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| Super Hero RP; Name forthcomming | |
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| Topic Started: Oct 6 2009, 07:11 PM (416 Views) | |
| Pendragon | Oct 6 2009, 07:11 PM Post #1 |
Bad-ass Bookworm
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Right, I figured That having only two operating RPs (Yeah, I pretty much flushed the FF8 thing down the drain and until they start, I'm not counting the space RPs) running is not good for a board that counts its self as an RP board. especially when one deals with under age kids dying in a genetics lab, and the other is IB. So, I've decided to try and start a super hero RP. I've several ideas for the world, and a few of them are getting near built, but to decide between them, I'm going to need profiles to decide between them, as your heroes disposition and power levels will decide how the world sees heroes, and what level of crime is being faced. Currently, I have a villain, and I've a plan for my own hero, but now I need you. The fields for positions are: ------------------ Name: (Of course) True Name: (If your identity is open an you use your true name, just say so) Age: (Again, Natural) Appearance: (What does your character look like, include details on what the costume looks like on a separate paragraph.) Personality: (Just a brief description, certain detains will be in other fields) Identity: (Open or Secret or Personal, the later two being whether or not the other supers know who you are, respectively) Alignment: (Not D&D style. Here it's Government: meaning that saving the day is actually your job, Cape: Meaning that you're a well meaning vigilante, like Superman or pre-civil war Captain America, and Anti-Hero meaning you fight Crime just as viciously as the criminals perpetrate it) Powers/equipment: (What your super uses to fight crime, be it innate super powers or equipment based. This can be split into two categories if necessary. As a rule, Any Combo platter powers should be justified via your:) Creation story: (why your super is what he is. Superman being from Krypton and raised by the Kents, Batman's Parents being killed and the subsequent training, Ironman being captured by terrorists. That sort of thing.) |
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| Cataphrak | Oct 7 2009, 12:05 AM Post #2 |
Shut up, I know what I'm doing.
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Name: Wolfsbane True Name: Stanley Alders Age: 41 Appearance: If there was ever a poster boy for organic living, Stan Alders would be it. 6'4, blond haired, blue eyed, with the face of a male model and the physique of a god. Although Alders attributes this to a combination of healthy diet and a good four hours of heavy exercise every day. Tabloids often claim that Alders had been the recipient of extensive plastic surgery, even that he abuses anabolic steroids. However, Stan himself denies these claims and has had extensive drug and blood testing done to prove it. Wolfsbane's costume is actually rather understated for a super. He wears a dark green undersuit and hood made of fine woven hemp (one would assume he wears something somewhat more comfortable underneath. Over that, his arms are covered with the symbiotic armour of a life-tree which has grown out of a sapphire embedded in the center of his chest piece. This hard, polished dark armour is almost completely overrun with vines and lianas, with a smattering of flowers and buds which, although attractive, are aslo extremely poisonous. From his rope belt dangles a variety of powders and extracts, almost all of them fatal to humans. Personality: If you were to ask anyone on the street, "who do you think is a most likely a superhero in disguise?" the unanimous response would be "Stan Alders". Alders seems like a Paragon of humanity, donating not just money, but the hands of his employees and his own time to charities, social programs and especially environmental movements. His patience and tolerance is almost considered saintlike, having won massive popularity and credibility in the environmentalist movement when he calmly weathered a group of ranting oil executives in a board meeting. This patience is retained in Wolfbane, though his thoughts of helping his fellow man turn to those of pure evil. Identity: Secret Alignment: Villain, Knights of Gaia, several front organizations. Powers/Equipment: Although he has no powers of his own, Wolfsbane fights with a large wooden staff topped with a ruby, capable of absorbing nearby plant life to repair his armour and controlling plants themselves to attack his enemies. His armour, in the meantime, grants him super strength, and resilience to any weapon "devoid of life" (Not living or made from something that was once living), a property which has proven most useful against firearms. Origin Story: Stan Alders was a self-made man, who graduated from Yale to become head of Alderwood Intl, a massive multinational logging company, one that was infamous for trampling on environmental laws, labour regulations and the rights of native peoples. During one trip to Brazil, Alder was forced to confront a massive crowd of protesters blocking access to a great hardwood tree, one whose prized wood was worth millions. Coldly ordering his crews to go ahead, he bribed the local law enforcement into sneaking into the protesters' camp and murdering them in the night. When dawn broke, the Alderwood loggers began to prepare for the cutting. As the first chainsaws touched the bark, the spirit of the tree mingled with the rage of the murdered environmentalists, filling Stan with a power which twisted the evil in his heart into their own ends. When Stanley Alders left Brazil, he seemed a changed man. He sold Alderwood and used his part of the payoff to found the Knights of Gaia, an environmentalist organization both praised and vilified for its extreme tactics. Stan himself seemed to turn himself into a man of charity and compassion, a front which he used to hide his new true purpose, and the identity he took for himself; Wolfsbane. |
   -----Smexy-----|----Smartass----|-----...Zeth----- Spambot Kills: x60 | |
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| Pendragon | Oct 7 2009, 12:42 PM Post #3 |
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Bad-ass Bookworm
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Oh right, a few notes, First, I've contacted Cata to play the Villain, hence the irregular alignment entry. I'll be contacting other people as I need villains. Who I pick will depend on the overall mood of the story. And I forgot the second while typing up the first. |
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| Cataphrak | Oct 7 2009, 12:47 PM Post #4 |
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Shut up, I know what I'm doing.
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It also explains the somewhat Gary-Stuish profile. |
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-----Smexy-----|----Smartass----|-----...Zeth----- Spambot Kills: x60 | |
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| Experiment 1337 | Oct 7 2009, 02:38 PM Post #5 |
Can't see an invisible ninja.
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So are the Knights of Gaia a terrorist organization or one that supports environmentalism through strange ways? I would presume the first (given the fact that you're a villain), but the way you described them made them seem more likely to protest peacefully than to march on the capitol with torches and pitchforks. |
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Releasing control art restriction systems 3… 2… 1. Approval of Situation A recognized. Commencing the Cromwell Invocation. Ability restrictions lifted for limited use until the enemy has been rendered silent. I have no name, only a bar code. The pen is indeed mightier than the sword...when launched out of a rail gun. By day, test subject. By night, ninja. Nightcrawler is the original BAMF. I'm just a fig newton of your imagination. Blink and you're dead. | |
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| Cataphrak | Oct 7 2009, 03:58 PM Post #6 |
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Shut up, I know what I'm doing.
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The Knights of Gaia are a perfectly legal environmental organization, but one that uses Alders' funding to use extreme tactics like buying up all the land AROUND an area that is about to be logged and preventing the logging trucks from going through that property. |
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-----Smexy-----|----Smartass----|-----...Zeth----- Spambot Kills: x60 | |
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| Experiment 1337 | Oct 7 2009, 07:00 PM Post #7 |
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Can't see an invisible ninja.
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So they're the second. They protect land from environmental hazards in unconventional ways. |
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Releasing control art restriction systems 3… 2… 1. Approval of Situation A recognized. Commencing the Cromwell Invocation. Ability restrictions lifted for limited use until the enemy has been rendered silent. I have no name, only a bar code. The pen is indeed mightier than the sword...when launched out of a rail gun. By day, test subject. By night, ninja. Nightcrawler is the original BAMF. I'm just a fig newton of your imagination. Blink and you're dead. | |
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| Pendragon | Oct 8 2009, 10:55 AM Post #8 |
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Bad-ass Bookworm
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Oh right, Second thing. I of course hold the right to veto any powers. Like active Time travel or Reality warping. Note that this isn't a rule against these things being part of your backstory. That can be as contrived as you want. |
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| Viral | Oct 10 2009, 09:36 PM Post #9 |
I hold the +1 boffer weapon made in my basement!!!
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Chaz I will join... Uh I will just talk to you in person about my character. |
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| dinowoman | Oct 11 2009, 07:50 AM Post #10 |
Living Fossil
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I'd like to join. I might need a few days to create a character though. I'm a bit busy right now. |
 
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| Krisz | Oct 14 2009, 03:59 AM Post #11 |
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Name: Protectorate True Name: Davie Blair Age: 21 Appearance: At 5 foot 11, and only 160 lbs Davie is smaller than most of his cousins. Downright petite in comparison, in fact. Of course, since those cousins live across an ocean, this isn't a major issue for the Scotsman. Davie's Scottish blood manages to overwhelm the small part of him that isn't Scottish, (although most of his family haven't forgotten his mongrel ancestry,) and as such, his cheeks and nose are dotted sporadically with tiny freckles. His eyes, the green of the rolling hills of his country, are marred by only one imperfection, and it is no slight imperfection. From right underneath Davie's right eye to next to his left nostril, across the bridge of his nose, runs a long jagged scar, long healed. Against this scar, the fact that his hair is a deep chestnut brown compared to the fiery red of the rest of his family is of little importance. This hair is worn mid-length, just past his ears and falling to the side of his head, only a few stray locks brushing against his forehead. Super-Appearance: In costume, Protectorate is an imposing sight. He wears spandex, a bright azure in colour, across his whole body, leaving open only a small space under his nose for his mouth uncovered. Over top of this spandex, he wears an old and battered white tabard, which, ripped and torn, covers most of his chest, and his legs only until right before his knees. Where the family coat-of-arms would usually be shown on the surcoat is merely the image of a great big sword, a claymore by appearance, with it's blade pointed down. The sword is unremarkable, stitched in an iron-gray colour, and the stitching itself appears to be the job of a novice. On his hands, he wears leather gloves, the same colour as his tabard. Upon his knuckles are pieces of metal, placed seemingly to aid their wearer in a fistfight. Upon his feet are boots, also made of the exact same coloured leather as his tabard. At the last, atop his head, he wears a crown... with, like the rest of him, a single peculiarity. It is made, seemingly, of iron or another similar metal; no garish gold, or silver. Personality: Scotsman through and through. Or, well... he attempts to be. Living across the ocean, in a land where red-haired green-eyed freckled men and women aren't the norm, (Despite his brown hair,) is hard on him, and it shows. He's not the bastion of courage and font of crude jokes that Scotsmen archetypically are. In fact, Davie is extremely quiet most of the time, sticking to himself and not talking much with others. He's an absurdly patient man, save for when his family or his values are threatened, at which time one could swear his hair may as well be red for how impatient and furious he gets. Super-Personality: Papers have labelled Protectorate as an old-fashioned gentleman, and a knight, as they're written in the story books. A truly chivalrous and gentle man, but ready to fight at the drop of a hat. All these things are true in the hero's mind, and in fact he revels in being known for these things. Protectorate thrives on his reputation, and were he deprived of the good words and respect people paid him, he would likely become introverted and moody. Identity: Personal Alignment: Cape Powers/equipment: Protectorate has a single power, but the power itself is not well-known. What he is famous for is the massive claymore that he seems to rip free of his tabard when he has need of it. The sword is big, even for a claymore, breaking the usual length of a claymore by 6 inches. That he can carry it, with his fairly scrawny build, is amazing to a great deal of people; scientists have hypothesized and reporters have studied, and still nobody has been able to determine what allows Protectorate to carry this beast of a weapon. Protectorate himself is the only person that knows. His true power is not the blade, but the ability to touch history and make it real again, in such a way that he can use it. This power is limited, (as far as he knows,) to only affecting objects in his family history, which is still fairly extensive. As such, his home, (which very few ever see,) is littered with family relics, many of them useless trinkets, but some of them actually useful. His tabard, one such useful artifact, was worn by his ancestors, long ago, in battles against fellow Clans and oppressive overlords. The claymore stitched upon it was his family symbol, made so because of the great sword that his distant forefathers wielded, bigger than nearly any of their time. Creation story: The Ballard Clan is an ancient one, but has the distinction of having survived to today. Where many other families died out, or split apart, fracturing and changing, the Ballards have always stayed strong, and united. Their reason for this is a great burden that each family member must bear. As such, each new family member, each woman or man brought into the family, is closely screened to determine whether or not they're worthy of keeping the secret. Each generation, one male of the Ballard Clan is born with immense strength. This male can lift up the great claymore that is hung above the hearth in their ancestral home. Davie's generation, there was no such male. Grandparents and parents were worried; there was only one bearer of the strength left alive, when there were usually three. And then Davie was born. Born of a Scotsman and a Briton. The union was nearly forbidden, but was at last allowed because of the fear that there would be no successor to the power. And, well... Davie was, of a sort. He could wield the claymore. It was family history. However, when tested with other things... he lacked the true strength. He was an enigma, a mystery... and his mother was blamed. At an age when Davie was too young to understand anything of the family inner politics, his mother was killed, for fear that if she was banished from the family she might reveal the secret. This drove Davie's father mad, and he left the family. And thus Davie was left bereft of his parents. No mother's teat to suck, no father to hold him close and teach him of what it meant to be a man as he grew older. He was alone. And so, without consulting him, it was decided that he would be banished; perhaps with his removal, a true Ballard with the strength might be born. So, he was exiled to Canada, sent to live with distant relatives in the maritimes, an ocean away. And with that ocean between him and his true family, he was more blessed than he could know. His relatives knew not what to make of him, and so he was put to work. As he grew, he would occasionally happen upon things of the past that should not work, could not logically work... yet, for him, they did. But when he tried to show his new 'parents', and they handled the things, they did not work. So he chalked it up to an overactive imagination, and kept on with his childhood and growing up. On the eve of his sixteenth birthday, however, Davie received a package... one with an odd texture to it, a strange feel. It had come across the ocean, from his family in Scotland. And he couldn't figure out what it was without opening it. And so, open it he did, to find that strange tabard that eventually came to be Protectorate's namesake. Like any sixteen year old North American boy, he was thoroughly unimpressed. A thing of the past? Why not a new iPod, or something he could show off at school? He could hardly take it to school. He figured the only thing it was good for was a set of pajamas... and so he wore it to sleep. And woke up in he night, sleeping with a massive claymore laid down next to him. Naturally, he was startled. Quite naturally, he pissed his pants, and ran with a startled shout to the washroom. Unnaturally, nobody was awoken by this noise. And so he slowly crept back to his room, to make sure he was not simply hallucinating. But the sword was still there. Laying upon his bed... tantalizingly within reach. Something about it felt good to him... something about it, well, it felt right. As if it belonged there. And so he allowed himself to be drawn it... he let himself take the claymore, and was too comforted to be stunned by how light it felt as he lifted it into the air gingerly with both hands. He saw his own awkward reflection gazing back at him from the blade, and let himself go. He awoke the next morning, still clad in the tabard, which felt extremely smooth despite it's obvious age, but with no claymore in sight. His youth continued much like this, with strange things appearing to him, and disappearing if he forgot about them or ignored them, and with things of great age coming to perfect working order in his hands. For a sixteen year old, he grew to develop a healthy sense of love for history, as many of the things that came to life for him aided him in some small way. But, as with every boon, eventually a sacrifice must be paid. (Further backstory will be avaliable in-game through roleplay.) Edited by Krisz, Oct 16 2009, 12:12 AM.
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| "I like pigs. Dogs look up to us, cats look down on us, pigs treat us as equals." - Winston Churchill | |
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| Experiment 1337 | Oct 18 2009, 05:47 PM Post #12 |
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Can't see an invisible ninja.
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Here's mine. Krisz has given me the goahead to post. Name: Rime True Name: Alfred Tredenick Age: 32 Appearance: Alfred is average size, 5’10” and a tad bit on the skinny side of things, but rippling with hard muscle. He has coarse brown hair that hangs to the nape of his neck, curling slightly at the ends, framing a sharp, angular face with a battleaxe nose and deep-set, piercing ice-blue eyes. He prefers loose, cool-colored clothing. As Rime, Alfred wears a crisp ice-blue tunic, tucked into crisp ice-blue tights. Over this, he wears a set of steely-blue body armor. Two pauldrons cover his shoulders, each shaped like a horizontal prism cut in half lengthwise. The armor extends to his neck, with as collar of the same steely-blue metal, and then drops down to cover his chest, down to his sternum, in a series of bands that follow the curve of his ribs. A codpiece protects his groin, and that is followed by schynbalds and greaves and boots, all of the same metal, all angular and sharp-edged. A blue mask envelops his entire head, except for his mouth and nose. It is topped by a series of metal crests which start small, between his eyebrows, and gradually get larger and larger until the top of his head, where they decrease until they join with his gorget. Two mirrored lenses, which seem slightly foggy, cover his eyes. Personality: Alfred’s personality is, in a word, icy. He is curt and rude, with no semblance of manners. He brushes off people without a second thought. If he doesn’t like you, he simply won’t talk to you, but his demeanor takes a turn for the worse when when he has to look at you. He prefers short conversations, and when talking you always feel like he would much rather gouge out his own eyes than continue to chat. Whenever he has to talk, he is heavily sarcastic and insulting towards others, with no regard towards their feelings. He has accepted that he's a jerk and is untrusted, and he has accepted this and continued with his life. As Rime, through others' experiences of working with him (although he prefers to work alone), his personality is much the same, and he is known far and wide for his cold demeanor and lack of respect for the law. If you get in his way, you're fair game and will be mowed down as if you were one of the criminals he's trying to put down. Rime has, to date, never been known to take a criminal unharmed, and most of the ones recovered (not all of them were recoverable, such as the bank robber he knocked unconscious and threw into the icy Hudson River) were dead or in critical condition. Identity: Personal Alignment: Anti-Hero Powers/equipment: Alfred is cryokinetic. He can control cold. This can range anywhere from chilling his coffee to a drinkable temperature to trapping a fleeing villain in a block of ice. When he makes an area colder, depending on the area, specific heat, and chill amount, he takes that energy into himself, which for a short time can make him stronger or faster, but is slowly leached out of him into the environment. As such, he could theoretically freeze an entire office building, but the sheer amount of energy he absorbed would kill him in a fantastic explosion. Creation story: The exact circumstances that made Alfred into Rime are unknown, even to him. All he knows was that he was in the Arctic studying seals, flying a helicopter through the night, when the Northern Lights came crashing down upon the helicopter in a blinding flash. Alfred crashed the helicopter in surprise, and when he came to he was in a tent with a group of seal poachers. They had found him, and saved him from the cold. Despite this, the first thing he saw when he awoke was a mother walrus being wrenched away from her pup to be slaughtered on the ice in front of it before it too was killed. While being held captive with nothing left do to, he learned of his power, and the only thing he could conclude was that the Northern Lights had somehow changed his biology, making him cryokinetic. When he was stronger, he simply froze the three poachers and wandered south to more civilized areas, where he proceeded to viciously put away criminal after criminal in shocking acts of violence and bravado. |
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Releasing control art restriction systems 3… 2… 1. Approval of Situation A recognized. Commencing the Cromwell Invocation. Ability restrictions lifted for limited use until the enemy has been rendered silent. I have no name, only a bar code. The pen is indeed mightier than the sword...when launched out of a rail gun. By day, test subject. By night, ninja. Nightcrawler is the original BAMF. I'm just a fig newton of your imagination. Blink and you're dead. | |
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| Pendragon | Oct 18 2009, 10:50 PM Post #13 |
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Bad-ass Bookworm
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Just to note, that since I'm tooling this world to fit the heroes that reside in it, it is entirely possible that this RP will not be taking place in a real city, like New York. Of course, since it will however be taking place in America (ease of adaptation) your specific use of the Hudson 1337 could be explained away via him having been active in New York at one point. |
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| Zeth | Oct 19 2009, 09:43 PM Post #14 |
Absolute Allegiance
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Name: Shane True Name: Martin Shane Velasquez (Goes by Shane) Age: ~29 (Lack of Birth Records makes this dependent on his word.) Appearance: In a word: punk. Shane has sharp, almost bishy characteristics from his WASP-ish mother, and a deep brown skin tone and pitch black hair from his Mexican father (who was apparently so lazy that he never bothered to add the diacritic to his last name). He used to be dubbed "gay" on sight when he was a more outgoing sort, maybe just because his features were "that perfect." Lucky for him he never went to the Lucius the Eternal end of the sliding scale, and remains with less than the average joe's collection of scars and blemishes, which his powers also had a hand in erasing as of late. His nose is sharp and small, as are his ears and eyes. The eyes themselves are a very dark brown, complementing his black hair and brown skin. He's not a particularly tall fellow, coming out to 165 cm (~5'5") and 65 kg (145 lb.), and typically wears some pretty average street clothes, colour doesn't matter. Jeans, just a bit snug, start under a black belt with a grey buckle and reach down to a pair of well worn hiking boot-type shoes, used to be that standard yellow brown, but are now just brown from what they've been dragged through. Shirts vary anywhere from a button down to a t-shirt, just whatever's at hand really, he has no preference as long as it's not pink or purple. Super-Appearance: Throw on a black sleeveless jacket that reaches down to his knees along with a black mask to cover his eyes and fingerless black leather gloves to regular old Shane. Voilà. Personality: Shane is a belligerent little guy who likes to keep to himself. A paradox, I know. As a former druggie, his speech is littered with foul language and his actions are often rash and impulsive, without much heed to the greater consequences or effects on those around him. He doesn't care for interacting much with others after his life experiences, and if you one were to encounter him at a bar and try to antagonise him the sequence of events would probably go as: you get the cold shoulder, you are told to "piss off", you are laid flat, being lucky to only have your beer bottle broken. Since the event which resulted in his gaining of "super powers," Shane has made a concerted effort at restraint--but only when he can see it serving a purpose. Seeing as it's already been established that he's rash and impulsive, you have a 50/50 chance of him attempting "restraint." Super-Personality: Shane is not exactly the sort of hero who goes about saving people before a mass of media coverage--most people don't know who he is, and he has no signature or identifying items or insignia. So really, his super personality doesn't exist--he's just Shane. As far as "good" versus "bad" actions, Shane does what satisfies Shane. He helps people when it suits him because it soothes his conscience, and this doesn't interfere with his other actions. He's not hesitant to steal a laptop to fulfil his own desires, or sidle up with a prostitute...to fulfil his own desires. While he generally avoids outright killing people (wouldn't be much soothing of conscience if he's doing worse than some of the people he's trying to stop, now would there?), he's also not likely to worry himself over much if the rapist he's confronting is killed in the process of being stopped. He'll swear and move on. Identity: Public--It's just that nobody cares. Alignment: Anti-Hero (Again, I know.) Powers/Equipment: Shane carries three things with him at all times. The first is a survival knife of average weight and a clipped tip blade about as long as his hand with a serrated back edge. He acquired the knife, which was in pristine condition when breaking with a former drug dealer of his, who probably bought it mostly for show. The second item was also taken from the dealer, but actually saw some use. It's a gun, the type of which he found out only after he got it and needed to find ammunition suitable for it. It's a Walther P99 Semi-Automatic. How the dealer managed to acquire it is a mystery to Shane, and frankly, he doesn't care. It works in the case he chooses to use it. The last item is a small, extensively modified, electronic device, which in combination with Shance's power, becomes substantially more useful than what it was originally. It began it's life as a BlackBerry Curve 8300, but whatever it is now, it resembles the phone in no way other than where the screen and camera is. Where the keyboard was is now a blank plate that can be slid out to reveal the bare electronics underneath, and when powered on, the screen shows nothing of what one would expect to find a BlackBerry screen, changing erratically to whatever Shane is directing it at the time. Shane tries to keep the "doo-dad" in decent shape, but use has left it with a couple of scratches across the screen and casing, as well as stains from where it's been gripped by his hands many many times. He regularly cleans the circuits he comes comes in contact with. Shane's powers are related to those of a technopath, and are both biologically and technologically based, owing to the combination true virus infecting his body and the nanites working in conjunction with them. The abilities they imbue him with are an increased healing factor and stamina, above average strength (though the increase in this respect is not phenomenal), a certain degree of immunity to the effects of electrical power running through his body, and manipulation of electronic technology when in direct contact. This does not include being able to wirelessly send and receive information, and is the reason he carries the thing that used to be a BlackBerry, so that he can interface with a wireless system as if he were actually there, using the former phone to download or upload whatever he wants between his brain and a system. Creation Story: Shane's story is as straightforward as it is unlikely. Historians far from the far future call it "the rare crossing of the incredible, the unbelievable, and the actual." His father, an illegal immigrant, mostly used Shane's mother--whom he can't help but think of as hopelessly naive in retrospect--to meet his own ends, and had left the states by the time Shane himself was 3. Raised by his single mother in Las Vegas, Nevada, USA, Shane lived by only the very lowest of middle-class norms and generally disliked everything about his life. He didn't particularly dislike his mother, but certainly took her for granted due to her passive nature, but utterly detested school. At best he was labelled as some illegal immigrant there to steal jobs, and at worse he was apparently some ne'er-do-well gang member and didn't even know it. All this in spite of his only speaking barely passing Spanish. Sick and tired of people, Shane had turned to drugs by age 16, and didn't turn back. He dabbled in, but was never actually accepted into a gang, mostly due to the fact that they didn't have a use for him. Throughout the next decade or so of his life, Shane didn't do much outside his world of drugs. He became a dealer to support the habit, and also resorted to petty theft from time to time, which landed him a short jail term when he was 27. The jail rehab services didn't do much good considering there was a small time drug ring operating within the jail, thanks to some greedy guards ready to take a bribe to look the other way. Out of jail, he wasted no time getting back to his old ways, despite having learned of his mother's death in relation to a gang shooting spree. Not much to say here, that's just how it was. And then things get unbelievable. It was May, and Shane was feeling about as great as anyone who had just been re-identified by police as a dealer could. Despite the history of drug use--which had moved to heavier narcotics toward this time--Shane retained just enough brainpower to know he had to hide. This is what brought him to an abandoned lot and accompanying building just outside McCarran International Airport in Las Vegas. At this same time, a plane carrying materials belonging to the financially dire NeoGenetikos was arriving at the airport after having its flight plan redirected from Chicago direct to Los Angles due to a reported error on the part of the Los Angles International Airport. Intended as only a temporary stop in order to resolve the error and continue the shipment, the plane instead went down before it reached the runway due to unknown reasons. First responder to this incident just so happened to be Shane, who was within easy walking distance of the crash and had naturally been alerted by the sound. Natural curiosity was fuelled further by the fact that a now withdrawing and thus desperate mind somehow managed to make a connection between an aeroplane's first aid and, well, what do you think? Arriving at the scene of the crash, the first thing Shane noticed, as would be expected, were what appeared to be medical supplies in what were the remnants of the cargo area of the plane. Amongst the items strewn about were various prototype drugs and pharmaceuticals, along with a carefully sealed box containing NeoGenetikos' last shot at redeeming it's soon to be bankrupt holdings: their own special mix for creating the world's best espionage agent. Not that Shane was paying any attention. There was fire, there were survivors from the cockpit, and there were flashing lights on the way. Shane gathered some of the strewn loot and went on his merry way to shoot up for the first time in more than a week. By the time he reached someplace he thought he could get high in peace and relative safety, he got to it. The sealed box presented the most tantalizing item, and so naturally, he went for that first. The result? The two vials within, nicely accompanied by syringe and needle for each were enough to send Shane into agonizing pain within minutes, and he's still grateful the pain was enough to knock him unconscious for the next 40 hours. When he came to, Shane noticed one thing right off the bat: He was thinking remarkably clearly, especially for someone who had just injected two unknown drugs into his system and passed out in pain. The fact that he even recognized he was thinking clearly after abusing drugs for more than a decade stuck out to him. The second thing he noticed was, although he was surrounded by a small collection of narcotics and suppressants, he had no desire to use any of them. Now what kind of addiction was that? It wasn't an addiction at all. With his amazingly rediscovered faculties of reason and common sense, Shane discovered that any injuries he had acquired had also been healed. And still yet, he found the best part of the entire experience when he began investigating outside the alley he had overnighted in, particularly a broken stoplight he happened to come in contact during his forays. When his still clumsy and distracted hand landed on the exposed wires beneath a broken crosswalk button, Shane didn't feel any sharp pain of electric current, but instead felt the presence of...something. Removing his hand from the wires made the presence vanish, which he deduced quickly, and when he tried investigating the presence in his mind, he discovered the ultimate ability of the NeoGenetikos serum: he could manipulate digital signals. From there, Shane lunged at the opportunity fate had thrown at him. He immediately disposed of his drugs and related paraphernalia, recognizing for the first time the negative effects that he had been under for so long. Starting from the simple name of the company and project classification set on the sealed box the serum had been contained in, Shane sought out the NeoGenetikos company utilizing his new abilities, which he experimented with in an insatiable manner. In the process, he found he could, without even knowing how anything about a computer worked, simply "feel" and "try" his way about digital systems and networks like a first time drivers learned their way about a car. He also found that he could actually download information to his own brain, though he tended,and still tends to, only download topics of interest or use to him, and still couldn't tell you what a MAC Address is or what a proxy does though he can manipulate them. By the time he had cut all contacts with his druggie life, including facing down his former supplier from whom he acquired his gun and knife, Shane had not only found the NeoGenetikos Corporations' most heavily protected project files, but had also managed to worm his way past the security, and began downloading all the information he could about NeoGenetikos and their products in development--which he was now the product of. Seeing as the Corporation had gone bankrupt in a very short time after the incident--only a matter of 5 months--Shane then began deleting at will. Soon the only way anyone could know what NeoGenetikos was or what they did was if they had worked there themselves, the paper files having long been reduced to so many legal and financial stacks filed away in some basement, and no project files remained in physical form, as far as Shane knew. That done, Shane then proceeded to completely remove himself from the grid. He effectively became a non-person, and whenever he reappeared on the grid, he would make sure to remove himself again. Life made easy. Now a freshly minted hero with nothing to prove, Shane spends his days living in a tiny, ramshackle apartment rented under a fabricated identity, coming and going and stealing and profiteering as he pleases. He decided not long ago that he felt like helping people. Why he does is purely of his own, and is truly for no other reason other than because it's what he "feels like doing." No longer dependent on drugs for a high, he goes about placating his troubled conscience (he's had a lot to think about since he regained his ability to self-evaluate) by mysteriously creating a recently deceased rich relative for a destitute girl with dreams or taking over the braking system of a high-priced car being taken for a joyride by a perpetrator of grand-theft auto. The most recent development in Shane's life though, has been a fascination with other people that he assumes are in his position. People who, although they tend to dress in bright and clashing coloured outfits that, all things considered, make them look like retards to Shane, seem to have a common trait with him. They have super powers. ----- Don't beat me up about this, I promised I'd join up, and wanted to, but struggled coming up with a char. |
 Former Nightmare Restaurant Combat Engineer and Renaissance Manager Second in Command of the Freikorps | |
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| dinowoman | Oct 20 2009, 04:54 PM Post #15 |
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Living Fossil
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(Sorry this is so late. I had my character designed last week, but it's taken me until now to find the time to write it all up.) Name: Alecto True Name: K'atthun, but goes by the name of Peter Kayongo in everyday life. Gender: Hermaphrodite, but chooses to identify with male. Age: He estimates that his current age in earth years would be roughly 50, but because his species lives longer than humans, his physical age is more like about 30. Appearance: Alecto is a humanoid alien who is superficially sufficiently human-looking to pass as human (although not a particularly attractive one) when fully-clothed. At 5'8" (173cm) and 170lb (77kg), he has quite a stocky build, but strangely thin arms. His fingers are naturally adorned with short claws, but he files them down to give them more of the appearance of nails. His feet are a little broader than most humans' and also equipped with small curved claws. His skin is very dark brown, and his back, shoulders and the outer sides of his upper arms have a covering of very short, fine, black fur. He has a broad face with large, slightly bulbous-looking dark eyes beneath quite bushy, black eyebrows. He has a short, wide snub nose and a full-lipped mouth above a rather large chin. His ears are large, with rather pendulous earlobes. He keeps them hidden under a mane of long, black hair, which forms a widow's peak in the centre of his forehead. Although it isn't visible, due to its length, his hair doesn't stop at the nape of his neck, but continues down the full length of his neck, becoming ever shorter, until it merges into the fur on his back. However, his most unique feature is a pair of large wings, similar to those of a bat, which can be grown at will from a pair of "buds" situated in the vicinity of his shoulder blades. The wings are formed from special tissue stored within his upper body, which can be formed or broken down very quickly by conscious effort. When his wings are extended his physique becomes much slimmer, and almost feminine. Costume: When in superhero mode, he wears the apparel of his home planet, that he was attired in at the time of his arrival on earth, namely a black all-in-one suit. The top is snug-fitting and sleeveless, with a deep, narrow, v-neck, slit to mid-chest, and slits on the back to allow for wing growth. The trouser part is loose-fitting, but drawn in at the ankle, rather like harem pants. His feet are bare. Round his waist he wears a vivid cobalt-blue sash, which acted as his rank insignia in his former life. In order to conceal his rather easily identifiable face. he usually wears a full-face mask representing the face of a flying fox, However, since he finds it rather restricting, he has occasionally left it off if he was sure his description wouldn’t become public. Personality: He is generally very quiet, and keeps himself to himself much of the time. However this is a learned habit, initially developed to keep people at a distance and safeguard his identity, rather than a result of shyness. Amongst the few people who know his secret, and whom he trusts, he is not afraid to speak out, especially when it comes to criticising aspects of human nature or culture, some of which he considers very illogical. Most of the time he is a very calm person, but on the rare occasions that something really angers him, he can become very aggressive. He was used to fairly cool conditions on his home planet and tends to complain if it gets hot. Identity: Secret. Only one family so far knows his true identity and background, but he is not averse to revealing it to anyone who is able to gain his trust (most likely fellow superheroes). Alignment: Chiefly cape, but he is not averse to breaking the odd law here and there, particularly if it’s one of those strange human ones that doesn’t seem to make sense. Powers/equipment: Alecto’s most obvious power is flight. Additionally, his alien muscle structure endows him with above-human strength and agility, despite his lack of muscle bulk, but not to the level that it would be considered a superpower in its own right. This, coupled with his clawed toes, makes him an extremely capable climber on any surface that gives his claws purchase, as well as making him pretty handy in a fight. His one piece of equipment is a solar-powered ray gun that he keeps in a holster attached to his sash. Its power cell is very efficient and, in daylight, can stand frequent use without becoming depleted, but is more limited at night. However, since there is no stun setting, Alecto doesn’t often use it against human targets. Creation story: K’atthun was a junior officer (roughly equivalent to a First Lieutenant) in the interplanetary fleet of a planet (known as Reiak’he in his own language) on the far side of our galaxy. While out on a scouting mission in a small one-man craft, he was caught up by an unstable, and uncharted, wormhole that opened suddenly in the immediate vicinity if his ship. Lacking the power to break free, his ship was dragged, out of control, through the wormhole, incurring damage as it went. When it was finally discharged, he found himself in a completely unknown area, and his ship was in desperate need of repair. The only habitable planet in the region was the third in a system orbiting a small main sequence yellow star, so he set a course for it, hoping to be able to land somewhere obscure and make repairs before trying to look for a way out of his predicament. However, the damaged ship was unable to cope with the stresses of atmospheric entry and was threatening to break up. Realising that he would not be able to land safely, K’atthun waited as long as he dared and then bailed out. Unfortunately, as he did so he was struck by a piece of debris that detached itself at a critical moment and broke one of his wings. His remaining good wing, helped by the sheer surface area of the broken one, was able to slow his descent enough to prevent him being killed, but he was unable to fly and tumbled into the forest beneath him. His fall through the tree canopy broke several bones, and he finally hit the ground hard, knocking himself unconscious. The ship continued on its path and eventually crashed into the sea. Although some witnesses claimed to have seen a UFO, the local authorities came to the conclusion that a light aircraft had crashed, though they never retrieved the wreckage. Luckily for K’atthun, a local doctor and his wife were out walking in the forest that day. They heard the noise as he clattered through the branches and ran to investigate. It was clear from the start that the winged creature before him wasn’t human, and he nearly alerted the authorities, but he was also aware that secret superheroes were beginning to appear here and there and he wondered if this strange person might be one of them so, instead, he chose to administer first aid and take him? her? to his private clinic for treatment. (He was very surprised to subsequently discover that his patient bore none of the normal characteristics of either gender.) When K’atthun finally came to, and managed to get across the message that he wasn’t from this planet, the doctor, Dr. Richard Abrahams, felt even more unwilling to subject this injured, confused individual to the inevitable government, military and media attention, and continued to keep his presence a secret. When he recovered he let him stay in a trailer in the woods on land that he owned. K’atthun slowly learned to speak English, and was able to explain his story to his hosts. He also became large self-sufficient by growing vegetables and flying out into the forest at night to hunt, often bringing back game not only for himself but for the Abrahams family too. Eventually he became confident enough in his new life to take on some occasional jobs as a casual labourer, telling prospective employers that he was a Nigerian by the name of Peter Kayongo (though aware that this story would probably not hold water if he were ever to meet a real Nigerian). Due to his status as an illegal alien, in every sense of the word, he has always limited any employment to cash-in-hand, no questions asked arrangements. After Dr. Abrahams happened to remark one day that he had at first thought K’atthun might be a superhero, he began to take an interest in this possibility. His life on earth so far had been peaceful but not exactly fulfilling, and he found the idea of doing something worthwhile and repaying the help given to him by helping others increasingly appealing. Since his wings were bat-like, he decided to model his new persona on a bat – the black flying fox – Pteropus Alecto. The fact that Alecto was also the name of a female in Greek mythology struck him as somewhat appropriate, given his ambivalent gender, so he adopted that as his name. His activity so far has been very small-time: he goes out most nights and swoops down to help victims of muggings, or chase down burglars. But he would love to be able to join an organised team. |
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5:43 PM Mar 11
