face. The third got a couple of lucky grazing shots, before he chocked when Miro stuffed his mouth with a ignited smoke grenade. It was then when the fourth requested reinforcements, his eyes wide as he opened fire on the once again, vanishing Miro. He didn't last, though, as Olga had managed to sneak up on him aswell and shot him in the face, without hesitation.
She smiled, blood covering her face, as she devolved into tears soon after, clutching her wounds. "I knew you would come to get me." She said between sobs. "Listen-WATCH OUT."
She interrupted herself as she drove Miro out of her way, three shots of automatic gunfire impacting on her lithe body with dull thuds. The reinforcements were there. In the form of something Miro had never seen before. An indescriptible monstrosity, who was a very wrong sin against creation and sense.
Love has caused wars. Love has made people lift up cars, breaking their spines in the process, to save others. Love has made people jump into trains to push people out of the way. Love has made people tackle bears. And Love made Miro defy all kind of sense and self-preservation, upon engaging the Seeker. It readjusted and fired upon him, but Miro...flew. Jumping through the beams, climbing, running, never stopping at once. Steel beams, chains, even the odd grenade or weapon from the discarded SWAT team, he threw everything at the thing, without pause nor hesitation. The thing shrugged everything with contemptous ease, and was managing to even hit him with his weapons. Not that Miro could ever feel at that point he was gravely injuried and had been shot several times. He just kept going and going on the self-destructive deadlock, until fortune smiled at him.
A pool of wet cement. Without thinking twice, he rammed the thing as hard as he could into the pool, sealing its movement. But he wasn't done yet, as he summoned the last of his strength for the coup de grace. Lifting a heavy jackhammer and leveling it against the creature's head, he didn't hesitate to pound the creature's skull with the construction machinery for a while for good measure until it stopped moving and screeching.
The weight of his wounds finally caught up to him, as he crawled towards the limp figure of his sister. She wasn't moving. She didn't even have a pulse. But she had the most placid smile in his face. Miro couldn't even begin to cry, before unconsciousness set in. When he woke up, his wounds had been tended, and there was an unknown girl besides him. She explained an ominous story, about girls being used as experiments, and that Olga had been one of them, much like her. His struggle had not pass unnoticed, and she asked for his help, despite being in mourning. They had very few allies, after all.
Miro just looked once away, before saying he would help. After all, they had to pay for whatever they had done with his sister. |
8,349 | 228 | 1 | 1,506 | 208 | Night in the city that never sleeps was a lot quieter these years. With the world gone to shit around them, it was a trial just to survive to the next day. Some had even more to worry about, though. Joy was an escapee from that god awful facility where they did who knows what to girls like her. She was lucky, but only for the first two weeks. After that, she was barely making by with what she had. Nights spent creeping outside to look for food and supplies were painstakingly long to avoid nighttime patrols. At least they were sparse and she was less likely to be found out than in the day time. Still, she had grown into a nocturnal sleeping habit and often missed a lot during the day. She had to be vigilant and on the move, knowing full well that no place was entirely safe, just not searched yet.
The last night had been a wreck. She had to off one of the patrols to get ammunition. That would bring more trouble than it was worth, but she couldn't walk around without bullets in her guns. Nor without food in her stomach, and she just barely managed to get a hold on some protein bars. They were a godsend. She'd had to resort to hunting and cooking rats, hoping that she didn't get any sort of diseases from them, but it was either that or die of starvation. Or worse. She hadn't bathed since she left the facility, and a year's worth of grime and dirt clung to her skin along with the smell. She hated how she smelled, but she could barely do anything beyond using precious water to dab at her face and pick at her teeth. For now, she tried to not let it bother her too much seeing as how there was nothing she could do about it substantially.
As Joy trudged on through the junkyard she called home, she was careful to look and see if she was being followed. No doubt government units would be out for blood for the next week or so. Damn, but she didn't have much of a choice. She took a last glance before opening the back of one of the vans, broken down and missing more than just a few tires, and shut the door. She pulled her pack off and grabbed one of the power bars. Yes, she'd be able to sleep without an empty stomach tonight. A win for her, but getting by day to day was a battle in it's own right. She chowed down, washing it down with some water from her canteen, before packing up and drawing the makeshift curtains she put in behind the front seats to keep the sun out. After that, she took her boots and jacket off, put her pack down as a pillow, and crawled into her sleeping bag.
She ran a hand through her unkempt hair. She had wanted it cut short to try and pass off as a male, but the dog tag she wore around her neck that had her name, serial number, blood type, and birth date on it was pure proof she was a GMG. At least that needed to be read first and the hair was a quick glance. She yawned and pulled the jacket over her eyes to simulate darkness before silently praying that she would be able to sleep safely this day. | Reserved for Lyn if I ever decide to make a character sheet for her. I lost it. I DO WHAT I WANT. |
8,350 | 228 | 2 | 1,277 | 218 | Just keep your head down and keep walking, don't bring any attention to yourself and you should be perfectly find, Joslyn found herself thinking as she walked by a handful of uniformed police officers, Don't give them a reason and they won't bother you, mind your own business... just keep on moving... As she made her way past the group, she glanced over to see what it was that had their seemingly undivided attention, her mis-matched eyes hidden behind the dark lenses of her sunglasses. As her eyes landed on the rather gruesome sight that was rather poorly hidden by government bodies, she couldn't help but frown at what undoubtedly remained of one of her own. Joslyn had come to terms with what eventually happened to many GMGs months ago, but that did not make seeing the mutilated corpses of those who had been found and killed any easier. Looks like someone didn't make it back to their home last night...
Just as she was passing the final officer, one of them spoke up and called her attention to them, "Hey, what do you think you're doing walking so close to a scene?" a male voice demanded, causing her to tense up as she prepared to make a run for it, "Stop your lingering and get outta here before we bag you for impeding an investigation!"
Joslyn simply made a face as she hurried on her way, not wanting to give them anymore of a reason to grab her now that their attention had been drawn to her simply by her walking by. Yeah... right... there is not going to be an investigation, you are all just the clean up crew, she thought rather dejectedly. She had no idea who the remains belonged to, if they had someone waiting for them or even what faction they belonged to, but she couldn't help the sense of sadness that washed over her at the loss of life. She hated the non-stop fighting and the constant running that had long since became a necessary part of their existence, an existence that they had no say in whether or not they became a part of.
As she rounded the corner, a small sigh passed her lips,her hands coming up to rub her temples as she finished what was left of her trek home. The building she utilized wasn't anything special, had technically become condemned after a fire had broken out a couple months ago, but the apartment that she stayed in had remained virtually untouched by what had happened. What was even better was pretty much everything had been left behind, leaving her with a nearly fully furnished home that she may have become a little too comfortable in, considering she had taken the time to get much darker drapes for the windosws. Flopping down on the couch, she found herself staring blankly at the ceiling, not entirely sure what it was she was meant to do with the free time she had. When she wasn't out collecting intel, she was doing her best to try to find other GMGs so she could try to help them relocate to safer area's of the city. Sometimes she was successful, sometimes the girls were entirely too terrified and would refuse to go with her, rarer still, sometimes they would shoot at her.
"Nothing like getting shot at by someone you are trying to help," she grumbled to herself as she reached out to pick up one of the many books that were strewn across her coffee table, "I am already getting rather bored of this entire thing. I need to either meet someone that will spice things up a bit... or I need to go on another mission or something. I am already going stir crazy." Letting out a sigh, she rubbed her face before cracking open the book she had chosen after removing her sunglasses. | Name: Joslyn (Jossie) Vulcas
Sex: Female
Age: 17
Experiment Tier: Test Subject
Enhanced Trait 1:
Enhanced Vision:
Josyln’s enhanced Vision allows her to see with almost startling clarity, making it possible for her to pick up on the smallest of details when she is out in the field or simply trying her hardest to blend in and collect intel. Along with her ability to see clearer than the average human, she is also able to see things further away without the aid of a scope, giving her the ability to be an amazing sniper, though she does not classify as the best as she knows there is always someone out there better than herself. While she can see well enough in the dark, if the area is completely devoid of any form of light (i.e moonlight) she is unable to see just like any average human.
Enhanced Trait 1:
Downside: Light Sensitivity
While Joslyn enjoys the perks of being able to see far and in complete clarity, this enhancement caused her to develop an acute sensitivity to light. Due to this, she must always wear sunglasses until nightfall and, unless the room is dim enough, while under artificial lighting. Part of her counts this as a blessing in disguise as it offers her a way to hide her eyes from those who are looking for her, as they are the most notable feature that she maintains. Should she be subjected to bright light (i.e a flash bang) without the proper eye protection, her sight is rendered useless until such a time that her retina’s are able to adjust and right themselves.
Enhanced Trait 2:
Heightened Reflexes
While she is unable to dodge bullets, Joslyn’s reflexes have been enhanced in order to allow her reaction time to be far greater than the average human. The messages that travel from her brain to her limbs take far less time to communicate the need to do something, allowing her to react faster and take less time to process situations as they occur. Her heightened reflexes also increase her rate of fire depending on the firearm she is using at the time and aid her well in hand to hand (or overall close range) combat.
Enhanced Trait 2:
Downside: Twitchy
Due to her uncanny habit of twitching, whether it is when someone touches her or when she is forced into a fast reaction time too many times in a row, Joslyn attempts not to rely on this ability too much. While engaged in close combat, should she take a particularly hard hit (or a harmful hit in general) her body’s reflex is typically over exaggerated and could potentially cause more harm than good to herself.
Faction: Poltava
Appearance:
Height: 5’7
Weight: 145 lbs
Distinct Feature(s): HeteroChromia (LE Green / RE teal)
Clothing: See second picture for shirt style, typically wearing black jeans or slacks and a pair of black sneakers. Due to her light sensitivity, Joslyn also wears a pair of sunglasses that she rarely takes off.
Personality:
Joslyn prefers to keep to herself when she can, though she is not shy by any means but seems far from approachable due to the fact that she always looks rather mad, even when she is not. Usually very straight forward and blunt, she hates to sugar coat things and is usually the person to go to if you want the hard truth about something. Once one gets past the bluntness and permanent ‘I will kill you’ look, she is overall a fun person to be around who enjoys a good joke just as much as the next person.
Weapons: SR-25 (Semi-automatic special application sniper rifle 7.62x51mm), PMR-30 (.22 magnum), and a few well placed throwing knives.
Equipment:
Emergency Kit Containing:
Lighter
Compass
Camelbak
Disposable Cell Phone
Emergency Tinder
Magnesium Starter
Emergency Rations
First-Aid Kit (small)
Canteen
Aqua Iodine Tablets
S&W SWAT Knife
Mini LED Flashlight
GERBER
Bio:
Taken at a young age, Joslyn does not have much of a childhood to remember as she spent most of her years in a facility being put through an array of tests. While she remembers nothing that happened between the ages of 8 and 16, she can remember what few years of clarity she had with her Mother and Father. Both of her parents always seemed to be happy and madly in love with one another, a feeling they also shared with their daughter who never went without. She always went to parks to play with the other local children, a place she assumed she was taken from as she could not remember anything leading up to the week that shew as taken. Despite many attempts to try and recollect the eight years of memories she did not have, she had nothing to show for it as every attempt resulted in a failure.
When she had managed to escape the facility with the Three Kings, Joslyn had attempted to find her family, wanting to go back to them, to let them know that she was ok despite her genetic modifications. When she got to the outside of the house she remembered living in eight years ago, she found it in the state that she had left it, immaculate and well taken care of. However, when she peered inside, she saw only a shadow of the man her father was sitting in front of the television with beer bottles all around him and a young boy pleading for his attention.
Not being able to take the sight before her, she left without so much as knocking on the door and found her way into the Poltava faction. While she could fight if need be, she preferred doing things from afar, or simply not at all as she isn’t much of a violent person unless the situation calls for it. While she finds no pleasure in what was done to her, she could not bring herself to join the faction that actively attacked the government, despite the fact that she blames them for everything that she saw through that window.
At present she volunteers as a sniper when one is needed, doing her part in an attempt to earn her keep with those she decided to join. While she has no issues with remaining in the shadows, even she is aware that there are times when violence is a necessity and when the government is after you, sometimes that necessity happens a lot. |
8,351 | 228 | 3 | 220 | 2,523 | New York Slums: Vinnie's Gym
Miro sniffed the vanilla scent one more time, before leaving the third plate on the table, with pancakes neatly stacked in a rather sizable tower of sugary death. After some pondering, he added the syrupy final touch, just as he heard yells and screams from the shower. Miro tensed for a second, until he heard the carefree giggling of two of the girls, followed by a towel slap and a squeal.
Oookay... Miro's mind quickly raced to imagine what kind of ...peculiar situation that one was, but clearing his throat, he composed himself. Just as he eyed the third of the strays already eating his pancakes, with a bad case of bedhead, and eyes half open as she devoured her breakfast like she had not eaten in days. She probably hadn't eaten in days.
"So noisy..." the girl mumbled as she drank a glass of milk that had been deposited next to her.
"Hmpf." Miro grumped as he shrugged his arms in response, leaving the dirty dishes in the sink. He was decent cooking, but he was a bit of a slacker when it came to cleaning.
"Thanks for the bed and breakfast, Miro." The girl droned as the youth scowled, looking away from her face. Who wouldn't give them a bed and breakfast, knowing the situation the girls were in? Miro was about to make a retort, when the other two girls appeared, homing on the scent of recently made pancakes.
Wearing nothing but towels and underwear.
Miro decided he had enough, so he grabbed a couple of bars, while trying to reign all the conflicting signals he was receiving, his eyes glued on his feet. Time to get the hell out of there. Parkour training. Yes, parkour seemed a good idea.
"Maybe he's gay?" One of the girls muttered as she started to eat his pancakes.
New York Slums: Junkyard
This kind of environment was a good thing for a traceur, Miro thought as he stretched, eyeing the assorted scraps and mounds everywhere. Irregular structures, breakable surfaces, and basically, no one to disturb him. He breathed deep and started his run. First a climb, then a jump, then a side roll. Then a wallkick. He kept going and going.
And then he jumped on one of the vans. I'm invincible! He thought to himself as he kept one upping his tricks. He had to. No one ordinary could keep up with the world that he had been introduced, full of teenagers with strange abilities and government conspiracies... And then, upon the prompt, the very image of the breakfast he had been avoiding surged back in his mind. The image of the towel girls made the young man skip a crucial step, sending him barreling towards one of the vans.
"OW!" He said, after painfully bouncing against it, making a lot of noise, and ending up sprawled on the floor. | Name: Miroslav AKA Miro AKA The Demon of the Construction Site.
Sex: Male
Age: 19
Faction: Resistance-cooperator Citizen.
Appearance: Miro is a lean, shorter than average scruffy youth with slavic features. He has icy blue eyes, pale complexion, and short black hair. Beneath his clothes, he's actually very toned and muscular, and he has a couple of faded out scars in his body, as well as a couple of bullet scars, more recent.
Clothing: Miro usually dresses in baggy, non restrictive clothes, such as cargo pants, loose, monochromatic Tshirts, and a baggy sweater. The most outstanding piece are his clothing is his boots. Sturdy,steel reinforced and high quality, these are one of the pieces Miro cares for, as they aid him to perform to his fullest.
Personality: Miro is rather gruff to approach, and rather sparse in his words. He often makes very laconic statements, even when he's impressed. Underneath his rough shell, lies a rather scarred and tormented kind person, who has seen the horrors of humanity up close even as a child. For that very reason, he's very supportive and protective of the underdogs, and specially of kids and teenagers like him. Loyal to those few who managed to befriend him, Miro doesn't hesitate when it comes to trading blows, specially for the sake of his loved ones, and he does it with a viciousness and vindictiviness only seen in war-torn people.
Weapons: His fists and legs. He's actually a MMA fighter, as well as a good traceur. He knows how to shoot a gun, but he rarely carries one of those, what with all the Martial Law and whatnot.
Equipment: His clothes, a wallet, a cellphone, and a pocket knife (more a tool than a weapon). He also owns a motorbike and a Gymnasium in the slums where he sleeps and trains (and doubles as safe house for GMG).
Bio:Miroslav and his sister Olga were a couple of war-orphans hailing from a eastern europe country. In the world-upsetting wake of the Life 0 virus, little Miro did his best to keep him and his sister alive, as the Order of the world crumbled around them. Fortunately for them, this caught the eye of an american foreigner, which brought them to the USA as child refugees. Olga was then soon adopted by the government, although at that time Miro wasn't aware of the implications of such a thing. He was happy he had fulfilled his elder brother obligations. Unlike Olga, he was never adopted, and in time, he sunk in hopelessness and bitterness, becoming some sort of a troublesome youth. What drove him the most mad, though, was that he never, once received news of his sister.
Fortunately, a charitable soul intervened. A former washed out martial artist and traceur, who picked him out of the streets because he was nimble. He taught him discipline, education, restraint, martial arts, parkour, and morals. He in turn, participated in tournaments to bring the fame his master could never achieve, both legal and illegal. It was a harsh life, full of pain, blood and tears, but at least Miro knew he could make a living, and sleep well at night, not once worrying wether the next time he would wake up would have a gun aimed at his face.
However, eventually, all things would come to an end. Vincent Banks, the man who took Miro in, was dying from a strange freak cancer, fruit of years of substance abuse. Miro found himself on the situation to take care of his gymnasium and funeral, since Vincent had alienated himself from all his past acquaintances. However, Miro took it in stride, and did as the old man who had been his surrogate father wished. But then the dilemma struck. What to do after? He had won a tournament. He had taken care of his master remains.
Fate had a funny way to tell him. In front of his eyes, on a certain night in the slums, someone who never expected to run again into appeared. It was Olga. Her sister, all grown up. But she was dishevelled, wounded and in intense fear. Despite that, she managed to recognize him aswell, as she pleaded for help as she ran into a nearby block, panicked. His shock widened as a whole squad of SWAT followed, guns blazing, after her.
Government or not, he would never ignore a plea of his sister, and with a disgusted grimace, he set out after the squad. It was reliving his old life again. With hostile soldiers everywhere. But now, he had something. He could fight back to an extent. The first of them never knew what had snuck up him, as two deft hands suddenly appeared from his behind, twisting his neck in an unnatural angle, before jumping and vanishing on the many pillars and blocks of the construction building. The second was only a little luckier, as he saw the fast motion of the shovel before it cleanly cleaved its face. The third got a couple of lucky grazing shots, before he chocked when Miro stuffed his mouth with a ignited smoke grenade. It was then when the fourth requested reinforcements, his eyes wide as he opened fire on the once again, vanishing Miro. He didn't last, though, as Olga had managed to sneak up on him aswell and shot him in the face, without hesitation.
She smiled, blood covering her face, as she devolved into tears soon after, clutching her wounds. "I knew you would come to get me." She said between sobs. "Listen-WATCH OUT."
She interrupted herself as she drove Miro out of her way, three shots of automatic gunfire impacting on her lithe body with dull thuds. The reinforcements were there. In the form of something Miro had never seen before. An indescriptible monstrosity, who was a very wrong sin against creation and sense.
Love has caused wars. Love has made people lift up cars, breaking their spines in the process, to save others. Love has made people jump into trains to push people out of the way. Love has made people tackle bears. And Love made Miro defy all kind of sense and self-preservation, upon engaging the Seeker. It readjusted and fired upon him, but Miro...flew. Jumping through the beams, climbing, running, never stopping at once. Steel beams, chains, even the odd grenade or weapon from the discarded SWAT team, he threw everything at the thing, without pause nor hesitation. The thing shrugged everything with contemptous ease, and was managing to even hit him with his weapons. Not that Miro could ever feel at that point he was gravely injuried and had been shot several times. He just kept going and going on the self-destructive deadlock, until fortune smiled at him.
A pool of wet cement. Without thinking twice, he rammed the thing as hard as he could into the pool, sealing its movement. But he wasn't done yet, as he summoned the last of his strength for the coup de grace. Lifting a heavy jackhammer and leveling it against the creature's head, he didn't hesitate to pound the creature's skull with the construction machinery for a while for good measure until it stopped moving and screeching.
The weight of his wounds finally caught up to him, as he crawled towards the limp figure of his sister. She wasn't moving. She didn't even have a pulse. But she had the most placid smile in his face. Miro couldn't even begin to cry, before unconsciousness set in. When he woke up, his wounds had been tended, and there was an unknown girl besides him. She explained an ominous story, about girls being used as experiments, and that Olga had been one of them, much like her. His struggle had not pass unnoticed, and she asked for his help, despite being in mourning. They had very few allies, after all.
Miro just looked once away, before saying he would help. After all, they had to pay for whatever they had done with his sister. |
8,352 | 228 | 4 | 1,506 | 208 | It was...a peaceful afternoon. Birds weren't unnecessarily chirping about, no patrols came through here unless they had a reason to, and the local groundskeeper barely knew what was happening. Peaceful, until she heard a series of loud bangs, and yelling. Jesus, why. Who was doing that at this place.
"Hey! Shut up and fuck off!" She yelled.
Joy's voice was a bit deep for a girl her age, but she made her best effort despite being dead tired to make herself more likely to be mistaken for a man. It was one of the many things she practiced daily to come off more male-like, which was needed in this world. She had to be up on the new kind of deception warfare she was engaging in to hide her identity, or else she'd have a worse time trying to survive. | Reserved for Lyn if I ever decide to make a character sheet for her. I lost it. I DO WHAT I WANT. |
8,353 | 228 | 5 | 846 | 1,744 | Adrian was out "appraising" some battle-scarred properties he could flip for a profit when he stubled upon a burnt-out apartment-complex that could use a bit of shoring-up structurally and some re-wiring to bring it up to code. The place was naturally in a pretty nasty corner of the neighborhood, but there was always something about that seemed to attract tenants to this place.
Flashlight in hand, he waded through the charred remnants until about the second floor where the fire seemed to have mysteriously stopped, leaving only smoke-damaged furniture and soot... aside from being pretty sure there were chunks of floor that would need to be completely replaced, the second floor looked fine enough to start renting-out immediately.
>"Nothing like getting shot at by someone you are trying to help,"
Or so he thought, a bit prematurely as he heard a woman's voice from one of the rooms. Shutting off his torch, he crept upon this unwary spectre, and upon seeing a... dark... lump on a bed, he immediately flicked his torch back on upon it, as though the light would banish it away like a giant cockroach.
It was around then it dawned upon him that perhaps this person was armed, or on drugs, or homicidally-insane...
The moment the light hit the bed, a small groan could be heard, followed by a shout as the figure scrambled out of the bed with an arm over her eyes. "What the fuck?! Turn that damn thing off!" shouted a female, the light of his torch showing a woman in a pair of black slacks and a black long sleeve shirt, "What the hell are you doing in my home?"
With her arm still over her eyes, the young girl reached out for the .22 she usually kept close by and haphazardly pointed it at the intruder. As the light of the torch had ran over her face, she found that she was currently unable to see, the burning within her eyes causing them to tear up as she cocked the hammer back on her handgun. At some point during the night she had set aside her book and retreated to the bedroom to try to get some rest, which only seemed to have lasted a short while.
The moment he saw the gun, his first thoughts were 'hypocritical, much?' as he tried to dodge the figure's blind aiming skills, only to realize she was following the light, which he flicked-off to leave everyone equally in complete baffling darkness.
"Wait, your home?" He queried in the quietness that followed, mostly to re-assure that they were both still there and not imagining the entire encounter. After pausing, he realized that he failed to answer her question, and she asked first; "I was just having a look around. Figured I could salvage the place for a profit. Of course, then you'd have to pay for utilities, but that also means you'd have warm running water and heat this winter." It was possible to see that his brain was already thinking of how to turn a long-term profit out of this. He felt no shame in taking advantage of this obviously hung-over junkie. Still, it was a junkie with a gun and a strong sense of privacy.
"People already know I'm appraising this place, if I don't return with a recommendation to fix this place up, it'll be demolished soon. Mind if I turn my light back on and have a look around?" | Name: Adrian Vance
Sex: Male
Age: 28
Faction: Slumlord-bartender
Appearance: Da.
Clothing: See "Da."
Personality: Crusty exterior, with a side of wise-sass. But underneath all that genuinely cares for the welfare of his patrons.
Weapons: Pump Shotgun, fists, bad langrage.
Equipment: He runs a bar, so he's got a pretty good selection of craft-beers and hard-liquors via some fermentation-vats and a still. He's also got a grill, a deep-fryer, and a seldom-used coffee-maker somewhere in the back.
Bio:
Working on it. Jeeze, why do you always have to be so negative? |
8,354 | 228 | 6 | 1,277 | 218 | Joslyn tilted her head to the side as she reached out blindly to a pair of sunglasses that were resting on the nightstand, a frown on her face as she pulled them onto her face. "Burning out my retinas is not very kind," she bit out, her voice strained, "I would prefer it if you did not turn the damn thing on, but if you must then go ahead now that my eyes are sufficently covered. As for utilities... I have no real need for them..." As it was clear the man did not seem to mean any harm, she lowered her weapon and slowly stood up, surprisingly steady on her feet though her right hand twitched a couple times.
The thought that she had more than likely just lost the place she had started to call home was rather bothersome, she really didn't want to put herself on the raidar and this place had helped her prevent that. Letting out a small sigh, she rubbed her face, careful to avoid ther sunglasses, "Look, could we work something out so I can stay here? I don't have a job so paying utilities isn't even in my abilities."
Adrian rubbed his stubbled chin, thinking at the girl's predicament before replying,"Well, sorry about your eyes. What if I could get you a job?" He fumbled around the dark room -not wishing to provoke further ire from the hostess- until he found a suitable chair to sit upon as he watched the figure pace around the room, she seemed restless.
"I run a bar, and the hours are long, I could use someone to help serve drinks and keep the conversations entertaining for the paying customers..." His offer started, quickly outlining the jist of what sort of work he'd have her perform. Nothing difficult unless she had some sort of severe social anxiety issues, and even then... "The bar is quite dimly lit, I'm sure you'll fit right in." He smiled warmly at the slight jab at her little quirk.
"In return you may use this room as you please during and after repairs are made, you'll be paid for food, or if you desire to be more discrete, can have it brought-in." He wasn't sure why he offered the last part about bringing food up for her, probably just as an excuse to make sure she didn't become some sort of shut-in crazy cat-lady or tried slitting her wrists.
"You can bring in guests and pets, but I better not be finding any animal-sacrifices in the crawlspaces. And you"ll be responisble for cleaning up their messes." He warned, only half-jokingly, one time he had this tennant that... just... cats aren't supposed to be bent that way...
"I am not very keen on cats, or animal sacrifice... that does not seem very..." Joslyn's voice trailed off and she let out a small sigh, "I believe I would enjoy working for you if I may, and I would not mind eating there, unless you would prefer my meals be taken in here?"
Since he had not turned on his torch, she removed her sunglasses and trained mismatched eyes on him, her look curious. Everything that he had said to her was rather interesting and seemed to hold a promise to it, though she would have to hope he would not delve in too deep if she told him she would need some time off to take care of other matters should she be called upon. Though her twitching did not make her the best, she was good at many things that she was called upon for on the rare occasion her faction became entrenched with government issues.
"So where is this bar located that you would have me working at? Is it close by?" she finally asked, "And when would you have me begin work there? I would assume that if you are willing to offer a complete stranger that you found living in a place you are trying to fix up, you must not have many people working for you or willing to do so?"
"Well, I was speaking of for when we're closed on sundays. Even then. I can't have you trying to get-by on only one or two meals a day." He explained, noticing her eyes gleaming at him with keen interest.
"The bar is just up the road on your left, can't miss it." He answered, indicating it was just north along Wythe Avenue. "You can start tonight if you'd like, but I suggest you think it over after visiting as a guest first." His tone was that of someone who felt like giving the other person a chance to back-out, but then explained; "It looks like you could use a good meal and some rest before going to work, I'll be paying. Ask for Adrian when you show-up." He finished his offer, figuring she'd better see for herself what she was in for.
"Yeah... sure... I'll stop by tonight to see what the place is about and if I think it would be a good fit," she replied before letting out a slow breath. She doubted that she would be able to get any more rest now that she was wide awake between talking to the man and the burning her retina's had taken from his torch. "My name is Joslyn... look forward to possibly be working with you." | Name: Joslyn (Jossie) Vulcas
Sex: Female
Age: 17
Experiment Tier: Test Subject
Enhanced Trait 1:
Enhanced Vision:
Josyln’s enhanced Vision allows her to see with almost startling clarity, making it possible for her to pick up on the smallest of details when she is out in the field or simply trying her hardest to blend in and collect intel. Along with her ability to see clearer than the average human, she is also able to see things further away without the aid of a scope, giving her the ability to be an amazing sniper, though she does not classify as the best as she knows there is always someone out there better than herself. While she can see well enough in the dark, if the area is completely devoid of any form of light (i.e moonlight) she is unable to see just like any average human.
Enhanced Trait 1:
Downside: Light Sensitivity
While Joslyn enjoys the perks of being able to see far and in complete clarity, this enhancement caused her to develop an acute sensitivity to light. Due to this, she must always wear sunglasses until nightfall and, unless the room is dim enough, while under artificial lighting. Part of her counts this as a blessing in disguise as it offers her a way to hide her eyes from those who are looking for her, as they are the most notable feature that she maintains. Should she be subjected to bright light (i.e a flash bang) without the proper eye protection, her sight is rendered useless until such a time that her retina’s are able to adjust and right themselves.
Enhanced Trait 2:
Heightened Reflexes
While she is unable to dodge bullets, Joslyn’s reflexes have been enhanced in order to allow her reaction time to be far greater than the average human. The messages that travel from her brain to her limbs take far less time to communicate the need to do something, allowing her to react faster and take less time to process situations as they occur. Her heightened reflexes also increase her rate of fire depending on the firearm she is using at the time and aid her well in hand to hand (or overall close range) combat.
Enhanced Trait 2:
Downside: Twitchy
Due to her uncanny habit of twitching, whether it is when someone touches her or when she is forced into a fast reaction time too many times in a row, Joslyn attempts not to rely on this ability too much. While engaged in close combat, should she take a particularly hard hit (or a harmful hit in general) her body’s reflex is typically over exaggerated and could potentially cause more harm than good to herself.
Faction: Poltava
Appearance:
Height: 5’7
Weight: 145 lbs
Distinct Feature(s): HeteroChromia (LE Green / RE teal)
Clothing: See second picture for shirt style, typically wearing black jeans or slacks and a pair of black sneakers. Due to her light sensitivity, Joslyn also wears a pair of sunglasses that she rarely takes off.
Personality:
Joslyn prefers to keep to herself when she can, though she is not shy by any means but seems far from approachable due to the fact that she always looks rather mad, even when she is not. Usually very straight forward and blunt, she hates to sugar coat things and is usually the person to go to if you want the hard truth about something. Once one gets past the bluntness and permanent ‘I will kill you’ look, she is overall a fun person to be around who enjoys a good joke just as much as the next person.
Weapons: SR-25 (Semi-automatic special application sniper rifle 7.62x51mm), PMR-30 (.22 magnum), and a few well placed throwing knives.
Equipment:
Emergency Kit Containing:
Lighter
Compass
Camelbak
Disposable Cell Phone
Emergency Tinder
Magnesium Starter
Emergency Rations
First-Aid Kit (small)
Canteen
Aqua Iodine Tablets
S&W SWAT Knife
Mini LED Flashlight
GERBER
Bio:
Taken at a young age, Joslyn does not have much of a childhood to remember as she spent most of her years in a facility being put through an array of tests. While she remembers nothing that happened between the ages of 8 and 16, she can remember what few years of clarity she had with her Mother and Father. Both of her parents always seemed to be happy and madly in love with one another, a feeling they also shared with their daughter who never went without. She always went to parks to play with the other local children, a place she assumed she was taken from as she could not remember anything leading up to the week that shew as taken. Despite many attempts to try and recollect the eight years of memories she did not have, she had nothing to show for it as every attempt resulted in a failure.
When she had managed to escape the facility with the Three Kings, Joslyn had attempted to find her family, wanting to go back to them, to let them know that she was ok despite her genetic modifications. When she got to the outside of the house she remembered living in eight years ago, she found it in the state that she had left it, immaculate and well taken care of. However, when she peered inside, she saw only a shadow of the man her father was sitting in front of the television with beer bottles all around him and a young boy pleading for his attention.
Not being able to take the sight before her, she left without so much as knocking on the door and found her way into the Poltava faction. While she could fight if need be, she preferred doing things from afar, or simply not at all as she isn’t much of a violent person unless the situation calls for it. While she finds no pleasure in what was done to her, she could not bring herself to join the faction that actively attacked the government, despite the fact that she blames them for everything that she saw through that window.
At present she volunteers as a sniper when one is needed, doing her part in an attempt to earn her keep with those she decided to join. While she has no issues with remaining in the shadows, even she is aware that there are times when violence is a necessity and when the government is after you, sometimes that necessity happens a lot. |
8,355 | 228 | 7 | 220 | 2,523 | Miro counted his ribs, panting heavily. Reeling still from the blow, he focused trying to control the pain he was feeling. It was just a big bruise, after all. There would be no lasting consequences other than a purple hue and soreness for a few days. Clutching his side, his head turned in the direction a voice chastised the racket he had just made angrily.
"Hey! Shut up and fuck off! "
"Sorry, I was just...uh, training. Sort of. Not many unsupervised places to do so." It was his educate answer to the presence inside one of the vans. He thought about it for a second. It seemed quite natural that some homeless would've used a van to make a shelter from the rain. He often had to do such things in the past. Grumbling with a pang of guilt for disturbing someone's else sleep he began to walk away. Still, something seemed off.
And then it dawned upon him. The voice. It seemed a bit forced and raspy. Like a teenager who just had a growth spurt. Clenching his fists, he bit his lip. The whole situation was a little too close to his personal experience for his own comfort. Already, he was imagining the person in the van, a bitter, resentful boy, cursing the world and his luck, with no helping hands at bay. Just like him, before he had met Vincent.
I must be going crazy. I must be going crazy. Picking up more strays. Miroslav bitterly chastised himself as he turned on his steps and trudged towards the van, slowly opening the door where the other person was. "Actually...this might sound a little crazy, but three or so years ago, I had to sleep on vans too. And I know it sucks. Teenagers shouldn't sleep in vans" He added, carefully measuring his movements so that he didn't sound too obtrusive. He knew all too well how mistrust ran wild these days. "And there's the pigs. Good lord, the pigs. With luck, they'll just pop your cap and kill you quickly. At worst? They'll play whack-a-hobo."
He stood in the doorframe. "I'm Miro. I don't have much food and money right now on myself. But I could offer a shower and a better place to stay, if you want. It was rude of me to start doing parkour on your home." | Name: Miroslav AKA Miro AKA The Demon of the Construction Site.
Sex: Male
Age: 19
Faction: Resistance-cooperator Citizen.
Appearance: Miro is a lean, shorter than average scruffy youth with slavic features. He has icy blue eyes, pale complexion, and short black hair. Beneath his clothes, he's actually very toned and muscular, and he has a couple of faded out scars in his body, as well as a couple of bullet scars, more recent.
Clothing: Miro usually dresses in baggy, non restrictive clothes, such as cargo pants, loose, monochromatic Tshirts, and a baggy sweater. The most outstanding piece are his clothing is his boots. Sturdy,steel reinforced and high quality, these are one of the pieces Miro cares for, as they aid him to perform to his fullest.
Personality: Miro is rather gruff to approach, and rather sparse in his words. He often makes very laconic statements, even when he's impressed. Underneath his rough shell, lies a rather scarred and tormented kind person, who has seen the horrors of humanity up close even as a child. For that very reason, he's very supportive and protective of the underdogs, and specially of kids and teenagers like him. Loyal to those few who managed to befriend him, Miro doesn't hesitate when it comes to trading blows, specially for the sake of his loved ones, and he does it with a viciousness and vindictiviness only seen in war-torn people.
Weapons: His fists and legs. He's actually a MMA fighter, as well as a good traceur. He knows how to shoot a gun, but he rarely carries one of those, what with all the Martial Law and whatnot.
Equipment: His clothes, a wallet, a cellphone, and a pocket knife (more a tool than a weapon). He also owns a motorbike and a Gymnasium in the slums where he sleeps and trains (and doubles as safe house for GMG).
Bio:Miroslav and his sister Olga were a couple of war-orphans hailing from a eastern europe country. In the world-upsetting wake of the Life 0 virus, little Miro did his best to keep him and his sister alive, as the Order of the world crumbled around them. Fortunately for them, this caught the eye of an american foreigner, which brought them to the USA as child refugees. Olga was then soon adopted by the government, although at that time Miro wasn't aware of the implications of such a thing. He was happy he had fulfilled his elder brother obligations. Unlike Olga, he was never adopted, and in time, he sunk in hopelessness and bitterness, becoming some sort of a troublesome youth. What drove him the most mad, though, was that he never, once received news of his sister.
Fortunately, a charitable soul intervened. A former washed out martial artist and traceur, who picked him out of the streets because he was nimble. He taught him discipline, education, restraint, martial arts, parkour, and morals. He in turn, participated in tournaments to bring the fame his master could never achieve, both legal and illegal. It was a harsh life, full of pain, blood and tears, but at least Miro knew he could make a living, and sleep well at night, not once worrying wether the next time he would wake up would have a gun aimed at his face.
However, eventually, all things would come to an end. Vincent Banks, the man who took Miro in, was dying from a strange freak cancer, fruit of years of substance abuse. Miro found himself on the situation to take care of his gymnasium and funeral, since Vincent had alienated himself from all his past acquaintances. However, Miro took it in stride, and did as the old man who had been his surrogate father wished. But then the dilemma struck. What to do after? He had won a tournament. He had taken care of his master remains.
Fate had a funny way to tell him. In front of his eyes, on a certain night in the slums, someone who never expected to run again into appeared. It was Olga. Her sister, all grown up. But she was dishevelled, wounded and in intense fear. Despite that, she managed to recognize him aswell, as she pleaded for help as she ran into a nearby block, panicked. His shock widened as a whole squad of SWAT followed, guns blazing, after her.
Government or not, he would never ignore a plea of his sister, and with a disgusted grimace, he set out after the squad. It was reliving his old life again. With hostile soldiers everywhere. But now, he had something. He could fight back to an extent. The first of them never knew what had snuck up him, as two deft hands suddenly appeared from his behind, twisting his neck in an unnatural angle, before jumping and vanishing on the many pillars and blocks of the construction building. The second was only a little luckier, as he saw the fast motion of the shovel before it cleanly cleaved its face. The third got a couple of lucky grazing shots, before he chocked when Miro stuffed his mouth with a ignited smoke grenade. It was then when the fourth requested reinforcements, his eyes wide as he opened fire on the once again, vanishing Miro. He didn't last, though, as Olga had managed to sneak up on him aswell and shot him in the face, without hesitation.
She smiled, blood covering her face, as she devolved into tears soon after, clutching her wounds. "I knew you would come to get me." She said between sobs. "Listen-WATCH OUT."
She interrupted herself as she drove Miro out of her way, three shots of automatic gunfire impacting on her lithe body with dull thuds. The reinforcements were there. In the form of something Miro had never seen before. An indescriptible monstrosity, who was a very wrong sin against creation and sense.
Love has caused wars. Love has made people lift up cars, breaking their spines in the process, to save others. Love has made people jump into trains to push people out of the way. Love has made people tackle bears. And Love made Miro defy all kind of sense and self-preservation, upon engaging the Seeker. It readjusted and fired upon him, but Miro...flew. Jumping through the beams, climbing, running, never stopping at once. Steel beams, chains, even the odd grenade or weapon from the discarded SWAT team, he threw everything at the thing, without pause nor hesitation. The thing shrugged everything with contemptous ease, and was managing to even hit him with his weapons. Not that Miro could ever feel at that point he was gravely injuried and had been shot several times. He just kept going and going on the self-destructive deadlock, until fortune smiled at him.
A pool of wet cement. Without thinking twice, he rammed the thing as hard as he could into the pool, sealing its movement. But he wasn't done yet, as he summoned the last of his strength for the coup de grace. Lifting a heavy jackhammer and leveling it against the creature's head, he didn't hesitate to pound the creature's skull with the construction machinery for a while for good measure until it stopped moving and screeching.
The weight of his wounds finally caught up to him, as he crawled towards the limp figure of his sister. She wasn't moving. She didn't even have a pulse. But she had the most placid smile in his face. Miro couldn't even begin to cry, before unconsciousness set in. When he woke up, his wounds had been tended, and there was an unknown girl besides him. She explained an ominous story, about girls being used as experiments, and that Olga had been one of them, much like her. His struggle had not pass unnoticed, and she asked for his help, despite being in mourning. They had very few allies, after all.
Miro just looked once away, before saying he would help. After all, they had to pay for whatever they had done with his sister. |
8,356 | 228 | 8 | 1,506 | 208 | Did he just open the door? What. Okay, that was a line crossed. Joy had made the van into her home, and she didn't appreciate uninvited guests. Not to mention how he was so adamant to have her come with him. Aside from her being a GMG, this was all kinds of naive. Red flags and warning alarms were going off in her head like mad. No way this guy could know what she was, nor should he ever find out. Still, the promise of a shower and a better roof over her head was tempting. Tempting, but she knew better. One mistake could cost her deeply, and she had already killed a few soldiers last night at that. Slowly, Joy reached her hand under her rucksack and pulled out her M1911. The audible sound of the safety clicking off was followed by the rack of a slide.
She sat up a bit while being careful to keep the sleeping bag over her to hide her breasts as she aimed the handgun squarely at the offending young man. Few things in the world carry a message that breaches every language barrier. The rattling of a snake tail, a big red sign with white lettering; the business end of a gun was one of those as well. Joy didn't need to speak for him to understand that his presence and his disturbing of her sleep was one of the last things she wanted today. Her dull red eyes stared him down as she waited to see what his next move was going to be. | Reserved for Lyn if I ever decide to make a character sheet for her. I lost it. I DO WHAT I WANT. |
8,357 | 228 | 9 | 220 | 2,523 | Fine. Miro grimacing, eyeing the cannon. It certainly wasn't the first time, nor the last he had been in a similar situation. It was never a palatable situation. However, Miro made no effort to fight back. He looked at the boy. It was a natural, defensive reaction. Meant to disuade. And regardless, shots drew attention... and for someone living on a van, bullets would be scarce.
And this was an exact repeat of the same situation he had with his master and surrogate father, Vinnie, some years ago. He scowled significantly as he slowly reached for his pockets, retrieving a wad of cash. "Token of good faith, and my apologies, boy." He added, before tossing it carefully at the boy. He then began to slowly walk backwards.
"I'll make myself scarce now. Last advice: get a damn shower. You reek." He concluded as he left the other straggler be, walking away in measured steps, slowly turning his back on the still aimed gun. The kid didn't look the type to shoot someone who had no valuables in the back. | Name: Miroslav AKA Miro AKA The Demon of the Construction Site.
Sex: Male
Age: 19
Faction: Resistance-cooperator Citizen.
Appearance: Miro is a lean, shorter than average scruffy youth with slavic features. He has icy blue eyes, pale complexion, and short black hair. Beneath his clothes, he's actually very toned and muscular, and he has a couple of faded out scars in his body, as well as a couple of bullet scars, more recent.
Clothing: Miro usually dresses in baggy, non restrictive clothes, such as cargo pants, loose, monochromatic Tshirts, and a baggy sweater. The most outstanding piece are his clothing is his boots. Sturdy,steel reinforced and high quality, these are one of the pieces Miro cares for, as they aid him to perform to his fullest.
Personality: Miro is rather gruff to approach, and rather sparse in his words. He often makes very laconic statements, even when he's impressed. Underneath his rough shell, lies a rather scarred and tormented kind person, who has seen the horrors of humanity up close even as a child. For that very reason, he's very supportive and protective of the underdogs, and specially of kids and teenagers like him. Loyal to those few who managed to befriend him, Miro doesn't hesitate when it comes to trading blows, specially for the sake of his loved ones, and he does it with a viciousness and vindictiviness only seen in war-torn people.
Weapons: His fists and legs. He's actually a MMA fighter, as well as a good traceur. He knows how to shoot a gun, but he rarely carries one of those, what with all the Martial Law and whatnot.
Equipment: His clothes, a wallet, a cellphone, and a pocket knife (more a tool than a weapon). He also owns a motorbike and a Gymnasium in the slums where he sleeps and trains (and doubles as safe house for GMG).
Bio:Miroslav and his sister Olga were a couple of war-orphans hailing from a eastern europe country. In the world-upsetting wake of the Life 0 virus, little Miro did his best to keep him and his sister alive, as the Order of the world crumbled around them. Fortunately for them, this caught the eye of an american foreigner, which brought them to the USA as child refugees. Olga was then soon adopted by the government, although at that time Miro wasn't aware of the implications of such a thing. He was happy he had fulfilled his elder brother obligations. Unlike Olga, he was never adopted, and in time, he sunk in hopelessness and bitterness, becoming some sort of a troublesome youth. What drove him the most mad, though, was that he never, once received news of his sister.
Fortunately, a charitable soul intervened. A former washed out martial artist and traceur, who picked him out of the streets because he was nimble. He taught him discipline, education, restraint, martial arts, parkour, and morals. He in turn, participated in tournaments to bring the fame his master could never achieve, both legal and illegal. It was a harsh life, full of pain, blood and tears, but at least Miro knew he could make a living, and sleep well at night, not once worrying wether the next time he would wake up would have a gun aimed at his face.
However, eventually, all things would come to an end. Vincent Banks, the man who took Miro in, was dying from a strange freak cancer, fruit of years of substance abuse. Miro found himself on the situation to take care of his gymnasium and funeral, since Vincent had alienated himself from all his past acquaintances. However, Miro took it in stride, and did as the old man who had been his surrogate father wished. But then the dilemma struck. What to do after? He had won a tournament. He had taken care of his master remains.
Fate had a funny way to tell him. In front of his eyes, on a certain night in the slums, someone who never expected to run again into appeared. It was Olga. Her sister, all grown up. But she was dishevelled, wounded and in intense fear. Despite that, she managed to recognize him aswell, as she pleaded for help as she ran into a nearby block, panicked. His shock widened as a whole squad of SWAT followed, guns blazing, after her.
Government or not, he would never ignore a plea of his sister, and with a disgusted grimace, he set out after the squad. It was reliving his old life again. With hostile soldiers everywhere. But now, he had something. He could fight back to an extent. The first of them never knew what had snuck up him, as two deft hands suddenly appeared from his behind, twisting his neck in an unnatural angle, before jumping and vanishing on the many pillars and blocks of the construction building. The second was only a little luckier, as he saw the fast motion of the shovel before it cleanly cleaved its face. The third got a couple of lucky grazing shots, before he chocked when Miro stuffed his mouth with a ignited smoke grenade. It was then when the fourth requested reinforcements, his eyes wide as he opened fire on the once again, vanishing Miro. He didn't last, though, as Olga had managed to sneak up on him aswell and shot him in the face, without hesitation.
She smiled, blood covering her face, as she devolved into tears soon after, clutching her wounds. "I knew you would come to get me." She said between sobs. "Listen-WATCH OUT."
She interrupted herself as she drove Miro out of her way, three shots of automatic gunfire impacting on her lithe body with dull thuds. The reinforcements were there. In the form of something Miro had never seen before. An indescriptible monstrosity, who was a very wrong sin against creation and sense.
Love has caused wars. Love has made people lift up cars, breaking their spines in the process, to save others. Love has made people jump into trains to push people out of the way. Love has made people tackle bears. And Love made Miro defy all kind of sense and self-preservation, upon engaging the Seeker. It readjusted and fired upon him, but Miro...flew. Jumping through the beams, climbing, running, never stopping at once. Steel beams, chains, even the odd grenade or weapon from the discarded SWAT team, he threw everything at the thing, without pause nor hesitation. The thing shrugged everything with contemptous ease, and was managing to even hit him with his weapons. Not that Miro could ever feel at that point he was gravely injuried and had been shot several times. He just kept going and going on the self-destructive deadlock, until fortune smiled at him.
A pool of wet cement. Without thinking twice, he rammed the thing as hard as he could into the pool, sealing its movement. But he wasn't done yet, as he summoned the last of his strength for the coup de grace. Lifting a heavy jackhammer and leveling it against the creature's head, he didn't hesitate to pound the creature's skull with the construction machinery for a while for good measure until it stopped moving and screeching.
The weight of his wounds finally caught up to him, as he crawled towards the limp figure of his sister. She wasn't moving. She didn't even have a pulse. But she had the most placid smile in his face. Miro couldn't even begin to cry, before unconsciousness set in. When he woke up, his wounds had been tended, and there was an unknown girl besides him. She explained an ominous story, about girls being used as experiments, and that Olga had been one of them, much like her. His struggle had not pass unnoticed, and she asked for his help, despite being in mourning. They had very few allies, after all.
Miro just looked once away, before saying he would help. After all, they had to pay for whatever they had done with his sister. |
8,358 | 228 | 10 | 1,506 | 208 | Well, at least her efforts at disguise didn't go to waste. Still, joy merely looked the wad of cash over. What would she do with this? Nowhere could she really use this well. At least, that she knew of. She shut the door and flipped through the bills, checking intently to see if there was any sort of tracking device slipped in. She couldn't be too careful, after all. When she didn't find anything, she just stuff it into her pack and went back to sleep. She reeked, yes, but that was a price she paid for being on the run. Luxuries such as bathing weren't at the forefront of her mind nor at the top on the list of things she needed to survive. Right now, that was sleep, and she slowly tried to fall back asleep. | Reserved for Lyn if I ever decide to make a character sheet for her. I lost it. I DO WHAT I WANT. |
8,359 | 228 | 11 | 220 | 2,523 | Miro grumbled as he nursed his sore side. The numbness had set in, and an uncomfortable, throbbing sensation announced the start of a phenomenal bruise on his side. The just reward for his deeds. Bruised, rebuked, having aimed at, and without cash on himself. He hoped the lad he had just met would survive a little more. This city was resembling more and more the warzone he had been born into. At least, people's hearts had hardened to such point.
Flipping his hood down, he grumbled in a low tone, reminding himself that the gym was still his best option... and whatever caused his prompt departure -that is, the antics of three girls- would likely be camping on his living room, kitchen or bedroom and eating his already dimished supplies.
He had hoped they had decency to put some clothes on, and not just underwear and towels.
New York Slums: Vinnie's Gym
Of course, they would still be there. Sitting leisurely at the basement and the gym, the choice of clothes and antics of the three girls had only improved so slighty. The good thing was that the two older, more developed girls, a blonde and a brunette, had put some clothes on. The bad thing is that they were his own t-shirts, being worn as some sort of saggy substitute of a one piece dress.
The third was nowhere to be seen, the one with the monstrous bedhead mop of brown hair. She probably had gone to sleep again, after having breakfast. For unsurprising reasons to Miro, as she was probably only 12 or 13 at most, compared to the sixteen year olds he had in front of him.
"Hey, you're back! How was your training?" said the blonde, in an attempt to look nice, despite the earlier comment about Miro's sexuality.
Miro just snorted a salute, before zooming past the both of them, towards a small, separate room from the gym and the upper floor, with the proper living quarters. The seldom used desk of Vinnie still stood there, untouched, as some sort of shrine of a fallen champion. With the utmost care, he made sure to close the door before retrieving another bunch of paper bills from a hidden safe, and stuffing it into his pocket again.
Little by little, the money of the safe was being depleted. But it wasn't an immediate problem of bankrupcy.
When he rejoined the room, the girl numbers had increased by one. Bedhead Mop, now sporting a couple of rather childish pigtails, was nibbling on a chocolate bar, looking at the other two. And also with one of his t-shirts.
And then all three looked at Miro.
"Hey, Miro. I'm um... Vickie." said the blonde. "And this one's Helen." she added as she pointed at the brunette. "I know it's late for an introduction, but you were in a hurry, and pancakes were so damn appetizing, and um..."
"...I led them here." said the youngest of the trio. "I didn't know they would be like, um... this, Miro. I'm sorry." The brown haired kid said.
"Don't be. Bea." Miroslav tried his best to crack a small smile. She was too young to bear the brunt of all his cynicism.
"Holy crap, he can smile." said the brunette, Helen. "Munchkin, what did you do to him?"
"I'm not a Munchkin!" Bea protested.
"She's been here for the seventh time." Miro interjected. "Acquaintance."
"Are we acquaintances now, Miro?" said the chirpy Vickie.
"No." The slav dryly replied, as Bea snorted and burst into an infantile giggle.
"Oh, come onnn~" the blonde counterattacked, even so far to try a higher level attack, by putting puppy eyes, staring deep into the young man's soul...
"No." was his answer.
"You saw my underwear, didn't you. We're acquaintances, or you're gay!" The blonde insisted.
"NO." Miro snapped back, tired of the charade, his fists clenching into balls. His nostris flared slightly, before breaking contact with his interlocutor. The chirpy blonde's jabs and his own throbbing pain on the side were driving him crazy. Not to mention he had been aimed at, and he had been chased out of his designated place to do parkour. Too much pent up aggression, so the logical choice was to grab one of the sandbags, a couple of gloves, and start pummeling his target.
"I think you ought to stop aggravating our host, Vickie." Helen interjected, showing a degree of maturity Miro wouldn't have guessed the first time she saw her, traipsing around in a towel. "If the rumours are true..."
BOOOM
Helen's sentence was never finished, as the sandbag, after receiving a particulary powerful kick, seemed to get loose and was catapulted a couple of meters, landing loudly on the floor.
"That was so COOL Miro!" Bea sprang to her feet, admiring the seemingly superhuman feat of strength happening before his eyes.
"What the fu..." Vickie added, blinking twice. "How is that even..."
"...It wasn't me." Miro cut short, before the girls' extremely imaginative minds made the situation worse than it should be. "The chain was too worn out. Probably from decades of punching. Vincent must've used this sandbag a lot, see?" Miroslav pointed at the rather obvious worn edges of the broken links.
Helen nodded. "You got us for a second, there. I mean, with the ridiculous rumours that you've decimated a SWAT squad AND a Seeker while being heavily wounded. I mean, not many GMGs can boast of such feats, much less a guy like you."
Miro seemed to tense at the mention of the Seeker moniker, in obvious fear and discomfort, before exhaling. "Need to see Vance. I need a new chain." He solemny announced, as he waved goodbye to the young Bea, while heading upstairs for a shower. | Name: Miroslav AKA Miro AKA The Demon of the Construction Site.
Sex: Male
Age: 19
Faction: Resistance-cooperator Citizen.
Appearance: Miro is a lean, shorter than average scruffy youth with slavic features. He has icy blue eyes, pale complexion, and short black hair. Beneath his clothes, he's actually very toned and muscular, and he has a couple of faded out scars in his body, as well as a couple of bullet scars, more recent.
Clothing: Miro usually dresses in baggy, non restrictive clothes, such as cargo pants, loose, monochromatic Tshirts, and a baggy sweater. The most outstanding piece are his clothing is his boots. Sturdy,steel reinforced and high quality, these are one of the pieces Miro cares for, as they aid him to perform to his fullest.
Personality: Miro is rather gruff to approach, and rather sparse in his words. He often makes very laconic statements, even when he's impressed. Underneath his rough shell, lies a rather scarred and tormented kind person, who has seen the horrors of humanity up close even as a child. For that very reason, he's very supportive and protective of the underdogs, and specially of kids and teenagers like him. Loyal to those few who managed to befriend him, Miro doesn't hesitate when it comes to trading blows, specially for the sake of his loved ones, and he does it with a viciousness and vindictiviness only seen in war-torn people.
Weapons: His fists and legs. He's actually a MMA fighter, as well as a good traceur. He knows how to shoot a gun, but he rarely carries one of those, what with all the Martial Law and whatnot.
Equipment: His clothes, a wallet, a cellphone, and a pocket knife (more a tool than a weapon). He also owns a motorbike and a Gymnasium in the slums where he sleeps and trains (and doubles as safe house for GMG).
Bio:Miroslav and his sister Olga were a couple of war-orphans hailing from a eastern europe country. In the world-upsetting wake of the Life 0 virus, little Miro did his best to keep him and his sister alive, as the Order of the world crumbled around them. Fortunately for them, this caught the eye of an american foreigner, which brought them to the USA as child refugees. Olga was then soon adopted by the government, although at that time Miro wasn't aware of the implications of such a thing. He was happy he had fulfilled his elder brother obligations. Unlike Olga, he was never adopted, and in time, he sunk in hopelessness and bitterness, becoming some sort of a troublesome youth. What drove him the most mad, though, was that he never, once received news of his sister.
Fortunately, a charitable soul intervened. A former washed out martial artist and traceur, who picked him out of the streets because he was nimble. He taught him discipline, education, restraint, martial arts, parkour, and morals. He in turn, participated in tournaments to bring the fame his master could never achieve, both legal and illegal. It was a harsh life, full of pain, blood and tears, but at least Miro knew he could make a living, and sleep well at night, not once worrying wether the next time he would wake up would have a gun aimed at his face.
However, eventually, all things would come to an end. Vincent Banks, the man who took Miro in, was dying from a strange freak cancer, fruit of years of substance abuse. Miro found himself on the situation to take care of his gymnasium and funeral, since Vincent had alienated himself from all his past acquaintances. However, Miro took it in stride, and did as the old man who had been his surrogate father wished. But then the dilemma struck. What to do after? He had won a tournament. He had taken care of his master remains.
Fate had a funny way to tell him. In front of his eyes, on a certain night in the slums, someone who never expected to run again into appeared. It was Olga. Her sister, all grown up. But she was dishevelled, wounded and in intense fear. Despite that, she managed to recognize him aswell, as she pleaded for help as she ran into a nearby block, panicked. His shock widened as a whole squad of SWAT followed, guns blazing, after her.
Government or not, he would never ignore a plea of his sister, and with a disgusted grimace, he set out after the squad. It was reliving his old life again. With hostile soldiers everywhere. But now, he had something. He could fight back to an extent. The first of them never knew what had snuck up him, as two deft hands suddenly appeared from his behind, twisting his neck in an unnatural angle, before jumping and vanishing on the many pillars and blocks of the construction building. The second was only a little luckier, as he saw the fast motion of the shovel before it cleanly cleaved its face. The third got a couple of lucky grazing shots, before he chocked when Miro stuffed his mouth with a ignited smoke grenade. It was then when the fourth requested reinforcements, his eyes wide as he opened fire on the once again, vanishing Miro. He didn't last, though, as Olga had managed to sneak up on him aswell and shot him in the face, without hesitation.
She smiled, blood covering her face, as she devolved into tears soon after, clutching her wounds. "I knew you would come to get me." She said between sobs. "Listen-WATCH OUT."
She interrupted herself as she drove Miro out of her way, three shots of automatic gunfire impacting on her lithe body with dull thuds. The reinforcements were there. In the form of something Miro had never seen before. An indescriptible monstrosity, who was a very wrong sin against creation and sense.
Love has caused wars. Love has made people lift up cars, breaking their spines in the process, to save others. Love has made people jump into trains to push people out of the way. Love has made people tackle bears. And Love made Miro defy all kind of sense and self-preservation, upon engaging the Seeker. It readjusted and fired upon him, but Miro...flew. Jumping through the beams, climbing, running, never stopping at once. Steel beams, chains, even the odd grenade or weapon from the discarded SWAT team, he threw everything at the thing, without pause nor hesitation. The thing shrugged everything with contemptous ease, and was managing to even hit him with his weapons. Not that Miro could ever feel at that point he was gravely injuried and had been shot several times. He just kept going and going on the self-destructive deadlock, until fortune smiled at him.
A pool of wet cement. Without thinking twice, he rammed the thing as hard as he could into the pool, sealing its movement. But he wasn't done yet, as he summoned the last of his strength for the coup de grace. Lifting a heavy jackhammer and leveling it against the creature's head, he didn't hesitate to pound the creature's skull with the construction machinery for a while for good measure until it stopped moving and screeching.
The weight of his wounds finally caught up to him, as he crawled towards the limp figure of his sister. She wasn't moving. She didn't even have a pulse. But she had the most placid smile in his face. Miro couldn't even begin to cry, before unconsciousness set in. When he woke up, his wounds had been tended, and there was an unknown girl besides him. She explained an ominous story, about girls being used as experiments, and that Olga had been one of them, much like her. His struggle had not pass unnoticed, and she asked for his help, despite being in mourning. They had very few allies, after all.
Miro just looked once away, before saying he would help. After all, they had to pay for whatever they had done with his sister. |
8,360 | 228 | 12 | 220 | 2,523 | Sardines can only keep a girl company for so long...
Picking up the bottle of Metro-Mint® water from her nightstand, Lyn took a deep swig. A moment later she reacted with a spastic cough, trying to clear her airways of water that did not belong. Recapping the bottle, Lyn headed over to one of the few terminals in her abode; A personal computer containing nothing but her small journals, dating back to her arrival at this safehouse. Gliding her tongue across velvet lips, Lyn casually plopped into the egg-shaped chair, cracking her knuckles.
Day 8: The environment inside this observation post is starting to drag on my spirits, thinking of paying a visit to the girls. Of course I am going to get swarmed as soon as I come out, so best take my Stinger for security. It's like they just know who you are, they don't even need to see your full face, they just know. I'll give them a hug or half hug before moving on, and those who truly need me will follow me, which is interesting due to human nature based... Eh, another subject for another time. Heading down now.
Bounding from her chair, Lyn padded over to the side of her bed to retrieve her shoes. Slipping them onto her feet, she squeaked back and forth a few times on the shinning metal floor before heading towards the exit, a ladder descending into a hole that was barely lit via uranium lights. She paused for a moment to slide on today's disguise, a baggy hoodie and a face enclosing mask that responded to her voice, accompanied with a built-in digitizer for vocal masking.Descending into the metal tube, Lyn began her journey down through the concrete walls of the base. There was a small, elaborate maze inside the concrete walls of the facility, but Lyn had memorized the simplest and quickest path to arrive at the most concealed exit, buying her a bit of room to compose herself before being swarmed by the crowds of girls wanting to see her. Though few had seen her face, Lyn tried to wear the same outfits that she featured on the GMG's propaganda. While this opened her up to possible assassination attempts, it still concealed her identity while allowing her to provide a moral boost to the girls, letting them know: They are not alone.
They are not alone.
Finishing her trek through the dingy walls, Lyn found herself under some floorboards in a section of the base. One board had been unscrewed for access to the underbelly, and was pushed up with no effort for Lyn. She found herself in a maintenance closet, shelves along the walls that where lined with cleaning supplies and other necessities to maintain the base. Brushing off the dust and debris from her journey, Lyn took in a deep breath before exiting the floor. Noticing a can of cherry air freshener on one of the walls, Lyn gave herself a quick spray; A wonderful cherry scent falling over her, which was strong, yet not too strong. Firmly grasping the handle to the next room, she cracked open the door, a dull light invading the closet.
Lyn had actually only memorized the the passageway from a map, not where it led, and was now looking out into the medical clinic where a young doctor was taking inventory.
"Hmmmm... we're running low on Oxymorphoe."
"Supplement with Meperidine. Plenty on hand, Almost as good. Causes cramping in the younger ones, supplement with Dantrolene."
The nurse whipped around, gawking.
"As for the implant rejection you were talking about last week, why not try Axylonine? Cenozine is the catalyst. Binds to genetic markers. Hard to find, expensive to mass produce. Why not Heplacore?- Too unstable, inconsistent results. Demozane is a better option. No, no, Demozane is toxic to those with specific modifications, not an option, not an option. Dyhodrix is fine, causes a bit of a dry mouth, but that can be easily fixed with water."
The nurse stood speechless as The Thinker strolled towards the exit of the clinic. The mysterious girl exited into the complex, beginning her journey through the corridors of the base, wondering what new surprises the girls had for her today. | Name: Miroslav AKA Miro AKA The Demon of the Construction Site.
Sex: Male
Age: 19
Faction: Resistance-cooperator Citizen.
Appearance: Miro is a lean, shorter than average scruffy youth with slavic features. He has icy blue eyes, pale complexion, and short black hair. Beneath his clothes, he's actually very toned and muscular, and he has a couple of faded out scars in his body, as well as a couple of bullet scars, more recent.
Clothing: Miro usually dresses in baggy, non restrictive clothes, such as cargo pants, loose, monochromatic Tshirts, and a baggy sweater. The most outstanding piece are his clothing is his boots. Sturdy,steel reinforced and high quality, these are one of the pieces Miro cares for, as they aid him to perform to his fullest.
Personality: Miro is rather gruff to approach, and rather sparse in his words. He often makes very laconic statements, even when he's impressed. Underneath his rough shell, lies a rather scarred and tormented kind person, who has seen the horrors of humanity up close even as a child. For that very reason, he's very supportive and protective of the underdogs, and specially of kids and teenagers like him. Loyal to those few who managed to befriend him, Miro doesn't hesitate when it comes to trading blows, specially for the sake of his loved ones, and he does it with a viciousness and vindictiviness only seen in war-torn people.
Weapons: His fists and legs. He's actually a MMA fighter, as well as a good traceur. He knows how to shoot a gun, but he rarely carries one of those, what with all the Martial Law and whatnot.
Equipment: His clothes, a wallet, a cellphone, and a pocket knife (more a tool than a weapon). He also owns a motorbike and a Gymnasium in the slums where he sleeps and trains (and doubles as safe house for GMG).
Bio:Miroslav and his sister Olga were a couple of war-orphans hailing from a eastern europe country. In the world-upsetting wake of the Life 0 virus, little Miro did his best to keep him and his sister alive, as the Order of the world crumbled around them. Fortunately for them, this caught the eye of an american foreigner, which brought them to the USA as child refugees. Olga was then soon adopted by the government, although at that time Miro wasn't aware of the implications of such a thing. He was happy he had fulfilled his elder brother obligations. Unlike Olga, he was never adopted, and in time, he sunk in hopelessness and bitterness, becoming some sort of a troublesome youth. What drove him the most mad, though, was that he never, once received news of his sister.
Fortunately, a charitable soul intervened. A former washed out martial artist and traceur, who picked him out of the streets because he was nimble. He taught him discipline, education, restraint, martial arts, parkour, and morals. He in turn, participated in tournaments to bring the fame his master could never achieve, both legal and illegal. It was a harsh life, full of pain, blood and tears, but at least Miro knew he could make a living, and sleep well at night, not once worrying wether the next time he would wake up would have a gun aimed at his face.
However, eventually, all things would come to an end. Vincent Banks, the man who took Miro in, was dying from a strange freak cancer, fruit of years of substance abuse. Miro found himself on the situation to take care of his gymnasium and funeral, since Vincent had alienated himself from all his past acquaintances. However, Miro took it in stride, and did as the old man who had been his surrogate father wished. But then the dilemma struck. What to do after? He had won a tournament. He had taken care of his master remains.
Fate had a funny way to tell him. In front of his eyes, on a certain night in the slums, someone who never expected to run again into appeared. It was Olga. Her sister, all grown up. But she was dishevelled, wounded and in intense fear. Despite that, she managed to recognize him aswell, as she pleaded for help as she ran into a nearby block, panicked. His shock widened as a whole squad of SWAT followed, guns blazing, after her.
Government or not, he would never ignore a plea of his sister, and with a disgusted grimace, he set out after the squad. It was reliving his old life again. With hostile soldiers everywhere. But now, he had something. He could fight back to an extent. The first of them never knew what had snuck up him, as two deft hands suddenly appeared from his behind, twisting his neck in an unnatural angle, before jumping and vanishing on the many pillars and blocks of the construction building. The second was only a little luckier, as he saw the fast motion of the shovel before it cleanly cleaved its face. The third got a couple of lucky grazing shots, before he chocked when Miro stuffed his mouth with a ignited smoke grenade. It was then when the fourth requested reinforcements, his eyes wide as he opened fire on the once again, vanishing Miro. He didn't last, though, as Olga had managed to sneak up on him aswell and shot him in the face, without hesitation.
She smiled, blood covering her face, as she devolved into tears soon after, clutching her wounds. "I knew you would come to get me." She said between sobs. "Listen-WATCH OUT."
She interrupted herself as she drove Miro out of her way, three shots of automatic gunfire impacting on her lithe body with dull thuds. The reinforcements were there. In the form of something Miro had never seen before. An indescriptible monstrosity, who was a very wrong sin against creation and sense.
Love has caused wars. Love has made people lift up cars, breaking their spines in the process, to save others. Love has made people jump into trains to push people out of the way. Love has made people tackle bears. And Love made Miro defy all kind of sense and self-preservation, upon engaging the Seeker. It readjusted and fired upon him, but Miro...flew. Jumping through the beams, climbing, running, never stopping at once. Steel beams, chains, even the odd grenade or weapon from the discarded SWAT team, he threw everything at the thing, without pause nor hesitation. The thing shrugged everything with contemptous ease, and was managing to even hit him with his weapons. Not that Miro could ever feel at that point he was gravely injuried and had been shot several times. He just kept going and going on the self-destructive deadlock, until fortune smiled at him.
A pool of wet cement. Without thinking twice, he rammed the thing as hard as he could into the pool, sealing its movement. But he wasn't done yet, as he summoned the last of his strength for the coup de grace. Lifting a heavy jackhammer and leveling it against the creature's head, he didn't hesitate to pound the creature's skull with the construction machinery for a while for good measure until it stopped moving and screeching.
The weight of his wounds finally caught up to him, as he crawled towards the limp figure of his sister. She wasn't moving. She didn't even have a pulse. But she had the most placid smile in his face. Miro couldn't even begin to cry, before unconsciousness set in. When he woke up, his wounds had been tended, and there was an unknown girl besides him. She explained an ominous story, about girls being used as experiments, and that Olga had been one of them, much like her. His struggle had not pass unnoticed, and she asked for his help, despite being in mourning. They had very few allies, after all.
Miro just looked once away, before saying he would help. After all, they had to pay for whatever they had done with his sister. |
8,361 | 228 | 13 | 846 | 1,744 | Adrian continued checking the place out, but leaving the bedroom alone as he went to check the unpowered fridge, finding little more than a half-eaten jar of pickled herring, crackers, and spam. He frowned as he shut the door and continued going over what this person did and did not have, wondering if he'd even have to provide her with new clothes if she showed-up to work smelling a tad rank.
As he opened the closet, the first thing he saw was a rather large sniper-rifle, which didn't totally bother him since even he kept a shotgun on his property, knives too... but as his eyes adjusted well enough to see her clothes, his jaw slightly opened in surprise to find her old test-subject uniform.
Within moments of him opening the door, it was forced closed with a surprising amount of force and Joslyn was standing there staring at him. In her mind she only had two options, kill him or make sure he never talked about what he had seen. "You shouldn't have opened that door," she said, the barrel of her PMR-30 pressing into his torso as she kept her body relatively close to his, "I really wish you hadn't because now I'm left with either one of two choices, I'm either going to have to kill you, or I am going to have to find it in myself to believe you won't say a word of what you saw to anyone." With her sunglasses off, Adrian was able to see exactly how serious she was, as long as he didn't get too side tracked by the fact that her eyes were mismatched.
Even with the dull piece of metal pressed into his chest, Joslyn's proximity as she herself was pressed up against him as she gave the ultimatum; he didn't exactly feel as though he was in any immediate danger of being shot. She had the gun the whole time, and probably could've shot him from across the room... no, she was still looking for an excuse to let him live.
So he gave her one.
"Orrrr, you could just follow me around until you do trust me, Josh. If you were found-out we'd be the first to know, better than waking-up to an entry-team in the middle of a night." He replied, suddenly realizing that she was so close to him not to try making a threatening face, but to better conceal the noise of a gunshot. At this realization, he began to wonder if he could try disarming her, she was no killer, after-all... | Name: Adrian Vance
Sex: Male
Age: 28
Faction: Slumlord-bartender
Appearance: Da.
Clothing: See "Da."
Personality: Crusty exterior, with a side of wise-sass. But underneath all that genuinely cares for the welfare of his patrons.
Weapons: Pump Shotgun, fists, bad langrage.
Equipment: He runs a bar, so he's got a pretty good selection of craft-beers and hard-liquors via some fermentation-vats and a still. He's also got a grill, a deep-fryer, and a seldom-used coffee-maker somewhere in the back.
Bio:
Working on it. Jeeze, why do you always have to be so negative? |
8,362 | 228 | 14 | 1,277 | 218 | Joslyn studied his expression for a moment, as if she were weighing what he had said to her against what she may have to do. On a sigh, she backed away from him and dropped the mag from her pistol before clearing the chamber, sliding the round back into place and slapping the mag back into the well. "Alright... I can accept that," she said as she backed away from him and went to look in her Fridge, her eyes scanning the three options she had before she sighed and closed the door again. She was tired of not having enough to eat, and the idea of following Adrian around wasn't entirely bad, and with him knowing what she was it would make it easier to ask for time off last minute if she had to go on mission unexpectadly.
"I don't kill you, but I follow you around instead... the only issue is this... how do I know you won't say anything to anyone once you go home? she questioned, "Unless you plan on staying here?"
Adrian smiled pleasantly at the offer, not wishing to offend a person just as they were deciding that they could risk sparing his life.
"I could probably stay awhile until you're ready to go, and since I live at the bar you could stay the night over there if you don.t feel safe taking me back here." He agreed, as he made his way to the kitchenett to make himself a snack from Joslyn's meager supplies, "I'll even re-stock the fridge... Do they even still make this brand of herring?" He asked, as he took half a tube of crackers and the wine-pickled herring back to the bedroom, and sar down with a leg tucked underneath him to make a moderately-flat surface to work with as he started eating her food.
Quickly though, he paused. "Since we're celebrating your new job, sort-of... would you like some?"
Joslyn stared at him for awhile, not happy that he had taken to eating her food without at least asking if he could have any. After a moment, she simply shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest after switching the safety on her firearm. "Do you always make it a habit of eating other people's food?" she questioned, "And in reply to your earlier statement, if you are going to end up having to renovate the place, I may as well stay the night there to watch you." | Name: Joslyn (Jossie) Vulcas
Sex: Female
Age: 17
Experiment Tier: Test Subject
Enhanced Trait 1:
Enhanced Vision:
Josyln’s enhanced Vision allows her to see with almost startling clarity, making it possible for her to pick up on the smallest of details when she is out in the field or simply trying her hardest to blend in and collect intel. Along with her ability to see clearer than the average human, she is also able to see things further away without the aid of a scope, giving her the ability to be an amazing sniper, though she does not classify as the best as she knows there is always someone out there better than herself. While she can see well enough in the dark, if the area is completely devoid of any form of light (i.e moonlight) she is unable to see just like any average human.
Enhanced Trait 1:
Downside: Light Sensitivity
While Joslyn enjoys the perks of being able to see far and in complete clarity, this enhancement caused her to develop an acute sensitivity to light. Due to this, she must always wear sunglasses until nightfall and, unless the room is dim enough, while under artificial lighting. Part of her counts this as a blessing in disguise as it offers her a way to hide her eyes from those who are looking for her, as they are the most notable feature that she maintains. Should she be subjected to bright light (i.e a flash bang) without the proper eye protection, her sight is rendered useless until such a time that her retina’s are able to adjust and right themselves.
Enhanced Trait 2:
Heightened Reflexes
While she is unable to dodge bullets, Joslyn’s reflexes have been enhanced in order to allow her reaction time to be far greater than the average human. The messages that travel from her brain to her limbs take far less time to communicate the need to do something, allowing her to react faster and take less time to process situations as they occur. Her heightened reflexes also increase her rate of fire depending on the firearm she is using at the time and aid her well in hand to hand (or overall close range) combat.
Enhanced Trait 2:
Downside: Twitchy
Due to her uncanny habit of twitching, whether it is when someone touches her or when she is forced into a fast reaction time too many times in a row, Joslyn attempts not to rely on this ability too much. While engaged in close combat, should she take a particularly hard hit (or a harmful hit in general) her body’s reflex is typically over exaggerated and could potentially cause more harm than good to herself.
Faction: Poltava
Appearance:
Height: 5’7
Weight: 145 lbs
Distinct Feature(s): HeteroChromia (LE Green / RE teal)
Clothing: See second picture for shirt style, typically wearing black jeans or slacks and a pair of black sneakers. Due to her light sensitivity, Joslyn also wears a pair of sunglasses that she rarely takes off.
Personality:
Joslyn prefers to keep to herself when she can, though she is not shy by any means but seems far from approachable due to the fact that she always looks rather mad, even when she is not. Usually very straight forward and blunt, she hates to sugar coat things and is usually the person to go to if you want the hard truth about something. Once one gets past the bluntness and permanent ‘I will kill you’ look, she is overall a fun person to be around who enjoys a good joke just as much as the next person.
Weapons: SR-25 (Semi-automatic special application sniper rifle 7.62x51mm), PMR-30 (.22 magnum), and a few well placed throwing knives.
Equipment:
Emergency Kit Containing:
Lighter
Compass
Camelbak
Disposable Cell Phone
Emergency Tinder
Magnesium Starter
Emergency Rations
First-Aid Kit (small)
Canteen
Aqua Iodine Tablets
S&W SWAT Knife
Mini LED Flashlight
GERBER
Bio:
Taken at a young age, Joslyn does not have much of a childhood to remember as she spent most of her years in a facility being put through an array of tests. While she remembers nothing that happened between the ages of 8 and 16, she can remember what few years of clarity she had with her Mother and Father. Both of her parents always seemed to be happy and madly in love with one another, a feeling they also shared with their daughter who never went without. She always went to parks to play with the other local children, a place she assumed she was taken from as she could not remember anything leading up to the week that shew as taken. Despite many attempts to try and recollect the eight years of memories she did not have, she had nothing to show for it as every attempt resulted in a failure.
When she had managed to escape the facility with the Three Kings, Joslyn had attempted to find her family, wanting to go back to them, to let them know that she was ok despite her genetic modifications. When she got to the outside of the house she remembered living in eight years ago, she found it in the state that she had left it, immaculate and well taken care of. However, when she peered inside, she saw only a shadow of the man her father was sitting in front of the television with beer bottles all around him and a young boy pleading for his attention.
Not being able to take the sight before her, she left without so much as knocking on the door and found her way into the Poltava faction. While she could fight if need be, she preferred doing things from afar, or simply not at all as she isn’t much of a violent person unless the situation calls for it. While she finds no pleasure in what was done to her, she could not bring herself to join the faction that actively attacked the government, despite the fact that she blames them for everything that she saw through that window.
At present she volunteers as a sniper when one is needed, doing her part in an attempt to earn her keep with those she decided to join. While she has no issues with remaining in the shadows, even she is aware that there are times when violence is a necessity and when the government is after you, sometimes that necessity happens a lot. |
8,363 | 228 | 15 | 220 | 2,523 | 'Two unknowns approaching the checkpoint'
'Standing by for confirmation'
'Alpha identified, Wisechild, Beatrix. Bravo iden...
'What is it?'
'Oh my god'
'Lean, respond'
'Bravo is male, I repeat Bravo is male. Unidentified male, early 20's, short black hair. Respond.
'WHAT? Are you sure? Beatrix would neve-'
'Heatscans confirm, Bravo is male, I repeat Bravo is male. Requesting permission to open fire'
'Open fire?! Are you crazy, it's Beatrix, surely she has a good reason! Let the gate guards handle it!'
'Negative, negative! Target is male and presumed hostile, you know our orders. Requesting clearance to engage, requesting clearance to engage.'
'Do not engage, repeat do not engage there are friendlies down there!'
'He's reaching for his waist line! I'm not loosing another friend, not like last time, I'm engaging!
'Wait!'
As Lyn's voice shrieked over the watchtower guard's headsets, the over-zealous guard flinched, sending a round careening over Miro's head. Noise erupted from the ground team as they split up; Some members dropping to form a perimeter, some grabbing Beatrix and gently lowering her to the ground for cover, and some not-so gently slamming Miro to the pavement, his face ground against the gravel surface. In the confusion, The Thinker came barreling from the checkpoint entrance out to the guards, still trying to locate where the round had been fire from.
'Stand down stand down! Lift him up.'
The guards raised Miro to his feet in a not so gentle fashion. His hands sporting the latest in POW fashion; A pair of ziptie restrains. Beatrix was helped up in the proper way, the guards apologizing and dusting off her attire.
'You two. Briefing room. Now.'
After a trip through a series of make-shift hallways and small security checkpoints withing the base, the trio found themselves inside an old forward-command tent from wars long ago. The large rip-stop flap thumped closed behind them as Miro was 'coerced' into a chair across the desk from The Thinker.
'Remove his restrains.'
'Madam, I'm not so sure that is the best idea.'
'Remove them. Please.'
'Of course.'
The guard retrieved a pair of wire cutters from her utility belt, removing the bindings from Miro, making sure to jerk a bit while doing so, grinding the plastic into his wrists to show she wasn't playing around.
'Well, I did you a favor and stopped my guards from turning your brain into a pâté. If you can't tell, many of my girls aren't fond of males. Now care to return my favor and tell me what you are doing at my base?' | Name: Miroslav AKA Miro AKA The Demon of the Construction Site.
Sex: Male
Age: 19
Faction: Resistance-cooperator Citizen.
Appearance: Miro is a lean, shorter than average scruffy youth with slavic features. He has icy blue eyes, pale complexion, and short black hair. Beneath his clothes, he's actually very toned and muscular, and he has a couple of faded out scars in his body, as well as a couple of bullet scars, more recent.
Clothing: Miro usually dresses in baggy, non restrictive clothes, such as cargo pants, loose, monochromatic Tshirts, and a baggy sweater. The most outstanding piece are his clothing is his boots. Sturdy,steel reinforced and high quality, these are one of the pieces Miro cares for, as they aid him to perform to his fullest.
Personality: Miro is rather gruff to approach, and rather sparse in his words. He often makes very laconic statements, even when he's impressed. Underneath his rough shell, lies a rather scarred and tormented kind person, who has seen the horrors of humanity up close even as a child. For that very reason, he's very supportive and protective of the underdogs, and specially of kids and teenagers like him. Loyal to those few who managed to befriend him, Miro doesn't hesitate when it comes to trading blows, specially for the sake of his loved ones, and he does it with a viciousness and vindictiviness only seen in war-torn people.
Weapons: His fists and legs. He's actually a MMA fighter, as well as a good traceur. He knows how to shoot a gun, but he rarely carries one of those, what with all the Martial Law and whatnot.
Equipment: His clothes, a wallet, a cellphone, and a pocket knife (more a tool than a weapon). He also owns a motorbike and a Gymnasium in the slums where he sleeps and trains (and doubles as safe house for GMG).
Bio:Miroslav and his sister Olga were a couple of war-orphans hailing from a eastern europe country. In the world-upsetting wake of the Life 0 virus, little Miro did his best to keep him and his sister alive, as the Order of the world crumbled around them. Fortunately for them, this caught the eye of an american foreigner, which brought them to the USA as child refugees. Olga was then soon adopted by the government, although at that time Miro wasn't aware of the implications of such a thing. He was happy he had fulfilled his elder brother obligations. Unlike Olga, he was never adopted, and in time, he sunk in hopelessness and bitterness, becoming some sort of a troublesome youth. What drove him the most mad, though, was that he never, once received news of his sister.
Fortunately, a charitable soul intervened. A former washed out martial artist and traceur, who picked him out of the streets because he was nimble. He taught him discipline, education, restraint, martial arts, parkour, and morals. He in turn, participated in tournaments to bring the fame his master could never achieve, both legal and illegal. It was a harsh life, full of pain, blood and tears, but at least Miro knew he could make a living, and sleep well at night, not once worrying wether the next time he would wake up would have a gun aimed at his face.
However, eventually, all things would come to an end. Vincent Banks, the man who took Miro in, was dying from a strange freak cancer, fruit of years of substance abuse. Miro found himself on the situation to take care of his gymnasium and funeral, since Vincent had alienated himself from all his past acquaintances. However, Miro took it in stride, and did as the old man who had been his surrogate father wished. But then the dilemma struck. What to do after? He had won a tournament. He had taken care of his master remains.
Fate had a funny way to tell him. In front of his eyes, on a certain night in the slums, someone who never expected to run again into appeared. It was Olga. Her sister, all grown up. But she was dishevelled, wounded and in intense fear. Despite that, she managed to recognize him aswell, as she pleaded for help as she ran into a nearby block, panicked. His shock widened as a whole squad of SWAT followed, guns blazing, after her.
Government or not, he would never ignore a plea of his sister, and with a disgusted grimace, he set out after the squad. It was reliving his old life again. With hostile soldiers everywhere. But now, he had something. He could fight back to an extent. The first of them never knew what had snuck up him, as two deft hands suddenly appeared from his behind, twisting his neck in an unnatural angle, before jumping and vanishing on the many pillars and blocks of the construction building. The second was only a little luckier, as he saw the fast motion of the shovel before it cleanly cleaved its face. The third got a couple of lucky grazing shots, before he chocked when Miro stuffed his mouth with a ignited smoke grenade. It was then when the fourth requested reinforcements, his eyes wide as he opened fire on the once again, vanishing Miro. He didn't last, though, as Olga had managed to sneak up on him aswell and shot him in the face, without hesitation.
She smiled, blood covering her face, as she devolved into tears soon after, clutching her wounds. "I knew you would come to get me." She said between sobs. "Listen-WATCH OUT."
She interrupted herself as she drove Miro out of her way, three shots of automatic gunfire impacting on her lithe body with dull thuds. The reinforcements were there. In the form of something Miro had never seen before. An indescriptible monstrosity, who was a very wrong sin against creation and sense.
Love has caused wars. Love has made people lift up cars, breaking their spines in the process, to save others. Love has made people jump into trains to push people out of the way. Love has made people tackle bears. And Love made Miro defy all kind of sense and self-preservation, upon engaging the Seeker. It readjusted and fired upon him, but Miro...flew. Jumping through the beams, climbing, running, never stopping at once. Steel beams, chains, even the odd grenade or weapon from the discarded SWAT team, he threw everything at the thing, without pause nor hesitation. The thing shrugged everything with contemptous ease, and was managing to even hit him with his weapons. Not that Miro could ever feel at that point he was gravely injuried and had been shot several times. He just kept going and going on the self-destructive deadlock, until fortune smiled at him.
A pool of wet cement. Without thinking twice, he rammed the thing as hard as he could into the pool, sealing its movement. But he wasn't done yet, as he summoned the last of his strength for the coup de grace. Lifting a heavy jackhammer and leveling it against the creature's head, he didn't hesitate to pound the creature's skull with the construction machinery for a while for good measure until it stopped moving and screeching.
The weight of his wounds finally caught up to him, as he crawled towards the limp figure of his sister. She wasn't moving. She didn't even have a pulse. But she had the most placid smile in his face. Miro couldn't even begin to cry, before unconsciousness set in. When he woke up, his wounds had been tended, and there was an unknown girl besides him. She explained an ominous story, about girls being used as experiments, and that Olga had been one of them, much like her. His struggle had not pass unnoticed, and she asked for his help, despite being in mourning. They had very few allies, after all.
Miro just looked once away, before saying he would help. After all, they had to pay for whatever they had done with his sister. |
8,364 | 228 | 16 | 1,506 | 208 | Joy snored loudly as she laid in her sleeping bag. She couldn't help it after the long night she had been through. A harsh banging on the back door of the van drew her slowly out of her slumber with each instance until she finally woke up. She unzipped her bag and crawled over to the back door. A small pair of curtains kept the sun out and prying eyes. She slowly sat up, rubbing her eyes and holding her handgun. Slowly she drew the curtain to peek out to the outside. An older man with graying hair under a work cap and a matching beard was standing there. The groundskeeper of the junkyard. Slowly she opened it and peered out.
"What is it, Big Joe? You know what fuckin' time it is?"
"Yes, little lady, I do. I also know that some military types were on their way through here. Said they had rights to search fer squatters and whatnot."
"Military? Oh fuck..."
"You and I both know they ain't here fer the squatters."
"Big Joe..."
"Don't make nothin' of it. Git yerself together and make yerself scarce. I'll try to keep them out of this area as long as I can. Saw one of their big vehicles out front too."
"That makes thing difficult. They near the break in the fence?"
"Not yet, but they may be soon."
"Alright. Take it easy, Big Joe. I'll be around sometime."
With that info fresh in her mind, Joy quickly popped some caffeine pills and washed it down with some rainwater she had been collecting from her rain catcher in the sunroof. She threw her jacket, her belts, and all her pouches onto her person. She tore down everything that indicated the van had been lived in and threw it into her rucksack. Finally, she holstered her handgun and stepped out of the van, pulling her hood up. She gave Big Joe a quick hug goodbye before turning around and high-tailing it out.
The junkyard was a maze, truly, which was both a blessing and a curse. She needed to get out, but finding her way around parts unknown was harder than it looked. At least she knew if she was always heading at least some direction, she'd hit the fence eventually. So even though the soldiers were out and around, they weren't aware that she was moving out. They'd be taking their sweet time, trying to sneak up on her and hoping to catch her napping. Not now, though. No, this time she'd be gone before they knew she was ever there. At least, that's what she hoped. Getting around was difficult, and she had to climb over car piles a lot more than she found comfortable. They were unstable, and it made her nervous.
Just when she climbed up and took a few seconds to judge the distance she was from the fence, she heard metal creaking underneath her. Thinking fast, she jumped and hit the ground on a roll. The four-car tower became a three-car tower as a sedan slipped off the edge and crashed. That was going to draw attention, so Joy beat feet onto her goal, which was almost in sight. Voices from behind her only served to increase her speed until, finally and thankfully, she was able to slip out. For now, she was okay, but it wasn't going to be like that for long. She kept up her pace to head deeper into New York, keeping a lookout on a place to dive in and lay low. An apartment complex that looked like it had seen much better days in the past (and more residents), seemed like a good place to stop for now. She slipped in through the front door after making sure no one else was around and sighed.
Out of the frying pan, but not sure if the burner was lit. Joy drew her 1911 and clicked the safety off. Leaving it cocked didn't hurt it, so she hadn't messed with it after her encounter with Miro. Miro...well, at least he was good for one thing: he let her know just how well her disguise was working. Well...from the neck up anyway. She looked down. With the rucksack straps around her shoulders, she noticed her prominent mounds under her jacket. Great. She cursed herself for her natural bustiness and vowed to try binding herself down with some pressure bandages later on. At least, if she could. The first thing to do was to make sure no one was going to fuck with her in this building, if there was anyone to do so.
Slowly, but surely, she carefully made her first steps inside and began to clear out as much as she could see from the building. She knew to pie her corners, but she really wasn't wanting to try jiggling door handles. Her combat boots also made audible noise that was only slightly softer the slower she stepped. Well, at least if anyone else was here, they'd be wanting to get the hell out. Combat boots were usually worn by the government types, and spelled trouble. Joy prayed that anyone would get the hell out at the sound of her footsteps if they were here. It was just easier. And yet, sometimes things are never easy, nor do they usually turn out the way we want them to. | Reserved for Lyn if I ever decide to make a character sheet for her. I lost it. I DO WHAT I WANT. |
8,365 | 228 | 17 | 220 | 2,523 | Miro's eyebrows lifted visiblely as his personal space was rudely invaded. Eyes met eyes, a jaded tired gaze, with a steely inquisitive one. Miro did only wander once to look at Bea's seat, now vacant. Apparently she had taken the Thinker orders at heart as well, too.
Lil' bugger knows when to fold em. He thought with a bit of relief, as he grew increasingly pressured by the awkward position the Thinker had when questioning him. Nice butt wiggling. Miro added, being slightly distracted before refocusing on the face of the older girl.
"I came for booty." He deadpanned, his voice following suit to his gaze. "You know, chicks dig heroic, reliable figures... and do you know how hard is to find people of my age? Really hard. But noo, you have to get in my way and don't swallow my lies!" He added raising his eyebrows and voice for a brief while, before letting a small chuckle.
"As if." Miro smirked. "What I told you before is what I honestly feel. Or what I want to feel at this moment. Of course, it's the edulcorated version. But you doubt everything thrown at him? Right. Hunt or be hunted? The world is full of liars? I know. I try not to lie. Much. An open hand is better than a fist." Miro scratched his head, his gaze now acquiring a rather serious intensity.
"But if you must know as a head honcho, I'll tell you that much." He paused, and inhaled.
"Reckoning. I want revenge. Justice. To see the responsible of all this dead and helpless. Words cannot tell how angry I am. They plucked out the flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood. And I want them to PAY. Olga didn't deserve it. And I didn't deserve to be duped. like this." Clenching his teeth and fist he inhaled a second time, an effort to calm himself.
"But going like a crazy berseker yelling on top of my lungs is stupid. Stupid and selfish. Cooperation is wiser for the time being, brain for brawn and that stuff. It's still suicidal, not that I care that much, I mean, by my forties I will be a wreck with the conditioning my body already has." Miro added, in his calm voice. "So why not try to set rights for once, instead of wallowing in hatred and pity?". | Name: Miroslav AKA Miro AKA The Demon of the Construction Site.
Sex: Male
Age: 19
Faction: Resistance-cooperator Citizen.
Appearance: Miro is a lean, shorter than average scruffy youth with slavic features. He has icy blue eyes, pale complexion, and short black hair. Beneath his clothes, he's actually very toned and muscular, and he has a couple of faded out scars in his body, as well as a couple of bullet scars, more recent.
Clothing: Miro usually dresses in baggy, non restrictive clothes, such as cargo pants, loose, monochromatic Tshirts, and a baggy sweater. The most outstanding piece are his clothing is his boots. Sturdy,steel reinforced and high quality, these are one of the pieces Miro cares for, as they aid him to perform to his fullest.
Personality: Miro is rather gruff to approach, and rather sparse in his words. He often makes very laconic statements, even when he's impressed. Underneath his rough shell, lies a rather scarred and tormented kind person, who has seen the horrors of humanity up close even as a child. For that very reason, he's very supportive and protective of the underdogs, and specially of kids and teenagers like him. Loyal to those few who managed to befriend him, Miro doesn't hesitate when it comes to trading blows, specially for the sake of his loved ones, and he does it with a viciousness and vindictiviness only seen in war-torn people.
Weapons: His fists and legs. He's actually a MMA fighter, as well as a good traceur. He knows how to shoot a gun, but he rarely carries one of those, what with all the Martial Law and whatnot.
Equipment: His clothes, a wallet, a cellphone, and a pocket knife (more a tool than a weapon). He also owns a motorbike and a Gymnasium in the slums where he sleeps and trains (and doubles as safe house for GMG).
Bio:Miroslav and his sister Olga were a couple of war-orphans hailing from a eastern europe country. In the world-upsetting wake of the Life 0 virus, little Miro did his best to keep him and his sister alive, as the Order of the world crumbled around them. Fortunately for them, this caught the eye of an american foreigner, which brought them to the USA as child refugees. Olga was then soon adopted by the government, although at that time Miro wasn't aware of the implications of such a thing. He was happy he had fulfilled his elder brother obligations. Unlike Olga, he was never adopted, and in time, he sunk in hopelessness and bitterness, becoming some sort of a troublesome youth. What drove him the most mad, though, was that he never, once received news of his sister.
Fortunately, a charitable soul intervened. A former washed out martial artist and traceur, who picked him out of the streets because he was nimble. He taught him discipline, education, restraint, martial arts, parkour, and morals. He in turn, participated in tournaments to bring the fame his master could never achieve, both legal and illegal. It was a harsh life, full of pain, blood and tears, but at least Miro knew he could make a living, and sleep well at night, not once worrying wether the next time he would wake up would have a gun aimed at his face.
However, eventually, all things would come to an end. Vincent Banks, the man who took Miro in, was dying from a strange freak cancer, fruit of years of substance abuse. Miro found himself on the situation to take care of his gymnasium and funeral, since Vincent had alienated himself from all his past acquaintances. However, Miro took it in stride, and did as the old man who had been his surrogate father wished. But then the dilemma struck. What to do after? He had won a tournament. He had taken care of his master remains.
Fate had a funny way to tell him. In front of his eyes, on a certain night in the slums, someone who never expected to run again into appeared. It was Olga. Her sister, all grown up. But she was dishevelled, wounded and in intense fear. Despite that, she managed to recognize him aswell, as she pleaded for help as she ran into a nearby block, panicked. His shock widened as a whole squad of SWAT followed, guns blazing, after her.
Government or not, he would never ignore a plea of his sister, and with a disgusted grimace, he set out after the squad. It was reliving his old life again. With hostile soldiers everywhere. But now, he had something. He could fight back to an extent. The first of them never knew what had snuck up him, as two deft hands suddenly appeared from his behind, twisting his neck in an unnatural angle, before jumping and vanishing on the many pillars and blocks of the construction building. The second was only a little luckier, as he saw the fast motion of the shovel before it cleanly cleaved its face. The third got a couple of lucky grazing shots, before he chocked when Miro stuffed his mouth with a ignited smoke grenade. It was then when the fourth requested reinforcements, his eyes wide as he opened fire on the once again, vanishing Miro. He didn't last, though, as Olga had managed to sneak up on him aswell and shot him in the face, without hesitation.
She smiled, blood covering her face, as she devolved into tears soon after, clutching her wounds. "I knew you would come to get me." She said between sobs. "Listen-WATCH OUT."
She interrupted herself as she drove Miro out of her way, three shots of automatic gunfire impacting on her lithe body with dull thuds. The reinforcements were there. In the form of something Miro had never seen before. An indescriptible monstrosity, who was a very wrong sin against creation and sense.
Love has caused wars. Love has made people lift up cars, breaking their spines in the process, to save others. Love has made people jump into trains to push people out of the way. Love has made people tackle bears. And Love made Miro defy all kind of sense and self-preservation, upon engaging the Seeker. It readjusted and fired upon him, but Miro...flew. Jumping through the beams, climbing, running, never stopping at once. Steel beams, chains, even the odd grenade or weapon from the discarded SWAT team, he threw everything at the thing, without pause nor hesitation. The thing shrugged everything with contemptous ease, and was managing to even hit him with his weapons. Not that Miro could ever feel at that point he was gravely injuried and had been shot several times. He just kept going and going on the self-destructive deadlock, until fortune smiled at him.
A pool of wet cement. Without thinking twice, he rammed the thing as hard as he could into the pool, sealing its movement. But he wasn't done yet, as he summoned the last of his strength for the coup de grace. Lifting a heavy jackhammer and leveling it against the creature's head, he didn't hesitate to pound the creature's skull with the construction machinery for a while for good measure until it stopped moving and screeching.
The weight of his wounds finally caught up to him, as he crawled towards the limp figure of his sister. She wasn't moving. She didn't even have a pulse. But she had the most placid smile in his face. Miro couldn't even begin to cry, before unconsciousness set in. When he woke up, his wounds had been tended, and there was an unknown girl besides him. She explained an ominous story, about girls being used as experiments, and that Olga had been one of them, much like her. His struggle had not pass unnoticed, and she asked for his help, despite being in mourning. They had very few allies, after all.
Miro just looked once away, before saying he would help. After all, they had to pay for whatever they had done with his sister. |
8,366 | 228 | 18 | 846 | 1,744 | Only when I know they're going to return the favor at earliest opportunity. Adrian replied as he started laying pieces of herring onto each individual cracker, lining them up neatly and slowly and methodically chewing them down one at a time.
He listened to Joslyn's idea of following him everywhere, at least until she felt he could be trusted to make-good on the deal, and nodded kindly as he reached into his shirt-pocket.
"By all means, you may accompany me." He replied, as he pulled-out a flat metal flask; "this should help with your jitters." He offered, but seeing as she probably didn't trust him enough to believe it wasn't poison or tranquilizers, popped the cap and took a lengthy draught for himself before offering a second time, shaking it to indicate that the offer was not empty.
Joslyn stared at him for a moment, eyeing the flask before she reached out and took it from him, careful not to touch him before she brought the object up to her nose. When she was sure it was just alcohol, she gave him a look before downing some of what was in the flask and made a face. "You do know I am only 17 right?" she questioned as she looked at him, "And my shaking is a side effect of my heightened reflexes... there isn't really much I can do about that."
Offering him a shy smile, she plopped down next to Adrian and snagged one of the pickled herring covered crackers before popping it into her mouth. While it was not her most favorite thing on the planet, it was something that she could eat easily and it didn't go bad incase she wasn't home for days on end. Now she was looking at being able to get something good to eat and hopefully some decent clothing on her back minus the maybe two outfits and her experiment uniform that she had.
"No, I did not. But I suppose I'm going to call-in a favor and have your papers forged in any case, if I expect you to work with me." Adrian admitted, as they continued to share a few more morsels, listening to her reason for having the shakes.
"And I suppose your sensitivity to light is enhanced, also. I'll make a point not to put-on any light-shows during your shift." He stipulated, before he froze for a second, trying not to make any noise so he could determine whether or not he was hearing things.
"Boots." He whispered, as he slunk over to the closet-door to fetch a pair of knives, one for Joslyn, and one for himself as he gingerly lifted the SR-25 and aimed it at the door, praying they wouldn't have to deal with any seekers today. He gave a glance at Joslyn, and tried to see if she had any access to a nearby fire-escape, but knew that even if there was one, a military operation would already have most escape-routes covered.
Joslyn focused on what he was doing for some time, her mind a little slow but she wasn't exactly worried. "It's only one pair, I doubt that it's anything to be worried about," she grumbled, slowly standing up before yanking the door open, her firearm in hand, "Seeeeeeee, one person... who is in my house... why the fuck is everyone in my god damn house?! First this guy and now... this... person... urg..." She simply threw her arms up and sulked back to where she was and flopped back down, clearly displeased.
Wait, only one? Adrian asked, stupefied by Joslyn's sudden carelessness... probably more to do with her lack of sleep than from some sort of yet-unheard-of alcohol-intolerance... That or she'd make for one really cheap drunk... easy to tell if she's sampling the merch...
He carefully peeked around the corner, and sure enough, only one person... still one person with a gun...
"You're... not military, are you?" He asked, "they don't send just one... you their decoy?" He kept the rifle trained on the stranger's misshapen silhouette, but things seemed to be de-escalating pretty fast despite the paranoia being thick enough to parkour from here to LA without your feet ever touching the ground. | Name: Adrian Vance
Sex: Male
Age: 28
Faction: Slumlord-bartender
Appearance: Da.
Clothing: See "Da."
Personality: Crusty exterior, with a side of wise-sass. But underneath all that genuinely cares for the welfare of his patrons.
Weapons: Pump Shotgun, fists, bad langrage.
Equipment: He runs a bar, so he's got a pretty good selection of craft-beers and hard-liquors via some fermentation-vats and a still. He's also got a grill, a deep-fryer, and a seldom-used coffee-maker somewhere in the back.
Bio:
Working on it. Jeeze, why do you always have to be so negative? |
8,367 | 228 | 19 | 1,506 | 208 | Well, there was the fire. Joy didn't understand much about why the other girl was so mad, but then again she had a run-in with someone trying to get into her home just today too. Still, the business end of a rifle made her stop and think.
"Jeez, that's a big gun. What is that, an AR-15? No, it's definitely longer. The magazine is also different. It must be chambered for seven six two then. This is bad. I hoped that they'd want to avoid contact but now I'm getting held at gun point. Is my safety still on? No, okay at least there's that but still. What are the chances that I can make a step back without getting shot? Not very likely. I'm still in no position to make any sort of moves unless I want a new hole. Damn, this isn't how it's supposed to go! Wait...a girl? Maybe...it's worth a shot."
Slowly, Joy took her left hand off the handgun from the Weaver stance she was in, and swung the 1911 around slowly until she was pointing it at the wall. There was a soft metallic click as she reengaged the safety before carefully putting it into her holster. She still had her knife, though, so she knew that if anything happened she wasn't entirely defenseless. She put her hands up, but pointed into the doorway. Hopefully, Joslyn would have enough mental capacity to be able to make the distinction from military to GMG with her dog tag. | Reserved for Lyn if I ever decide to make a character sheet for her. I lost it. I DO WHAT I WANT. |
8,368 | 228 | 20 | 846 | 1,744 | Adrian watched as the figure swung a gun out towards the wall, then he heard a click. Thankfully, said wall was the one opposite the room Joslyn was behind. They then made a motion that indicated they wanted to see this other person for themselves before speaking.
He didn't trust this person, if they were military then they were probably looking for a quick-kill that was less risky than only a pistol to a serious gunfight.. if it was a rival GMG... then it probably didn't matter what he did if they decided to go hostile.
Lowering the rifle on his shoulder, he began slowly un-slicing the pie through the doorway, being careful to keep eyes and distance on the intruder. Once everyone was in the relative privacy of Joslyn's "home", it was 'bout time he tried to seriously identify the figure as he pulled out his flashlight and shone it at the girl's face.
What he saw was a scruffy short-haired blonde person with red eyes and either pects-of-steel or breasts... Then he saw the chain of silver dangling round her neck, dropped his flashlight with a dull thud, and raised his rifle back up.
"Tags. Now." He ordered, in a very hushed mono-syllabic tone. | Name: Adrian Vance
Sex: Male
Age: 28
Faction: Slumlord-bartender
Appearance: Da.
Clothing: See "Da."
Personality: Crusty exterior, with a side of wise-sass. But underneath all that genuinely cares for the welfare of his patrons.
Weapons: Pump Shotgun, fists, bad langrage.
Equipment: He runs a bar, so he's got a pretty good selection of craft-beers and hard-liquors via some fermentation-vats and a still. He's also got a grill, a deep-fryer, and a seldom-used coffee-maker somewhere in the back.
Bio:
Working on it. Jeeze, why do you always have to be so negative? |
8,369 | 228 | 21 | 220 | 2,523 | Vengeance? Vengeance. Let me tell you a little something about that word. Lyn took a deep breath, her peculiar blue eyes darting away from Miro momentarily as her grip tightened to her water glass.
"Wh- Miss Lyn." Lyn sighed with relief as Aria peeked her head through the door. "Christ Aria I thought we already talked about the 'Miss Lyn' thing. I'm only a year older than you for God's sake." Aria shook her head, "Miss Lyn you know I respect you a great deal too much to refer to you as common folk after what we've been through together. Please now mam', if I may have your attention."
Aria uncloaked a small tablet from her raggedy jacket, placing it on the table in view of both sexes.
EYES ONLY
CITY HOLDING FACILITY 17
XX/XX/2052
XX:XX:XX
SENT BY:
TO:
ATTN : ATTACHED IS THE LIST OF GIRLS WE HAVE CAPTURED IN THIS WEEKS SWEEP. THEY WILL BE TRANSPORTED VIA THE STANDARD ARMORED CONVOY. THEIR TRANSPORT WILL BEGIN AT 0100 HOURS, WITH THE CONVOY TO ARRIVE AT CITY EXECUTION FACILITY BRAVO AT 0130 HOURS. THIS IS A NOTIFICATION MESSAGE ONLY, PLEASE USE NORMAL CHANNELS FOR SPECIFIED INSTRUCTIONS, ROUTES AND OTHER PLANNING. THIS IS AN AUTOMATED MESSAGE, PLEASE DO NOT RESPOND. ALL OTHER QUESTIONS SHOULD BE SENT TO AT
-
"The convoy is leaving in seven minutes. If we hurry, we should be able to catch it about twenty out. Supermax 17 is pretty close to here, but the closest NARVA set up is over 20 out south of here, they won't make it in time. If you want to go on the assault, we do have four AT4's we liberated from the last convoy strike we could use. Your call mam."
"Well..." Lyn mused, pulling up her digitizer. "Maybe you won't have to wait so long after all. If you're really all you say you are, put your ass on the line. Follow Aria to the armory. She'll give you some basic provisions for the assault. We'll learn quickly how serious you are about avenging your sister." | Name: Miroslav AKA Miro AKA The Demon of the Construction Site.
Sex: Male
Age: 19
Faction: Resistance-cooperator Citizen.
Appearance: Miro is a lean, shorter than average scruffy youth with slavic features. He has icy blue eyes, pale complexion, and short black hair. Beneath his clothes, he's actually very toned and muscular, and he has a couple of faded out scars in his body, as well as a couple of bullet scars, more recent.
Clothing: Miro usually dresses in baggy, non restrictive clothes, such as cargo pants, loose, monochromatic Tshirts, and a baggy sweater. The most outstanding piece are his clothing is his boots. Sturdy,steel reinforced and high quality, these are one of the pieces Miro cares for, as they aid him to perform to his fullest.
Personality: Miro is rather gruff to approach, and rather sparse in his words. He often makes very laconic statements, even when he's impressed. Underneath his rough shell, lies a rather scarred and tormented kind person, who has seen the horrors of humanity up close even as a child. For that very reason, he's very supportive and protective of the underdogs, and specially of kids and teenagers like him. Loyal to those few who managed to befriend him, Miro doesn't hesitate when it comes to trading blows, specially for the sake of his loved ones, and he does it with a viciousness and vindictiviness only seen in war-torn people.
Weapons: His fists and legs. He's actually a MMA fighter, as well as a good traceur. He knows how to shoot a gun, but he rarely carries one of those, what with all the Martial Law and whatnot.
Equipment: His clothes, a wallet, a cellphone, and a pocket knife (more a tool than a weapon). He also owns a motorbike and a Gymnasium in the slums where he sleeps and trains (and doubles as safe house for GMG).
Bio:Miroslav and his sister Olga were a couple of war-orphans hailing from a eastern europe country. In the world-upsetting wake of the Life 0 virus, little Miro did his best to keep him and his sister alive, as the Order of the world crumbled around them. Fortunately for them, this caught the eye of an american foreigner, which brought them to the USA as child refugees. Olga was then soon adopted by the government, although at that time Miro wasn't aware of the implications of such a thing. He was happy he had fulfilled his elder brother obligations. Unlike Olga, he was never adopted, and in time, he sunk in hopelessness and bitterness, becoming some sort of a troublesome youth. What drove him the most mad, though, was that he never, once received news of his sister.
Fortunately, a charitable soul intervened. A former washed out martial artist and traceur, who picked him out of the streets because he was nimble. He taught him discipline, education, restraint, martial arts, parkour, and morals. He in turn, participated in tournaments to bring the fame his master could never achieve, both legal and illegal. It was a harsh life, full of pain, blood and tears, but at least Miro knew he could make a living, and sleep well at night, not once worrying wether the next time he would wake up would have a gun aimed at his face.
However, eventually, all things would come to an end. Vincent Banks, the man who took Miro in, was dying from a strange freak cancer, fruit of years of substance abuse. Miro found himself on the situation to take care of his gymnasium and funeral, since Vincent had alienated himself from all his past acquaintances. However, Miro took it in stride, and did as the old man who had been his surrogate father wished. But then the dilemma struck. What to do after? He had won a tournament. He had taken care of his master remains.
Fate had a funny way to tell him. In front of his eyes, on a certain night in the slums, someone who never expected to run again into appeared. It was Olga. Her sister, all grown up. But she was dishevelled, wounded and in intense fear. Despite that, she managed to recognize him aswell, as she pleaded for help as she ran into a nearby block, panicked. His shock widened as a whole squad of SWAT followed, guns blazing, after her.
Government or not, he would never ignore a plea of his sister, and with a disgusted grimace, he set out after the squad. It was reliving his old life again. With hostile soldiers everywhere. But now, he had something. He could fight back to an extent. The first of them never knew what had snuck up him, as two deft hands suddenly appeared from his behind, twisting his neck in an unnatural angle, before jumping and vanishing on the many pillars and blocks of the construction building. The second was only a little luckier, as he saw the fast motion of the shovel before it cleanly cleaved its face. The third got a couple of lucky grazing shots, before he chocked when Miro stuffed his mouth with a ignited smoke grenade. It was then when the fourth requested reinforcements, his eyes wide as he opened fire on the once again, vanishing Miro. He didn't last, though, as Olga had managed to sneak up on him aswell and shot him in the face, without hesitation.
She smiled, blood covering her face, as she devolved into tears soon after, clutching her wounds. "I knew you would come to get me." She said between sobs. "Listen-WATCH OUT."
She interrupted herself as she drove Miro out of her way, three shots of automatic gunfire impacting on her lithe body with dull thuds. The reinforcements were there. In the form of something Miro had never seen before. An indescriptible monstrosity, who was a very wrong sin against creation and sense.
Love has caused wars. Love has made people lift up cars, breaking their spines in the process, to save others. Love has made people jump into trains to push people out of the way. Love has made people tackle bears. And Love made Miro defy all kind of sense and self-preservation, upon engaging the Seeker. It readjusted and fired upon him, but Miro...flew. Jumping through the beams, climbing, running, never stopping at once. Steel beams, chains, even the odd grenade or weapon from the discarded SWAT team, he threw everything at the thing, without pause nor hesitation. The thing shrugged everything with contemptous ease, and was managing to even hit him with his weapons. Not that Miro could ever feel at that point he was gravely injuried and had been shot several times. He just kept going and going on the self-destructive deadlock, until fortune smiled at him.
A pool of wet cement. Without thinking twice, he rammed the thing as hard as he could into the pool, sealing its movement. But he wasn't done yet, as he summoned the last of his strength for the coup de grace. Lifting a heavy jackhammer and leveling it against the creature's head, he didn't hesitate to pound the creature's skull with the construction machinery for a while for good measure until it stopped moving and screeching.
The weight of his wounds finally caught up to him, as he crawled towards the limp figure of his sister. She wasn't moving. She didn't even have a pulse. But she had the most placid smile in his face. Miro couldn't even begin to cry, before unconsciousness set in. When he woke up, his wounds had been tended, and there was an unknown girl besides him. She explained an ominous story, about girls being used as experiments, and that Olga had been one of them, much like her. His struggle had not pass unnoticed, and she asked for his help, despite being in mourning. They had very few allies, after all.
Miro just looked once away, before saying he would help. After all, they had to pay for whatever they had done with his sister. |
8,370 | 228 | 22 | 1,277 | 218 | Joslyn looked between Adrian and the new comer for a few seconds before she let out an annoyed huff and stalked up to the Joy, her enhanced vision already having picked up on the sudalties that indicated that the one before them was, in fact, female. "Don't you know it is rude to point a weapon at an underage female?" Joslyn demanded of Adrian as she shoved the barrel of his firearm towards the floor of her home, "Even though this building will be your's, I rather not have to deal with blood stains so can you refrain from shooting someone?" Without much thought, or care really, to what the female before them may say; Joslyn reached out and grabbed the girl's dog tags as she finished speaking. Yanking them forward slightly, though she really did not need to, her eyes scanned the pressed metal and she couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corner of her lips.
"Knox, Joy S; GMG 014; O Pos; Poperty of US Government," she read outloud for Adrian's benefit before releasing the Tags, "Good to see you again Fourteen... it's me, Twenty... Well, Joslyn Vulkas. Haven't seen you since about a week after the groups split. Hey Adrian, she's cool... she's one of me." Joslyn actually smiled at the newcomer and looked back at the male who had offered her a job and a place to stay not so long ago to see what his reaction would be.
Adrian was so surprised at how quickly Joslyn realized the intruder was a woman, while intoxicated, that he hardly reacted to her pushing the muzzle aside and snatching the dog-tags for a quick peek.
True enough, she managed to almost completely defuse the situation on her own; leaving Adrian only to consider the challenge of now having two of them to deal with, and the second one didnt seem to like him all that much.
"If she's staying here, you're going to end-up paying for her rent." Adrian finally decided, as he found his words again and set the rifle away just so he could fold his arms at at least try and look as though he wasn't too concerned.
Then as he looked up, "Of course, the cost of renovating a room is going to be nearly the same regardless of how many occupants are inside it." he corrected, smiling just a bit.
"Should also make keeping tabs on me a bit easier, four eyes can out-blink two any day and still win a staring-contest."
Joslyn blinked and simply stared at Adrian for a moment before letting out a huff, "Does that mean I am going to have to work double shift to pay for the two of us if she would like to stay?" she questioned as she slowly started to manuver Adrian and Joy away from her apartment, figuring it was time to leave, "Hey Adrian, show me the bar I am meant to work at, I would like to familiarize myself with the territory so I'm ready to work." | Name: Joslyn (Jossie) Vulcas
Sex: Female
Age: 17
Experiment Tier: Test Subject
Enhanced Trait 1:
Enhanced Vision:
Josyln’s enhanced Vision allows her to see with almost startling clarity, making it possible for her to pick up on the smallest of details when she is out in the field or simply trying her hardest to blend in and collect intel. Along with her ability to see clearer than the average human, she is also able to see things further away without the aid of a scope, giving her the ability to be an amazing sniper, though she does not classify as the best as she knows there is always someone out there better than herself. While she can see well enough in the dark, if the area is completely devoid of any form of light (i.e moonlight) she is unable to see just like any average human.
Enhanced Trait 1:
Downside: Light Sensitivity
While Joslyn enjoys the perks of being able to see far and in complete clarity, this enhancement caused her to develop an acute sensitivity to light. Due to this, she must always wear sunglasses until nightfall and, unless the room is dim enough, while under artificial lighting. Part of her counts this as a blessing in disguise as it offers her a way to hide her eyes from those who are looking for her, as they are the most notable feature that she maintains. Should she be subjected to bright light (i.e a flash bang) without the proper eye protection, her sight is rendered useless until such a time that her retina’s are able to adjust and right themselves.
Enhanced Trait 2:
Heightened Reflexes
While she is unable to dodge bullets, Joslyn’s reflexes have been enhanced in order to allow her reaction time to be far greater than the average human. The messages that travel from her brain to her limbs take far less time to communicate the need to do something, allowing her to react faster and take less time to process situations as they occur. Her heightened reflexes also increase her rate of fire depending on the firearm she is using at the time and aid her well in hand to hand (or overall close range) combat.
Enhanced Trait 2:
Downside: Twitchy
Due to her uncanny habit of twitching, whether it is when someone touches her or when she is forced into a fast reaction time too many times in a row, Joslyn attempts not to rely on this ability too much. While engaged in close combat, should she take a particularly hard hit (or a harmful hit in general) her body’s reflex is typically over exaggerated and could potentially cause more harm than good to herself.
Faction: Poltava
Appearance:
Height: 5’7
Weight: 145 lbs
Distinct Feature(s): HeteroChromia (LE Green / RE teal)
Clothing: See second picture for shirt style, typically wearing black jeans or slacks and a pair of black sneakers. Due to her light sensitivity, Joslyn also wears a pair of sunglasses that she rarely takes off.
Personality:
Joslyn prefers to keep to herself when she can, though she is not shy by any means but seems far from approachable due to the fact that she always looks rather mad, even when she is not. Usually very straight forward and blunt, she hates to sugar coat things and is usually the person to go to if you want the hard truth about something. Once one gets past the bluntness and permanent ‘I will kill you’ look, she is overall a fun person to be around who enjoys a good joke just as much as the next person.
Weapons: SR-25 (Semi-automatic special application sniper rifle 7.62x51mm), PMR-30 (.22 magnum), and a few well placed throwing knives.
Equipment:
Emergency Kit Containing:
Lighter
Compass
Camelbak
Disposable Cell Phone
Emergency Tinder
Magnesium Starter
Emergency Rations
First-Aid Kit (small)
Canteen
Aqua Iodine Tablets
S&W SWAT Knife
Mini LED Flashlight
GERBER
Bio:
Taken at a young age, Joslyn does not have much of a childhood to remember as she spent most of her years in a facility being put through an array of tests. While she remembers nothing that happened between the ages of 8 and 16, she can remember what few years of clarity she had with her Mother and Father. Both of her parents always seemed to be happy and madly in love with one another, a feeling they also shared with their daughter who never went without. She always went to parks to play with the other local children, a place she assumed she was taken from as she could not remember anything leading up to the week that shew as taken. Despite many attempts to try and recollect the eight years of memories she did not have, she had nothing to show for it as every attempt resulted in a failure.
When she had managed to escape the facility with the Three Kings, Joslyn had attempted to find her family, wanting to go back to them, to let them know that she was ok despite her genetic modifications. When she got to the outside of the house she remembered living in eight years ago, she found it in the state that she had left it, immaculate and well taken care of. However, when she peered inside, she saw only a shadow of the man her father was sitting in front of the television with beer bottles all around him and a young boy pleading for his attention.
Not being able to take the sight before her, she left without so much as knocking on the door and found her way into the Poltava faction. While she could fight if need be, she preferred doing things from afar, or simply not at all as she isn’t much of a violent person unless the situation calls for it. While she finds no pleasure in what was done to her, she could not bring herself to join the faction that actively attacked the government, despite the fact that she blames them for everything that she saw through that window.
At present she volunteers as a sniper when one is needed, doing her part in an attempt to earn her keep with those she decided to join. While she has no issues with remaining in the shadows, even she is aware that there are times when violence is a necessity and when the government is after you, sometimes that necessity happens a lot. |
8,371 | 228 | 23 | 1,506 | 208 | Sweat had been dripping since she'd been held at gun point. When the other girl came out to see who she was, she felt a bit relieved but still scared. She at least seemed to have Joy's well-being somewhere in mind. At that, she let her hands down and sighed, smiling after a long while. Finally, some good news for today. She listened in to the girl and the guy before Joslyn turned her around. Bar? Rent? Job? Wasn't life hard enough? Well...I suppose if any time's the most important to make a living, it's now. She sighed again.
"All I wanna do is take a shower...and a nap..." Joy moaned.
The caffeine pills would hold her but she'd feel the effects of being up almost all day soon. Not that she couldn't hack being awake for 24 hours, but it didn't do her any good in this state. She looked to "Twenty" and flashed another smile.
"Hadn't seen anyone since that week after the breakout. Got separated and had been on my own ever since. What've you been up to lately besides all this...and why's he here?" | Reserved for Lyn if I ever decide to make a character sheet for her. I lost it. I DO WHAT I WANT. |
8,372 | 228 | 24 | 846 | 1,744 | Aria grunted in dissatisfaction as the door to the armory slammed behind her. A few girls looked up towards Miro, half-clothed as they switched from their patrol gear. "Growing up on your own, a lot of these girls didn't learn common decency, but I'm sure you did. You stare, you die." The girls, paying no mind to Aria, stared at Miro as he came through. The question of what he was doing there was the obvious gaze, and many shifted away from him as Aria escorted him into the weapons room of the armory.
"Being a POLTAVA forward base, we have even less armaments than our normal sister bases. But pick out whatever you're used to fighting with, if anything comes to mind. Hopefully we'll be able to grab some armaments from this raid while we're extracting. We haven't had weapons run in over 3 months since they stepped up the checkpoints on the back streets."
The room was small and cramped, filled with lockers torn from an old school. A few old-war flak vests lined one wall, with different sets of fatigues, and a couple of military issued helmets. Alone in a corner was a large waste basket filled with miscellaneous hand to hand weapons, including a baseball bat, several ice picks, and some piano wire among other things. Finally, along the longest wall of the room was the guns. Several civilian long guns including a Mini-14 and Mossberg 500, along with a several Sig P238's in great condition, acquired from slain military members.
"Grab what you want then meet me outside, we're heading out soon."
2 minutes from convoy
The white panel van most certainly deserving of a free candy sign raced through the alleyways. The occupants crashed around in the back of the van, bumping into each other harshly. Lyn pointed towards the wall of the van, "There's a reason it says 'Safeties on', being on the run doesn't leave you with much equity to upgrade your suspension, accidents happen you know?" There was a slight hint of sarcasm in her voice, reflecting the shit-eating grin she had on under the mask. "We already have our advanced recon team stationed on the intersection of Rodgers and Philips. They're going to take out the lead escort vehicle, then use the other AT4's to take out the pavement on the cross-sections. They'll be so focused on the frontal assault, they won't notice us pull up from behind for the ambush."
"The real question is, are you ready for this?"
"30 seconds!" Aria hollered over the creaking of the panel van. Muffled explosions could be heard from outside the van, only from a few blocks away.
"Well, time to find out." | Name: Adrian Vance
Sex: Male
Age: 28
Faction: Slumlord-bartender
Appearance: Da.
Clothing: See "Da."
Personality: Crusty exterior, with a side of wise-sass. But underneath all that genuinely cares for the welfare of his patrons.
Weapons: Pump Shotgun, fists, bad langrage.
Equipment: He runs a bar, so he's got a pretty good selection of craft-beers and hard-liquors via some fermentation-vats and a still. He's also got a grill, a deep-fryer, and a seldom-used coffee-maker somewhere in the back.
Bio:
Working on it. Jeeze, why do you always have to be so negative? |
8,373 | 228 | 25 | 1,506 | 208 | Joy didn't really say much of anything. Yes, those pills and adrenaline were definitely wearing off now. The prospect of a chance at bathing herself made her a bit excited, to be honest. To finally rid herself of the smell of...well it certainly was more than metal and fuel that she reeked of. She flopped into the back seat and laid down along it. A nice place to rest for a bit, and to keep people from knowing she was there. She yawned loudly and turned onto her back, taking her rucksack off and her belt and putting them on the floor. Well, at least things were looking up now. She hadn't met friendlies since she got into the junkyard, and even then Big Joe was only a conscientious objector to what was going on who took pity on her in her situation.
Joy pulled the hood up over her dirty hair in an attempt to shade her eyes before putting her sleeve over her face instead. | Reserved for Lyn if I ever decide to make a character sheet for her. I lost it. I DO WHAT I WANT. |
8,374 | 228 | 26 | 220 | 2,523 | Miro clenched his teeth, and summoning all of his willpower, managed to find his shoes more interesting than girls while in the lockers. A second time this day he had to pull the same move. But now, he could feel he was being observed. He imagined some of them had lewd stares at his buttocks aswell, being someone with defined fit figure and muscles, but he had to endure it. It was bound to be unfair, this was their turf.
The gruff, annoyance-tinged voice of Aria managed to jerk him from his thoughts, as he examined the pickings of the base. Pretty slim pickings, by the show of it. And he had only very rudimentary training with guns. He wisely only picked a single SiG handgun of of the basket, while gearing himself with a flak jacket. He pondered on the gravity of head injuries and wearing a helmet, but for the same reason of scarcity, he opted to leave it for the girls.He did put on a balaclava to conceal his face and identity, though. It was their fight first and foremost, he was just an addon. His revenge could never get into the way of that. The melee weapons, on the other hand... offered a much better perspective, but they were kind of rudimentary. He weighted an icepick in his hand. It would do it. Sturdy and pointy.
And then the travel in the van. Lyn made a comment about the suspension being poor and having no money to fix it, but Miro was focusing his attention elsewhere. He had clamped his sight to his feet once again. A van full of girls with poor transmission...So much jiggling ensued from the more endowed members. And he was a male afterall.
"30 Seconds!" The voice of Aria announced. Is she always so gruff and pissed? Miro wondered. Before discarding all thoughts.
"I am sorry. It will be scary." He said, almost in a hushed whisper, clenching his fist and teeth.
20 Seconds.
He cracked his knuckles and neck, and let out a sigh.
10 Seconds.
All sound died out. His mind became fire. His pulse accelerated. A single thought circled through his mind. KILL.His gaze dulled and focused. Power reserves coursed through his body. The bruise didn't matter now.
He was the lion. And this was his hunting pride.
0 Seconds.
The doors of the van slammed open, bringing the full battlefield into view. It was a three vehicle convoy, with the van of the middle being larger than the rest. The first vehicle was a mess, full of smoke and fire, and the escort personal were outside the first and third vehicles, like a swarm of angry bees, their guns roaring at the opponents in front. Their attention had not been caught yet. Miro's legs exploded in a burst of speed, running with all of his swiftness and might towards the first target.
He was fully armored, from head to toe. He knew that a single gun couldn't make it. The ice pick might not prove enough to pierce his defense quickly enough. So he resorted to the one way he could kill someone that armored while ignoring all the defense. His hands deftly shot towards the neck and top of the head, much like the MMA holds he had been so fond of. Except, that this time, there was no tapping out.
KILL THEM ALL. FOR OLGA.His thoughts urged him as he applied leveraged and pressure.
"WHAT THE-!??" The trooper managed to mutter before in a single swift strike, the neck turned in an awkward angle, and he slumped, losing all control from neck down. He began to gasp for air, unable to talk, drool spewing all over. Miro's grip didn't falter though, as he grabbed the neutralized and probably tetraplegic for life soldier as impromptu bullet shield, before charging on a second soldier, picking up the discarded soldier's weapon as he aimed for suppression fire before the second target could react.
"Die." Miro snarled, in an uncharacteristic somber voice. | Name: Miroslav AKA Miro AKA The Demon of the Construction Site.
Sex: Male
Age: 19
Faction: Resistance-cooperator Citizen.
Appearance: Miro is a lean, shorter than average scruffy youth with slavic features. He has icy blue eyes, pale complexion, and short black hair. Beneath his clothes, he's actually very toned and muscular, and he has a couple of faded out scars in his body, as well as a couple of bullet scars, more recent.
Clothing: Miro usually dresses in baggy, non restrictive clothes, such as cargo pants, loose, monochromatic Tshirts, and a baggy sweater. The most outstanding piece are his clothing is his boots. Sturdy,steel reinforced and high quality, these are one of the pieces Miro cares for, as they aid him to perform to his fullest.
Personality: Miro is rather gruff to approach, and rather sparse in his words. He often makes very laconic statements, even when he's impressed. Underneath his rough shell, lies a rather scarred and tormented kind person, who has seen the horrors of humanity up close even as a child. For that very reason, he's very supportive and protective of the underdogs, and specially of kids and teenagers like him. Loyal to those few who managed to befriend him, Miro doesn't hesitate when it comes to trading blows, specially for the sake of his loved ones, and he does it with a viciousness and vindictiviness only seen in war-torn people.
Weapons: His fists and legs. He's actually a MMA fighter, as well as a good traceur. He knows how to shoot a gun, but he rarely carries one of those, what with all the Martial Law and whatnot.
Equipment: His clothes, a wallet, a cellphone, and a pocket knife (more a tool than a weapon). He also owns a motorbike and a Gymnasium in the slums where he sleeps and trains (and doubles as safe house for GMG).
Bio:Miroslav and his sister Olga were a couple of war-orphans hailing from a eastern europe country. In the world-upsetting wake of the Life 0 virus, little Miro did his best to keep him and his sister alive, as the Order of the world crumbled around them. Fortunately for them, this caught the eye of an american foreigner, which brought them to the USA as child refugees. Olga was then soon adopted by the government, although at that time Miro wasn't aware of the implications of such a thing. He was happy he had fulfilled his elder brother obligations. Unlike Olga, he was never adopted, and in time, he sunk in hopelessness and bitterness, becoming some sort of a troublesome youth. What drove him the most mad, though, was that he never, once received news of his sister.
Fortunately, a charitable soul intervened. A former washed out martial artist and traceur, who picked him out of the streets because he was nimble. He taught him discipline, education, restraint, martial arts, parkour, and morals. He in turn, participated in tournaments to bring the fame his master could never achieve, both legal and illegal. It was a harsh life, full of pain, blood and tears, but at least Miro knew he could make a living, and sleep well at night, not once worrying wether the next time he would wake up would have a gun aimed at his face.
However, eventually, all things would come to an end. Vincent Banks, the man who took Miro in, was dying from a strange freak cancer, fruit of years of substance abuse. Miro found himself on the situation to take care of his gymnasium and funeral, since Vincent had alienated himself from all his past acquaintances. However, Miro took it in stride, and did as the old man who had been his surrogate father wished. But then the dilemma struck. What to do after? He had won a tournament. He had taken care of his master remains.
Fate had a funny way to tell him. In front of his eyes, on a certain night in the slums, someone who never expected to run again into appeared. It was Olga. Her sister, all grown up. But she was dishevelled, wounded and in intense fear. Despite that, she managed to recognize him aswell, as she pleaded for help as she ran into a nearby block, panicked. His shock widened as a whole squad of SWAT followed, guns blazing, after her.
Government or not, he would never ignore a plea of his sister, and with a disgusted grimace, he set out after the squad. It was reliving his old life again. With hostile soldiers everywhere. But now, he had something. He could fight back to an extent. The first of them never knew what had snuck up him, as two deft hands suddenly appeared from his behind, twisting his neck in an unnatural angle, before jumping and vanishing on the many pillars and blocks of the construction building. The second was only a little luckier, as he saw the fast motion of the shovel before it cleanly cleaved its face. The third got a couple of lucky grazing shots, before he chocked when Miro stuffed his mouth with a ignited smoke grenade. It was then when the fourth requested reinforcements, his eyes wide as he opened fire on the once again, vanishing Miro. He didn't last, though, as Olga had managed to sneak up on him aswell and shot him in the face, without hesitation.
She smiled, blood covering her face, as she devolved into tears soon after, clutching her wounds. "I knew you would come to get me." She said between sobs. "Listen-WATCH OUT."
She interrupted herself as she drove Miro out of her way, three shots of automatic gunfire impacting on her lithe body with dull thuds. The reinforcements were there. In the form of something Miro had never seen before. An indescriptible monstrosity, who was a very wrong sin against creation and sense.
Love has caused wars. Love has made people lift up cars, breaking their spines in the process, to save others. Love has made people jump into trains to push people out of the way. Love has made people tackle bears. And Love made Miro defy all kind of sense and self-preservation, upon engaging the Seeker. It readjusted and fired upon him, but Miro...flew. Jumping through the beams, climbing, running, never stopping at once. Steel beams, chains, even the odd grenade or weapon from the discarded SWAT team, he threw everything at the thing, without pause nor hesitation. The thing shrugged everything with contemptous ease, and was managing to even hit him with his weapons. Not that Miro could ever feel at that point he was gravely injuried and had been shot several times. He just kept going and going on the self-destructive deadlock, until fortune smiled at him.
A pool of wet cement. Without thinking twice, he rammed the thing as hard as he could into the pool, sealing its movement. But he wasn't done yet, as he summoned the last of his strength for the coup de grace. Lifting a heavy jackhammer and leveling it against the creature's head, he didn't hesitate to pound the creature's skull with the construction machinery for a while for good measure until it stopped moving and screeching.
The weight of his wounds finally caught up to him, as he crawled towards the limp figure of his sister. She wasn't moving. She didn't even have a pulse. But she had the most placid smile in his face. Miro couldn't even begin to cry, before unconsciousness set in. When he woke up, his wounds had been tended, and there was an unknown girl besides him. She explained an ominous story, about girls being used as experiments, and that Olga had been one of them, much like her. His struggle had not pass unnoticed, and she asked for his help, despite being in mourning. They had very few allies, after all.
Miro just looked once away, before saying he would help. After all, they had to pay for whatever they had done with his sister. |
8,375 | 228 | 27 | 1,277 | 218 | Joslyn settled into the passenger side seat with a small pout on her face, a little upset that he would not let her drive, but did not say much about it. "The way there is fairly simple actually," she said as she buckled her seatbelt and glanced around the car, "Just go down four lights, take a left then a right when you hit the first stop-sign, go down about five more lights and the gym will be on your right. Good news is they have shampoos and stuff there that people leave behind so I'll be able to help Joy scrub the stink from her flesh." Once she finished giving him directions, she let out a yawn and simply flopped to the side, her head coming to rest against his shoulder. She still had every intent on giving him proper directions, but she was rather tired and just wanted to get the other female bathed and back to the apartment so she could sleep.
Adrian could only listen and nod as Jossie rapidly prattled-off her 'simple' directions to the gym, which involved at least three turns, and knowing whether to look for a stop-light or a stop-sign and how many to ignore on each leg.
His apprehension of getting lost and left to his own sense of direction only increased as their fearless-navigator yawned and decided to take a nap on his shoulder. Rather than wake her, he merely placed a hand soothingly on her leg, if he felt like he didn't know where he was going, all he'd have to do is give a gentle squeeze.
But as the directions became simpler with each step completed, he simply rubbed her thigh as they drove right past a parked armored-car by the junkyard so-as not to alarm her, noting that she seemed much clamer and less twitchy now than when they'd first met.
Joslyn mumbled something when she felt him rub her though, a look of confusion on her face as she tilted her head back to look at him, though when she saw the armored car, she dropped down the best she could, her head now landing in his lap. While she was not at all certain that they had seen her, or would find a man driving around with a girl in his car suspicious, she waited a few moments before sitting back up. With a frown, she craned her head to look back at where the vehicle was, then looked forward and remained alert the rest of the time.
Once they made it to the gym, Joslyn climbed out of Adrian's car and pulled Joy from the back seat. "Come on," she urged, her voice hushed, "Lets get you cleaned up and back to the apartment so you can rest up. I'll help you so it goes by a bit faster, you look dead on your feet. | Name: Joslyn (Jossie) Vulcas
Sex: Female
Age: 17
Experiment Tier: Test Subject
Enhanced Trait 1:
Enhanced Vision:
Josyln’s enhanced Vision allows her to see with almost startling clarity, making it possible for her to pick up on the smallest of details when she is out in the field or simply trying her hardest to blend in and collect intel. Along with her ability to see clearer than the average human, she is also able to see things further away without the aid of a scope, giving her the ability to be an amazing sniper, though she does not classify as the best as she knows there is always someone out there better than herself. While she can see well enough in the dark, if the area is completely devoid of any form of light (i.e moonlight) she is unable to see just like any average human.
Enhanced Trait 1:
Downside: Light Sensitivity
While Joslyn enjoys the perks of being able to see far and in complete clarity, this enhancement caused her to develop an acute sensitivity to light. Due to this, she must always wear sunglasses until nightfall and, unless the room is dim enough, while under artificial lighting. Part of her counts this as a blessing in disguise as it offers her a way to hide her eyes from those who are looking for her, as they are the most notable feature that she maintains. Should she be subjected to bright light (i.e a flash bang) without the proper eye protection, her sight is rendered useless until such a time that her retina’s are able to adjust and right themselves.
Enhanced Trait 2:
Heightened Reflexes
While she is unable to dodge bullets, Joslyn’s reflexes have been enhanced in order to allow her reaction time to be far greater than the average human. The messages that travel from her brain to her limbs take far less time to communicate the need to do something, allowing her to react faster and take less time to process situations as they occur. Her heightened reflexes also increase her rate of fire depending on the firearm she is using at the time and aid her well in hand to hand (or overall close range) combat.
Enhanced Trait 2:
Downside: Twitchy
Due to her uncanny habit of twitching, whether it is when someone touches her or when she is forced into a fast reaction time too many times in a row, Joslyn attempts not to rely on this ability too much. While engaged in close combat, should she take a particularly hard hit (or a harmful hit in general) her body’s reflex is typically over exaggerated and could potentially cause more harm than good to herself.
Faction: Poltava
Appearance:
Height: 5’7
Weight: 145 lbs
Distinct Feature(s): HeteroChromia (LE Green / RE teal)
Clothing: See second picture for shirt style, typically wearing black jeans or slacks and a pair of black sneakers. Due to her light sensitivity, Joslyn also wears a pair of sunglasses that she rarely takes off.
Personality:
Joslyn prefers to keep to herself when she can, though she is not shy by any means but seems far from approachable due to the fact that she always looks rather mad, even when she is not. Usually very straight forward and blunt, she hates to sugar coat things and is usually the person to go to if you want the hard truth about something. Once one gets past the bluntness and permanent ‘I will kill you’ look, she is overall a fun person to be around who enjoys a good joke just as much as the next person.
Weapons: SR-25 (Semi-automatic special application sniper rifle 7.62x51mm), PMR-30 (.22 magnum), and a few well placed throwing knives.
Equipment:
Emergency Kit Containing:
Lighter
Compass
Camelbak
Disposable Cell Phone
Emergency Tinder
Magnesium Starter
Emergency Rations
First-Aid Kit (small)
Canteen
Aqua Iodine Tablets
S&W SWAT Knife
Mini LED Flashlight
GERBER
Bio:
Taken at a young age, Joslyn does not have much of a childhood to remember as she spent most of her years in a facility being put through an array of tests. While she remembers nothing that happened between the ages of 8 and 16, she can remember what few years of clarity she had with her Mother and Father. Both of her parents always seemed to be happy and madly in love with one another, a feeling they also shared with their daughter who never went without. She always went to parks to play with the other local children, a place she assumed she was taken from as she could not remember anything leading up to the week that shew as taken. Despite many attempts to try and recollect the eight years of memories she did not have, she had nothing to show for it as every attempt resulted in a failure.
When she had managed to escape the facility with the Three Kings, Joslyn had attempted to find her family, wanting to go back to them, to let them know that she was ok despite her genetic modifications. When she got to the outside of the house she remembered living in eight years ago, she found it in the state that she had left it, immaculate and well taken care of. However, when she peered inside, she saw only a shadow of the man her father was sitting in front of the television with beer bottles all around him and a young boy pleading for his attention.
Not being able to take the sight before her, she left without so much as knocking on the door and found her way into the Poltava faction. While she could fight if need be, she preferred doing things from afar, or simply not at all as she isn’t much of a violent person unless the situation calls for it. While she finds no pleasure in what was done to her, she could not bring herself to join the faction that actively attacked the government, despite the fact that she blames them for everything that she saw through that window.
At present she volunteers as a sniper when one is needed, doing her part in an attempt to earn her keep with those she decided to join. While she has no issues with remaining in the shadows, even she is aware that there are times when violence is a necessity and when the government is after you, sometimes that necessity happens a lot. |
8,376 | 228 | 28 | 1,506 | 208 | Joy groaned, mumbled, and generally didn't want to get up. She was tired, but there would be time to rest later. One whiff of herself told her that yeah, okay, maybe it was finally time to get going. She sat up, rubbed her eyes, and stepped into the gym with Joslyn. Joy made the walk at a leisurely pace, trying to still stay alert enough to get things going in her mind until they came to the showers. Just take her stuff off? Okay. She put her clothes on one of the benches and felt pretty alright until she turned around and caught Joslyn in her sight. Was she there the whole time?! Joy swiftly covered herself as her cheeks flushed. She didn't know why, but she was incredibly embarrassed.
On the other hand, Joslyn herself seemed to not mind standing in her birthday suit. Joy looked at her, and then at herself. She did this a few times, noticing a very distinct difference in their sizes. What'd she do to get them so big? Joy sighed and looked down at her own in contempt before Joslyn ushered her into the shower stall out of the locker room. She still covered herself, for reasons she didn't know, and felt chills run up and down her spine at the cold water and Joslyn's assisstance in washing her back. With her body shaking and her lip quivering and about turning blue, she tried to focus on other things as the girl whimpered from the icy water, making goosebumps on her skin. This wasn't like back at the facility, and she was started to miss that little difference a bit. | Reserved for Lyn if I ever decide to make a character sheet for her. I lost it. I DO WHAT I WANT. |
8,377 | 228 | 29 | 846 | 1,744 | As Adrian was given teh all-clear, he stepped into the changing-room, and began sorting-through Joy's clothes, from things in most need of cleaning to things that just needed a good soak in clean soapy water. He chose to start with the later in one sink plugged with a badly-browned and blackened pair of ehr socks, which resaulted in a pungeantly-smelling gray brine which was mostly used to moisten and slough-off some of the super-caked crud from her jacket and pants as the previously soaked clothes were rinsed in the next sink over.
He was making fairly good progress at cleaning off Joy's clothes, having them go through the wash at least twice by the time he heard a noise. He didn't think much of it until he heard it again... It was a door... And boots... Army boots...
Thinking quickly, he stuffed mostly all of both Joy and Joslyn's clothes into the sinks, stripped down, and hopped quickly into the shower between Joy and Jossie, just to get himself thuroughly wet, then popped out as he grabbed a towel to scamper-out and meet the bootfalls as they could now clearly be heard coming towards the noise of running water.
"Oh! I didn't see you there!" He gasped, in dull-surprise to the military-patrol as they gazed upon his unabashed manhood until he finally managed to wrap a towel around his waist with one hand as the other reached into the shower-stall blindly to turn off the water.
Joslyn was forced to surpress a startled noise when Adrian dropped his clothing and hopped into the shower, forcing himself between the girls for a moment. On top of that, she was pretty sure she saw a certain part of the male anatomy she was not really supposed to see, which caused her face to heat up and her ears to turn red. However, she never got the chance to whisper anything to the male as he got out of the shower to speak to whoever had entered the locker room and even had to dodge his hand as he reached in.
"What are you doing in here? one of the men demanded, a flashlight, as well as a rifle, trained on Adrian, "And whose clothing is that you are washing in the sink?"
"I was taking a shower." Adrian shrugged at the rapid volley of questions, "decided to do some laundry while I was at it, but didn't feel like messing up the men's locker-room. I'm sure you can check with the gym owner if you think they'd have a problem with it, but I assure you he doesn't mind." He finished answering as he pulled Joy's sopping-wet army-jacket out of the sink and wrung it out for the third time, letting the gray water drip back into the sink before taking a brush to a muddy and worn-out pair of army-boots.
When he saw that the explanation wasn't making them leave, in fact, one of them was starting to work along the side of the wall behind him, likely only curious if the rumors about the women's locker rooms having a couch hidden in them were true or not...
"If any of you plan on sticking around, you could help me hang these clothes out to dry..."
The errant soldier swiftly turned around, having reconsidered malingering in this part of teh gym any longer if it meant having to go through this stranger's clothes, however, turning down the offer to stay while still staying quickly tried Adrian's pretend-patience with these people, as he shoo'd them back out the door before they could even think to peek behind the shower-curtain.
However, as they were leaving, he make a motion to check himself for body odor and scoffed, "ugh... needs more soap..." | Name: Adrian Vance
Sex: Male
Age: 28
Faction: Slumlord-bartender
Appearance: Da.
Clothing: See "Da."
Personality: Crusty exterior, with a side of wise-sass. But underneath all that genuinely cares for the welfare of his patrons.
Weapons: Pump Shotgun, fists, bad langrage.
Equipment: He runs a bar, so he's got a pretty good selection of craft-beers and hard-liquors via some fermentation-vats and a still. He's also got a grill, a deep-fryer, and a seldom-used coffee-maker somewhere in the back.
Bio:
Working on it. Jeeze, why do you always have to be so negative? |
8,378 | 228 | 30 | 1,506 | 208 | Joy paled. Sure, Joslyn with her was one thing, but Adrian?! And she about gagged and was visibly flustered about that...that...thing he had. Of course, the emotional height didn't stop at that when she heard voices of what she deduced were soldiers in the other room. She covered her mouth, feeling completely naked without her guns or knife around. She looked to Joslyn, visibly worried as to be expected. She stood there, holding her breath, shaking like a leaf as cold water dripped down from her hair. Given the days events, she was about ready to cry. She was more than ready for a rest now. | Reserved for Lyn if I ever decide to make a character sheet for her. I lost it. I DO WHAT I WANT. |
8,379 | 228 | 31 | 1,277 | 218 | With the military men gone and them done with their shower, and thankfully with Joy smelling a lot better, Joslyn stared at the clothing in the sink and frowned. It was clear she was not pleased about the lack of dry clothing, even more so since she was stark naked without a means to cover herself when they had to leave the locker room. "My clothing was washed yesterday.... now we have to wear wet shit," she grumbled as she started to wring out the clothing the best she could, throwing Joy her things as she dried them out a bit. While they were far from dry, they were no longer dripping, which was much better in her eyes than walking around soaking wet.
When they were all dressed, and Joslyn was no longer staring at Adrian more than she probably should have, they went back to the car to return Joy to the apartment so the female could rest.Once they got back to the apartment, Joslyn told Joy to go ahead and get some sleep in the bed that was there before she turned to Adrian. "Do all... um... whatever that thing attached to your hip is, look like that?" she questioned, "Are they all that soft?" As she had spent most of her life being tested, she never had any real interaction with men, let alone naked men. She was completely naive to the entirety of how they acted, or what it would mean to be involved with one in any compacity. When she had seen Adrian's, she had been both intregued and a little nervous, her entire body jumping slightly when it had brushed against her hip. Part of her wanted to see it again, maybe even touch it because of her curiousity, but she wasn't sure if that was something she could ask.
It took a second for Adrian to realize what Joslyn was even enquiring about, but then he had a warm smile as he tried his best to explain things without getting too specific or possibly get himself caught lying due to his own ignorance of the capabilites of the human reproductive system "Not all of them. Some are black, some are bigger, some are smaller, I've heard some of them even glow in the dark." he answered, only to be a bit surprised by her next question... She, touched it? When? The shower? he thought to himself as he started to blush, "No, not always.... well, not-soft isn't how I'd describe it... more just, rigid." He tried to explain, knowing he was probably just making her more curious, which would lead to further questions, an more awkwardness as they approached the car...
"So what would you like to eat? The kitchen here isn't the best, but it has plenty of warm food and a better selection than your fridge." He asked, trying so very desprately to change the topic before they entered the bar.
"Is it bad to ask if I can see it again? I've never seen anything like it," she questioned before she thought about what he had just asked, "I am not sure what I would like to eat as I haven't eaten much other than what you have seen in the fridge when you came into my home... and do they really glow in the dark? Your's didn't... are they all that size?" She looked at him, curious as to why he was blushing as she did not think that what she was asking was something that was worth being embarrassed about. Then again, she wasn't sure what to expect when it came to sex or even the male reproductive organ, she had no reason too as she never really found anyone of interest (male or female) to ask about such things. Now that she had seen whatever that was, she was entirely too interested to stop asking about it unless he found a way to make her stop.
"Well, not right now. Maybe later, after your shift?" Adrian rebuked with his own counter-offer as he quickly tried to think of some sort of dish to serve her, the gridle was still disgusting from last night, the deep-fryer was still serviceable. Since he'd just woken her up not too long ago, something breakfast-y would be considered, and since she looked hungry, high-calorie as well... and fried... because that gridle ain't be getting cleaned tonight.
"I said some of them do. Not all. Mine is special." He stated, protesting her further questions as they drove for the bar, as Joslyn sat beside him as usual and dressed in dryer clothes.
"I am going to hold you to that," she said simply, now staring out the window as she wondered why he hadn't answered her other question. As far as she knew, anything and everything he told her was true, but that was the downside of being naive to such things. Just as the silence was starting to get to her, Adrian pulled into a parking space just outside of a building she assumed to be his bar, "Oh... you aren't that far from my home, at least I will be able to walk to work." | Name: Joslyn (Jossie) Vulcas
Sex: Female
Age: 17
Experiment Tier: Test Subject
Enhanced Trait 1:
Enhanced Vision:
Josyln’s enhanced Vision allows her to see with almost startling clarity, making it possible for her to pick up on the smallest of details when she is out in the field or simply trying her hardest to blend in and collect intel. Along with her ability to see clearer than the average human, she is also able to see things further away without the aid of a scope, giving her the ability to be an amazing sniper, though she does not classify as the best as she knows there is always someone out there better than herself. While she can see well enough in the dark, if the area is completely devoid of any form of light (i.e moonlight) she is unable to see just like any average human.
Enhanced Trait 1:
Downside: Light Sensitivity
While Joslyn enjoys the perks of being able to see far and in complete clarity, this enhancement caused her to develop an acute sensitivity to light. Due to this, she must always wear sunglasses until nightfall and, unless the room is dim enough, while under artificial lighting. Part of her counts this as a blessing in disguise as it offers her a way to hide her eyes from those who are looking for her, as they are the most notable feature that she maintains. Should she be subjected to bright light (i.e a flash bang) without the proper eye protection, her sight is rendered useless until such a time that her retina’s are able to adjust and right themselves.
Enhanced Trait 2:
Heightened Reflexes
While she is unable to dodge bullets, Joslyn’s reflexes have been enhanced in order to allow her reaction time to be far greater than the average human. The messages that travel from her brain to her limbs take far less time to communicate the need to do something, allowing her to react faster and take less time to process situations as they occur. Her heightened reflexes also increase her rate of fire depending on the firearm she is using at the time and aid her well in hand to hand (or overall close range) combat.
Enhanced Trait 2:
Downside: Twitchy
Due to her uncanny habit of twitching, whether it is when someone touches her or when she is forced into a fast reaction time too many times in a row, Joslyn attempts not to rely on this ability too much. While engaged in close combat, should she take a particularly hard hit (or a harmful hit in general) her body’s reflex is typically over exaggerated and could potentially cause more harm than good to herself.
Faction: Poltava
Appearance:
Height: 5’7
Weight: 145 lbs
Distinct Feature(s): HeteroChromia (LE Green / RE teal)
Clothing: See second picture for shirt style, typically wearing black jeans or slacks and a pair of black sneakers. Due to her light sensitivity, Joslyn also wears a pair of sunglasses that she rarely takes off.
Personality:
Joslyn prefers to keep to herself when she can, though she is not shy by any means but seems far from approachable due to the fact that she always looks rather mad, even when she is not. Usually very straight forward and blunt, she hates to sugar coat things and is usually the person to go to if you want the hard truth about something. Once one gets past the bluntness and permanent ‘I will kill you’ look, she is overall a fun person to be around who enjoys a good joke just as much as the next person.
Weapons: SR-25 (Semi-automatic special application sniper rifle 7.62x51mm), PMR-30 (.22 magnum), and a few well placed throwing knives.
Equipment:
Emergency Kit Containing:
Lighter
Compass
Camelbak
Disposable Cell Phone
Emergency Tinder
Magnesium Starter
Emergency Rations
First-Aid Kit (small)
Canteen
Aqua Iodine Tablets
S&W SWAT Knife
Mini LED Flashlight
GERBER
Bio:
Taken at a young age, Joslyn does not have much of a childhood to remember as she spent most of her years in a facility being put through an array of tests. While she remembers nothing that happened between the ages of 8 and 16, she can remember what few years of clarity she had with her Mother and Father. Both of her parents always seemed to be happy and madly in love with one another, a feeling they also shared with their daughter who never went without. She always went to parks to play with the other local children, a place she assumed she was taken from as she could not remember anything leading up to the week that shew as taken. Despite many attempts to try and recollect the eight years of memories she did not have, she had nothing to show for it as every attempt resulted in a failure.
When she had managed to escape the facility with the Three Kings, Joslyn had attempted to find her family, wanting to go back to them, to let them know that she was ok despite her genetic modifications. When she got to the outside of the house she remembered living in eight years ago, she found it in the state that she had left it, immaculate and well taken care of. However, when she peered inside, she saw only a shadow of the man her father was sitting in front of the television with beer bottles all around him and a young boy pleading for his attention.
Not being able to take the sight before her, she left without so much as knocking on the door and found her way into the Poltava faction. While she could fight if need be, she preferred doing things from afar, or simply not at all as she isn’t much of a violent person unless the situation calls for it. While she finds no pleasure in what was done to her, she could not bring herself to join the faction that actively attacked the government, despite the fact that she blames them for everything that she saw through that window.
At present she volunteers as a sniper when one is needed, doing her part in an attempt to earn her keep with those she decided to join. While she has no issues with remaining in the shadows, even she is aware that there are times when violence is a necessity and when the government is after you, sometimes that necessity happens a lot. |
8,380 | 228 | 32 | 846 | 1,744 | Adrian had mixed feelings about being threatened with his own promise.... wait? did he make a promise? Yes... yes he did. And Josslyn didn't seem nearly as embarrassed about her questions as he thought a typical seventeen year old girl would be.
Thankfully, she finally commented on something that was not his penis as they parked, and walked the final way to the back-door of an unassumingly quiet nightclub. Inside was the foyer for workers to head off and wash their hands, further in was the kitchen, followed by the main-floor. Another side-way from the foyer led to changing-rooms and the main-stage originally for whoever was performing on a particular night; as the bar had switched to karaoke, the changing-rooms were open for use by Adrian for days he just didn't feel like risking a trip on the streets to his apartment.
As they passed through the already-lit kitchen they were greeted by the short-order cook who immediately recognized their boss, with a guest and stood attentive as he gave a special order for him: "Four eggs, deep fried; a side of cheese-curds and two pints for me and the miss. She'll be working here and I don't want her serving food on an empty stomach."
The chef bowed and went straight to work as he led Joslyn by the hand away through to the main-floor and to a secluded crescent-shaped booth while taking both pints from the bar, allowing her to sit first before entering from the opposite side.
"The food will be here shortly."
Joslyn couldn't help but blush when Adrian had taken her hand, though she couldn't exactly reason why that was. "Food sounds good," she said after a moment or two of trying to figure out if she should actually drink the beer he had gotten for her, "So, is it normal for you to just show up with a chick? The guy didn't really seem all that surprised that you had me in tow." Reaching forward, she grabbed one of the pints and sniffed at it before downing about a quarter of what was in the cup. She was still rather thirsty, and not at all pleased with her still damp clothing, but she wasn't sure if that would be something she could say to him.
Looking down at her person, she frowned when she noticed that her shirt and pants were hugging her body, not baggy like she usually liked them. "So... um... do you have anything I could borrow for tonight if I am to be working? I can't walk around in wet clothing that is practically suction-cupped to my skin," she pointed out.
Adrian nodded after considering what he could do on short notice, "I suppose I could offer you some of my spare clothes." He mused, as he took a drink from his own pint, waiting for the food to be carried out to them promptly as one of the patrons tried to drunkenly belt-out some reworded lines from MDC before being boo'ed offstage.
"I mean, I have some clothes stored here. Not that I'm offering you the clothes I'm wearing now." He started to explain, noting that his own clothes weren't exactly bone-dry either. "There's a back-room where we came-in, second door on the left is mine. You can excuse yourself and go find something that fits while I wait for our food." | Name: Adrian Vance
Sex: Male
Age: 28
Faction: Slumlord-bartender
Appearance: Da.
Clothing: See "Da."
Personality: Crusty exterior, with a side of wise-sass. But underneath all that genuinely cares for the welfare of his patrons.
Weapons: Pump Shotgun, fists, bad langrage.
Equipment: He runs a bar, so he's got a pretty good selection of craft-beers and hard-liquors via some fermentation-vats and a still. He's also got a grill, a deep-fryer, and a seldom-used coffee-maker somewhere in the back.
Bio:
Working on it. Jeeze, why do you always have to be so negative? |
8,381 | 228 | 33 | 1,506 | 208 | Joy's wet clothes laid in a pile on the floor of Joslyn's bedroom. The girl in question was so tired after the caffeine pills were finally wearing off, but she knew that water can grow mold or something like that. Wait, could it? Joy shook her head to clear her mind and decided that she could just throw them onto the side of the bathtub. So she did, and looked at her panties as she shivered, having not enough time to dry herself off. Well, it wasn't like Adrian used soap on it. She sniffed them and then quickly pulled them away from her nose.
"Oh fuck, gross..." She groaned, throwing them onto the tub with her jacket and pants.
She looked behind her and sighed. Wherever those other two went, she was sure that they weren't going to snitch on her. Well, it wasn't like she was going to be able to get an opportunity like this again. She kicked her sleeping bag into the corner and took out her 1911. Joy slipped it under the pillow before sliding in between the bed sheets and sighing. A bed. Finally, an actual bed to sleep in. Despite it being cold, she was soon enough out like a light, snoozing the daylight away. | Reserved for Lyn if I ever decide to make a character sheet for her. I lost it. I DO WHAT I WANT. |
8,382 | 228 | 34 | 220 | 2,523 | The van screamed to a halt, nearly tipping in the process. As the girls poured out of the van, Lyn shot a annoyed glance up at the rear view mirror. Aria returned it with a smirk. With a chucking sigh, The Thinker raced from the van, rounding its panels to view the battlefield.
Lets see... Twenty two? Oops, twenty one now. This isn't as heavy of a convoy as I expected. I wonder where the rest of the guards are? Probably couldn't a lot a big patrol this far out in the city with the recent patrol step ups. Even with such a simple set up, we still need to clean this up fast.
Lyn reached up to her digitizer mask and pressed one of the soft keys on the mask before darting into the battlefield. While Lyn wasn't exceptionally fast, she did move with a quick pace and an astonishing grace, like every move had been planned five steps ahead. Her hand reached into the back of her skirt brim, withdrawing her MSS VUL and stiletto knife as she approached the first group of enemies in cover.
♪How lucky can one guy be... Lyn slid over the barrier, I kissed her an she kissed me, she remained unnoticed, Like that fella once said, aint that a- stiletto to the neck. The room was completely black... the guard fell lifeless to the ground, I hugged her and she hugged back, the two adjacent guards heard the commotion and began to turn, Like the sailor said, quote, two silent shots placed between the eyes, "Aint that a hole in the boat♪"
The melody continued to ring through Lyn's ears as the encampment of guards she had tangoed with left the dance floor. The door to the back of the transport container was in sight. Lyn dashed along, silently, across the battlefield to the door, and began to work on the keypad as the dwindling guards focused on staying alive amongst the chaos. The Thinker hooked up her mobile-decryption device and began to work away at the keypad.
Five... Four... Three... Two...
Lyn grinned.
"♪Aint that a hole in the-"
The door on the transport vehicle sheered open with enormous force, bending the door slightly to the side and striking Lyn, sending her hurdling feet away from transport, rolling to a stop on the ground. Coughing as dust filled her lungs, her eyes turned to the sky just in time to see the hulking Seeker's red, beady eyes staring down at her. Before Lyn could move, the beast was on top of her. As it reached down, She fired several rounds from her VUL into it's chest, each ricocheting off like a piece of paper. The hulking machine took hold of her neck, lifting her high into the air, well over the heads of the girls and men still fighting across the battlefield.
"LYN!" Aria shouted as the beast lifted her harder, it's mawing grip constricting tighter and tighter. Her vision blurred, her vocalizer sparked as it was crushed against her neck, her vision grew dark as her eyes grew bloodshot, her entire body flailing and kicking to no avail. Desperately, Lyn's hand rushed toward the small of her back, retrieving her stiletto knife. She trust the knife wildly at the creatures neck with every last ounce of energy in her. As she was certain her life was coming to a close, she made contact between the creatures armor plates on its neck.
The seeker released Lyn, rearing back as purple fluid sprayed from it's neck. Lyn lied motionless on the ground, blood pouring from her mouth, eyes and nose. Aria charged forth. "LIGHT THAT FUCKER UP!' | Name: Miroslav AKA Miro AKA The Demon of the Construction Site.
Sex: Male
Age: 19
Faction: Resistance-cooperator Citizen.
Appearance: Miro is a lean, shorter than average scruffy youth with slavic features. He has icy blue eyes, pale complexion, and short black hair. Beneath his clothes, he's actually very toned and muscular, and he has a couple of faded out scars in his body, as well as a couple of bullet scars, more recent.
Clothing: Miro usually dresses in baggy, non restrictive clothes, such as cargo pants, loose, monochromatic Tshirts, and a baggy sweater. The most outstanding piece are his clothing is his boots. Sturdy,steel reinforced and high quality, these are one of the pieces Miro cares for, as they aid him to perform to his fullest.
Personality: Miro is rather gruff to approach, and rather sparse in his words. He often makes very laconic statements, even when he's impressed. Underneath his rough shell, lies a rather scarred and tormented kind person, who has seen the horrors of humanity up close even as a child. For that very reason, he's very supportive and protective of the underdogs, and specially of kids and teenagers like him. Loyal to those few who managed to befriend him, Miro doesn't hesitate when it comes to trading blows, specially for the sake of his loved ones, and he does it with a viciousness and vindictiviness only seen in war-torn people.
Weapons: His fists and legs. He's actually a MMA fighter, as well as a good traceur. He knows how to shoot a gun, but he rarely carries one of those, what with all the Martial Law and whatnot.
Equipment: His clothes, a wallet, a cellphone, and a pocket knife (more a tool than a weapon). He also owns a motorbike and a Gymnasium in the slums where he sleeps and trains (and doubles as safe house for GMG).
Bio:Miroslav and his sister Olga were a couple of war-orphans hailing from a eastern europe country. In the world-upsetting wake of the Life 0 virus, little Miro did his best to keep him and his sister alive, as the Order of the world crumbled around them. Fortunately for them, this caught the eye of an american foreigner, which brought them to the USA as child refugees. Olga was then soon adopted by the government, although at that time Miro wasn't aware of the implications of such a thing. He was happy he had fulfilled his elder brother obligations. Unlike Olga, he was never adopted, and in time, he sunk in hopelessness and bitterness, becoming some sort of a troublesome youth. What drove him the most mad, though, was that he never, once received news of his sister.
Fortunately, a charitable soul intervened. A former washed out martial artist and traceur, who picked him out of the streets because he was nimble. He taught him discipline, education, restraint, martial arts, parkour, and morals. He in turn, participated in tournaments to bring the fame his master could never achieve, both legal and illegal. It was a harsh life, full of pain, blood and tears, but at least Miro knew he could make a living, and sleep well at night, not once worrying wether the next time he would wake up would have a gun aimed at his face.
However, eventually, all things would come to an end. Vincent Banks, the man who took Miro in, was dying from a strange freak cancer, fruit of years of substance abuse. Miro found himself on the situation to take care of his gymnasium and funeral, since Vincent had alienated himself from all his past acquaintances. However, Miro took it in stride, and did as the old man who had been his surrogate father wished. But then the dilemma struck. What to do after? He had won a tournament. He had taken care of his master remains.
Fate had a funny way to tell him. In front of his eyes, on a certain night in the slums, someone who never expected to run again into appeared. It was Olga. Her sister, all grown up. But she was dishevelled, wounded and in intense fear. Despite that, she managed to recognize him aswell, as she pleaded for help as she ran into a nearby block, panicked. His shock widened as a whole squad of SWAT followed, guns blazing, after her.
Government or not, he would never ignore a plea of his sister, and with a disgusted grimace, he set out after the squad. It was reliving his old life again. With hostile soldiers everywhere. But now, he had something. He could fight back to an extent. The first of them never knew what had snuck up him, as two deft hands suddenly appeared from his behind, twisting his neck in an unnatural angle, before jumping and vanishing on the many pillars and blocks of the construction building. The second was only a little luckier, as he saw the fast motion of the shovel before it cleanly cleaved its face. The third got a couple of lucky grazing shots, before he chocked when Miro stuffed his mouth with a ignited smoke grenade. It was then when the fourth requested reinforcements, his eyes wide as he opened fire on the once again, vanishing Miro. He didn't last, though, as Olga had managed to sneak up on him aswell and shot him in the face, without hesitation.
She smiled, blood covering her face, as she devolved into tears soon after, clutching her wounds. "I knew you would come to get me." She said between sobs. "Listen-WATCH OUT."
She interrupted herself as she drove Miro out of her way, three shots of automatic gunfire impacting on her lithe body with dull thuds. The reinforcements were there. In the form of something Miro had never seen before. An indescriptible monstrosity, who was a very wrong sin against creation and sense.
Love has caused wars. Love has made people lift up cars, breaking their spines in the process, to save others. Love has made people jump into trains to push people out of the way. Love has made people tackle bears. And Love made Miro defy all kind of sense and self-preservation, upon engaging the Seeker. It readjusted and fired upon him, but Miro...flew. Jumping through the beams, climbing, running, never stopping at once. Steel beams, chains, even the odd grenade or weapon from the discarded SWAT team, he threw everything at the thing, without pause nor hesitation. The thing shrugged everything with contemptous ease, and was managing to even hit him with his weapons. Not that Miro could ever feel at that point he was gravely injuried and had been shot several times. He just kept going and going on the self-destructive deadlock, until fortune smiled at him.
A pool of wet cement. Without thinking twice, he rammed the thing as hard as he could into the pool, sealing its movement. But he wasn't done yet, as he summoned the last of his strength for the coup de grace. Lifting a heavy jackhammer and leveling it against the creature's head, he didn't hesitate to pound the creature's skull with the construction machinery for a while for good measure until it stopped moving and screeching.
The weight of his wounds finally caught up to him, as he crawled towards the limp figure of his sister. She wasn't moving. She didn't even have a pulse. But she had the most placid smile in his face. Miro couldn't even begin to cry, before unconsciousness set in. When he woke up, his wounds had been tended, and there was an unknown girl besides him. She explained an ominous story, about girls being used as experiments, and that Olga had been one of them, much like her. His struggle had not pass unnoticed, and she asked for his help, despite being in mourning. They had very few allies, after all.
Miro just looked once away, before saying he would help. After all, they had to pay for whatever they had done with his sister. |
8,383 | 228 | 35 | 1,277 | 218 | Nodding her head, Joslyn went to the room he had mentioned to her and began to look around his clothing, attempting to find something she could wear that would not fall off her body. Moving to a chest off in a corner, she opened it up to see an array of what looked like string, some skirts, and odd shirts that reminded her of corsets. "I guess these would work? Or maybe..." she murmured to herself as she grabbed one of the skirts and went over to his personal dresser. Rummaging through that, she found a button up shirt that was folded relatively neatly and decided to wear that in place if the shirts in the chest.
Content with what she had chosen, she delt with her underthings still being a little damp and changed into the clothing she had chosen. The skirt itself was insanely short, but she was able to make do as she situated the shirt so it was more or less a dress like thing on her, only a little shorter than the skirt she was wearing. "This will have to do, I can't think of anything else," she grumbled as she left his room, still wearing her black sneakers, "Hey Adrian, is this ok?"
Adrian slowly nursed his way through his pint as he waited, expecting her to be upset with his lack of variety and overly-loose fit of his spare wardrobe. This expectation however was quickly shattered as he saw a girl in a miniskirt walk over to his booth and ask if she looked alright, a voice in the back of his head told him to just smile and nod while another figured-out the person was Joslyn just as she slid into the booth. It was then he noticed just how oversize the shirt was for her, and made a mental note to help shop for her new clothes.
"You've cleaned-up nicely." He stated, raising his pint in start of a toast; "To new oprotunities."
Their fried eggs and cheese-curds, almost on cue of the lovely lady's entrance, arrived to their table not long afterwards. The waiter pausing to enjoy some of the local scenery before departing to take the orders of another conveniently nearby table.
Joslyn had simply opted to stare at the Waiter for a few moments before she turned her attention back to Adrian,"There wasn't really much for me to choose from so I went into the dresser," she said with a shrug, "What was with all the string in that chest? Are you planning on making something with it?" As she asked, she took to starting to eat her food, a happy look on her face after her first bite as it was the first time she had anything of decent substance in a long time.
"So, what was with the waiter, do they always stare?" she asked him and she glanced up from her plate, then proceeded to down at least half of what was in her pint. She knew she should slow down, but she really couldn't bring herself to do so with how hungry and thirst she always seemed to be.
Adrian shrugged at the mention of strings in a box, hoping he could figure that puzzle out later as he saw Joslyn and the waiter just stare at each other for a moment before she asked a slightly easier to answer question.
"Oh, Jimmy? No... He just hasn't seem a woman his entire life." He answered, just as he figured out what 'all that string' was for. "Clothes." He cleared his throat, "We should probably find you some clothes that fit you better after dinner. Perhaps you can show me those strings you found so I can answer your question better." Adrian offered, to Joslyn's assistance.
"Yeah," she said with a shrug, "And why hasn't he seen a woman? I mean, I've noticed there are not many of us, actually... the only females I have seen are the ones I was in the facility with." Frowning, Joslyn looked around the bar and realized that Jimmy wasn't the only one who was staring, which started to put her on edge far more than she was willing to admit. "So where do I start working?" Distraction, that's what she needed, something to distract her from all the prying eyes that followed her every move.
"Nearly all of them died ten years ago, during the plague. Very few even remember the last time they've seen a woman even if they had." Adrian answered, as he leaned into his arms towards Joslyn, "This place used to be constantly full, especially during the die-off. But after stage-performers became hard to come-by, the population started to drop and business went down to the few you see now. That's where you come-in."
He paused, considering what sort of position gave her the most visibility with the least scrutiny. "As soon as I can acquire the right credentials, I was planning on having you mixing drinks from behind the bar. Until then do you think you could handle orders at the tables?" He asked, trying to gauge how comfortable she'd be working around strangers.
"I can serve people," she said, "Do you think it would pull in more customers? To have me serving food and drink with the waiters? Is there anything I should wear? Well, I mean, I need new clothing anyway so I guess what I wear is going to be dependant on what can be bought?" She tilted her head to the side as she watched him, then turned her attention to what was going on on the floor. She was excited about getting the chance to work, though she had no idea how her sporadic twitching was going to effect her abilities to do what he needed of her.
Nodding, Adrian answered, "I'm sure of it."
He then considered the issue of buying clothes for her, not many places actually sold women's fashion anymore, as the market had dried up more than five years ago. He had clothes stored-away, which some of it would do alright for serving at the bar, provided she could remain confident while wearing those outfits.
"Not many places sell women's clothing anymore, but coats, jackets, and boots can still be bought. The rest will have to be scavenged from old theater-supplies usually stored upstairs." He answered, while he finished eating as he tried not to look a bit shamefully crazy-overprepared for the return of showgirls to the marketplace. Despite his stash had obviously overflowed to one of the downstairs changing-rooms.
"Since most of the clothes is just upstairs, I could help you sort through it if you'd like." He offered.
"Yeah... sure we can do that," she replied, "Would be nice to have different clothes to wear. The only question I have now is, what are we going to do about my eyes? I don't know of anyone else who has HeteroChromia... let alone boobs." By this point, Joslyn had finished her beer and was done eating, pleased that she wasn't hungry anymore, though now she was starting to feel rather restless. She wanted to start working if she could, and she wanted to try to do the best she could so he would have a reason to keep her around. | Name: Joslyn (Jossie) Vulcas
Sex: Female
Age: 17
Experiment Tier: Test Subject
Enhanced Trait 1:
Enhanced Vision:
Josyln’s enhanced Vision allows her to see with almost startling clarity, making it possible for her to pick up on the smallest of details when she is out in the field or simply trying her hardest to blend in and collect intel. Along with her ability to see clearer than the average human, she is also able to see things further away without the aid of a scope, giving her the ability to be an amazing sniper, though she does not classify as the best as she knows there is always someone out there better than herself. While she can see well enough in the dark, if the area is completely devoid of any form of light (i.e moonlight) she is unable to see just like any average human.
Enhanced Trait 1:
Downside: Light Sensitivity
While Joslyn enjoys the perks of being able to see far and in complete clarity, this enhancement caused her to develop an acute sensitivity to light. Due to this, she must always wear sunglasses until nightfall and, unless the room is dim enough, while under artificial lighting. Part of her counts this as a blessing in disguise as it offers her a way to hide her eyes from those who are looking for her, as they are the most notable feature that she maintains. Should she be subjected to bright light (i.e a flash bang) without the proper eye protection, her sight is rendered useless until such a time that her retina’s are able to adjust and right themselves.
Enhanced Trait 2:
Heightened Reflexes
While she is unable to dodge bullets, Joslyn’s reflexes have been enhanced in order to allow her reaction time to be far greater than the average human. The messages that travel from her brain to her limbs take far less time to communicate the need to do something, allowing her to react faster and take less time to process situations as they occur. Her heightened reflexes also increase her rate of fire depending on the firearm she is using at the time and aid her well in hand to hand (or overall close range) combat.
Enhanced Trait 2:
Downside: Twitchy
Due to her uncanny habit of twitching, whether it is when someone touches her or when she is forced into a fast reaction time too many times in a row, Joslyn attempts not to rely on this ability too much. While engaged in close combat, should she take a particularly hard hit (or a harmful hit in general) her body’s reflex is typically over exaggerated and could potentially cause more harm than good to herself.
Faction: Poltava
Appearance:
Height: 5’7
Weight: 145 lbs
Distinct Feature(s): HeteroChromia (LE Green / RE teal)
Clothing: See second picture for shirt style, typically wearing black jeans or slacks and a pair of black sneakers. Due to her light sensitivity, Joslyn also wears a pair of sunglasses that she rarely takes off.
Personality:
Joslyn prefers to keep to herself when she can, though she is not shy by any means but seems far from approachable due to the fact that she always looks rather mad, even when she is not. Usually very straight forward and blunt, she hates to sugar coat things and is usually the person to go to if you want the hard truth about something. Once one gets past the bluntness and permanent ‘I will kill you’ look, she is overall a fun person to be around who enjoys a good joke just as much as the next person.
Weapons: SR-25 (Semi-automatic special application sniper rifle 7.62x51mm), PMR-30 (.22 magnum), and a few well placed throwing knives.
Equipment:
Emergency Kit Containing:
Lighter
Compass
Camelbak
Disposable Cell Phone
Emergency Tinder
Magnesium Starter
Emergency Rations
First-Aid Kit (small)
Canteen
Aqua Iodine Tablets
S&W SWAT Knife
Mini LED Flashlight
GERBER
Bio:
Taken at a young age, Joslyn does not have much of a childhood to remember as she spent most of her years in a facility being put through an array of tests. While she remembers nothing that happened between the ages of 8 and 16, she can remember what few years of clarity she had with her Mother and Father. Both of her parents always seemed to be happy and madly in love with one another, a feeling they also shared with their daughter who never went without. She always went to parks to play with the other local children, a place she assumed she was taken from as she could not remember anything leading up to the week that shew as taken. Despite many attempts to try and recollect the eight years of memories she did not have, she had nothing to show for it as every attempt resulted in a failure.
When she had managed to escape the facility with the Three Kings, Joslyn had attempted to find her family, wanting to go back to them, to let them know that she was ok despite her genetic modifications. When she got to the outside of the house she remembered living in eight years ago, she found it in the state that she had left it, immaculate and well taken care of. However, when she peered inside, she saw only a shadow of the man her father was sitting in front of the television with beer bottles all around him and a young boy pleading for his attention.
Not being able to take the sight before her, she left without so much as knocking on the door and found her way into the Poltava faction. While she could fight if need be, she preferred doing things from afar, or simply not at all as she isn’t much of a violent person unless the situation calls for it. While she finds no pleasure in what was done to her, she could not bring herself to join the faction that actively attacked the government, despite the fact that she blames them for everything that she saw through that window.
At present she volunteers as a sniper when one is needed, doing her part in an attempt to earn her keep with those she decided to join. While she has no issues with remaining in the shadows, even she is aware that there are times when violence is a necessity and when the government is after you, sometimes that necessity happens a lot. |
8,384 | 228 | 36 | 220 | 2,523 | The Seeker reeled back in pain, grabbing at it's neck in an attempt to stop the bleeding. It stumbled repeatedly as Aria's cry for cover fire was met. Though only a few rounds slipped between the hulking beasts' armored plates, it was enough to continue its stumble. Slowly the fire ceased as the girls stopped to reload. The Seeker roared back, hulking over the girls with a mighty roar, towering at nearly twice their size. The Seeker lowered its' head just in time to see it's next target- a van speeding out of control towards it.
The Miro-guided missile made contact, the excruciating sound of metal on metal screaming through the street before coming to a crashing halt. Even the force of a fully loaded assault vehicle was not enough to stop the beast. Pinned from the waist down, the Seeker ripped at the windshield with a carnal force, trying with all its' might to reach into the cab and decapitate Miro. It inched closer and closer, backing the truck away from the wall that had mangled its' lower half, trying with all it's might to reach it's target. The monster's eyes locked onto the unconscious man as it reached out with one final swoop-
-Before realizing it's grave mistake. In the distraction, Aria snuck around the corner of the pivoted van at the Seeker's blindspot. She lunged forth, blade drawn, widening the wound left by the unconscious think tank. Dropping the contaminated tool, Aria reached for her side pouch, withdrawing a fragmentation grenade and priming it in one fell swoop. With a twisted expression of disgust and rage, the battle-clad girl shoved the grenade into the exposed wound of the Seeker's neck, before darting back into cover. The beast stole one last look at Miro before its' mind vanished into a thin mist.
Aria winced as pieces of the nightmare flew over the battlefield. She stood up, wiping herself from the mysterious liquid. The battlefield was now eerily silent, the girls standing there in awe. It wasn't every day a Seeker was spotted, much less that one was killed. They stood motionless, taking in what had just occurred. Even Aria gazed at the remains of the beast, soaking in what she had accomplished before snapping out of it.
"Don't just stand there! Liria, Kristen, grab the man! We need to move now!"
As the girls moved towards Miro, Aria bolted towards Lyn. Sliding on her knees to her fallen comrade, Aria whipped an adrenal-injector from her satchel, jamming it into Lyn's outer-thigh. "Come on Lyn, hang with me girl, you can't leave us now, we need you, I need you!" Lyn managed to give Aria a faint, pained look as her labored breathing continued. "You're going to be fine, we're going to get you back to base, get those airways open, and stabilize you, then you'll be back on your feet in no time. I know you will, right Lyn? Right?"
Tears streamed from her eyes as Aria lifted Lyn, sprinting back to the van, speeding off from the warzone...
New York Midtown: POLTAVA Forward Base: Medical Tent
Time since unsuccessful raid: 27 hours
Lyn watched from her drab, patch-work hospital gown as Miro awoke. Her neck was a deep purple, black and blue, almost as if someone had tripped with a pallet of paints and smacked them on a canvas. She opened her mouth to speak, when Aria halted her. "Lyn, I don't really think it's wise for you to speak right now. You need to rest." Lyn shook her hand dismissively. She opened her mouth, a raspy, pained voice emerging.
"It's been long enough Aria, you know the medicine we have here is good." She sighed lightly, before making another pained breath, "You know Miro, you might just be the kind of crazy we need here. Anyone willing to get shot in the arm and give themselves a concussion, just to help a little girl might be the kind of guy I would be willing to work with." | Name: Miroslav AKA Miro AKA The Demon of the Construction Site.
Sex: Male
Age: 19
Faction: Resistance-cooperator Citizen.
Appearance: Miro is a lean, shorter than average scruffy youth with slavic features. He has icy blue eyes, pale complexion, and short black hair. Beneath his clothes, he's actually very toned and muscular, and he has a couple of faded out scars in his body, as well as a couple of bullet scars, more recent.
Clothing: Miro usually dresses in baggy, non restrictive clothes, such as cargo pants, loose, monochromatic Tshirts, and a baggy sweater. The most outstanding piece are his clothing is his boots. Sturdy,steel reinforced and high quality, these are one of the pieces Miro cares for, as they aid him to perform to his fullest.
Personality: Miro is rather gruff to approach, and rather sparse in his words. He often makes very laconic statements, even when he's impressed. Underneath his rough shell, lies a rather scarred and tormented kind person, who has seen the horrors of humanity up close even as a child. For that very reason, he's very supportive and protective of the underdogs, and specially of kids and teenagers like him. Loyal to those few who managed to befriend him, Miro doesn't hesitate when it comes to trading blows, specially for the sake of his loved ones, and he does it with a viciousness and vindictiviness only seen in war-torn people.
Weapons: His fists and legs. He's actually a MMA fighter, as well as a good traceur. He knows how to shoot a gun, but he rarely carries one of those, what with all the Martial Law and whatnot.
Equipment: His clothes, a wallet, a cellphone, and a pocket knife (more a tool than a weapon). He also owns a motorbike and a Gymnasium in the slums where he sleeps and trains (and doubles as safe house for GMG).
Bio:Miroslav and his sister Olga were a couple of war-orphans hailing from a eastern europe country. In the world-upsetting wake of the Life 0 virus, little Miro did his best to keep him and his sister alive, as the Order of the world crumbled around them. Fortunately for them, this caught the eye of an american foreigner, which brought them to the USA as child refugees. Olga was then soon adopted by the government, although at that time Miro wasn't aware of the implications of such a thing. He was happy he had fulfilled his elder brother obligations. Unlike Olga, he was never adopted, and in time, he sunk in hopelessness and bitterness, becoming some sort of a troublesome youth. What drove him the most mad, though, was that he never, once received news of his sister.
Fortunately, a charitable soul intervened. A former washed out martial artist and traceur, who picked him out of the streets because he was nimble. He taught him discipline, education, restraint, martial arts, parkour, and morals. He in turn, participated in tournaments to bring the fame his master could never achieve, both legal and illegal. It was a harsh life, full of pain, blood and tears, but at least Miro knew he could make a living, and sleep well at night, not once worrying wether the next time he would wake up would have a gun aimed at his face.
However, eventually, all things would come to an end. Vincent Banks, the man who took Miro in, was dying from a strange freak cancer, fruit of years of substance abuse. Miro found himself on the situation to take care of his gymnasium and funeral, since Vincent had alienated himself from all his past acquaintances. However, Miro took it in stride, and did as the old man who had been his surrogate father wished. But then the dilemma struck. What to do after? He had won a tournament. He had taken care of his master remains.
Fate had a funny way to tell him. In front of his eyes, on a certain night in the slums, someone who never expected to run again into appeared. It was Olga. Her sister, all grown up. But she was dishevelled, wounded and in intense fear. Despite that, she managed to recognize him aswell, as she pleaded for help as she ran into a nearby block, panicked. His shock widened as a whole squad of SWAT followed, guns blazing, after her.
Government or not, he would never ignore a plea of his sister, and with a disgusted grimace, he set out after the squad. It was reliving his old life again. With hostile soldiers everywhere. But now, he had something. He could fight back to an extent. The first of them never knew what had snuck up him, as two deft hands suddenly appeared from his behind, twisting his neck in an unnatural angle, before jumping and vanishing on the many pillars and blocks of the construction building. The second was only a little luckier, as he saw the fast motion of the shovel before it cleanly cleaved its face. The third got a couple of lucky grazing shots, before he chocked when Miro stuffed his mouth with a ignited smoke grenade. It was then when the fourth requested reinforcements, his eyes wide as he opened fire on the once again, vanishing Miro. He didn't last, though, as Olga had managed to sneak up on him aswell and shot him in the face, without hesitation.
She smiled, blood covering her face, as she devolved into tears soon after, clutching her wounds. "I knew you would come to get me." She said between sobs. "Listen-WATCH OUT."
She interrupted herself as she drove Miro out of her way, three shots of automatic gunfire impacting on her lithe body with dull thuds. The reinforcements were there. In the form of something Miro had never seen before. An indescriptible monstrosity, who was a very wrong sin against creation and sense.
Love has caused wars. Love has made people lift up cars, breaking their spines in the process, to save others. Love has made people jump into trains to push people out of the way. Love has made people tackle bears. And Love made Miro defy all kind of sense and self-preservation, upon engaging the Seeker. It readjusted and fired upon him, but Miro...flew. Jumping through the beams, climbing, running, never stopping at once. Steel beams, chains, even the odd grenade or weapon from the discarded SWAT team, he threw everything at the thing, without pause nor hesitation. The thing shrugged everything with contemptous ease, and was managing to even hit him with his weapons. Not that Miro could ever feel at that point he was gravely injuried and had been shot several times. He just kept going and going on the self-destructive deadlock, until fortune smiled at him.
A pool of wet cement. Without thinking twice, he rammed the thing as hard as he could into the pool, sealing its movement. But he wasn't done yet, as he summoned the last of his strength for the coup de grace. Lifting a heavy jackhammer and leveling it against the creature's head, he didn't hesitate to pound the creature's skull with the construction machinery for a while for good measure until it stopped moving and screeching.
The weight of his wounds finally caught up to him, as he crawled towards the limp figure of his sister. She wasn't moving. She didn't even have a pulse. But she had the most placid smile in his face. Miro couldn't even begin to cry, before unconsciousness set in. When he woke up, his wounds had been tended, and there was an unknown girl besides him. She explained an ominous story, about girls being used as experiments, and that Olga had been one of them, much like her. His struggle had not pass unnoticed, and she asked for his help, despite being in mourning. They had very few allies, after all.
Miro just looked once away, before saying he would help. After all, they had to pay for whatever they had done with his sister. |
8,385 | 228 | 37 | 846 | 1,744 | Adrian held his chin between his thumb and forefinger, thinking about Joslyn's concerns about standing-out just a little too much, about what he'd have to work with -sizing her up- and still being able to keep a steady draw on his customers. He also noticed that Joslyn had finished eating before him.
"I've got just the idea." He exclaimed, as he snapped his fingers out from under his chin before getting excitedly to his feet; leaving a third of his food uneaten. "If you'll follow me to the back-room I think I may be able to work something out to keep them from noticing your eyes." He said, before taking-off to his studio.
Once there, Adrian shut the door behind Joslyn and took off his shirt. "Take off that shirt, we're trading." he requested as he ripped-off the sleeves of his own shirt.
"Wait... what?" Joslyn questioned, staring rather openly at Adrian's bare chest before she finally just looked up at him, "Um... why are we trading shirts?" As she asked, she brought her hands up and started to undo the buttons, confused but clearly trusting him, though she was surprised that he was ripping of the sleeves of his shirt. "You are destroying your shirt? That seems counter-productive doesn't it?" Tilting her head to the side, she held out the shirt, one arm currently covering her bare breasts as she had found her damp bra highly uncomfortable.
Adrian sighed quietly, his plan was being questioned. "These are long sleeve shirts, that's a miniskirt." He said, pointing at Joslyn's attire for emphasis, "It's out of proportion, and I can't make miniskirts grow an extra eighteen inches of hem at the snap of a finger; I'm not a magician. So I have to make the shirt look smaller for you."
He took the still long-sleeved shirt and put it on as he gave the new short-sleeved shirt to Joslyn to try-on, although he quickly stopped her from buttoning it up. "It's too tall, tie the ends together to make it shorter.... no... here, like this..." He tried to explain, only moments before losing patience and tying the ends of the shirt together just below her bust-line.
"As for your eyes, so long as you can keep one covered they shouldn't be too suspicious. If they do happen to catch a glimpse of both, just apologize for losing one of your contact-lenses.... Oh right, and one more thing..."
Adrian leaned in close to Joslyn, and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
"A kiss for good luck on your first night. You'll need it."
Joslyn's cheeks flared up a deep red and she bit down on her bottom lip for a moment before she managed a soft 'oh' and hurried off to the bar floor to help the waiters. She had not expected the action from him, but she also wasn't about to complain as she thought it was a normal thing.
Letting out a slow breath, she went over to one of the waiters to ask them what it was she was supposed to do before being handed a pad and pen and shooed off. Chewing her bottom lip, she approached the first table nervously before offering them a rather shy smile. "W-what can I get f-for you today?" she asked softly.
(Taking suggestions from as to how the first customer responds ) | Name: Adrian Vance
Sex: Male
Age: 28
Faction: Slumlord-bartender
Appearance: Da.
Clothing: See "Da."
Personality: Crusty exterior, with a side of wise-sass. But underneath all that genuinely cares for the welfare of his patrons.
Weapons: Pump Shotgun, fists, bad langrage.
Equipment: He runs a bar, so he's got a pretty good selection of craft-beers and hard-liquors via some fermentation-vats and a still. He's also got a grill, a deep-fryer, and a seldom-used coffee-maker somewhere in the back.
Bio:
Working on it. Jeeze, why do you always have to be so negative? |
8,386 | 228 | 38 | 220 | 2,523 | Aria let out a heavy sigh before speaking "Yeah, they're OK, but this whole situation has me worried." Reaching to her utility belt, Aria withdrew a small, puck shaped object, tossing it onto the floor. After spinning several times, it came to a rest, the small lens projecting a graphics-field into the room. "Here you can see an overview of the 76 convoy hits we've conducted in this sector over the past year. Notice anything?" She allowed Miro to ponder for a moment before continuing. "Even in the heaviest convoy we took on, there was never a single Seeker encountered. They don't just send Seekers out to follow normal girls, they are the most elite of the military. To be honest, on your opinion on powered suit,"
Aria paused, trying to think of a way to make this sound as believable as possible, "We're not quite sure if they're even human. Some are theorizing genetic modification like us, others think they may be some new monster that the government boogyman cooked up. But that's besides the point. The point is, there was something special about that convoy. Either we captured a high-value target with some information the guys upstairs don't want us to know about." Aria paused, glancing to Lyn nervously before looking back at Miro, "Or they knew we were coming. I don't necessarily think we have a mole on that possibility. These girls hate those bastards more than any person you'll ever meet. And our decryption is nearly uncrackable. If they're sending out Seekers in convoys, they're planning something big."
"Either way, it's something that can wait." Lyn chided in from the corner, slipping on the last of her clothing while Miro was distracted. "I just nearly died along with my buddy here, we're going to get a drink." The Thinker coughed violently, a little bit of blood trickling from her mouth. "Besides, I need something to kill the pain from these bruises. You in?" | Name: Miroslav AKA Miro AKA The Demon of the Construction Site.
Sex: Male
Age: 19
Faction: Resistance-cooperator Citizen.
Appearance: Miro is a lean, shorter than average scruffy youth with slavic features. He has icy blue eyes, pale complexion, and short black hair. Beneath his clothes, he's actually very toned and muscular, and he has a couple of faded out scars in his body, as well as a couple of bullet scars, more recent.
Clothing: Miro usually dresses in baggy, non restrictive clothes, such as cargo pants, loose, monochromatic Tshirts, and a baggy sweater. The most outstanding piece are his clothing is his boots. Sturdy,steel reinforced and high quality, these are one of the pieces Miro cares for, as they aid him to perform to his fullest.
Personality: Miro is rather gruff to approach, and rather sparse in his words. He often makes very laconic statements, even when he's impressed. Underneath his rough shell, lies a rather scarred and tormented kind person, who has seen the horrors of humanity up close even as a child. For that very reason, he's very supportive and protective of the underdogs, and specially of kids and teenagers like him. Loyal to those few who managed to befriend him, Miro doesn't hesitate when it comes to trading blows, specially for the sake of his loved ones, and he does it with a viciousness and vindictiviness only seen in war-torn people.
Weapons: His fists and legs. He's actually a MMA fighter, as well as a good traceur. He knows how to shoot a gun, but he rarely carries one of those, what with all the Martial Law and whatnot.
Equipment: His clothes, a wallet, a cellphone, and a pocket knife (more a tool than a weapon). He also owns a motorbike and a Gymnasium in the slums where he sleeps and trains (and doubles as safe house for GMG).
Bio:Miroslav and his sister Olga were a couple of war-orphans hailing from a eastern europe country. In the world-upsetting wake of the Life 0 virus, little Miro did his best to keep him and his sister alive, as the Order of the world crumbled around them. Fortunately for them, this caught the eye of an american foreigner, which brought them to the USA as child refugees. Olga was then soon adopted by the government, although at that time Miro wasn't aware of the implications of such a thing. He was happy he had fulfilled his elder brother obligations. Unlike Olga, he was never adopted, and in time, he sunk in hopelessness and bitterness, becoming some sort of a troublesome youth. What drove him the most mad, though, was that he never, once received news of his sister.
Fortunately, a charitable soul intervened. A former washed out martial artist and traceur, who picked him out of the streets because he was nimble. He taught him discipline, education, restraint, martial arts, parkour, and morals. He in turn, participated in tournaments to bring the fame his master could never achieve, both legal and illegal. It was a harsh life, full of pain, blood and tears, but at least Miro knew he could make a living, and sleep well at night, not once worrying wether the next time he would wake up would have a gun aimed at his face.
However, eventually, all things would come to an end. Vincent Banks, the man who took Miro in, was dying from a strange freak cancer, fruit of years of substance abuse. Miro found himself on the situation to take care of his gymnasium and funeral, since Vincent had alienated himself from all his past acquaintances. However, Miro took it in stride, and did as the old man who had been his surrogate father wished. But then the dilemma struck. What to do after? He had won a tournament. He had taken care of his master remains.
Fate had a funny way to tell him. In front of his eyes, on a certain night in the slums, someone who never expected to run again into appeared. It was Olga. Her sister, all grown up. But she was dishevelled, wounded and in intense fear. Despite that, she managed to recognize him aswell, as she pleaded for help as she ran into a nearby block, panicked. His shock widened as a whole squad of SWAT followed, guns blazing, after her.
Government or not, he would never ignore a plea of his sister, and with a disgusted grimace, he set out after the squad. It was reliving his old life again. With hostile soldiers everywhere. But now, he had something. He could fight back to an extent. The first of them never knew what had snuck up him, as two deft hands suddenly appeared from his behind, twisting his neck in an unnatural angle, before jumping and vanishing on the many pillars and blocks of the construction building. The second was only a little luckier, as he saw the fast motion of the shovel before it cleanly cleaved its face. The third got a couple of lucky grazing shots, before he chocked when Miro stuffed his mouth with a ignited smoke grenade. It was then when the fourth requested reinforcements, his eyes wide as he opened fire on the once again, vanishing Miro. He didn't last, though, as Olga had managed to sneak up on him aswell and shot him in the face, without hesitation.
She smiled, blood covering her face, as she devolved into tears soon after, clutching her wounds. "I knew you would come to get me." She said between sobs. "Listen-WATCH OUT."
She interrupted herself as she drove Miro out of her way, three shots of automatic gunfire impacting on her lithe body with dull thuds. The reinforcements were there. In the form of something Miro had never seen before. An indescriptible monstrosity, who was a very wrong sin against creation and sense.
Love has caused wars. Love has made people lift up cars, breaking their spines in the process, to save others. Love has made people jump into trains to push people out of the way. Love has made people tackle bears. And Love made Miro defy all kind of sense and self-preservation, upon engaging the Seeker. It readjusted and fired upon him, but Miro...flew. Jumping through the beams, climbing, running, never stopping at once. Steel beams, chains, even the odd grenade or weapon from the discarded SWAT team, he threw everything at the thing, without pause nor hesitation. The thing shrugged everything with contemptous ease, and was managing to even hit him with his weapons. Not that Miro could ever feel at that point he was gravely injuried and had been shot several times. He just kept going and going on the self-destructive deadlock, until fortune smiled at him.
A pool of wet cement. Without thinking twice, he rammed the thing as hard as he could into the pool, sealing its movement. But he wasn't done yet, as he summoned the last of his strength for the coup de grace. Lifting a heavy jackhammer and leveling it against the creature's head, he didn't hesitate to pound the creature's skull with the construction machinery for a while for good measure until it stopped moving and screeching.
The weight of his wounds finally caught up to him, as he crawled towards the limp figure of his sister. She wasn't moving. She didn't even have a pulse. But she had the most placid smile in his face. Miro couldn't even begin to cry, before unconsciousness set in. When he woke up, his wounds had been tended, and there was an unknown girl besides him. She explained an ominous story, about girls being used as experiments, and that Olga had been one of them, much like her. His struggle had not pass unnoticed, and she asked for his help, despite being in mourning. They had very few allies, after all.
Miro just looked once away, before saying he would help. After all, they had to pay for whatever they had done with his sister. |
8,387 | 228 | 39 | 846 | 1,744 | Lyn smiled as Miro gave in with little retaliation. Truly at the moment she had no will to fight, and would've passed without further discussion if he continued his protest. But I need to see if I can get some information from the surface. As Miro ran off to change, so did she. A low key profile was needed. She needed to look like someone who didn't belong, but in all the right ways. Lyn clothed herself in long, dirty rags. Brown cargos, ripped and tattered with old arm-sling bandages covering the holes. Several battered t-shirts, a tattered jacket and a long, moth-bitten cloak. Pretty convincing, if I didn't know any better, I'd say your homeless. The Thinker glanced around, taking in the sewer-base. Wait a second.
The ride to the aforementioned bar was uneventful. For some reason the streets were awfully quite tonight. Even as they sped down one of the main roads she could see the helicopters several miles off, surveying the destruction they had caused earlier, searching for any clues. I'm just glad we didn't loose any girls that day... As the bike slid softly to a halt, Lyn reached up and around her neck, adjusting the scrap-cloth bandanna that concealed everything sub her eyes.
The bar stunk, but that's what bars do right? You could almost cut the smoke in the air with a knife. Various crumbs of food littered the floor, making it obvious that it was a high-trafficked establishment. This was exactly the type of establishment she needed. Slowly and carefully, the hooded person made their way up to the bar, their sex well disguised. Lyn carefully avoided the prying glances of patrons, pondering to themselves what the homeless man wanted.
The robbed figure hopped onto the bar stool, locking eyes with the bar-keep. Her deathly blue orbs glaring him down, attempting to read him as a man. It was quite obvious she was not a normal patron. The Thinker pulled her hand towards her side, revealing plainly to the man the handgun she was reaching for, "If the spooks show up..." her hand continued past the gun-metal, instead opting for the wallet placed strategically behind it. Lyn withdrew a sizeable amount of cash, in the neighborhood of the low thousands, and pushed it towards the barkeep, "... I'm re-decorating your bar, if you get where I'm coming from." Lyn coughed violently, grasping her throat in pain before continuing. Though her voice was very raspy from her injuries, the feminine undertones were still there. "Now please, four shots of whiskey. I don't have a preference, just give me the rough stuff." | Name: Adrian Vance
Sex: Male
Age: 28
Faction: Slumlord-bartender
Appearance: Da.
Clothing: See "Da."
Personality: Crusty exterior, with a side of wise-sass. But underneath all that genuinely cares for the welfare of his patrons.
Weapons: Pump Shotgun, fists, bad langrage.
Equipment: He runs a bar, so he's got a pretty good selection of craft-beers and hard-liquors via some fermentation-vats and a still. He's also got a grill, a deep-fryer, and a seldom-used coffee-maker somewhere in the back.
Bio:
Working on it. Jeeze, why do you always have to be so negative? |
8,388 | 228 | 40 | 1,277 | 218 | It took Jossie a moment before she finally decided to actually try to talk to the female in front of her. The only reason she could give to the girl covering herself so thoroughly was because she was like Jossie and Joy. "Why so much whiskey when it's only mid-day?" she questioned, setting down the final shot and glancing over at where Adrian was, "And are you ok? Shouldn't you be drinking water instead? I heard you coughing earlier."
"Whiskey has a way of numbing the pain. Temporarily. Atleast I tell myself that." Lyn reached down towards the scarf around her neck, pulling it down slightly to reveal her hellaciously damaged throat. "And I have alot of pain to numb." The Thinker gingerly replaced the scarf to it's original position, her hand shifting up to pull down her bandana, downing the first shot. Then the next. Then the next. She alowed a brief pause after the third, looking up towards the bar attendant. "... Wait, water? Do bars even serve water?" Lyn let out a chuckle that quickly turned into a violent caugh, resulting in a fine mist of blood on the bar and around her mouth. She quickly cleaned the mess with her bandana.
"Give me a second," Jossie said before searching around behind the bar. After crouching down for some time, she came up with a towel wrapped around ice and a cup of both ice and water in it. "I can't find vinegar, but put this cloth against your neck to help with the bruising and drink this water. If you are coughing up blood, that whiskey has got to burn far worse than it would if you were in tip-top shape." Once those were set in front of Lyn, Jossie frowned and seemed to be lost in through for a few moments before snapping back to reality. "There may be a cold compress around here, I usually have one in my kit, but I don't have my kit with me here today. What's your name?"
"Lyn." The girl jawed. "Just Lyn." Lyn glanced towards the towel, smirking. "I'm on more steroids than there are patrons in this bar. The bruising will go away on it's own, but thank you for the offer. I will take you up on the water though." The damaged girl took up the glass, gently tipping it up against her lips, a bit of water running down her chin from her inability to tilt her head back. "The whisky doesn't burn. I have alot more things in my life that hurt besides whiskey. Things whiskey can fix," Lyn knocked back the last shot, "And things it can't."
"Boss calls me Jossie," the girl replied as she simply dumped the ice into the water glass, "Short for Joslyn... no idea why he took to calling me Jossie though. He's strange but he's been really kind so far. Is there anything else that I can get you to help with the pain that won't react badly with the steroids they decided to pump you up with? I won't ask what happened to you, but I'm assuming whoever got the drop on you is hopefully worse off." Seeing the damage done to the female before her, and not exactly putting two and two together with the name, Jossie was itching to get a hold of her sniper rifle and go hunt down whoever had hurt one of her own.
"Don't really know if that thing could really be 'better' or 'worse' off, but it doesn't have a head anymore, so I assume that's a worse." Lyn glanced across the bar at her ride, talking to the owner of the bar. "Seems like a decent enough fellow for the 'I run a slummy bar that employs and serves girls under the age of 18' type guy I suppose." Lyn smirked, the sarcasm seething out of the coy look she shot Jossie. "But if Miro likes him, that's good enough reason for me. And don't worry about me dear, the only thing that's going to take this pain away is time or a .45 caliber asprin."
Jossie offered Lyn a small smirk, "I think we've all been there at one point or another in our lives. I've been lucky enough to stay off the radar, last time I dealt with any severe injuries was about a half month ago. Someone finds out you're a chick and they automatically assume you are one of... Jossie trailed off, even with her speaking as softly as she was, she was pretty sure Lyn got the idea, "Anyway, I'm pretty sure he knows about you too, which is the only reason why he gave you what you wanted... that and the metal you are carrying around." Propping herself up on the bar, Jossie sighed and rubbed her face, Miro had been the last male she had thought she would see come to the bar, she rarely saw him, but she guessed it was a good thing he popped up now when she needed new identification anyway.
"Hey," Lyn scoffed, patting her side, "He should have some respect. This gun is probably older than he is." The girl kicked her feet up against the wood grain of the bar front, tipping her stool back a bit, balancing it on too feet. "Besides, do you know how hard it is to find SP4 around here? Trust me, the hassle it would take to replace one of those rounds isn't worth it, tell him he's safe." Lyn's chair returned to the ground as she leaned forward, peering at Jossie's face. "Enough about me. Let's talk about the young girl, working in a trashy bar..." Lyn leaned a little lower, peering under her bangs, "With two different colored eyes."
Jossie stared at Lyn for some time before the corner of her mouth twitched up, the nagging feeling in the back of her head coming full force after hearing the girl who was clearly the same age as her, or pretty damn close, calling her 'young girl'. "Now I am curious to know what a thinker like you is doing in the same bar as a girl like me, walking around with the man who supplies me my IDs? Adrian found me when he was scoping out the condemed apartment I had been using as my home. Hasn't tried to do anything and has offered me a job under the understanding that I get to keep living in the apartment and he feeds me. Pretty good trade off if you ask me.
"You know what I'm doing here. The same thing you are. Hiding, running. Running from the men that made you. Hidding from the ones that are coming to take you back. From the ones that did this to me." Lyn pulled a small PDA-like device from under the edge of the bar that she had been concealing, showing it to the bar girl. On it was an ASC II type terminal, along with a long cross-referncing sheet of data. On one side was records from the oh-so familiar government test programs. On the other side was POLTAVA personel files. "Please Ms. Vulcas, don't play dumb with me. I'm much more of... 'a thinker' than you'd like to believe."
Jossie made a face, "Would you rather me just say your title outloud for everyone and their mother to hear? Or lack there of considering the circumstances of it all. I'm not daft, but I'm also not entirely happy with the fact that I've been found by you guys, I've stayed away from the larger groups for a reason. I still do my missions when I am told and I am not breaking any rules." In truth, she had never been one for staying within confined areas with a large amount of people after being set free from the lab, mainly because the areas were always so bright and she couldn't deal with not being able to see.
"To be honest, we didn't come here to find you. I came here to get drunk. Something about almost dying makes you want to do that. I'm not here to rain you in, or do anything. You have superiors for that.", Lyn extended her hand, gently brushing it against Jossie's arm in a caring way. "It's just nice to know where my girls are. Especially after recent events. Plus, we technically didn't 'find' you. Trust me, there is no finding to be done. We will just go where you are. Even when I can't find you, I have others that can."
Jossie made a face before letting out a sigh, "As long as I can keep to where I am I'm fine with that," she murmured, "If you need a place to crash for a little bit, I know where there is a bed in the building so you can rest while Miro and Adrian hash out whatever they are talking about. With injuries like that it is best if you get as much rest as you can while you can." With that said, she slipped off the bar and walked around it to help Lyn to the room she had found, pretty intent on not taking no for an answer considering how banged up the female was. "Guarantee some of your bandages will need to be changed if you have any, and on top of that, coughing up blood is never a good sign. Rest and water until they are done Boss."
With that said, Jossie gently grabbed Lyn and led her out of the bar, deciding that it was a better idea to just bring the female to her home instead. "Adrian I will be back in five, she needs to rest so I am bringing her to my home," she said, "Miro you don't need to worry abou ther, say a single thing against my Boss gettinng rest and I will punch you in the face." While her tone was hushed, that was not enought to diminish the clear threat that was there as she brought Lyn out of the bar and down the street to her apartment only about a quarter mile down.
"So ignore the naked chick, her clothes are probably dry now but at the time they were soaked. I have no idea if she is still asleep or not... but no funny business in my bed please, I don't want to have to replace the mattress with money I don't have." With that said, she opened her door and led the other female straight to her room where Joy seemed to still be passed out. "Rest up, water still runs and its clean so help herself to all the water you can stand. I have to get back to work."
"No funny business? How do you even know I swing that way?" A sly grin spread across her face "Rather, how would you ever find out?" After a small chuckle, Lyn assured Jossie it was a jest before waving her off back to work. Not that I really need the rest. I guess I forgot that low-tier operatives like her really don't know what kind of drugs we have access too. But it is good to see how my girls are living...
Lyn drifted over towards the bed, plopping down next to the naked female. She attacked her with a gentle poke to the ribs. "Hey. Hey. You awake?" | Name: Joslyn (Jossie) Vulcas
Sex: Female
Age: 17
Experiment Tier: Test Subject
Enhanced Trait 1:
Enhanced Vision:
Josyln’s enhanced Vision allows her to see with almost startling clarity, making it possible for her to pick up on the smallest of details when she is out in the field or simply trying her hardest to blend in and collect intel. Along with her ability to see clearer than the average human, she is also able to see things further away without the aid of a scope, giving her the ability to be an amazing sniper, though she does not classify as the best as she knows there is always someone out there better than herself. While she can see well enough in the dark, if the area is completely devoid of any form of light (i.e moonlight) she is unable to see just like any average human.
Enhanced Trait 1:
Downside: Light Sensitivity
While Joslyn enjoys the perks of being able to see far and in complete clarity, this enhancement caused her to develop an acute sensitivity to light. Due to this, she must always wear sunglasses until nightfall and, unless the room is dim enough, while under artificial lighting. Part of her counts this as a blessing in disguise as it offers her a way to hide her eyes from those who are looking for her, as they are the most notable feature that she maintains. Should she be subjected to bright light (i.e a flash bang) without the proper eye protection, her sight is rendered useless until such a time that her retina’s are able to adjust and right themselves.
Enhanced Trait 2:
Heightened Reflexes
While she is unable to dodge bullets, Joslyn’s reflexes have been enhanced in order to allow her reaction time to be far greater than the average human. The messages that travel from her brain to her limbs take far less time to communicate the need to do something, allowing her to react faster and take less time to process situations as they occur. Her heightened reflexes also increase her rate of fire depending on the firearm she is using at the time and aid her well in hand to hand (or overall close range) combat.
Enhanced Trait 2:
Downside: Twitchy
Due to her uncanny habit of twitching, whether it is when someone touches her or when she is forced into a fast reaction time too many times in a row, Joslyn attempts not to rely on this ability too much. While engaged in close combat, should she take a particularly hard hit (or a harmful hit in general) her body’s reflex is typically over exaggerated and could potentially cause more harm than good to herself.
Faction: Poltava
Appearance:
Height: 5’7
Weight: 145 lbs
Distinct Feature(s): HeteroChromia (LE Green / RE teal)
Clothing: See second picture for shirt style, typically wearing black jeans or slacks and a pair of black sneakers. Due to her light sensitivity, Joslyn also wears a pair of sunglasses that she rarely takes off.
Personality:
Joslyn prefers to keep to herself when she can, though she is not shy by any means but seems far from approachable due to the fact that she always looks rather mad, even when she is not. Usually very straight forward and blunt, she hates to sugar coat things and is usually the person to go to if you want the hard truth about something. Once one gets past the bluntness and permanent ‘I will kill you’ look, she is overall a fun person to be around who enjoys a good joke just as much as the next person.
Weapons: SR-25 (Semi-automatic special application sniper rifle 7.62x51mm), PMR-30 (.22 magnum), and a few well placed throwing knives.
Equipment:
Emergency Kit Containing:
Lighter
Compass
Camelbak
Disposable Cell Phone
Emergency Tinder
Magnesium Starter
Emergency Rations
First-Aid Kit (small)
Canteen
Aqua Iodine Tablets
S&W SWAT Knife
Mini LED Flashlight
GERBER
Bio:
Taken at a young age, Joslyn does not have much of a childhood to remember as she spent most of her years in a facility being put through an array of tests. While she remembers nothing that happened between the ages of 8 and 16, she can remember what few years of clarity she had with her Mother and Father. Both of her parents always seemed to be happy and madly in love with one another, a feeling they also shared with their daughter who never went without. She always went to parks to play with the other local children, a place she assumed she was taken from as she could not remember anything leading up to the week that shew as taken. Despite many attempts to try and recollect the eight years of memories she did not have, she had nothing to show for it as every attempt resulted in a failure.
When she had managed to escape the facility with the Three Kings, Joslyn had attempted to find her family, wanting to go back to them, to let them know that she was ok despite her genetic modifications. When she got to the outside of the house she remembered living in eight years ago, she found it in the state that she had left it, immaculate and well taken care of. However, when she peered inside, she saw only a shadow of the man her father was sitting in front of the television with beer bottles all around him and a young boy pleading for his attention.
Not being able to take the sight before her, she left without so much as knocking on the door and found her way into the Poltava faction. While she could fight if need be, she preferred doing things from afar, or simply not at all as she isn’t much of a violent person unless the situation calls for it. While she finds no pleasure in what was done to her, she could not bring herself to join the faction that actively attacked the government, despite the fact that she blames them for everything that she saw through that window.
At present she volunteers as a sniper when one is needed, doing her part in an attempt to earn her keep with those she decided to join. While she has no issues with remaining in the shadows, even she is aware that there are times when violence is a necessity and when the government is after you, sometimes that necessity happens a lot. |
8,389 | 228 | 41 | 1,506 | 208 | Joy had been snoozing gently for the last few hours. A night owl by anyone's standards so she was in her sleep cycle very deeply. With all the things that happened, the most awkward thing was being in a bed. She hadn't been used to it in a while, so even though she was asleep it was light. The incessant poking drew her to the surface of consciousness just barely. She moaned and groaned in protest, mumbling incoherent things and very lazily swatting at the culprit's hand. Of all times, why now? She was tired as hell. Course she then thought it was number twenty trying to bug her so she didn't think much of it at the time. | Reserved for Lyn if I ever decide to make a character sheet for her. I lost it. I DO WHAT I WANT. |
8,390 | 228 | 42 | 220 | 2,523 | huh...okay. Miro just uttered a very basic reply on Joslyn's answer. Still unsure wether this was the effect of the shock of finding a female bartender or the fact he had suffered a concussion. And, well, this is kind of ...lovely, is that the word? Maybe something that hasn't been seen in nearly two decades. Waitresses.
He somehow managed to drag himself towards Adrian, his stance well-measured, but giving clear hints of extreme tiredness. He was a wreck and he just needed somewhere to rest and relax. But then Adrian made a generous offer in his usual way, without asking, straightforward. Eyeing the wad of cash, he just slid it back to Adrian.
"Not today, I am afraid." He curtly said. "Had a nasty traffic accident, so I'll be resting for some time." He said back to Adrian. Technically it is true. As provoked as it was to kill a certain unsavoury bastard. He cradled the whiskey shot on his hand, and he chugged all of it down in one go. "Eeeugh, whiskey. I prefer Vodka." He nonchanlantly protested. "And about the retired muscle part, you know... you might want to reconsider that. Some bastards have been around, busting my balls." He eyed the glass. "I was thinking of answering in kind, you know. When I get a little better. Oh, and I'll need a new chain for one of the sandbags."
It was then when he caught the riffraff of Lyn and Joslyn, trading barbs back and forth, before coming to an agreement, and why not, gratuosly belittling Miroslav like if he was some sort of evil corrupter of a man. He wasn't the one hiring underage waitresses, for hell's sake. "I am not her mom, whatever." Miro just grunted back to Joslyn in annoyance, before cradling his face, and eyeing Adrian he let out a pained smile.
"Heh, I almost had forgotten how nagging women can be sometimes." And with a small chuckle slumped his face on the table. | Name: Miroslav AKA Miro AKA The Demon of the Construction Site.
Sex: Male
Age: 19
Faction: Resistance-cooperator Citizen.
Appearance: Miro is a lean, shorter than average scruffy youth with slavic features. He has icy blue eyes, pale complexion, and short black hair. Beneath his clothes, he's actually very toned and muscular, and he has a couple of faded out scars in his body, as well as a couple of bullet scars, more recent.
Clothing: Miro usually dresses in baggy, non restrictive clothes, such as cargo pants, loose, monochromatic Tshirts, and a baggy sweater. The most outstanding piece are his clothing is his boots. Sturdy,steel reinforced and high quality, these are one of the pieces Miro cares for, as they aid him to perform to his fullest.
Personality: Miro is rather gruff to approach, and rather sparse in his words. He often makes very laconic statements, even when he's impressed. Underneath his rough shell, lies a rather scarred and tormented kind person, who has seen the horrors of humanity up close even as a child. For that very reason, he's very supportive and protective of the underdogs, and specially of kids and teenagers like him. Loyal to those few who managed to befriend him, Miro doesn't hesitate when it comes to trading blows, specially for the sake of his loved ones, and he does it with a viciousness and vindictiviness only seen in war-torn people.
Weapons: His fists and legs. He's actually a MMA fighter, as well as a good traceur. He knows how to shoot a gun, but he rarely carries one of those, what with all the Martial Law and whatnot.
Equipment: His clothes, a wallet, a cellphone, and a pocket knife (more a tool than a weapon). He also owns a motorbike and a Gymnasium in the slums where he sleeps and trains (and doubles as safe house for GMG).
Bio:Miroslav and his sister Olga were a couple of war-orphans hailing from a eastern europe country. In the world-upsetting wake of the Life 0 virus, little Miro did his best to keep him and his sister alive, as the Order of the world crumbled around them. Fortunately for them, this caught the eye of an american foreigner, which brought them to the USA as child refugees. Olga was then soon adopted by the government, although at that time Miro wasn't aware of the implications of such a thing. He was happy he had fulfilled his elder brother obligations. Unlike Olga, he was never adopted, and in time, he sunk in hopelessness and bitterness, becoming some sort of a troublesome youth. What drove him the most mad, though, was that he never, once received news of his sister.
Fortunately, a charitable soul intervened. A former washed out martial artist and traceur, who picked him out of the streets because he was nimble. He taught him discipline, education, restraint, martial arts, parkour, and morals. He in turn, participated in tournaments to bring the fame his master could never achieve, both legal and illegal. It was a harsh life, full of pain, blood and tears, but at least Miro knew he could make a living, and sleep well at night, not once worrying wether the next time he would wake up would have a gun aimed at his face.
However, eventually, all things would come to an end. Vincent Banks, the man who took Miro in, was dying from a strange freak cancer, fruit of years of substance abuse. Miro found himself on the situation to take care of his gymnasium and funeral, since Vincent had alienated himself from all his past acquaintances. However, Miro took it in stride, and did as the old man who had been his surrogate father wished. But then the dilemma struck. What to do after? He had won a tournament. He had taken care of his master remains.
Fate had a funny way to tell him. In front of his eyes, on a certain night in the slums, someone who never expected to run again into appeared. It was Olga. Her sister, all grown up. But she was dishevelled, wounded and in intense fear. Despite that, she managed to recognize him aswell, as she pleaded for help as she ran into a nearby block, panicked. His shock widened as a whole squad of SWAT followed, guns blazing, after her.
Government or not, he would never ignore a plea of his sister, and with a disgusted grimace, he set out after the squad. It was reliving his old life again. With hostile soldiers everywhere. But now, he had something. He could fight back to an extent. The first of them never knew what had snuck up him, as two deft hands suddenly appeared from his behind, twisting his neck in an unnatural angle, before jumping and vanishing on the many pillars and blocks of the construction building. The second was only a little luckier, as he saw the fast motion of the shovel before it cleanly cleaved its face. The third got a couple of lucky grazing shots, before he chocked when Miro stuffed his mouth with a ignited smoke grenade. It was then when the fourth requested reinforcements, his eyes wide as he opened fire on the once again, vanishing Miro. He didn't last, though, as Olga had managed to sneak up on him aswell and shot him in the face, without hesitation.
She smiled, blood covering her face, as she devolved into tears soon after, clutching her wounds. "I knew you would come to get me." She said between sobs. "Listen-WATCH OUT."
She interrupted herself as she drove Miro out of her way, three shots of automatic gunfire impacting on her lithe body with dull thuds. The reinforcements were there. In the form of something Miro had never seen before. An indescriptible monstrosity, who was a very wrong sin against creation and sense.
Love has caused wars. Love has made people lift up cars, breaking their spines in the process, to save others. Love has made people jump into trains to push people out of the way. Love has made people tackle bears. And Love made Miro defy all kind of sense and self-preservation, upon engaging the Seeker. It readjusted and fired upon him, but Miro...flew. Jumping through the beams, climbing, running, never stopping at once. Steel beams, chains, even the odd grenade or weapon from the discarded SWAT team, he threw everything at the thing, without pause nor hesitation. The thing shrugged everything with contemptous ease, and was managing to even hit him with his weapons. Not that Miro could ever feel at that point he was gravely injuried and had been shot several times. He just kept going and going on the self-destructive deadlock, until fortune smiled at him.
A pool of wet cement. Without thinking twice, he rammed the thing as hard as he could into the pool, sealing its movement. But he wasn't done yet, as he summoned the last of his strength for the coup de grace. Lifting a heavy jackhammer and leveling it against the creature's head, he didn't hesitate to pound the creature's skull with the construction machinery for a while for good measure until it stopped moving and screeching.
The weight of his wounds finally caught up to him, as he crawled towards the limp figure of his sister. She wasn't moving. She didn't even have a pulse. But she had the most placid smile in his face. Miro couldn't even begin to cry, before unconsciousness set in. When he woke up, his wounds had been tended, and there was an unknown girl besides him. She explained an ominous story, about girls being used as experiments, and that Olga had been one of them, much like her. His struggle had not pass unnoticed, and she asked for his help, despite being in mourning. They had very few allies, after all.
Miro just looked once away, before saying he would help. After all, they had to pay for whatever they had done with his sister. |
8,391 | 228 | 43 | 1,506 | 208 | Just because you protest with a groan doesn't mean I'm going to give up.
Lyn hopped to her feet from the bed, surveying the room. It was... drab to say the least. Even though it had free standing walls, it still wasn't much better than the hide-aways standard to POLTAVA bases. If she doesn't like living on base, she doesn't have to. But it worries me having girls out here in the fray like this. At least in the base there is security in numbers. This... Lyn turned back to the naked girl on the bed, sighing as she stirred, ... Is as little unconventional.
Pulling out her PDA, The Thinker snapped a quick picture of the sleep-stricken girls face. A search query ran through the screen, coming back with a null-match with the immediate POLTAVA database. An inquisitive smirk grew across Lyn's face, leading her to plop back down onto the bed.
"I'm Lyn by the way. Considering the nature of your friend, I'm sure you're not just a normal teenage girl. But it seems like you haven't chosen to stick to a group to survive. But the question is, why?" | Reserved for Lyn if I ever decide to make a character sheet for her. I lost it. I DO WHAT I WANT. |
8,392 | 228 | 44 | 1,506 | 208 | Lyn's eyes grew wide in astonishment as she found herself suddenly straddling the naked girl. Instinctively, while she was in the air, her hand shot towards her waist, retrieving the concealed handgun. As the Think Tank's butt came to a rest on the mystery girl's stomach, the stranger found herself with the barrel of a old world piece of soviet technology pressed up against her lips.
"Pardon my manors..." she mused with a touch of pain in her voice. Lyn's free hand reached towards her neck, pulling off her hood and scarf with one swift motion. The ghastly black and blue bruises ran across her throat like patches of lava dotting a otherwise smooth plane. "But me and my neighbors had a dispute a few days ago, so I would appreciate if you would be a bit more gentle with my neck." A light press to kiss the barrel of the gun to the girls nose later and it had vanished back into it's holster.
Lyn flew gently to the side as the girl tossed her around yet again, with the Thinker now finding herself next to her new acquaintance , getting surprise snuggles and the whole nine yards. Lyn's cheeks flared up with the slightest hint of blush before she simmered them back down, shaking her head. Her lily-white hair cast over her pale face, her ethereal blue eyes gazing into Joy's sightline. "Now that you seem to have me where you want me, can I at least get a name?" | Reserved for Lyn if I ever decide to make a character sheet for her. I lost it. I DO WHAT I WANT. |
8,393 | 228 | 45 | 846 | 1,744 | "I am not her mom, whatever." Miro just grunted back to Joslyn in annoyance, before cradling his face, and eyeing Adrian he let out a pained smile. "Heh, I almost had forgotten how nagging women can be sometimes." And with a small chuckle slumped his face on the table.
"Okaay, I think you've had enough booze and painkillers for one night." He said, making sure his face was tipped to the side so he wouldn't drown on any vomit or spilled fluids before continuing. "You may not be their mom, but you're probably the closest thing they'll ever have to a step-father, and the nagging and complaining that comes with it."
He then saw Lyn and Jossie leave, with the promise that she'd be back in five minutes. He'd make sure she wasn't being paid for this lost-time incident, especially if it took longer than just five minutes.
In the meantime, that meant he had to make sure his best friend the ex-boxer didn't drown on his own saliva while tending the crowd of thirsty and curious customers. He sighed at what was perhaps the fourth enquiry whether either of them would return, "... this is why I can't bring nice things to this bar." | Name: Adrian Vance
Sex: Male
Age: 28
Faction: Slumlord-bartender
Appearance: Da.
Clothing: See "Da."
Personality: Crusty exterior, with a side of wise-sass. But underneath all that genuinely cares for the welfare of his patrons.
Weapons: Pump Shotgun, fists, bad langrage.
Equipment: He runs a bar, so he's got a pretty good selection of craft-beers and hard-liquors via some fermentation-vats and a still. He's also got a grill, a deep-fryer, and a seldom-used coffee-maker somewhere in the back.
Bio:
Working on it. Jeeze, why do you always have to be so negative? |
8,394 | 228 | 46 | 1,277 | 218 | Having left the girls alone as soon as she dropped Lyn off, Joslyn headed right back to the bar and immedietly went to Adrian to let him know she was back. Noticing that there were a lot of people asking where she had gone, she couldn't help but frown and even had to bat at a few hands. "Hey boss, I'm back," she said with a smile on her face, "Just tell me what to do and I will do it!" In truth, after talking to The Thinker, she needed to get busy, the female made her nervous and put her on edge. She needed something to do, and she needed to tell Adrian what the hell was up as soon as she was able.
Adrian looked up as he heard Jossie walk back into the bar, then looking at his watch to determine whether or not she was on-time or late... or early? Somehow she was more-than punctual in her return, but did not appear to be winded in the slightest; this did not require a detective to figure-out.
"You've done enough for your first night." He observed, getting up from his chair as he saw that Miro was in no danger of killing himself in he sleep, "You're not in any trouble, but we need to talk." He paused as he moved over to her and parted the crowd to clear a way to the back-room, knowing he promised her a full night of work and a full night of pay. "You can help clean-up the bar after everyone else has left."
There were of course bemused groans from the crowd as they alternately realizd that Jossie would not be serving them for the rest of the evening, and that the bar would be closing soon; particularily a trio of young men who just came back into the bar after dissappearing shortly before Jossie left.
"Oh.... alright..." Jossie murmured, letting out a sigh as she followed close behind Adrian. She couldn't understand why he seemed on edge, she didn't do anything wrong, or at least she thought she hadn't done anything wrong. "Are you sure you aren't mad at me? I mean... you didn't seem exactly pleased with my prompt arrival. I told you that I would be back in 5 minutes, I came back in five minutes."
Noting that people were closing in on her, she reached out and grabbed Adrian by the back of his shirt so they didn't seperate from each other. She didn't like the feel of people pressing in around her, it bothered her greatly actually, so much so she was about to freak out. Pushing through them, she pressed herself against Adrian's back and hid her face in his back.
Adrian walked slower as he felt a tug on the back of his shirt, thinking it was an indication to slow down, this was followed almost immediately by Jossie's face bumping into his backside; it did not take long before he realized that she was clutching onto his back, a very strong indication of 'get me out of here' as the crowd steadily tried to fill the gap he'd made moments ago but with a single gesture.
Pressing on with delibate pacing, he and Jossie managed to escape the crowd through the double-hung french doors to the back-halls, and took her back to the studio where the noise from the bar could barely even faintly be heard. He gave the girl a moment to realize they were in the clear so she could let-go on her own. "Please, have a seat." He said, offering the chair in front of the dressing-room mirror as he quickly found a spare stool for himself amidst the clutter.
"It's a fifteen minute walk back to your apartment from here. You claim you went there and came back in five.... less than five minutes.." He carefully observed, noting how she kept shifting her wieght, "I'm just glad you didn't get stopped by the police, in a car that wasn't yours, drunk." He paused, knowing that wasn't what he was worried about.
"When you left, I half-expected you to pick up all your things and run, never to be seen again."
"What made you think I would leave," she said calmly, knowing that he took notice in her taking the car, "I mean, at least leave and not come back... I do not believe I gave any indication that I planned to bolt at the first chance. I wanted to work, and you gave me work... but now you aren't letting me work? I don't get you..."
Adrian closed his eyes, trying not to picture her in her current attire, more as when he found her in the apartments, "You volunteered to work tonight because you did not trust me alone not to tell on you to the authorities. When you left I wasn't sure if I'd gained your trust yet... Something important must be going-on for you to make such a sudden decision.... Who was that girl?" He finally asked as he fetched a flask of brandy and took a sip, not sure if the concern Jossie had for her was out of respect, or something else.
"She's.... um... she's my other boss. she admitted, glancing off to the side, "I am not at liberty to say much more, but she is staying in my home so she may rest up and heal. It's not like I am going to be sleeping there anyway... actually... where will I be sleeping?" She let out a small yawn and stretched, not at all bothered by the fact that she was essentially half dressed thanks to what he had given her. Actually... I wonder.... Letting out a small giggle, she jumped up and tackled Adrian, throwing her arms around him.
Before he could answer, Adrian was knocked over, but years of experiance prevented him from spilling his drink as he fell onto the clothes-stewn floor, with Jossie landing right on top of him. Gently reaching up to set the drink down on the dressing-room table, he then tickled the waitress until she'd let go. "There should be a fold-out bed in one of these rooms, then there's the storage-loft upstairs, all sorts of old furniture and owner-less clothes up there you could use."
Jossie squealed and squirmed over Adrian as he tickled her, however, she did not let up with her hold of him. "Nu-uh, don't think for a minute I'm letting you out of my sight...well... you know... accept when I left... but that was different ok?" she squeaked out, sitting up so she was now straddling the man, and giggling like a school girl still from him tickling her. "I said I was going to keep an eye on you and that's what imma dooooooooo." She looked down at him and booped his nose, a lopsided grin on her face, that is, before a dawn of realization crossed over her features. "Heeeeey, you dooo look better on the floor.... does that mean I get to kiss you then? Is that a thing? I heard today that was a thing."
The bar-owner wasn't sure where the waitress was going with her train of thought as she toyed with him; she was the one that left him, not the other way around. Then she made a bit of a non-sequirter observation that he looked somehow more adorable to her sprawled-out on the floor, and she saw that as some sort of invitation or reason for them to kiss.
"It can be a thing." He stated, humoring her as he rolled her beside him and pulled the girls lips to his, kissing her. "You look better down here, too."
Joslyn's face turned beat red when he kissed her, even drunk she was pretty sure that wasn't something that she should have expected from a man she had only met hours before. "Clearly drinking is dangerous," she muttered, "It was nice though... is it supposed to be that nice? Is it cuz I drank tuh much? This is a bad thing isn't it? You are mah bosss... sooo... I'm pretty sure... I don't know... It was nice thoooo...."
"The kissing or the drinking?" He asked, trying not to answer the wrong question, buth then deciding to answer both, "Probably and maybe. So try not to worry about it unless you think this'll affect your ability to work..." He re-assured her, stroking her hair away from her eyes as he looked around for where that fold-out bed wandered off to before giving up and kissinng her a second time, "you'd have to do quite a lot of kissing for that to get in the way of working..."
Joslyn's blush only seemed to darken when he kissed her again, leaving her momentarily speechless. Here she was, another kiss from she had only mean hours before, alcohol really did do crazy things to a person's mind. "Uh... right... lots of it... still sounds nice... bed... bed is a thing I should get too," she replied, clearing her throat in a nervous manner as she got to her feet, looking around a bit to see if she could find a bed. If she couldn't, she would just have to crash on his and he would have to deal with it. | Name: Joslyn (Jossie) Vulcas
Sex: Female
Age: 17
Experiment Tier: Test Subject
Enhanced Trait 1:
Enhanced Vision:
Josyln’s enhanced Vision allows her to see with almost startling clarity, making it possible for her to pick up on the smallest of details when she is out in the field or simply trying her hardest to blend in and collect intel. Along with her ability to see clearer than the average human, she is also able to see things further away without the aid of a scope, giving her the ability to be an amazing sniper, though she does not classify as the best as she knows there is always someone out there better than herself. While she can see well enough in the dark, if the area is completely devoid of any form of light (i.e moonlight) she is unable to see just like any average human.
Enhanced Trait 1:
Downside: Light Sensitivity
While Joslyn enjoys the perks of being able to see far and in complete clarity, this enhancement caused her to develop an acute sensitivity to light. Due to this, she must always wear sunglasses until nightfall and, unless the room is dim enough, while under artificial lighting. Part of her counts this as a blessing in disguise as it offers her a way to hide her eyes from those who are looking for her, as they are the most notable feature that she maintains. Should she be subjected to bright light (i.e a flash bang) without the proper eye protection, her sight is rendered useless until such a time that her retina’s are able to adjust and right themselves.
Enhanced Trait 2:
Heightened Reflexes
While she is unable to dodge bullets, Joslyn’s reflexes have been enhanced in order to allow her reaction time to be far greater than the average human. The messages that travel from her brain to her limbs take far less time to communicate the need to do something, allowing her to react faster and take less time to process situations as they occur. Her heightened reflexes also increase her rate of fire depending on the firearm she is using at the time and aid her well in hand to hand (or overall close range) combat.
Enhanced Trait 2:
Downside: Twitchy
Due to her uncanny habit of twitching, whether it is when someone touches her or when she is forced into a fast reaction time too many times in a row, Joslyn attempts not to rely on this ability too much. While engaged in close combat, should she take a particularly hard hit (or a harmful hit in general) her body’s reflex is typically over exaggerated and could potentially cause more harm than good to herself.
Faction: Poltava
Appearance:
Height: 5’7
Weight: 145 lbs
Distinct Feature(s): HeteroChromia (LE Green / RE teal)
Clothing: See second picture for shirt style, typically wearing black jeans or slacks and a pair of black sneakers. Due to her light sensitivity, Joslyn also wears a pair of sunglasses that she rarely takes off.
Personality:
Joslyn prefers to keep to herself when she can, though she is not shy by any means but seems far from approachable due to the fact that she always looks rather mad, even when she is not. Usually very straight forward and blunt, she hates to sugar coat things and is usually the person to go to if you want the hard truth about something. Once one gets past the bluntness and permanent ‘I will kill you’ look, she is overall a fun person to be around who enjoys a good joke just as much as the next person.
Weapons: SR-25 (Semi-automatic special application sniper rifle 7.62x51mm), PMR-30 (.22 magnum), and a few well placed throwing knives.
Equipment:
Emergency Kit Containing:
Lighter
Compass
Camelbak
Disposable Cell Phone
Emergency Tinder
Magnesium Starter
Emergency Rations
First-Aid Kit (small)
Canteen
Aqua Iodine Tablets
S&W SWAT Knife
Mini LED Flashlight
GERBER
Bio:
Taken at a young age, Joslyn does not have much of a childhood to remember as she spent most of her years in a facility being put through an array of tests. While she remembers nothing that happened between the ages of 8 and 16, she can remember what few years of clarity she had with her Mother and Father. Both of her parents always seemed to be happy and madly in love with one another, a feeling they also shared with their daughter who never went without. She always went to parks to play with the other local children, a place she assumed she was taken from as she could not remember anything leading up to the week that shew as taken. Despite many attempts to try and recollect the eight years of memories she did not have, she had nothing to show for it as every attempt resulted in a failure.
When she had managed to escape the facility with the Three Kings, Joslyn had attempted to find her family, wanting to go back to them, to let them know that she was ok despite her genetic modifications. When she got to the outside of the house she remembered living in eight years ago, she found it in the state that she had left it, immaculate and well taken care of. However, when she peered inside, she saw only a shadow of the man her father was sitting in front of the television with beer bottles all around him and a young boy pleading for his attention.
Not being able to take the sight before her, she left without so much as knocking on the door and found her way into the Poltava faction. While she could fight if need be, she preferred doing things from afar, or simply not at all as she isn’t much of a violent person unless the situation calls for it. While she finds no pleasure in what was done to her, she could not bring herself to join the faction that actively attacked the government, despite the fact that she blames them for everything that she saw through that window.
At present she volunteers as a sniper when one is needed, doing her part in an attempt to earn her keep with those she decided to join. While she has no issues with remaining in the shadows, even she is aware that there are times when violence is a necessity and when the government is after you, sometimes that necessity happens a lot. |
8,395 | 228 | 47 | 220 | 2,523 | Miroslav began counting the number of dents the table had, his face completely tilted sideways. He would've made a grunt, or even a gesture to tell Adrian to keep his grubby hands to himself, that he wasn't going to drown anytime soon. He was just tired, and bruised.
"Comfy table. Blargh." He eventually muttered. People came and went. Heck, the waitress had gone and come back, and then Adrian had decided to give the waitress a day.
More like play doctors and nurses instead of tending to the goddamn bar. Miroslav sighed profoundly, and put both hands on the table, rising once more like one of the living dead.
"Alright, folks..." He said before deftly jumping over the barstand. "Just tonight, you'll have crazy Miro special." He muttered. It's the last time I do shit like this for you Adrian. Why does the shady barman gets more action than me, who kicks militar asses and chews bubblegum? He added.
Now let's hope I don't mess up with the concussion. He added, as he promptly began juggling the drinks and serving like there was no tomorrow. | Name: Miroslav AKA Miro AKA The Demon of the Construction Site.
Sex: Male
Age: 19
Faction: Resistance-cooperator Citizen.
Appearance: Miro is a lean, shorter than average scruffy youth with slavic features. He has icy blue eyes, pale complexion, and short black hair. Beneath his clothes, he's actually very toned and muscular, and he has a couple of faded out scars in his body, as well as a couple of bullet scars, more recent.
Clothing: Miro usually dresses in baggy, non restrictive clothes, such as cargo pants, loose, monochromatic Tshirts, and a baggy sweater. The most outstanding piece are his clothing is his boots. Sturdy,steel reinforced and high quality, these are one of the pieces Miro cares for, as they aid him to perform to his fullest.
Personality: Miro is rather gruff to approach, and rather sparse in his words. He often makes very laconic statements, even when he's impressed. Underneath his rough shell, lies a rather scarred and tormented kind person, who has seen the horrors of humanity up close even as a child. For that very reason, he's very supportive and protective of the underdogs, and specially of kids and teenagers like him. Loyal to those few who managed to befriend him, Miro doesn't hesitate when it comes to trading blows, specially for the sake of his loved ones, and he does it with a viciousness and vindictiviness only seen in war-torn people.
Weapons: His fists and legs. He's actually a MMA fighter, as well as a good traceur. He knows how to shoot a gun, but he rarely carries one of those, what with all the Martial Law and whatnot.
Equipment: His clothes, a wallet, a cellphone, and a pocket knife (more a tool than a weapon). He also owns a motorbike and a Gymnasium in the slums where he sleeps and trains (and doubles as safe house for GMG).
Bio:Miroslav and his sister Olga were a couple of war-orphans hailing from a eastern europe country. In the world-upsetting wake of the Life 0 virus, little Miro did his best to keep him and his sister alive, as the Order of the world crumbled around them. Fortunately for them, this caught the eye of an american foreigner, which brought them to the USA as child refugees. Olga was then soon adopted by the government, although at that time Miro wasn't aware of the implications of such a thing. He was happy he had fulfilled his elder brother obligations. Unlike Olga, he was never adopted, and in time, he sunk in hopelessness and bitterness, becoming some sort of a troublesome youth. What drove him the most mad, though, was that he never, once received news of his sister.
Fortunately, a charitable soul intervened. A former washed out martial artist and traceur, who picked him out of the streets because he was nimble. He taught him discipline, education, restraint, martial arts, parkour, and morals. He in turn, participated in tournaments to bring the fame his master could never achieve, both legal and illegal. It was a harsh life, full of pain, blood and tears, but at least Miro knew he could make a living, and sleep well at night, not once worrying wether the next time he would wake up would have a gun aimed at his face.
However, eventually, all things would come to an end. Vincent Banks, the man who took Miro in, was dying from a strange freak cancer, fruit of years of substance abuse. Miro found himself on the situation to take care of his gymnasium and funeral, since Vincent had alienated himself from all his past acquaintances. However, Miro took it in stride, and did as the old man who had been his surrogate father wished. But then the dilemma struck. What to do after? He had won a tournament. He had taken care of his master remains.
Fate had a funny way to tell him. In front of his eyes, on a certain night in the slums, someone who never expected to run again into appeared. It was Olga. Her sister, all grown up. But she was dishevelled, wounded and in intense fear. Despite that, she managed to recognize him aswell, as she pleaded for help as she ran into a nearby block, panicked. His shock widened as a whole squad of SWAT followed, guns blazing, after her.
Government or not, he would never ignore a plea of his sister, and with a disgusted grimace, he set out after the squad. It was reliving his old life again. With hostile soldiers everywhere. But now, he had something. He could fight back to an extent. The first of them never knew what had snuck up him, as two deft hands suddenly appeared from his behind, twisting his neck in an unnatural angle, before jumping and vanishing on the many pillars and blocks of the construction building. The second was only a little luckier, as he saw the fast motion of the shovel before it cleanly cleaved its face. The third got a couple of lucky grazing shots, before he chocked when Miro stuffed his mouth with a ignited smoke grenade. It was then when the fourth requested reinforcements, his eyes wide as he opened fire on the once again, vanishing Miro. He didn't last, though, as Olga had managed to sneak up on him aswell and shot him in the face, without hesitation.
She smiled, blood covering her face, as she devolved into tears soon after, clutching her wounds. "I knew you would come to get me." She said between sobs. "Listen-WATCH OUT."
She interrupted herself as she drove Miro out of her way, three shots of automatic gunfire impacting on her lithe body with dull thuds. The reinforcements were there. In the form of something Miro had never seen before. An indescriptible monstrosity, who was a very wrong sin against creation and sense.
Love has caused wars. Love has made people lift up cars, breaking their spines in the process, to save others. Love has made people jump into trains to push people out of the way. Love has made people tackle bears. And Love made Miro defy all kind of sense and self-preservation, upon engaging the Seeker. It readjusted and fired upon him, but Miro...flew. Jumping through the beams, climbing, running, never stopping at once. Steel beams, chains, even the odd grenade or weapon from the discarded SWAT team, he threw everything at the thing, without pause nor hesitation. The thing shrugged everything with contemptous ease, and was managing to even hit him with his weapons. Not that Miro could ever feel at that point he was gravely injuried and had been shot several times. He just kept going and going on the self-destructive deadlock, until fortune smiled at him.
A pool of wet cement. Without thinking twice, he rammed the thing as hard as he could into the pool, sealing its movement. But he wasn't done yet, as he summoned the last of his strength for the coup de grace. Lifting a heavy jackhammer and leveling it against the creature's head, he didn't hesitate to pound the creature's skull with the construction machinery for a while for good measure until it stopped moving and screeching.
The weight of his wounds finally caught up to him, as he crawled towards the limp figure of his sister. She wasn't moving. She didn't even have a pulse. But she had the most placid smile in his face. Miro couldn't even begin to cry, before unconsciousness set in. When he woke up, his wounds had been tended, and there was an unknown girl besides him. She explained an ominous story, about girls being used as experiments, and that Olga had been one of them, much like her. His struggle had not pass unnoticed, and she asked for his help, despite being in mourning. They had very few allies, after all.
Miro just looked once away, before saying he would help. After all, they had to pay for whatever they had done with his sister. |
8,396 | 228 | 48 | 846 | 1,744 | Adrian was slow to get out of Jossie's way as she searched for her bed, causing the two to fall back upon each other; with the girl perched precariously on his lap and kissing her boss while he came back to his senses.
"Did you.. just..." Adrian started to ask, only to be cut-off with Jossie's flustered response,
"I was curious!" she cried in her defense, as she fell off his lap.
Amused, he pulled Jossie back upon his lap and nuzzled her head, "Are you still curious?"
Joslyn's first response was for her face to turn beet-red, before trying to form a string of words that resembled a nervous affirmation, only to be cut-off with a kiss upon her lips, a favor she returned in-kind.
When they finally parted for air, Jossie began to ask: "Um... what was that for?"
To which Adrian shrugged, "Curiosity." A look at Jossie's face told him he needed a better answer than that, with syntax, "Am I not allowed to be curious, too?"
"But, curious about what?"
Adrian just smiled, and kissed her again, "Trying to see how many times I can kiss you before we get bored of it."
"That happens? People get bored wi--" She began to ask, only to get cut-off with another, much deeper kiss.
Realizing there was probably a thing they were supposed to be doing before this, like mopping the bar-room floor, their lips noooooo... "I... uh... yeah.... probably. Floors' really hard..." She agreed, only after glancing at the floor and pointing out the obvious... Miro should make a rule about not serving these girls alcohol... like, ever...
== Narrator sulks off ==
-- Post will be down due to technical difficulties --
- Narrator's post-script, just because the narration stopped, doesn't mean they stopped kissing - | Name: Adrian Vance
Sex: Male
Age: 28
Faction: Slumlord-bartender
Appearance: Da.
Clothing: See "Da."
Personality: Crusty exterior, with a side of wise-sass. But underneath all that genuinely cares for the welfare of his patrons.
Weapons: Pump Shotgun, fists, bad langrage.
Equipment: He runs a bar, so he's got a pretty good selection of craft-beers and hard-liquors via some fermentation-vats and a still. He's also got a grill, a deep-fryer, and a seldom-used coffee-maker somewhere in the back.
Bio:
Working on it. Jeeze, why do you always have to be so negative? |
8,397 | 228 | 49 | 1,277 | 218 | The following morning, Jossie found herself awoken by both the feel of someone's hands on her butt and lips on her own. Shifting a bit, she let out a small groan before speaking, "That's my butt you know... and holy hell does my head hurt," she grumbled, burying her face in Adrian's neck and nibbling at it. Having never had alcohol before, she had not expected the rather aggressive headache she was experiencing, which made her regret the fact that she had accepted nearly every shot the guys had gotten for her.
"Never again," she groaned, "There has to be a way to avoid such a thing..."
Adrian looked around the suddenly slightly messier than usual room, and surveyed the damage their drunken shensnigans had done. Although the lights were off, a bright shaft of morning light penetrated the room, the club-owner pulled up the covers and kissed Joslyn's feverish forhead to ease his companion's protests.
"Better?" He asked, vaguely remembering how bright lights bothered Joslyn even when she was sober.
"Mmmm..." She murmured, moving her face from his neck to his chest, "Uh... did we... My clothes are gone... Oh..." Jossie felt her face heat up as she glanced down and noticed that Adrian wasn't exactly decent himself. However, she wasn't exactly inclined to move from where she was because she was comfortable.
"So... uh... we never cleaned the bar," she pointed out, "We should probably do that before the place opens in a few hours right?"
Adrian sighed as Joslyn talked about work, when they weren't working, in a building they were supposed to work together in.
"You're probably hungry." He guessed, while stroking her hair back, "How 'bout I fix up something for us to eat while you go clean up the damage the kids did out there."
Peeking a few glances out from under the covers, he managed to eventually snag most of their clothes with his toe and bring them into their little comfort-haven, although putting their clothes on quickly became an interesting chore.
Joslyn did her best to try to get dressed, only to find herself relatively tangled with Adrian. The fact that they were having such problems made her giggle and she eventually just stopped what she was doing. "This isn't working very well is it?" she asked as she peered up at him from under the covers, "I am pretty sure I got one of your legs in my own pants..."
She leaned up a bit and gave Adrian a light kiss before poking her head out of the covers for a moment, only to yelp and dive back under. Now she was stuck with her inability to really see since the sun had decided to wreak havoc on her retinas. "I made a mistake!"
Adrian moved to close the blinds, but was too late. Joslyn had blinded herself. He rushed over to her side, straining to look her inthe eyes in the dark, as though he could tell just by looking whether or not it was pemenant. At least he wanted to think he could, as he tried to calm her back down with a flurry of kisses and long string of re-assurances that she'd be fine in a few more minutes. But probably the most re-assuring thing he'd done was proving to her that he wasn't going to leave until he was sure she would be fine.
Joslyn was shocked by his want to stay with her until she could see again, which thankfully only took a few minutes. "I uh..." she mumbled, "I... thank you... I'm not used to people waiting for me to be able to see, actually, I'm usually alone for that." She leaned forward and pressed her lips against his in a soft kiss to show her appreciation despite the literal day the two knew each other for.
He returned the kiss in-kind, of course. Adrian leaned back as the little assassin leaned forwards, letting her have her fun while he had his. But as they kissed, they could hear noises coming from the bar.
"We should probably get dressed, and check back on the bar." The owner stated, before giving her another, last-second kiss, "We can continue this later."
The waitress glanced off to the side for a moment before she offered up a shy smile, "I would think no one would be here so early," she muttered before she finished pulling on her clothing, "We need to go shopping, you promised... so after we get the bar situated could you bring me to get some clothing or will they be ordered?"
Fixing the shirt, she turned and watched Adrian with a curious look before she simply flopped back on the bed and groaned. "I really don't want to do anything... why are people still here?"
"Sometimes they refuse to leave, thankfully the locks to the back-rooms are sturdy enough." He replied, offering his hand to get the young waitress back to her feet. "As for clothes, I may have some stored upstairs, but we'd probably also need to shop for clothes anyways... but in the meantime..." He gave a slight grin as he looked away and towards the door. "I'll prepare food if you'll go check on our guests sleeping-off their drinks on one of our bar-room tables."
She nodded her head before walking out of the back room and into the bars. Spotting Miro, the female walked up to him and started to poke the male repeatedly in the side. "Come on ya butt," she said, continuing to poke him, "Bar is closed, I need to clean up and you should probably go find a certain someone who has the same name as me now shouldn't you?" | Name: Joslyn (Jossie) Vulcas
Sex: Female
Age: 17
Experiment Tier: Test Subject
Enhanced Trait 1:
Enhanced Vision:
Josyln’s enhanced Vision allows her to see with almost startling clarity, making it possible for her to pick up on the smallest of details when she is out in the field or simply trying her hardest to blend in and collect intel. Along with her ability to see clearer than the average human, she is also able to see things further away without the aid of a scope, giving her the ability to be an amazing sniper, though she does not classify as the best as she knows there is always someone out there better than herself. While she can see well enough in the dark, if the area is completely devoid of any form of light (i.e moonlight) she is unable to see just like any average human.
Enhanced Trait 1:
Downside: Light Sensitivity
While Joslyn enjoys the perks of being able to see far and in complete clarity, this enhancement caused her to develop an acute sensitivity to light. Due to this, she must always wear sunglasses until nightfall and, unless the room is dim enough, while under artificial lighting. Part of her counts this as a blessing in disguise as it offers her a way to hide her eyes from those who are looking for her, as they are the most notable feature that she maintains. Should she be subjected to bright light (i.e a flash bang) without the proper eye protection, her sight is rendered useless until such a time that her retina’s are able to adjust and right themselves.
Enhanced Trait 2:
Heightened Reflexes
While she is unable to dodge bullets, Joslyn’s reflexes have been enhanced in order to allow her reaction time to be far greater than the average human. The messages that travel from her brain to her limbs take far less time to communicate the need to do something, allowing her to react faster and take less time to process situations as they occur. Her heightened reflexes also increase her rate of fire depending on the firearm she is using at the time and aid her well in hand to hand (or overall close range) combat.
Enhanced Trait 2:
Downside: Twitchy
Due to her uncanny habit of twitching, whether it is when someone touches her or when she is forced into a fast reaction time too many times in a row, Joslyn attempts not to rely on this ability too much. While engaged in close combat, should she take a particularly hard hit (or a harmful hit in general) her body’s reflex is typically over exaggerated and could potentially cause more harm than good to herself.
Faction: Poltava
Appearance:
Height: 5’7
Weight: 145 lbs
Distinct Feature(s): HeteroChromia (LE Green / RE teal)
Clothing: See second picture for shirt style, typically wearing black jeans or slacks and a pair of black sneakers. Due to her light sensitivity, Joslyn also wears a pair of sunglasses that she rarely takes off.
Personality:
Joslyn prefers to keep to herself when she can, though she is not shy by any means but seems far from approachable due to the fact that she always looks rather mad, even when she is not. Usually very straight forward and blunt, she hates to sugar coat things and is usually the person to go to if you want the hard truth about something. Once one gets past the bluntness and permanent ‘I will kill you’ look, she is overall a fun person to be around who enjoys a good joke just as much as the next person.
Weapons: SR-25 (Semi-automatic special application sniper rifle 7.62x51mm), PMR-30 (.22 magnum), and a few well placed throwing knives.
Equipment:
Emergency Kit Containing:
Lighter
Compass
Camelbak
Disposable Cell Phone
Emergency Tinder
Magnesium Starter
Emergency Rations
First-Aid Kit (small)
Canteen
Aqua Iodine Tablets
S&W SWAT Knife
Mini LED Flashlight
GERBER
Bio:
Taken at a young age, Joslyn does not have much of a childhood to remember as she spent most of her years in a facility being put through an array of tests. While she remembers nothing that happened between the ages of 8 and 16, she can remember what few years of clarity she had with her Mother and Father. Both of her parents always seemed to be happy and madly in love with one another, a feeling they also shared with their daughter who never went without. She always went to parks to play with the other local children, a place she assumed she was taken from as she could not remember anything leading up to the week that shew as taken. Despite many attempts to try and recollect the eight years of memories she did not have, she had nothing to show for it as every attempt resulted in a failure.
When she had managed to escape the facility with the Three Kings, Joslyn had attempted to find her family, wanting to go back to them, to let them know that she was ok despite her genetic modifications. When she got to the outside of the house she remembered living in eight years ago, she found it in the state that she had left it, immaculate and well taken care of. However, when she peered inside, she saw only a shadow of the man her father was sitting in front of the television with beer bottles all around him and a young boy pleading for his attention.
Not being able to take the sight before her, she left without so much as knocking on the door and found her way into the Poltava faction. While she could fight if need be, she preferred doing things from afar, or simply not at all as she isn’t much of a violent person unless the situation calls for it. While she finds no pleasure in what was done to her, she could not bring herself to join the faction that actively attacked the government, despite the fact that she blames them for everything that she saw through that window.
At present she volunteers as a sniper when one is needed, doing her part in an attempt to earn her keep with those she decided to join. While she has no issues with remaining in the shadows, even she is aware that there are times when violence is a necessity and when the government is after you, sometimes that necessity happens a lot. |
8,398 | 229 | 0 | 2,023 | 18 | Opening Song
Chapter One: The Imperium Will Burn
The Warp was your home, now you are being called forth to take part in a Crusade considered most dire. No matter where you were you are on the Flagship of a mighty fleet.The past hour seems like a haze as you had been in one place and now you are in a completely new area you have never rested your eyes upon before, but the gods are fickle like that putting you where they please and you have submitted to this in your worship
The room is cavernous enormous at least 30 feet high, and fifty yards across. On either side men and women are melded into machines that control the ship their bodies and ugly and twisted with the corruption of daemons. Balconies raised high over the large circular platform you stand on in the middle of the room loom like they might be used to judge someone who was not worthy of being here. The once gilded and beautiful ship built by the imperium had lost all it’s former glory to statues of the most depraved scenes, paintings the likes of which would instantly bring death upon any who would show them in the Imperium. This was not the Imperium, no this was Chaos pure and simple, and the cultists who skittered about their chores to keep from becoming the next masterpiece in this chamber made sure to keep out of the way.
A enormous man stood on a balcony that was only ten feet above the circular platform. He was in a ancient set of armor, his bald head shimmered in the dim light words tattooed across his scalp. He grins down at those gathered before him and raises a single hand. “Welcome, followers of the true gods. Welcome to the Vengeful Spirit. Warmaster Abaddon let me borrow this Vessel for this Auspicious occasion.” He suddenly turns and descends a small staircase which the rails of seem to be made of bone. As he steps onto the platform which those gathered he puts his hands on his hips and smirks a bit. “I am first Chaplain Erebus, and you my friends have been chosen by the Gods themselves to lead with me your people into the Glory of destroying the Dead Emperor’s Imperium. WE are called forth to shed blood and crush the bodies of the fools who would dare challenge us! i know this is probably very confusing. What are we doing here?” he laughs and slams a fist into his chest plate “YOU ARE here to cut a bloody swath to holy Terra. To leave these misguided fools burning in defeat. We are here to kill the Emperor.” | @ so far It's interesting. I have never heard of blackened lungs, but I will research ok it. Though I will say that his history will need to detail how he gained these gifts and armors we weapons etc. |
8,399 | 229 | 1 | 729 | 2,160 | Siegemaster Atreides stood calmly in a room filled with ancient warriors, sorcerers, and legends of the past as if it was a normal occurrence for the armored human to see on a regular basis. Operate with the forces of Chaos long enough, and it was after awhile. He may not rely on the blessings and aid of the dark Gods like some others might, but he was more than aware of their place in his life, and how they were effectively the very top of the chain, a place that would not take kindly to failure.
The Siegemaster calmly stood, arms linked behind his back, standing in the front of the group. His armor was annointed with symbols of Chaos undivided, as was many of his men, those that believed as he did. Others followed the Gods of their choice, as long as they did their job, he didn't care which god they followed. He wore his full ensemble, gas mask, helmet, armor, as if he had just walked in from a tour of the siege lines. He very well might have, considering how fast he and his own were pulled here. But the past was irrelevant, instead, he heard out the Dark Apostle as he spoke and was the first to respond to the giant, speaking calmly, with a slightly mechanical accent.
"Break open the carcass, so you can feast on the barely beating heart. So be it, it will be done." | Name: Alexander Atreides
Age: 322
Gender: Male
Race: Bionically Enhanced Human
Height: 5' 11"
Weight: 177lbs
Appearance:
Equipment:
Nemesis Daemon Blade: The Daemon bound within the weapon grants the name it carries, known to mortals as Nemesis, and doubles as a cruel parody of the weapons wielded by the Grey Knights. While its origins are lost, as to when and where it was forged and bound (And Nemesis itself does not impart such knowledge), it is clearly an old weapon, older than its current wielder, and an archaeic design. It is a daemon weapon, however, and is bound to the soul of it wielder, channeling the wielders malice and hate into each blow, the more felt for an enemy, the more powerful beyond a daemon weapons normal force each swing shall carry.
Corrupted Bolt Pistol: Overexposure to the warp has left this bolt pistol, originally a Guard pattern issued to officers, tainted and corrupt. Each round is coated in empryean flames, causing each round to have the unnecessary effect of causing flames and stubborn fires in addition to each bolt round detonating upon impact.
Bound Carapace Armor: Enscrolled with sigils of Chaos Undivided, one would think the aid of the Dark Gods aids this armor, and its wearer, in doing superhuman tasks. They would be mostly wrong, while some blessings have been bestowed upon the armor, it is a forging crafted by the finest Warsmiths one could find, capable of matching Astartes Power Armor blow for blow, while remaining in the appearance of humble carapace.
Custom Breaching Charges: Take several dozen krak grenades, meltas bombs, and other, far tamer methods of demolition, and fuse them into one insane, volitile combination of explosives stuffed into one bag. This combination are called CBC's, or Custom Breaching Charges, by the siegemaster and those he leads.
Powers:
Corrupted Bionics: Iron within, Iron Without! Having undergone over 300 years of warfare, Atreides has been wounded and nearly slain countless times, only to be rebuilt stronger, more powerful, more durable than the last. Being tainted by the warp, the augmatics and flesh have no bounderies between one another, metal fusing with flesh, healing like flesh, but not breaking like weak flesh.
Tainted Auspex: Imbedded into his head, and sacrificing an eye, Atreides can swap into many visual modes, from tracking weapons fire and rangefinding, to various spectrums of vision invisible to the unaided eye.
Rank Among Chaos: Siegemaster
Bio: Men and women captured by the Iron Warriors suffer one of two fates. Slave soldiers, or just slaves. Alexander Atreides does not remember what Imperial holding he was born on, if any, but all he does remember is his induction into the slave soldiers of an Iron Warrior Grand Company. The traitor marines barely noticed the mortal warriors used as cannon fodder and suicide missions, and that was how it always was. But, one raid on a fortified keep changed that.
The planet burned, its name lost to the annals of history, and one last bastion of Imperial Might remained. Gathering the remaining slave soldiers, all veterans or blessed by the Dark Gods to survive, they were issued their last task of the invasion. Open the gates, and let the Iron Warriors claim their prize. Atreides had authority over the others, naturally taking over leadership of such scattered men and women, and led them on their invasion.
No gods whispered dark promises of power or success to these slaves, nothing was offered to them as Alexander Atreides stormed the keep's grandest hold, while the other slaves died opening the gates to the city. And if only the slave soldier had known his own father was the man leading the defense, and was the man Atreides slew with his own bare hands. Fate had conspired to allow this man to see the dawn of another day, and for good reason.
Even with the gates swung open, the small detachment of the Grand Company that sent them were nearly wiped out by the defenders, and it was childs play to bring them low. Atreides was free, reporting back to the Grand Company, alone but successful. He began to make a name for himself, leading countless sieges and raids, each engagement earning another scar, another bionic replacement, another deed done in the dark gods names. But he had little desire to utilize slaves and mercenaries, he had his eyes on far more useful forces, as few Iron Warriors would willingly swear themselves to a former slave soldier.
The fall of the 122nd Astrais Legion was a simple, but devious one. Atreides posed as a newly commissioned officer, arriving and quickly filtering out the commissars through 'Unfortunate Enemy Actions'. Instructing the now unpoliced regiment, it was easy to spirit the best of them away for his own personal use, and from those select few found worthy, would aid the Siegemaster in laying claim to both the title, and many victories for the Dark Gods.
Aligned: Undivided
Retinue: 50 Renegade Grenadiers, 15 Renegade Engineers, 15 Renegade Special Weapon Experts |
Subsets and Splits
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