SkyGinge
Sad Shroom
Rules and Character Application
Prizzy Kriyze
Multiple Stab Wounds
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Quinn Alexander Melchor-KingstonAge: 29
L-O-B: New_Republic_of_Indo-China - Neo-European_Suppression_Base_27QQ - 2742_AD
Height: 1.92m
Weight: 90Kgs
Build: Tall, somewhat above average muscular build, very dextrous. Signs of prior military training.
Ethnicity: Neo-Caucasian (Type 2700-3000 AD)
Physical Description: Quinn Kingston lacks fat tissues as a result of the famine in the Neo-European outposts, but seems to have been put through the soldier procedure appropriate to the time and had a body acclimated to the food shortage. He possesses the physical attributes typical to the time and place, and displays no genetic abnormalities. His hair is cut short at the sides and long on top, revealing not only his conformation with the fashion trends at the time but also the lax attitude of his station. Similarly, if left unchecked he likes to try to retrieve other clothes than his supplied uniform, regularly a black hoodie and matching leather jacket. He only willingly accepts the uniform bottom, stating quote "they fit well and look great, where above the waistline did the designer get a stroke?".
Personality: Quinn Kingston is a clear case of a rebel without a cause. According to his own testimony, having been reborn and removed from his original cause of subversion has left him feeling aimless and "kind of a lot better, y'know?". Though he's yet to display any signs of serious offense against his superiors, mission reports should be monitored and disciplinary measures enacted in case of disobedience. Besides his resentfulness against the "petty details" of his job, he's been thorough and careful about every objective he's been tasked so far. Quinn has expressed happiness about his new body and plasmatic augmentations, stating "So if I keep doing a good job, I could get cooler mods right? I'm down for that." It seems that Quinn is pleased with being a watcher.
According to his interviews, his past often landed him in fistfights rather than gunfights, despite having been an employed soldier. This was taken into account during his cleansing and plasmatic modification, and he's expressed pleasure about the plasmatic issued.
Quinn's lax disposition in combat situations where he's got the upper hand is one of his biggest shortcomings. He can be naïve about the true threat of an opponent and make mistakes that puts his entire team in danger. Disciplinary measures have been unsuccessful in correcting his arrogant attitude, and though this is a major issue in combat training he's been deemed suitable for a Watcher-[UNDER TRIAL] position in a new squad due to his resistance to stress and interrogation tactics. His statement regarding the nature of his fearlessness was "I was ready to kill myself before I got here - well, I mean, that's what I DID - so you can't really scare me with anything anymore, yeah?"
Tagline: The Timeless Anarchist
Background
The following is a summary of interview_21T-3, the full audio recording can be accessed at T3 archives.
Watcher Quinn Alexander Melchor-Kingston was born on July 31st 2742 AD, during the Euro-Indian Alloy Wars of the 28th century. His parents were soldiers stationed at NESB-Double Q, one of the first forward bases that the Neo-European coalition established when gaining a foothold on the Indian shoreline. At the point of Quinn's birth, the base had been mostly disarmed and the title of soldier was more honorary than literal. His parents had stopped being paid for their services and the food supply to the base dried out as it had only become a trading port leading further into the lines of war. They instead made a living operating the on-site 8VCTR experimental human soldier acclimation unit, a new technology that attempted to emulate a portion of the effects our current day codewater treatments have perfected. It allowed for greater resistance against the elements as well as survival on very limited amounts of food, a near necessity for anyone who wanted to keep alive on the edges of the war. [THE EFFECTS HAVE BEEN TERMINATED AND REPLACED BY CODEWATER TREATMENT]
Quinn, young and with the experimental treatment already enacted upon him, was forcibly drafted at a young age to join the war effort. Supposedly, his parents had him disillusioned about the reality of war. Despite the European propaganda about honor and wealth being at stake, he knew from his childhood and adolescence in NESB-Double Q that no such things existed for veterans and consequently felt no allegiance to his country. Instead he and a few others in his legion regularly disappeared in the masses of soldiers and escaped to experience the more regular and fair lives in nearby settlements.
The continuing disobedience set the eyes of wartime "prefects" on them, and they were reported to the authorities. Disciplinary measures proved ineffective even then, but the council at his outpost found another use for the delinquents. They were given a mission within enemy lines, only briefed to them as "interact with the population and learn their culture, further orders will be issued when necessary." The trick proved effective, and they intended to try to disappear in the countries to avoid the war. They had in fact been secretly turned into immune carriers of the X-103 virus [CLEANSED] during a routine medical check-up, which would slowly infect everyone around them with little to no symptoms. The X-103 virus altered the mental state of its none-immune carriers to become violent and anarchistic, an effect that at the time was very hard to pin to a virus.
After five years of living and building a life of his own in the Indo-China republic, he was issued further orders and had the situation clarified to him. At this point he could draw parallels between the virus and several traumatic incidents in his time there, and summarily turned his supplied pistol on himself and committed suicide to escape the grasp of war. [EQUIPPED WITH POINT BLANK KINETIC DEVICE TO RECONSTRUCT DEATH]
Upon waking up in the upper layer he displayed the usual signs of confusion, but upon debriefing quickly grew accustomed to his new life.
Cause of Original Death: Focal head Injury, caused by self-inflicted shot to the head.
Acquaintances: -
Rank: Level One Officer
Plasmatic Classification: Toxic-Resource
Plasmatic Modifications: Quinn's arms and hands have been extensively modified to fit the Toxic plasmatic. His hands and arms have small slits in them that allow the corrosive energy to flew freely around his fists when he activates it, and the entire structure of his arms have been reinforced to withstand the strength at which his punches can need to be delivered. By utilizing his fist to deliver the plasmatic power, each successful strike leaves a large spot on his opponents corroded and allows for the toxic effects of his plasmatic to gain a large foothold in the body of his opponents.
It leaves very little in the way of defense, although his own reflexes and the nimble nature of his modifications mean that he's got a good chance of using his plasmatic to block other plasmatics with his hands. The major downside however, is that bullets and other mechanical threats become more dangerous.
Skills, Interests and Fears
Quinn has proven to be capable of the following -
Link to RPing/Writing Sample: (Do I really need to? I've played with you several times before fam, and everythings from so long ago it's hard to find :c )
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Quinn Alexander Melchor-Kingston
L-O-B: New_Republic_of_Indo-China - Neo-European_Suppression_Base_27QQ - 2742_AD
Height: 1.92m
Weight: 90Kgs
Build: Tall, somewhat above average muscular build, very dextrous. Signs of prior military training.
Ethnicity: Neo-Caucasian (Type 2700-3000 AD)
Physical Description: Quinn Kingston lacks fat tissues as a result of the famine in the Neo-European outposts, but seems to have been put through the soldier procedure appropriate to the time and had a body acclimated to the food shortage. He possesses the physical attributes typical to the time and place, and displays no genetic abnormalities. His hair is cut short at the sides and long on top, revealing not only his conformation with the fashion trends at the time but also the lax attitude of his station. Similarly, if left unchecked he likes to try to retrieve other clothes than his supplied uniform, regularly a black hoodie and matching leather jacket. He only willingly accepts the uniform bottom, stating quote "they fit well and look great, where above the waistline did the designer get a stroke?".
Personality: Quinn Kingston is a clear case of a rebel without a cause. According to his own testimony, having been reborn and removed from his original cause of subversion has left him feeling aimless and "kind of a lot better, y'know?". Though he's yet to display any signs of serious offense against his superiors, mission reports should be monitored and disciplinary measures enacted in case of disobedience. Besides his resentfulness against the "petty details" of his job, he's been thorough and careful about every objective he's been tasked so far. Quinn has expressed happiness about his new body and plasmatic augmentations, stating "So if I keep doing a good job, I could get cooler mods right? I'm down for that." It seems that Quinn is pleased with being a watcher.
According to his interviews, his past often landed him in fistfights rather than gunfights, despite having been an employed soldier. This was taken into account during his cleansing and plasmatic modification, and he's expressed pleasure about the plasmatic issued.
Quinn's lax disposition in combat situations where he's got the upper hand is one of his biggest shortcomings. He can be naïve about the true threat of an opponent and make mistakes that puts his entire team in danger. Disciplinary measures have been unsuccessful in correcting his arrogant attitude, and though this is a major issue in combat training he's been deemed suitable for a Watcher-[UNDER TRIAL] position in a new squad due to his resistance to stress and interrogation tactics. His statement regarding the nature of his fearlessness was "I was ready to kill myself before I got here - well, I mean, that's what I DID - so you can't really scare me with anything anymore, yeah?"
Tagline: The Timeless Anarchist
Background
The following is a summary of interview_21T-3, the full audio recording can be accessed at T3 archives.
Watcher Quinn Alexander Melchor-Kingston was born on July 31st 2742 AD, during the Euro-Indian Alloy Wars of the 28th century. His parents were soldiers stationed at NESB-Double Q, one of the first forward bases that the Neo-European coalition established when gaining a foothold on the Indian shoreline. At the point of Quinn's birth, the base had been mostly disarmed and the title of soldier was more honorary than literal. His parents had stopped being paid for their services and the food supply to the base dried out as it had only become a trading port leading further into the lines of war. They instead made a living operating the on-site 8VCTR experimental human soldier acclimation unit, a new technology that attempted to emulate a portion of the effects our current day codewater treatments have perfected. It allowed for greater resistance against the elements as well as survival on very limited amounts of food, a near necessity for anyone who wanted to keep alive on the edges of the war. [THE EFFECTS HAVE BEEN TERMINATED AND REPLACED BY CODEWATER TREATMENT]
Quinn, young and with the experimental treatment already enacted upon him, was forcibly drafted at a young age to join the war effort. Supposedly, his parents had him disillusioned about the reality of war. Despite the European propaganda about honor and wealth being at stake, he knew from his childhood and adolescence in NESB-Double Q that no such things existed for veterans and consequently felt no allegiance to his country. Instead he and a few others in his legion regularly disappeared in the masses of soldiers and escaped to experience the more regular and fair lives in nearby settlements.
The continuing disobedience set the eyes of wartime "prefects" on them, and they were reported to the authorities. Disciplinary measures proved ineffective even then, but the council at his outpost found another use for the delinquents. They were given a mission within enemy lines, only briefed to them as "interact with the population and learn their culture, further orders will be issued when necessary." The trick proved effective, and they intended to try to disappear in the countries to avoid the war. They had in fact been secretly turned into immune carriers of the X-103 virus [CLEANSED] during a routine medical check-up, which would slowly infect everyone around them with little to no symptoms. The X-103 virus altered the mental state of its none-immune carriers to become violent and anarchistic, an effect that at the time was very hard to pin to a virus.
After five years of living and building a life of his own in the Indo-China republic, he was issued further orders and had the situation clarified to him. At this point he could draw parallels between the virus and several traumatic incidents in his time there, and summarily turned his supplied pistol on himself and committed suicide to escape the grasp of war. [EQUIPPED WITH POINT BLANK KINETIC DEVICE TO RECONSTRUCT DEATH]
Upon waking up in the upper layer he displayed the usual signs of confusion, but upon debriefing quickly grew accustomed to his new life.
Cause of Original Death: Focal head Injury, caused by self-inflicted shot to the head.
Acquaintances: -
Rank: Level One Officer
Plasmatic Classification: Toxic-Resource
Plasmatic Modifications: Quinn's arms and hands have been extensively modified to fit the Toxic plasmatic. His hands and arms have small slits in them that allow the corrosive energy to flew freely around his fists when he activates it, and the entire structure of his arms have been reinforced to withstand the strength at which his punches can need to be delivered. By utilizing his fist to deliver the plasmatic power, each successful strike leaves a large spot on his opponents corroded and allows for the toxic effects of his plasmatic to gain a large foothold in the body of his opponents.
It leaves very little in the way of defense, although his own reflexes and the nimble nature of his modifications mean that he's got a good chance of using his plasmatic to block other plasmatics with his hands. The major downside however, is that bullets and other mechanical threats become more dangerous.
Skills, Interests and Fears
Quinn has proven to be capable of the following -
- Evading Detection
- Reacting quickly and moving effortlessly in difficult terrain
- Spotting suspicious activity
Picking out which color suit best matches my goldfish- Knowing various events of importance predating the 28th century
- Piloting various vehicles
- Fashion and culture
- Various addictive substances [Currently only allowed smoking cigarettes similar to those of his day and age]
- Vehicles
- Quote: "Some whackass good beats"
- Becoming a watcher
- The lower class, especially when seeming to suffer
- The ocean
- Anyone threatening to cut his hair
- Anyone threatening to take his cigarettes away
- The highest ranking Watchers
Link to RPing/Writing Sample: (Do I really need to? I've played with you several times before fam, and everythings from so long ago it's hard to find :c )
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code by Ri.a
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Last edited:
Lekiel
Two Thousand Club
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[div class=textbox]"What... am I?"
Name: "Aura...? Aura Soma" She whispers.
Age: "I-I am- was twenty one... Twenty and two now." You could see her jawline minutely shift, as if she was gritting her teeth. She takes a small breath almost imperceptibly and her posture straightens. Deep sapphire eyes bore into your own, but her gaze goes beyond you, as if focused at an unknown distance.
Location of Birth: "Tokyo, Neo Japan. Timeline, twenty first century. Year, two-zero-seven-nine." The Watcher states robotically. You briefly ponder her abrupt shift in attitude before returning your eyes to the holoboard in your grasp. You could've read her details from the info-sheet provided of course, but you wanted to hear it from her lips. Experience had taught you that so much more could be gleaned just from hearing one's voice; and you've heard enough, for now.
Appearance:
Aura stands at 5ft7 and is of slim built, with just enough curves as to not be mistaken for a guy. She is of Eurasian descent, with sharp and angular facial structure courtesy of her Caucasian heritage, while her Oriental blood is apparent in her almond shaped eyes and raven black, shoulder length hair which she often ties into a high ponytail. Her eyes are a deep blue.
Personality:
At-a-glance: Cold, dismissive and austere to those she is unfamiliar with. Cold, dismissive and austere to those she is familiar with. AND blunt.
To understand Aura, one must first delve into the far reaches of her past. Underneath her apathetic front, is a very conflicted girl. Designed not conceived, by her parents for high society, she was trained and taught all her life for one purpose; to bring honor to the Soma family and eventually, to take back beloved Neo Japan from the corrupt political houses. Her mother had built a powerful business empire, and her father, and equally feared politician. He lived with an extreme code of honor. Liberal governance made people soft, unwilling to strive for progress and achieve the heights that mankind was fully capable of... and deserved. People allowed themselves to be corralled into a false sense of righteousness, one that seemed to lead into all directions but in actuality, led to nowhere. They relied on words and not deeds, and when the time came to stand up for themselves, they were powerless for they had no idea how to work with their hands. Inevitably, when those few who knew to strive reached the top, they realized that they were now lords over a people who believed they had attained everything, though they were but hapless fools. With sweet words, they lulled the masses, but with their hands, the corrupt milked them dry.
It is with this mindset, her father ingrained a young Aura. There were only two kinds of people in the world, those born to follow, and those who were born to lead the former. All people were mindless sheep, and they needed someone to lead them. An incorruptible leader that only sought progress, at whatever the cost. Any form of weakness will hinder progress, and should be left to rot and wallow in their weak-willed filth.
But as it were, while Aura stoically strived to exceed her family's expectations, deep down, she felt that her father's principles though arguably righteous, was twisted in its own way. She was told all her life to always look up, that those 'below' were not even worth a thought; but she had stolen glimpses at them. While her parents looked at the unfortunate in disgust and contempt, she felt pity. Those that they used as 'tools', she felt empathy. But before she could fully make sense of her inner conflict, her life was abruptly ended.
In all, Aura is a perfectionist, always striving to improve herself. Though she has no evil (its subjective though) intentions, she will stop at nothing to complete her task to the point of being ruthless.
Aura lives by the Sixes, although you could say it is more out of ritual than any deep profound appreciation. It keeps the masses in line, and when people accept their place, only then can humanity achieve greatness as a whole.
Tagline: The Heartless Bitch... welllll, it was given to her by her colleagues. She couldn't care less.
Backstory:
Around the year 2030, reckless governance of the Primary Capitalist Nations resulted in a worldwide conflict that lasted for nearly five years. It was World War 3. Though the salvos eventually stopped firing and the dust settled, the damage had been done. Among the nations most devastated by the war, was Japan. But just like it had a century ago, the Land of the Rising Sun bounced back from the ashes to become a thriving and powerful nation in just over a decade. For hardship was their companion once again, and it made them strong, emerging as one of the leading nations in technological advancement. They renamed their land, Neo Japan. But this sense of pride and accomplishment, became a bane to their nation. Within a span of several years, the blooming nation had almost eradicated poverty, leading to a very large middle income demographic. Opening up their doors to extreme liberal ideals added to the contentment of a large portion of society. This eventually led to what economists and social philosophers term, the "Nippon Conundrum". An overly content peoples led to lax in governance. It was in this land, that Aura Soma was brought into.
Her parents were the fading minority who were matured enough during the WW3 to remember true hardship, and the blood, sweat and sacrifice needed to exhume Neo Japan from the ashes of its past. They saw what humas was capable of, and were severely disappointed at the state it was now in. At that time, Takeda Soma was the governor of Tokyo and he strived to rule his segment of the country with industrial efficiency; though at times he was accused of being a dictator. Backed by his wife's powerful business conglomerate that contributed to a large portion of the country's economy and efficient (if somewhat cold) governance, his influence was nigh unshakable. But he was a threat. Governor Soma was a raging lion, but he was in a den of wolves.
In recent months, there had been an increasing number of attacks by what the governor deemed as 'terrorists' all over Tokyo. They were armed, and seemed to focus on ransom kidnapping, assault as well as vandalism. Witness accounts claim that the masked men were anarchistic citizens. Federal media hinted at the severe regulations of Governor Soma to be the primary cause of the unrest.
Aura was both the Student Council President and President of the Kyudo club in a prestigious college under the jurisdiction of the neo-Tokyo state government. On the day of her death, the rebel 'terrorists' stormed through her college. They found a group of cowering students hiding out in the school's swimming hall. Aura was already making her escape (as unlike those cowardly fools, she knew they could not hide forever) when the terrorists barged through the doors. However, as she looked at the scene from the backdoor where she was making her escape, Aura did something she would never have done her whole life. She turned back to help those who could not help themselves.
Calling out to the masked men, Aura walked towards them as she told them who she was. Offering a trade, she persuaded them not to harm the junior students and in return, they could take her hostage; surely the daughter of the Governor would fetch a high price. It was the only time in all her life she had disobeyed her parents. It was also the last. As she walked towards the rebels, one of them raised his weapon and fired.
The last thing Aura remembered was flashes of light and excruciating pain exploding all over her body. Her vision began to dim and she felt herself stumbling into the azure waters of the swimming pool. A splash.. then all was dark. But death did not come quickly. Though she was shot multiple times, all the shots missed her vital organs and she ended up dying due to excessive loss of blood.
When she opened her eyes, she found herself on the shores of the Upper Level.
A year passed since she had first step foot into Apocalypz. She had first felt an unexplained peace, a burden that had been unwillingly placed upon her shoulders finally lifted. But then it was all shattered in a soul wrenching instant. Aura had initially rejected her calling as one who was destined. But eventually accepted her position. Aimless, and not knowing any other way to live, she took to her newfound responsibilities with cold hearted resolve. She wanted to be the best. Needed to be.
She has served as a full fledged Officer for a couple of months and has completed two time 'jumps'.
Cause of Original Death: Exsanguination
Acquaintances: Hit me up for ideas if you'd like!
Rank: Officer Rank 1.
Plasmatic Classification: Pure-Fluid
Plasmatic Modifications: Aura's left arm was amputated to allow the Codewater to fill her body. It was later fitted with her signature Overwatch Model AT380 compact long distance sniper rifle which can disassemble itself back into a standard bionic arm when not in use. As it makes use of the purest element, the rifle can be charged to fire plasmic rounds over great distances with devastating effect. However, it does not have a rapid rate of fire. The more powerful the shot, the longer the firing interval.
Skills, Interests and Fears:
Skills
Likes practicing any form of marksmanship. Was the president of the Kyudo Club {Japanese Archery) back in her time.
Cool and calculated under pressure.
While she does not excel in the strength department, she makes up for it with her agility and nimbleness.
Follows orders to the dot. Unless it conflicts with her preconceived principles, though such cases are very rare.
Does not laugh at jokes, no matter how funny. Same can't be said for
Lekiel
tho.
Can bake really well. It's all in the precise measurements.
Dislikes:
Meekness and anyone whom she considers to be weak willed. Scoffs at those who strives to stand up for anyone and everyone (unless of course, the assignment involves doing some measure of protecting the 'weak').
She hates goldfishes, they are weak and useless.
Likes:
Aura gravitates to those she considers to be of strong will; e.g. the oppressed underdog who will fight a losing battle.
Fears:
Failing. She has a profound fear of failing, or be seen to fail. This does not simply mean she breaks down when she does not complete something, it just means if she accepts the challenge, she will keep trying (in secret) until she accomplishes it.
Feeling. While impassive most of the time, there are moments where cracks do appear on the surface. It is during these moments that she feels most vulnerable, especially when not alone. This is also the reason why she puts on a severe front. As without it, she feels deeply lost. A life lived that was not her own, a burden that was unwanted, then just when she was beginning to come to terms with who she really was, death... then a brief sense of peace, and then an 'existence' with no other purpose other than what was infront of her.
Other: Character Inspiration:
Link to RPing/Writing Sample: I guess the first post after the Character Sheets in the following link should do: Futuristic - E D E N S E E D
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[div class=textbox]"What... am I?"
Name: "Aura...? Aura Soma" She whispers.
Age: "I-I am- was twenty one... Twenty and two now." You could see her jawline minutely shift, as if she was gritting her teeth. She takes a small breath almost imperceptibly and her posture straightens. Deep sapphire eyes bore into your own, but her gaze goes beyond you, as if focused at an unknown distance.
Location of Birth: "Tokyo, Neo Japan. Timeline, twenty first century. Year, two-zero-seven-nine." The Watcher states robotically. You briefly ponder her abrupt shift in attitude before returning your eyes to the holoboard in your grasp. You could've read her details from the info-sheet provided of course, but you wanted to hear it from her lips. Experience had taught you that so much more could be gleaned just from hearing one's voice; and you've heard enough, for now.
Appearance:
Aura stands at 5ft7 and is of slim built, with just enough curves as to not be mistaken for a guy. She is of Eurasian descent, with sharp and angular facial structure courtesy of her Caucasian heritage, while her Oriental blood is apparent in her almond shaped eyes and raven black, shoulder length hair which she often ties into a high ponytail. Her eyes are a deep blue.
Personality:
"If you cannot fight for yourself, no one will stand up for you.."
Aura Soma
Aura Soma
At-a-glance: Cold, dismissive and austere to those she is unfamiliar with. Cold, dismissive and austere to those she is familiar with. AND blunt.
To understand Aura, one must first delve into the far reaches of her past. Underneath her apathetic front, is a very conflicted girl. Designed not conceived, by her parents for high society, she was trained and taught all her life for one purpose; to bring honor to the Soma family and eventually, to take back beloved Neo Japan from the corrupt political houses. Her mother had built a powerful business empire, and her father, and equally feared politician. He lived with an extreme code of honor. Liberal governance made people soft, unwilling to strive for progress and achieve the heights that mankind was fully capable of... and deserved. People allowed themselves to be corralled into a false sense of righteousness, one that seemed to lead into all directions but in actuality, led to nowhere. They relied on words and not deeds, and when the time came to stand up for themselves, they were powerless for they had no idea how to work with their hands. Inevitably, when those few who knew to strive reached the top, they realized that they were now lords over a people who believed they had attained everything, though they were but hapless fools. With sweet words, they lulled the masses, but with their hands, the corrupt milked them dry.
It is with this mindset, her father ingrained a young Aura. There were only two kinds of people in the world, those born to follow, and those who were born to lead the former. All people were mindless sheep, and they needed someone to lead them. An incorruptible leader that only sought progress, at whatever the cost. Any form of weakness will hinder progress, and should be left to rot and wallow in their weak-willed filth.
But as it were, while Aura stoically strived to exceed her family's expectations, deep down, she felt that her father's principles though arguably righteous, was twisted in its own way. She was told all her life to always look up, that those 'below' were not even worth a thought; but she had stolen glimpses at them. While her parents looked at the unfortunate in disgust and contempt, she felt pity. Those that they used as 'tools', she felt empathy. But before she could fully make sense of her inner conflict, her life was abruptly ended.
In all, Aura is a perfectionist, always striving to improve herself. Though she has no evil (its subjective though) intentions, she will stop at nothing to complete her task to the point of being ruthless.
Aura lives by the Sixes, although you could say it is more out of ritual than any deep profound appreciation. It keeps the masses in line, and when people accept their place, only then can humanity achieve greatness as a whole.
Tagline: The Heartless Bitch... welllll, it was given to her by her colleagues. She couldn't care less.
Backstory:
Around the year 2030, reckless governance of the Primary Capitalist Nations resulted in a worldwide conflict that lasted for nearly five years. It was World War 3. Though the salvos eventually stopped firing and the dust settled, the damage had been done. Among the nations most devastated by the war, was Japan. But just like it had a century ago, the Land of the Rising Sun bounced back from the ashes to become a thriving and powerful nation in just over a decade. For hardship was their companion once again, and it made them strong, emerging as one of the leading nations in technological advancement. They renamed their land, Neo Japan. But this sense of pride and accomplishment, became a bane to their nation. Within a span of several years, the blooming nation had almost eradicated poverty, leading to a very large middle income demographic. Opening up their doors to extreme liberal ideals added to the contentment of a large portion of society. This eventually led to what economists and social philosophers term, the "Nippon Conundrum". An overly content peoples led to lax in governance. It was in this land, that Aura Soma was brought into.
Her parents were the fading minority who were matured enough during the WW3 to remember true hardship, and the blood, sweat and sacrifice needed to exhume Neo Japan from the ashes of its past. They saw what humas was capable of, and were severely disappointed at the state it was now in. At that time, Takeda Soma was the governor of Tokyo and he strived to rule his segment of the country with industrial efficiency; though at times he was accused of being a dictator. Backed by his wife's powerful business conglomerate that contributed to a large portion of the country's economy and efficient (if somewhat cold) governance, his influence was nigh unshakable. But he was a threat. Governor Soma was a raging lion, but he was in a den of wolves.
In recent months, there had been an increasing number of attacks by what the governor deemed as 'terrorists' all over Tokyo. They were armed, and seemed to focus on ransom kidnapping, assault as well as vandalism. Witness accounts claim that the masked men were anarchistic citizens. Federal media hinted at the severe regulations of Governor Soma to be the primary cause of the unrest.
Aura was both the Student Council President and President of the Kyudo club in a prestigious college under the jurisdiction of the neo-Tokyo state government. On the day of her death, the rebel 'terrorists' stormed through her college. They found a group of cowering students hiding out in the school's swimming hall. Aura was already making her escape (as unlike those cowardly fools, she knew they could not hide forever) when the terrorists barged through the doors. However, as she looked at the scene from the backdoor where she was making her escape, Aura did something she would never have done her whole life. She turned back to help those who could not help themselves.
Calling out to the masked men, Aura walked towards them as she told them who she was. Offering a trade, she persuaded them not to harm the junior students and in return, they could take her hostage; surely the daughter of the Governor would fetch a high price. It was the only time in all her life she had disobeyed her parents. It was also the last. As she walked towards the rebels, one of them raised his weapon and fired.
The last thing Aura remembered was flashes of light and excruciating pain exploding all over her body. Her vision began to dim and she felt herself stumbling into the azure waters of the swimming pool. A splash.. then all was dark. But death did not come quickly. Though she was shot multiple times, all the shots missed her vital organs and she ended up dying due to excessive loss of blood.
When she opened her eyes, she found herself on the shores of the Upper Level.
A year passed since she had first step foot into Apocalypz. She had first felt an unexplained peace, a burden that had been unwillingly placed upon her shoulders finally lifted. But then it was all shattered in a soul wrenching instant. Aura had initially rejected her calling as one who was destined. But eventually accepted her position. Aimless, and not knowing any other way to live, she took to her newfound responsibilities with cold hearted resolve. She wanted to be the best. Needed to be.
She has served as a full fledged Officer for a couple of months and has completed two time 'jumps'.
Cause of Original Death: Exsanguination
Acquaintances: Hit me up for ideas if you'd like!
Rank: Officer Rank 1.
Plasmatic Classification: Pure-Fluid
Plasmatic Modifications: Aura's left arm was amputated to allow the Codewater to fill her body. It was later fitted with her signature Overwatch Model AT380 compact long distance sniper rifle which can disassemble itself back into a standard bionic arm when not in use. As it makes use of the purest element, the rifle can be charged to fire plasmic rounds over great distances with devastating effect. However, it does not have a rapid rate of fire. The more powerful the shot, the longer the firing interval.
Skills, Interests and Fears:
Skills
Likes practicing any form of marksmanship. Was the president of the Kyudo Club {Japanese Archery) back in her time.
Cool and calculated under pressure.
While she does not excel in the strength department, she makes up for it with her agility and nimbleness.
Follows orders to the dot. Unless it conflicts with her preconceived principles, though such cases are very rare.
Does not laugh at jokes, no matter how funny. Same can't be said for
Lekiel
tho.Can bake really well. It's all in the precise measurements.
Dislikes:
Meekness and anyone whom she considers to be weak willed. Scoffs at those who strives to stand up for anyone and everyone (unless of course, the assignment involves doing some measure of protecting the 'weak').
She hates goldfishes, they are weak and useless.
Likes:
Aura gravitates to those she considers to be of strong will; e.g. the oppressed underdog who will fight a losing battle.
Fears:
Failing. She has a profound fear of failing, or be seen to fail. This does not simply mean she breaks down when she does not complete something, it just means if she accepts the challenge, she will keep trying (in secret) until she accomplishes it.
Feeling. While impassive most of the time, there are moments where cracks do appear on the surface. It is during these moments that she feels most vulnerable, especially when not alone. This is also the reason why she puts on a severe front. As without it, she feels deeply lost. A life lived that was not her own, a burden that was unwanted, then just when she was beginning to come to terms with who she really was, death... then a brief sense of peace, and then an 'existence' with no other purpose other than what was infront of her.
Other: Character Inspiration:
Link to RPing/Writing Sample: I guess the first post after the Character Sheets in the following link should do: Futuristic - E D E N S E E D
[/div]code by Ri.a
[/div]
Brief Introduction: Uh.... Hi? AHAHAHAHAHAHWhat would you like to know pesky mortal?
Brief RP Experience: Hmmm... about... ten years? HEY! It's my decade long RPing anniversary!!!
If you could invent a new piece of technology, what would you make?: Humans to have chlorophyll skin, and the ability to absorb liquid based nutrients through our legs. So if I get lazy to eat, I just need to put my feet in a warm basin of goop and stand under light and voila!
But I like eating...
so... maybe something that will allow me to eat and taste without having to go through all that effort of eating? Yes, I'm that lazy...
I also hope that one day we can google smells and sniff it off our computers ^____________^
Country and Timezone: Malaysia. GMT +8. I'd like to say I'm from the future to most of you ^-^;
Brief RP Experience: Hmmm... about... ten years? HEY! It's my decade long RPing anniversary!!!
If you could invent a new piece of technology, what would you make?: Humans to have chlorophyll skin, and the ability to absorb liquid based nutrients through our legs. So if I get lazy to eat, I just need to put my feet in a warm basin of goop and stand under light and voila!
But I like eating...
so... maybe something that will allow me to eat and taste without having to go through all that effort of eating? Yes, I'm that lazy...I also hope that one day we can google smells and sniff it off our computers ^____________^
Country and Timezone: Malaysia. GMT +8. I'd like to say I'm from the future to most of you ^-^;
Last edited:
SkyGinge
Sad Shroom
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[div class=textbox]Name:
Augustine Leonidas Theodore
Age:
23
Location of Birth:
Edinburgh, 1877, The British Empire
Appearance:
The subject’s data photograph as previously viewed was taken amid a training exercise in his Watcher initiation, requiring the use of external data-technology to avert a simulated terrorist plot. Even in his calmer moments, his dark hair remains an untamed mane, and despite his attempts to sweep it back or up into a quiff, it has a habit of resisting all attempts to organise it. At 5’11, the subject is of middling height and a stocky, muscular build suited for both agility and strength. Facially, he considers his features to be, quote-unquote, ‘A wee bit big, don’t you think?’ – nevertheless, quantitative data modules suggest many women might find his appearance attractive. This face is very expressive, holding a charismatic and sometimes unsettling passion, especially in his sharp, light-brown eyes. The subject ranks in the top 1% of Watchers for eyebrow muscle flexibility.
Though fashion times have certainly changed, he still feels most at home in the classic three-piece suit of his era (preferably complete with top hat, cravat and cane, just for added swagger) and has been spotted eyeing up Dominidian apparel shops with disappointment. Outside of military duty he wears a loose-fitting t-shirt underneath a leather jacket, with accompanying jeans (the one piece of clothing which never goes out of fashion) - even then, wearing attire so far removed from his Victorian home makes him feel like he's doing something naughty.
Personality:
Leo is a man defined by his seemingly limitless energy and the passion which he pours into even the smallest of situations. Equipped with a can-do attitude and unbreakable determination, he has a habit of getting what he wants, and will stop at nothing to achieve his goals. Honest, brash and outspoken, though his lack of a filter can get him into trouble, along with his individualism, he can usually charm his way out of a scrap with cocksure swagger a glint in his eye, a slice of Victorian etiquette added in for good measure. A romantic at heart, he has a gentlemanly (if slightly misogynistic, owing to his Victorian upbringing) care for ‘the fairer sex’, and strikes a popular, charismatic character.
These attitudes are not just applied selfishly - rather, Leo is dedicated to motivating those around him and keeping spirits high. He believes in the inherent positivity and potential of everyone, and dedicates himself to helping others reach the heights he considers possible. Though his methodology in this is stubbornly prescriptive to his own ideals, and he pushes people too far perhaps outside of their will, these actions come from good, protective motivations.
Yet Leo is a man of many parts – placed into a crisis, this playful persona vanishes and is replaced by a stern, stone-faced focus. His stubborn determination expresses itself in creative quick-thinking that helps him adapt and stay on his toes. His spoken expression similarly shifts, from pompous, sometimes-unintelligible eloquence to sharp, monotone simplicity. However, he puts far too much pressure on himself in these moments, made more difficult by the way he clings to his ideals – any semblance of failure and he considers it his own fault. Similarly, he’s quick to disobey orders and follow his own initiative if he thinks his own plans will work better.
Despite all his efforts, Leo has a subtle arrogance to him which he is entirely unaware of, heightened by finding himself to be ‘Destined’. Taking the language of his rebirth too literally, he thinks there must be a reason for him specifically being brought back – to save the people of the future. Positively, this has lead to unflinching loyalty to the Watcher cause and a general thankfulness, yet it has also fed nastily into his ‘Protagonist Complex’, where he is at the centre of his own world, claiming responsibility for all things around him. In his head, his ideals and methods are superior, but holding himself so highly threatens anxiety whenever he messes up. He also fosters a nasty short-temper which flares to life when he’s undermined or foiled.
This concept of destiny (or rather ‘providence’, as he clings nominally to the accepted cultural Christianity of his day) has installed him with strong ideals of protection and mercy. At the same time as feeling blessed, he acknowledges the seeming injustice of only some being Destined – therefore he holds life to be highly valuable, and wants to use his seeming immortality to serve those who only live once. Therefore, his goal in the face of danger is always to save as many lives as possible, leading to compromising major missions as he watches over his team-mates and refuses to kill enemies. With the world at its final stretches, he refuses to believe that this really will be the end and trusts in scientific studies to find a solution before it is too late.
With his unflinching willpower and volatile resolve, Leo can be both a great asset or a terrible detriment. Though presently idealistic, he is yet to experience much of this fractured new world, a world which might just shatter his naivity…
Tagline:
The Passionate Pacifist
Backstory:
George Anthony Theodore was thirty-eight years old when he married the twenty-two year old Isabelle McCloud. His father before him had maintained his failing aristocratic wealth by investing in the slave trade - when slavery was abolished, the Theodore's had moved back to their native Bristol where George's father established himself as a leading guardian of a notorious workhouse. The young George was born into a troubled setting where he was exposed to the horrors of workhouse labour as part of his father's intentions of having him one day inherit his responsibility. A conflicted young man, George married young and started a career managing factory labour. But tragedy struck double when first his father contracted cholera from an accidental encounter in the workhouse and passed away. Weeks later, George's wife died giving birth to a stillborn baby. His children have since wondered if this was the day any semblance of kindness died within their father. Years later, his courtship with the young McCloud was viewed as a largely political decision intended to aide his progression through the management ranks - the marriage involved moving far from the city which had borne him such trauma and into a delightful manor some miles outside Edinburgh. And this union bore them two children: first Augustine Leonidas, then Evangeline Priscilla.
The young Leo grew up in a sheltered, opulent environment where he was privy to the usual whims of aristocratic upbringing - private tutelage, an expansive wardrobe and a wonder of nooks and crannies for a young adventurer to explore. The family were kept so segregated from the servants below that it was several years before Leo really grew aware of the role the played in upholding the house. He was completely oblivious to the luxury of this lifestyle - after all, all the other children he encountered at the balls they hosted or attended were similar, if often a little poorer. Anyway, didn't all mother's cry when nobody else was looking? Though Isabelle was strangely distant, George was proactive in taking his young son under his wing and showing him what it meant to be a man of dignity. He was made to accompany his father's party on a plethora of hunting trips, stately visits, and brought to watch the huge machines of his father's factory.
But everything changed when he first fell in love. He was in his mid-teens, at the time a domineering, swaggering reflection of his father, though his mother would never meet his eye. By this stage he was slightly more conscious of his mother's maltreatment at the hands of his father, but surely punching was acceptable as a means of keeping a wife in check? Though he knew of the servant's existence now, they remained largely invisible to him - that is, until he noticed the servant girl just a year or so older than him, the one with the green eyes who worked near the kitchen. Leo had been somewhat spoiled by his father, and he was used to getting what he wanted - thus he expertly navigated his way around his father's prying eye to meet the girl on her own. After several times locking eyes, exchanging quick, loaded sentiments at the corners of room, they found a regular opportunity to speak. And when they did, his eyes were opened.
One day, she took him to the city slums. He was supposed to be out studying with a tutor who he'd invented, and what he saw horrified him. Hundreds of sooty, malnourished people, starving and dying, cramped into abandoned streets. Those hopeless eyes, even in the children. It was too much for him - he broke up the relationship there and then, unable to face himself or the girl who belonged to this very mass whom people like his family kept suffering. It was too late anyway - he'd underestimated his father and earned himself a strict punishment alongside the girl's sacking, which he bore with solemn reflection as he attempted to reprocess the world around him. How could he process the obvious injustice of this enormous dichotomy between the classes? Surely the upper classes were destined to use their authority to assist those in need, not to oppress them?
For a few more years, he and his sister, who had always been more sympathetic to their mother's suffering, put up with his father begrudgingly, bearing with his demands whilst growing to hate him more each coming day. The house that had inspired such awe as a child was now a place of trauma and tension, and in order to escape, Leo would go into the city and engage with all sorts of different people, earning a wild reputation that only brought him further scorn from his father. So when the news came that George's overworked labourers had revolted against him and lead to a violent, machine-related death, all Leo thought was he wished the death could have been more painful. Wanting to distance himself from his father's legacy, Leo let a vice-governor take over management responsibility - he would spend his money making up for the mistakes his father had made. This lead to his pacifistic ideals, which included at the time becoming a vegetarian.
Unfortunately, his ambition outweighed his ability, and whilst Leo gained rising popularity and renown for his goodwill to the lower classes, his efforts were rapidly draining the Theodore family fund. He'd spend his days engaged with political activity which bore little financial reward, and the evening spent unable to break out of his bad spending habits developed under his father's tyranny, drinking cheerily along with similar young socialites. About this time, his sister Eva became aware of the rising Suffragette movement, which was at this stage largely underground and kept among women's settings. Much of their social circle was drawn into this political setting, including the largely apathetic men who stuck around to keep up their courtship opportunities and maintain friendships.
Until, on the night of a particular ball, Leo was introduced the most beautiful woman he'd ever met. Her name was Flora, his sister said, the sheltered daughter of a travelling London aristocrat who was exactly the kind of women Eva's circle was trying to reach. Much of the night is foggy in his mind, but he clearly remembers her amazing, wide eyes, almost golden in colour. She was timid, with an air of mystery around here and a constant, curious half-frown - though she spent much of the evening under his sister's care, he still remembers pretty much everything he said to her. He spent the journey back to the manor with a grin on his face, completely unaware that they were being followed.
Later that night, Leo was awoken by the thick stench of smoke - it took him a few moments to wake up enough to figure out what was going on. The house was ablaze. The fire had already risen up several stories, blocking many of the corridors. Tired and slightly hungover, he stumbled through the house with one goal - to save his mother and sister. So many of the corridors were blocked with fire, the dancing flames disorientating in his tiredness. And the brightness, the smoke - he was already beginning to lose consciousness when he reached his sister's room and found her struggling to climb out of the window. The last thing he remembers doing was hoisting her out of the window, her fate unknown, whilst he slipped into a sleep from which he should never have emerged...
Cause of Original Death:
Fire; intensive burns alongside carbon monoxide inhalation.
Acquaintances:
Currently N/A
Rank:
Level One/Officer
Plasmatic Classification:
Scald-Resource
Plasmatic Modifications:
Right Arm: Mechanical prosthetic with an extendable fencing-style blade in the palm of the hand. He can then grip the bottom of this blade as a handle whilst the flexible extension is imbued with plasmatic energy. This allows the subject to make the most of his former fencing experience, providing a light-weight and mobile offensive. However, the flimsiness of the actual blade means it lacks punch, meaning Leo is reliant on landing several quick hits, allowing the plasmatic force to whittle away at forcefield protection. Though suited to stealth and agility, this modification leaves him vulnerable to ranged attacks, especially concerning given his tendency to headstrong action.
Skills, Interests and Fears:
Skills:
Violin: Not quite professional standard, but good enough not to make your ears bleed.
Fencing: His sporting hobby within aristocracy, now adapted into his plasmatic fighting style.
Commerce Management: Taught from being forced to sit in on his father’s business meetings, giving him a reasonably good idea of business negotiation and all its relevant terminology.
Hunting: Taken by his father and his family as a youngster, though he began to detest it.
Eyebrow Rolling: Can raise one eyebrow whilst leaving the other one down, leading to all sorts of eyebrow dancing fun.
Goldfish Bowl Bowling: Though only attempted once in an unfortunate childhood incident...
Likes:
Making other People Smile: As part of his protective streak.
Nature: Like a good romantic should.
Classical Music: Like a gentleman should.
A Good Glass of Whiskey: Like a gentleman should.
Introverted Ladies: His personal romantic interest.
Dislikes:
The Classics: Who even cares about some random Greek mythology? And they gave birth to...
His Name: Far too long and pretentious...
The Smell of Dust: Reminds him of home.
Encounters with the Lower Classes: Make him feel guilty for the ease his family enjoyed at their expense, even all those millennia ago.
Machinery: Which gives him quite an unusual relationship with his own technological manifestations.
Apocalypz: As a distorted, broken form of the beautiful universe he loved, he's saddened by this far future - though he understands and supports the scientific necessity of making the world so technologically dependent.
Shrek Memes: That is not what every Scottish accent sounds like. And he doesn't own a swamp.
Fears:
Loneliness: Perhaps why he can be so rambunctious...
Fires: Post-traumatic given the circumstances of his death.
Other:
His Scottish accent is actually pretty subtle, as his aristocratic upbringing taught him the Queen’s English. He has made a conscious effort to try to insert local dialect into his language, but it still sounds a bit forced.
Link to RPing/Writing Sample: This is the last post I made on an RP on this site (before I unfortunately got unwell) - it's unnaturally lengthy due to the circumstances but you can read the rest of the thread for more typical examples.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]Name:
Augustine Leonidas Theodore
Age:
23
Location of Birth:
Edinburgh, 1877, The British Empire
Appearance:
The subject’s data photograph as previously viewed was taken amid a training exercise in his Watcher initiation, requiring the use of external data-technology to avert a simulated terrorist plot. Even in his calmer moments, his dark hair remains an untamed mane, and despite his attempts to sweep it back or up into a quiff, it has a habit of resisting all attempts to organise it. At 5’11, the subject is of middling height and a stocky, muscular build suited for both agility and strength. Facially, he considers his features to be, quote-unquote, ‘A wee bit big, don’t you think?’ – nevertheless, quantitative data modules suggest many women might find his appearance attractive. This face is very expressive, holding a charismatic and sometimes unsettling passion, especially in his sharp, light-brown eyes. The subject ranks in the top 1% of Watchers for eyebrow muscle flexibility.
Though fashion times have certainly changed, he still feels most at home in the classic three-piece suit of his era (preferably complete with top hat, cravat and cane, just for added swagger) and has been spotted eyeing up Dominidian apparel shops with disappointment. Outside of military duty he wears a loose-fitting t-shirt underneath a leather jacket, with accompanying jeans (the one piece of clothing which never goes out of fashion) - even then, wearing attire so far removed from his Victorian home makes him feel like he's doing something naughty.
Personality:
Leo is a man defined by his seemingly limitless energy and the passion which he pours into even the smallest of situations. Equipped with a can-do attitude and unbreakable determination, he has a habit of getting what he wants, and will stop at nothing to achieve his goals. Honest, brash and outspoken, though his lack of a filter can get him into trouble, along with his individualism, he can usually charm his way out of a scrap with cocksure swagger a glint in his eye, a slice of Victorian etiquette added in for good measure. A romantic at heart, he has a gentlemanly (if slightly misogynistic, owing to his Victorian upbringing) care for ‘the fairer sex’, and strikes a popular, charismatic character.
These attitudes are not just applied selfishly - rather, Leo is dedicated to motivating those around him and keeping spirits high. He believes in the inherent positivity and potential of everyone, and dedicates himself to helping others reach the heights he considers possible. Though his methodology in this is stubbornly prescriptive to his own ideals, and he pushes people too far perhaps outside of their will, these actions come from good, protective motivations.
Yet Leo is a man of many parts – placed into a crisis, this playful persona vanishes and is replaced by a stern, stone-faced focus. His stubborn determination expresses itself in creative quick-thinking that helps him adapt and stay on his toes. His spoken expression similarly shifts, from pompous, sometimes-unintelligible eloquence to sharp, monotone simplicity. However, he puts far too much pressure on himself in these moments, made more difficult by the way he clings to his ideals – any semblance of failure and he considers it his own fault. Similarly, he’s quick to disobey orders and follow his own initiative if he thinks his own plans will work better.
Despite all his efforts, Leo has a subtle arrogance to him which he is entirely unaware of, heightened by finding himself to be ‘Destined’. Taking the language of his rebirth too literally, he thinks there must be a reason for him specifically being brought back – to save the people of the future. Positively, this has lead to unflinching loyalty to the Watcher cause and a general thankfulness, yet it has also fed nastily into his ‘Protagonist Complex’, where he is at the centre of his own world, claiming responsibility for all things around him. In his head, his ideals and methods are superior, but holding himself so highly threatens anxiety whenever he messes up. He also fosters a nasty short-temper which flares to life when he’s undermined or foiled.
This concept of destiny (or rather ‘providence’, as he clings nominally to the accepted cultural Christianity of his day) has installed him with strong ideals of protection and mercy. At the same time as feeling blessed, he acknowledges the seeming injustice of only some being Destined – therefore he holds life to be highly valuable, and wants to use his seeming immortality to serve those who only live once. Therefore, his goal in the face of danger is always to save as many lives as possible, leading to compromising major missions as he watches over his team-mates and refuses to kill enemies. With the world at its final stretches, he refuses to believe that this really will be the end and trusts in scientific studies to find a solution before it is too late.
With his unflinching willpower and volatile resolve, Leo can be both a great asset or a terrible detriment. Though presently idealistic, he is yet to experience much of this fractured new world, a world which might just shatter his naivity…
Tagline:
The Passionate Pacifist
Backstory:
George Anthony Theodore was thirty-eight years old when he married the twenty-two year old Isabelle McCloud. His father before him had maintained his failing aristocratic wealth by investing in the slave trade - when slavery was abolished, the Theodore's had moved back to their native Bristol where George's father established himself as a leading guardian of a notorious workhouse. The young George was born into a troubled setting where he was exposed to the horrors of workhouse labour as part of his father's intentions of having him one day inherit his responsibility. A conflicted young man, George married young and started a career managing factory labour. But tragedy struck double when first his father contracted cholera from an accidental encounter in the workhouse and passed away. Weeks later, George's wife died giving birth to a stillborn baby. His children have since wondered if this was the day any semblance of kindness died within their father. Years later, his courtship with the young McCloud was viewed as a largely political decision intended to aide his progression through the management ranks - the marriage involved moving far from the city which had borne him such trauma and into a delightful manor some miles outside Edinburgh. And this union bore them two children: first Augustine Leonidas, then Evangeline Priscilla.
The young Leo grew up in a sheltered, opulent environment where he was privy to the usual whims of aristocratic upbringing - private tutelage, an expansive wardrobe and a wonder of nooks and crannies for a young adventurer to explore. The family were kept so segregated from the servants below that it was several years before Leo really grew aware of the role the played in upholding the house. He was completely oblivious to the luxury of this lifestyle - after all, all the other children he encountered at the balls they hosted or attended were similar, if often a little poorer. Anyway, didn't all mother's cry when nobody else was looking? Though Isabelle was strangely distant, George was proactive in taking his young son under his wing and showing him what it meant to be a man of dignity. He was made to accompany his father's party on a plethora of hunting trips, stately visits, and brought to watch the huge machines of his father's factory.
But everything changed when he first fell in love. He was in his mid-teens, at the time a domineering, swaggering reflection of his father, though his mother would never meet his eye. By this stage he was slightly more conscious of his mother's maltreatment at the hands of his father, but surely punching was acceptable as a means of keeping a wife in check? Though he knew of the servant's existence now, they remained largely invisible to him - that is, until he noticed the servant girl just a year or so older than him, the one with the green eyes who worked near the kitchen. Leo had been somewhat spoiled by his father, and he was used to getting what he wanted - thus he expertly navigated his way around his father's prying eye to meet the girl on her own. After several times locking eyes, exchanging quick, loaded sentiments at the corners of room, they found a regular opportunity to speak. And when they did, his eyes were opened.
One day, she took him to the city slums. He was supposed to be out studying with a tutor who he'd invented, and what he saw horrified him. Hundreds of sooty, malnourished people, starving and dying, cramped into abandoned streets. Those hopeless eyes, even in the children. It was too much for him - he broke up the relationship there and then, unable to face himself or the girl who belonged to this very mass whom people like his family kept suffering. It was too late anyway - he'd underestimated his father and earned himself a strict punishment alongside the girl's sacking, which he bore with solemn reflection as he attempted to reprocess the world around him. How could he process the obvious injustice of this enormous dichotomy between the classes? Surely the upper classes were destined to use their authority to assist those in need, not to oppress them?
For a few more years, he and his sister, who had always been more sympathetic to their mother's suffering, put up with his father begrudgingly, bearing with his demands whilst growing to hate him more each coming day. The house that had inspired such awe as a child was now a place of trauma and tension, and in order to escape, Leo would go into the city and engage with all sorts of different people, earning a wild reputation that only brought him further scorn from his father. So when the news came that George's overworked labourers had revolted against him and lead to a violent, machine-related death, all Leo thought was he wished the death could have been more painful. Wanting to distance himself from his father's legacy, Leo let a vice-governor take over management responsibility - he would spend his money making up for the mistakes his father had made. This lead to his pacifistic ideals, which included at the time becoming a vegetarian.
Unfortunately, his ambition outweighed his ability, and whilst Leo gained rising popularity and renown for his goodwill to the lower classes, his efforts were rapidly draining the Theodore family fund. He'd spend his days engaged with political activity which bore little financial reward, and the evening spent unable to break out of his bad spending habits developed under his father's tyranny, drinking cheerily along with similar young socialites. About this time, his sister Eva became aware of the rising Suffragette movement, which was at this stage largely underground and kept among women's settings. Much of their social circle was drawn into this political setting, including the largely apathetic men who stuck around to keep up their courtship opportunities and maintain friendships.
Until, on the night of a particular ball, Leo was introduced the most beautiful woman he'd ever met. Her name was Flora, his sister said, the sheltered daughter of a travelling London aristocrat who was exactly the kind of women Eva's circle was trying to reach. Much of the night is foggy in his mind, but he clearly remembers her amazing, wide eyes, almost golden in colour. She was timid, with an air of mystery around here and a constant, curious half-frown - though she spent much of the evening under his sister's care, he still remembers pretty much everything he said to her. He spent the journey back to the manor with a grin on his face, completely unaware that they were being followed.
Later that night, Leo was awoken by the thick stench of smoke - it took him a few moments to wake up enough to figure out what was going on. The house was ablaze. The fire had already risen up several stories, blocking many of the corridors. Tired and slightly hungover, he stumbled through the house with one goal - to save his mother and sister. So many of the corridors were blocked with fire, the dancing flames disorientating in his tiredness. And the brightness, the smoke - he was already beginning to lose consciousness when he reached his sister's room and found her struggling to climb out of the window. The last thing he remembers doing was hoisting her out of the window, her fate unknown, whilst he slipped into a sleep from which he should never have emerged...
Cause of Original Death:
Fire; intensive burns alongside carbon monoxide inhalation.
Acquaintances:
Currently N/A
Rank:
Level One/Officer
Plasmatic Classification:
Scald-Resource
Plasmatic Modifications:
Right Arm: Mechanical prosthetic with an extendable fencing-style blade in the palm of the hand. He can then grip the bottom of this blade as a handle whilst the flexible extension is imbued with plasmatic energy. This allows the subject to make the most of his former fencing experience, providing a light-weight and mobile offensive. However, the flimsiness of the actual blade means it lacks punch, meaning Leo is reliant on landing several quick hits, allowing the plasmatic force to whittle away at forcefield protection. Though suited to stealth and agility, this modification leaves him vulnerable to ranged attacks, especially concerning given his tendency to headstrong action.
Skills, Interests and Fears:
Skills:
Violin: Not quite professional standard, but good enough not to make your ears bleed.
Fencing: His sporting hobby within aristocracy, now adapted into his plasmatic fighting style.
Commerce Management: Taught from being forced to sit in on his father’s business meetings, giving him a reasonably good idea of business negotiation and all its relevant terminology.
Hunting: Taken by his father and his family as a youngster, though he began to detest it.
Eyebrow Rolling: Can raise one eyebrow whilst leaving the other one down, leading to all sorts of eyebrow dancing fun.
Goldfish Bowl Bowling: Though only attempted once in an unfortunate childhood incident...
Likes:
Making other People Smile: As part of his protective streak.
Nature: Like a good romantic should.
Classical Music: Like a gentleman should.
A Good Glass of Whiskey: Like a gentleman should.
Introverted Ladies: His personal romantic interest.
Dislikes:
The Classics: Who even cares about some random Greek mythology? And they gave birth to...
His Name: Far too long and pretentious...
The Smell of Dust: Reminds him of home.
Encounters with the Lower Classes: Make him feel guilty for the ease his family enjoyed at their expense, even all those millennia ago.
Machinery: Which gives him quite an unusual relationship with his own technological manifestations.
Apocalypz: As a distorted, broken form of the beautiful universe he loved, he's saddened by this far future - though he understands and supports the scientific necessity of making the world so technologically dependent.
Shrek Memes: That is not what every Scottish accent sounds like. And he doesn't own a swamp.
Fears:
Loneliness: Perhaps why he can be so rambunctious...
Fires: Post-traumatic given the circumstances of his death.
Other:
His Scottish accent is actually pretty subtle, as his aristocratic upbringing taught him the Queen’s English. He has made a conscious effort to try to insert local dialect into his language, but it still sounds a bit forced.
Link to RPing/Writing Sample: This is the last post I made on an RP on this site (before I unfortunately got unwell) - it's unnaturally lengthy due to the circumstances but you can read the rest of the thread for more typical examples.
[/div]
code by Ri.a
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Last edited:
Reis
Member
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[div class=textbox]
Name: Emil
Age: 18
Location of Birth: New Jersey (3402 A.D.)
Height: 5'5
Weight: 129 lb
Appearance: Emil is a slim yet fit teenager who is a bit short for his age, and he seems to have a more feminine physique than some of the other male Watchers. His light brown eyes and long hair stand out against his light blue jacket, which he typically wears with a formal shirt and tie. When on duty, Emil wears a pitch black choker that allows him a swift return to the Upper Layer. The most noteworthy of his traits is his ever-present gas mask, an item that seems to have been built onto his original body.
Personality: Emil is best described as a polite, kind hearted teen. Despite his generally polite demeanor, he oftentimes voices his complaints about his job, emphasizing that his assignments are too tiring. However, he is shown to be a very dedicated and helpful partner to his fellow Watchers. He always prioritizes the safety of those around him over everything else. Even when he has to go out of his way or put himself in danger, he reliably tries to support his allies to the best of his ability. This extreme sense of loyalty is what makes Emil a valuable asset to the Watchers.
One of Emil's most apparent traits is his unlimited curiosity. If he sees something new or strange, he will spend as much time as possible investigating it. His curious nature makes him a quick learner, as he approaches his new life in the Upper Layer with unrivaled energy. This intense trait of his can backfire, however, as he can be easily distracted if put in an environment full of unfamiliar stimulus. But his willingness to learn allowed him to grow the necessary skills as a Watcher fairly quickly.
Emil's most noteworthy flaw is his lack of value for humanity. He shows an abundance of care and respect for those within the ranks of the Watchers, but once he leaves the Upper Layer his empathy becomes cold-hearted indifference. Multiple assignments in previous timelines show a blatant disregard for human life, which is justified by their apparent mortality. Since most humans would already be dead in the present, why should it matter that they die any sooner? It is unknown whether this outlook will one day affect his interactions with other Watchers.
Tagline: The Wide-eyed Watcher
Backstory: The 34th century brought a wave of innovation which humanity had never seen before. An explosive demand for electronic goods meant the rapid consumption of resources, and the Earth's surface was no longer enough to support the new standard for technological advancement. As a result, a colossal invention was created to extract what could be found in the depths of the planet. Spanning 3000 feet wide and 60000 feet deep, the creation was known by the public as the Drill, a term made from the massive drill bit on its tip. Once the Drill was embedded deep within the crust, its flat top opened up and became a labyrinth of mines that would extract nearby minerals.
Born on the 30th of January 3402, Emil spent most of his lifetime at the mercy of those responsible for Project Genesis. This illegal operation involved a group of scientists who wanted to send workers to the hellish mines within the Drill. Although most of the Drill's workforce was automated, machines could only go so deep before the environment became too unstable. To overcome this obstacle and reach the precious resources at the Drill's bottom, a team of researchers attempted to force humanity to adapt to such extreme environments. From previous iterations they created the drug named Genesis, a drug that would rapidly advance the evolution of a living thing with a single dosage. However, this drug led to spontaneous mutation that often ended in a quick death. Thus, the Lab was created to monitor those subject to this drug.
Emil's life was once a cruel dance between unimaginable pain and cold nightmares. He was forced to endlessly perform inhumane labor that mimicked life in the mines in the hopes that he would mutate and adapt to such conditions. When the Genesis drug which was constantly injected into him caused a deadly mutation, its effects were reset by the antidote until he began a new mutation. A never ending strain was placed on his body, and a gas mask was built onto his face to mitigate the affects of various poisons he inhaled. The Lab held several child prisoners who were mutated over and over again while enduring harsh conditions, and eventually, a group of mutants decided to run from their inhumane caretakers. Emil was the only one who managed to escape.
After leaving the Lab, Emil stumbled into the residence of Ingrid Rosenfeld. Although his permanent mask would have immediately deterred most strangers, Ingrid reluctantly accepted Emil into her home, promising to hide him from the eyes of society and the Lab. It was there that Emil learned about daily life, and his boundless curiosity brought a deep appreciation for society at the time. However, the leftover Genesis injections in his system caused him to rely on the Lab's antidote, and eventually he realized his need to return to his hellish origins. After gathering multiple allies, Emil and Ingrid raided the Lab in an attempt to delay Emil's rapid evolution. However, this attempt ultimately failed, and he begged his companion to kill him before the mutations could cause him to go berserk.
It has been a few months since Emil became a Watcher, and the Genesis drug was fully purged from his system. However, he was unable to remember many of the events of his time on Earth. Although he could no longer recall the woman who followed him through life and death, he formed a new relationship with her as a Watcher throughout their few missions together.
Cause of Original Death: Strangled to death
Acquaintances: Ingrid Rosenfeld
Rank: Level One/Officer
Plasmatic Classification: Spark-Shield
Plasmatic Modifications: Emil's mechanical left hand is equipped with a round, deployable shield. The item can emit an electrical discharge that reaches anything and/or everything within a yard of Emil. It can also violently electrocute who or whatever touches its surface. Lastly, the shield is highly capable of deflecting and parrying everything short of particularly powerful plasmatics.
Skills:
Computers: Although his skill with computers is now out of date, Emil is extremely proficient with technology before the 35th century A.D. He is rapidly adapting to modern advancements despite the large gap in time.
Gaming: During his lifetime, Emil was quite the nerd. Even when it comes to modern video games he is quite the force to be reckoned with, not to mention the various other forms of games.
Bicycle Riding: One of the only vehicles he knows how to use, Emil can ride a bike. Who knows, maybe this skill will come in handy one day?
Turtling: A rather patient guy, Emil will use his abilities to slowly whittle away at the enemy rather than attempting any all-out attacks. This applies to both real-life combat and video games.
Interests: He is extremely curious about pretty much everything new he comes across. One hobby that he particularly likes is fishing. He constantly complains about not having a pet goldfish, saying that he wants to catch one for himself.
Fears: Although he may not realize it himself, Emil is scared of feeling alone.
Other: Emil suffers from extremely potent selective amnesia which originated from his traumatic childhood. Various memories of his lifetime are repressed.
Link to RPing/Writing Sample: A Contract Made.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Name: Emil
Age: 18
Location of Birth: New Jersey (3402 A.D.)
Height: 5'5
Weight: 129 lb
Appearance: Emil is a slim yet fit teenager who is a bit short for his age, and he seems to have a more feminine physique than some of the other male Watchers. His light brown eyes and long hair stand out against his light blue jacket, which he typically wears with a formal shirt and tie. When on duty, Emil wears a pitch black choker that allows him a swift return to the Upper Layer. The most noteworthy of his traits is his ever-present gas mask, an item that seems to have been built onto his original body.
Personality: Emil is best described as a polite, kind hearted teen. Despite his generally polite demeanor, he oftentimes voices his complaints about his job, emphasizing that his assignments are too tiring. However, he is shown to be a very dedicated and helpful partner to his fellow Watchers. He always prioritizes the safety of those around him over everything else. Even when he has to go out of his way or put himself in danger, he reliably tries to support his allies to the best of his ability. This extreme sense of loyalty is what makes Emil a valuable asset to the Watchers.
One of Emil's most apparent traits is his unlimited curiosity. If he sees something new or strange, he will spend as much time as possible investigating it. His curious nature makes him a quick learner, as he approaches his new life in the Upper Layer with unrivaled energy. This intense trait of his can backfire, however, as he can be easily distracted if put in an environment full of unfamiliar stimulus. But his willingness to learn allowed him to grow the necessary skills as a Watcher fairly quickly.
Emil's most noteworthy flaw is his lack of value for humanity. He shows an abundance of care and respect for those within the ranks of the Watchers, but once he leaves the Upper Layer his empathy becomes cold-hearted indifference. Multiple assignments in previous timelines show a blatant disregard for human life, which is justified by their apparent mortality. Since most humans would already be dead in the present, why should it matter that they die any sooner? It is unknown whether this outlook will one day affect his interactions with other Watchers.
Tagline: The Wide-eyed Watcher
Backstory: The 34th century brought a wave of innovation which humanity had never seen before. An explosive demand for electronic goods meant the rapid consumption of resources, and the Earth's surface was no longer enough to support the new standard for technological advancement. As a result, a colossal invention was created to extract what could be found in the depths of the planet. Spanning 3000 feet wide and 60000 feet deep, the creation was known by the public as the Drill, a term made from the massive drill bit on its tip. Once the Drill was embedded deep within the crust, its flat top opened up and became a labyrinth of mines that would extract nearby minerals.
Born on the 30th of January 3402, Emil spent most of his lifetime at the mercy of those responsible for Project Genesis. This illegal operation involved a group of scientists who wanted to send workers to the hellish mines within the Drill. Although most of the Drill's workforce was automated, machines could only go so deep before the environment became too unstable. To overcome this obstacle and reach the precious resources at the Drill's bottom, a team of researchers attempted to force humanity to adapt to such extreme environments. From previous iterations they created the drug named Genesis, a drug that would rapidly advance the evolution of a living thing with a single dosage. However, this drug led to spontaneous mutation that often ended in a quick death. Thus, the Lab was created to monitor those subject to this drug.
Emil's life was once a cruel dance between unimaginable pain and cold nightmares. He was forced to endlessly perform inhumane labor that mimicked life in the mines in the hopes that he would mutate and adapt to such conditions. When the Genesis drug which was constantly injected into him caused a deadly mutation, its effects were reset by the antidote until he began a new mutation. A never ending strain was placed on his body, and a gas mask was built onto his face to mitigate the affects of various poisons he inhaled. The Lab held several child prisoners who were mutated over and over again while enduring harsh conditions, and eventually, a group of mutants decided to run from their inhumane caretakers. Emil was the only one who managed to escape.
After leaving the Lab, Emil stumbled into the residence of Ingrid Rosenfeld. Although his permanent mask would have immediately deterred most strangers, Ingrid reluctantly accepted Emil into her home, promising to hide him from the eyes of society and the Lab. It was there that Emil learned about daily life, and his boundless curiosity brought a deep appreciation for society at the time. However, the leftover Genesis injections in his system caused him to rely on the Lab's antidote, and eventually he realized his need to return to his hellish origins. After gathering multiple allies, Emil and Ingrid raided the Lab in an attempt to delay Emil's rapid evolution. However, this attempt ultimately failed, and he begged his companion to kill him before the mutations could cause him to go berserk.
It has been a few months since Emil became a Watcher, and the Genesis drug was fully purged from his system. However, he was unable to remember many of the events of his time on Earth. Although he could no longer recall the woman who followed him through life and death, he formed a new relationship with her as a Watcher throughout their few missions together.
Cause of Original Death: Strangled to death
Acquaintances: Ingrid Rosenfeld
Rank: Level One/Officer
Plasmatic Classification: Spark-Shield
Plasmatic Modifications: Emil's mechanical left hand is equipped with a round, deployable shield. The item can emit an electrical discharge that reaches anything and/or everything within a yard of Emil. It can also violently electrocute who or whatever touches its surface. Lastly, the shield is highly capable of deflecting and parrying everything short of particularly powerful plasmatics.
Skills:
Computers: Although his skill with computers is now out of date, Emil is extremely proficient with technology before the 35th century A.D. He is rapidly adapting to modern advancements despite the large gap in time.
Gaming: During his lifetime, Emil was quite the nerd. Even when it comes to modern video games he is quite the force to be reckoned with, not to mention the various other forms of games.
Bicycle Riding: One of the only vehicles he knows how to use, Emil can ride a bike. Who knows, maybe this skill will come in handy one day?
Turtling: A rather patient guy, Emil will use his abilities to slowly whittle away at the enemy rather than attempting any all-out attacks. This applies to both real-life combat and video games.
Interests: He is extremely curious about pretty much everything new he comes across. One hobby that he particularly likes is fishing. He constantly complains about not having a pet goldfish, saying that he wants to catch one for himself.
Fears: Although he may not realize it himself, Emil is scared of feeling alone.
Other: Emil suffers from extremely potent selective amnesia which originated from his traumatic childhood. Various memories of his lifetime are repressed.
Link to RPing/Writing Sample: A Contract Made.
[/div]
code by Ri.a
[/div][/div]
Last edited:
Lioness075
Everyone's fighting some battle of their own.
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Name: Leandra Sinciato
Nickname: Lea (Pronounced like Leah)
Age: 21-years-old
Location of Birth: Great Britain, 1914-1935
Appearance: Lea has always dressed against society by dressing like a boy. She spent most of her childhood in trousers despite her parents' protests. Her twin brother found it amusing and never even tried to persuade her otherwise. Her parents got frustrated with her childish behavior and continued to force her into skirts and dresses throughout primary school. They lost their hold over her once she joined the gang, though. More so, they gave up on her and kicked her out.
She sports a recent scar over her right eye, which has corneal blindness. This results in the cornea being primarily a light grey with a small dark grey outline; it primarily has a cloudy appearance to the cornea. It also means she is completely blind in her right eye. Her left eye is a deep green and always has a sharp, observant appearance to it compared to her dull right eye. She is very lean overall, albeit surprisingly muscular when she shows her arms or legs. She grew up very athletic and made sure she was always in shape for whatever she may have to face.
Personality: While growing up in higher society, Lea did everything in her effort to oppose attending parties or ever having to dress up and act like a lady. She was and still is the epitome of a tomboy. Her antics have more than once gotten her in legal trouble, usually leading to her wealthy parents having to bail her out and hope the public did not hear of Lea's troubles. Running through the alleys and dodging the cops for fun. While parkour had not been properly named in her time, Lea partook in it nearly every day of her life. The thrill of a race with anyone was wondrous and even more so when bets were on the table.
Despite her free-flowing and adventurous, even daredevil, nature, Lea had a soft spot for animals. She would not hesitate to stop everything to help a stray or to fight other children attacking strays. She adopted a tabby at one point and spent all of her allowance on the cat. The cat was often spotted running at Lea's side whenever she went out to cause trouble after that. Animals have always had a tendency to relax around her despite her fiery temper around people.
The downside to her daredevil and hotheaded nature was that Lea quite often made enemies with just about everyone she met. It was very difficult for her to get along with anyone and she always felt the unnecessary need to one-up anyone around her. She was strongly disliked for her competitive nature, which led to more disputes than conversations. This aspect of her personality was only ever useful in keeping her safe, but ironically enough, it helped her make enough enemies to endanger her instead.
Lea would do her best to never admit this, but despite everything in her life, her twin brother still means the world to her. He was the only family left with her after her parents disowned them. They joined the same gang, but eventually drew apart from one another. When she got into drawing, the first thing she began to practice drawing was her own brother. The first ones are horrific, of course, but she keeps them so she can compare them to the newer ones that she is so proud of. She keeps these drawings stashed inside an inner, waterproof pocket of her leather jacket. She even has a dark purple velvet pouch that she keeps them tucked in within that waterproof pocket. Despite how things ended between her and her brother, all Lea really wants is a second chance with him.
Tagline: Angel of Death
Backstory: While she was mostly a reckless child and despite the fact that she was from higher society, Lea did not end up an aristocrat herself or someone of higher power. Instead, Lea and her twin brother joined a gang, specifically the Richardson Gang. This gang was led by none other than Charlie Richardson and was known during this time as one of the most violent gangs. The gang loved to put on 'trials' in which they always declared the defendant guilty and then proceeded to torture them a number of ways. Pulling their teeth was the most enjoyable. The twins both became hitmen within this gang together and quickly rose in fame, albeit infamous as it were. They sometimes were given specific targets to take out, who more often were in other gangs, but other times they were sent to capture someone to be put on 'trial'.
Lea became renown for her ability to kill her targets very recklessly. She never tried to conceal their deaths and seemingly put on a show for anyone who was 'lucky' enough to find her completed jobs. Lea loved the fear in anyone's voice when they spoke about her. It thrilled her to have such power over complete strangers. As her career flourished, Lea was oblivious to any enemies she made along the way. Too reckless and keen to find one target after another, she kept driving herself forward. Enemies began piling up and soon, but someone very unexpected came for her. Unbeknownst to her, a bounty had been placed on her own head. Pushed to the rooftops of London, Lea led the mystery man on a daring cat and mouse game in which she was able to dodge him for nearly an entire hour. She thought she would be able to flee from her pursuer, but he seemed unimaginably determined to get her. When she misjudged a jump due to her half-blindness, Lea ended up hitting the side of a chimney and stumbled to the floor of a roof. Her pursuer began to approach her calmly and removed his hood. Much to Lea's dismay, it was her twin brother. Not an ounce of love was in his eyes and while Lea had done terrible things herself, even she still had love for family. Scrambling to her feet and producing a gleaming dagger, Lea defended herself against her brother's cavalry sword. Metal rang out and the two danced this way and that, both trying to find a vulnerable spot on the other. Tears filled Lea's eyes and in a moment of weakness, she stumbled to the right of her brother, leaving herself vulnerable. He wasted no time and lunged forward to slash at her face. His sword cleanly cut through the right side of her face and over her eye. Her vision swam with blood and she cried out in pain, a hand shooting to her eye. Angered and terrified, she leapt forward to deal a blow in return. He had not been expecting such a quick response and cried out similarly when the right side of his face sported a similar wound, despite it being a shallow one. Glaring at his sister, Lea's twin brother wasted no time in lunging at her. Feebly, Lea tried to dodge to her right and merely ended up skewered in her brother's sword. Looking down at the piercing sword in her abdomen, Lea merely gurgled in response. Dropping her hand from her bleeding face, she struggled in vain to grip the sword with her hands and pull it out of herself. Her dagger had clattered to the roof by now. Her hands both welled with blood and her hands uselessly slipped along the blade. Her brother shook his head at her sadly and grabbed her shoulder before pulling her into an embrace of death, driving the sword further into Lea. Crying now, Lea closed her one good eye and gasped when her brother pulled the sword out from her. Except, her feet were no longer on the roof. Her brother had pushed her off the roof and now she was plummeting to her death.
When she regained consciousness, Lea quickly realized she was far from home. The world surrounding her was unimaginably different and somehow her body was in perfect shape, as if her fall had not damaged her at all. She could still hear the sickening crack of her body's destruction upon the impact, though. Entering this new society with technology beyond her understanding, Lea soon found herself joining the Watch and experiencing the very painful Cleansing. She had readily given up her useless right eye for the process to be completed and had not enjoyed the convulsions that came with it. Once it was over, Lea was delighted with her sharper senses and all of the benefits that came with being a Watcher. It did not take long for Lea to get a new eye prosthetic to fill her empty socket. While it did not contain any weaponized technology, it continuously glowed a dark red and Lea loved the intimidation purposes that came with it. The added perk of being able to see completely again was amazing, but her new eye had an odd way of seeing and had taken a lot of time for Lea to get used to it. She was able to utilize it as a single-lens binocular and could zoom in up to 200 meters away. Not long after this, Lea was able to gain her first weaponized technology and was gleeful about gaining a resource-scald piece that completely replaced her right arm. Seeing as she could see better with her new eye, Lea trained with determined purpose to learn how to best fight after gaining the rest of her vision once more. Her weapon came in the form of a cavalry sword and Lea reveled in how it glowed in the dark of the night.
Cause of Original Death: Fall to Death
Acquaintances: Manjano Sinciato, Celly
Rank: Level One / Officer
Plasmatic Classification: Resource-Scald
Plasmatic Modifications: Lea's right eye was modified to mostly give her vision back, but also to enhance it. She is capable of utilizing this modification as a single-lens binocular, allowing her to zoom in on a target up to 200 meters away. It has the added capability of thermal vision, but Lea is still new to this technology and finds it more distracting than useful at the moment.
Lea's sword is rather simple right now, with her eye modification being a bit more useful at times. She hopes to be able to modify her sword to switch between elements at some point. She desires a spark sword as well and wonders if it is possible to have two elements in one plasmatic. She swears she has seen higher-ranking Watchers with such weaponry. Her cavalry sword is best used at arm's length from another person, but Lea has the ability to use it similarly to a dagger up close and personal from past experience.
Skills: Lea is proud of her ability to fight with melee weapons. While many could have an advantage on her with long-range weapons, Lea is equally skilled in parkour and loves a good chase.
Lea attempted to make a point of learning how to ride a motorcycle in this new world, so as to avoid heights at all costs. It ended quite poorly in many accidents and after she damaged enough motorcycles, she was barred from using any more. Instead, she was given a bicycle. Not an electric one, no, the basic bicycle. At first, Lea was pissed at this change of pace. For several days, she refused to ride the bicycle, but eventually caved when she was supposed to have to fly somewhere. Slowly, but surely, she has actually gotten the hang of the bicycle and is getting faster on it, albeit one can only get so fast on a bicycle.
She loves to manipulate others to her own advantage and one of those ways includes psychological tricks from very simple ones to rather complicated ones. It is not uncommon for Lea to look down on those around her, but if one proves themselves as useful then she will see them as an equal. Unless they stab her in the back like her brother did.
Her last skill was one that Lea picked up after she became a Watcher. With whatever spare time she had, she fiddled with scraps and metals and slowly but surely learned to create small machines. They usually were not too advanced, but Lea messed around enough with everything to gain something of a mechanical skill. Her best invention thus far was a cat companion. Lea had watched others with mechanical skills from afar and learned both from her own mistakes and what she saw others doing. She had no idea how to program the cat to be a cat and this was where Celly stepped in. Being as difficult as she can be to get along with, Leandra was surprised when Celly decided to help her out. Without Celly’s aid in its programming, Leandra’s cat would never have been able to function properly. The cat is capable of acting like a cat and moving like one, even curling up at Lea's feet each night. It is often seem accompanying her wherever she goes and Lea soon had affixed deadly claws to the cat's paws and gave it sharper teeth. It did not take long for the cat to become a loyal, fighting companion to keep Lea company. She certainly preferred its company over that of other people. At least she did not have to fear the cat stabbing her in the back.
Interests: Surprisingly enough, Lea is quite the artist. It is an unknown fact of her career and life, but Lea would actually take the time to draw the death scenes of all of her targets as trophies for her successful missions. Over the years, she became quite an incredible artist, even if she draws some very disturbing images. As previously mentioned, she also learned how to draw her brother and in doing so, is that much better at drawing humans.
Lea is quite fond of music, too, which has advanced through the years in a great way to her. It is not too surprising to see her sporting some wireless headphones around her neck. They glow red appropriately with her eye.
An oddity compared to her other interests, Lea still loves animals and keeps her mechanical cat with her at all times.
Fears: Lea fears heights for good reason. She mostly fears the potential fall, but will enter panic mode really fast if she has to go high up for any reason. She used to love to run along London's rooftops, but can no longer bring herself to get near any roofs. Even having to go to the second floor of a building freaks her out. She sees staircases and starts remembering climbing to the roof that led to her demise.
She always assumes everyone is going to stab her in the back like her brother did, too. While she may see others as equals, she never fully trusts anyone. If her own twin brother was willing to kill her, then anyone could. She purposefully avoids getting close to anyone and hates inquiries about her past.
Lea also fears love. This is similar to the above fear, but is more specific to romance. She abhors it not only because of what happened between her brother, but also because of how her parents seemingly kicked her to the curb and slammed their door in her face. She no longer believes in love for anyone and scoffs at the mere idea of it.
Lea gets terrified if she ever sees an animal being abused. While it is extremely rare for her to find any living animals in Apocalypz, Lea still reacts this way if a mechanical animal is being abused. She will fight tooth and nail to defend the animal, living or not.
Other: Lea's British accent is so obvious, it sometimes pains her with the various reactions she can get for it. She does not try too hard to hide it, but dislikes how it can sometimes make her stand out like a sore thumb. Those who lived in her country refer to her specific accent as 'The Queen's English'.
She prefers to hide in a crowd unless she is after a target and wants them to fear her.
Lea learned over time to stop saying British slang, since most were baffled by it and could not understand her.
If Lea had lived long enough to try and survive with her injuries from her brother, her right eye would have eventually succumbed to corneal blindness due to the trauma of the cut into it. It would have become infected over time and she would have lost sight no matter how hard any doctors tried to save her eye.
Link to RPing/Writing Sample: I have made several posts of varying length within this RP: Code: Feral
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[div class=textbox]
Name: Leandra Sinciato
Nickname: Lea (Pronounced like Leah)
Age: 21-years-old
Location of Birth: Great Britain, 1914-1935
Appearance: Lea has always dressed against society by dressing like a boy. She spent most of her childhood in trousers despite her parents' protests. Her twin brother found it amusing and never even tried to persuade her otherwise. Her parents got frustrated with her childish behavior and continued to force her into skirts and dresses throughout primary school. They lost their hold over her once she joined the gang, though. More so, they gave up on her and kicked her out.
She sports a recent scar over her right eye, which has corneal blindness. This results in the cornea being primarily a light grey with a small dark grey outline; it primarily has a cloudy appearance to the cornea. It also means she is completely blind in her right eye. Her left eye is a deep green and always has a sharp, observant appearance to it compared to her dull right eye. She is very lean overall, albeit surprisingly muscular when she shows her arms or legs. She grew up very athletic and made sure she was always in shape for whatever she may have to face.
Personality: While growing up in higher society, Lea did everything in her effort to oppose attending parties or ever having to dress up and act like a lady. She was and still is the epitome of a tomboy. Her antics have more than once gotten her in legal trouble, usually leading to her wealthy parents having to bail her out and hope the public did not hear of Lea's troubles. Running through the alleys and dodging the cops for fun. While parkour had not been properly named in her time, Lea partook in it nearly every day of her life. The thrill of a race with anyone was wondrous and even more so when bets were on the table.
Despite her free-flowing and adventurous, even daredevil, nature, Lea had a soft spot for animals. She would not hesitate to stop everything to help a stray or to fight other children attacking strays. She adopted a tabby at one point and spent all of her allowance on the cat. The cat was often spotted running at Lea's side whenever she went out to cause trouble after that. Animals have always had a tendency to relax around her despite her fiery temper around people.
The downside to her daredevil and hotheaded nature was that Lea quite often made enemies with just about everyone she met. It was very difficult for her to get along with anyone and she always felt the unnecessary need to one-up anyone around her. She was strongly disliked for her competitive nature, which led to more disputes than conversations. This aspect of her personality was only ever useful in keeping her safe, but ironically enough, it helped her make enough enemies to endanger her instead.
Lea would do her best to never admit this, but despite everything in her life, her twin brother still means the world to her. He was the only family left with her after her parents disowned them. They joined the same gang, but eventually drew apart from one another. When she got into drawing, the first thing she began to practice drawing was her own brother. The first ones are horrific, of course, but she keeps them so she can compare them to the newer ones that she is so proud of. She keeps these drawings stashed inside an inner, waterproof pocket of her leather jacket. She even has a dark purple velvet pouch that she keeps them tucked in within that waterproof pocket. Despite how things ended between her and her brother, all Lea really wants is a second chance with him.
Tagline: Angel of Death
Backstory: While she was mostly a reckless child and despite the fact that she was from higher society, Lea did not end up an aristocrat herself or someone of higher power. Instead, Lea and her twin brother joined a gang, specifically the Richardson Gang. This gang was led by none other than Charlie Richardson and was known during this time as one of the most violent gangs. The gang loved to put on 'trials' in which they always declared the defendant guilty and then proceeded to torture them a number of ways. Pulling their teeth was the most enjoyable. The twins both became hitmen within this gang together and quickly rose in fame, albeit infamous as it were. They sometimes were given specific targets to take out, who more often were in other gangs, but other times they were sent to capture someone to be put on 'trial'.
Lea became renown for her ability to kill her targets very recklessly. She never tried to conceal their deaths and seemingly put on a show for anyone who was 'lucky' enough to find her completed jobs. Lea loved the fear in anyone's voice when they spoke about her. It thrilled her to have such power over complete strangers. As her career flourished, Lea was oblivious to any enemies she made along the way. Too reckless and keen to find one target after another, she kept driving herself forward. Enemies began piling up and soon, but someone very unexpected came for her. Unbeknownst to her, a bounty had been placed on her own head. Pushed to the rooftops of London, Lea led the mystery man on a daring cat and mouse game in which she was able to dodge him for nearly an entire hour. She thought she would be able to flee from her pursuer, but he seemed unimaginably determined to get her. When she misjudged a jump due to her half-blindness, Lea ended up hitting the side of a chimney and stumbled to the floor of a roof. Her pursuer began to approach her calmly and removed his hood. Much to Lea's dismay, it was her twin brother. Not an ounce of love was in his eyes and while Lea had done terrible things herself, even she still had love for family. Scrambling to her feet and producing a gleaming dagger, Lea defended herself against her brother's cavalry sword. Metal rang out and the two danced this way and that, both trying to find a vulnerable spot on the other. Tears filled Lea's eyes and in a moment of weakness, she stumbled to the right of her brother, leaving herself vulnerable. He wasted no time and lunged forward to slash at her face. His sword cleanly cut through the right side of her face and over her eye. Her vision swam with blood and she cried out in pain, a hand shooting to her eye. Angered and terrified, she leapt forward to deal a blow in return. He had not been expecting such a quick response and cried out similarly when the right side of his face sported a similar wound, despite it being a shallow one. Glaring at his sister, Lea's twin brother wasted no time in lunging at her. Feebly, Lea tried to dodge to her right and merely ended up skewered in her brother's sword. Looking down at the piercing sword in her abdomen, Lea merely gurgled in response. Dropping her hand from her bleeding face, she struggled in vain to grip the sword with her hands and pull it out of herself. Her dagger had clattered to the roof by now. Her hands both welled with blood and her hands uselessly slipped along the blade. Her brother shook his head at her sadly and grabbed her shoulder before pulling her into an embrace of death, driving the sword further into Lea. Crying now, Lea closed her one good eye and gasped when her brother pulled the sword out from her. Except, her feet were no longer on the roof. Her brother had pushed her off the roof and now she was plummeting to her death.
When she regained consciousness, Lea quickly realized she was far from home. The world surrounding her was unimaginably different and somehow her body was in perfect shape, as if her fall had not damaged her at all. She could still hear the sickening crack of her body's destruction upon the impact, though. Entering this new society with technology beyond her understanding, Lea soon found herself joining the Watch and experiencing the very painful Cleansing. She had readily given up her useless right eye for the process to be completed and had not enjoyed the convulsions that came with it. Once it was over, Lea was delighted with her sharper senses and all of the benefits that came with being a Watcher. It did not take long for Lea to get a new eye prosthetic to fill her empty socket. While it did not contain any weaponized technology, it continuously glowed a dark red and Lea loved the intimidation purposes that came with it. The added perk of being able to see completely again was amazing, but her new eye had an odd way of seeing and had taken a lot of time for Lea to get used to it. She was able to utilize it as a single-lens binocular and could zoom in up to 200 meters away. Not long after this, Lea was able to gain her first weaponized technology and was gleeful about gaining a resource-scald piece that completely replaced her right arm. Seeing as she could see better with her new eye, Lea trained with determined purpose to learn how to best fight after gaining the rest of her vision once more. Her weapon came in the form of a cavalry sword and Lea reveled in how it glowed in the dark of the night.
Cause of Original Death: Fall to Death
Acquaintances: Manjano Sinciato, Celly
Rank: Level One / Officer
Plasmatic Classification: Resource-Scald
Plasmatic Modifications: Lea's right eye was modified to mostly give her vision back, but also to enhance it. She is capable of utilizing this modification as a single-lens binocular, allowing her to zoom in on a target up to 200 meters away. It has the added capability of thermal vision, but Lea is still new to this technology and finds it more distracting than useful at the moment.
Lea's sword is rather simple right now, with her eye modification being a bit more useful at times. She hopes to be able to modify her sword to switch between elements at some point. She desires a spark sword as well and wonders if it is possible to have two elements in one plasmatic. She swears she has seen higher-ranking Watchers with such weaponry. Her cavalry sword is best used at arm's length from another person, but Lea has the ability to use it similarly to a dagger up close and personal from past experience.
Skills: Lea is proud of her ability to fight with melee weapons. While many could have an advantage on her with long-range weapons, Lea is equally skilled in parkour and loves a good chase.
Lea attempted to make a point of learning how to ride a motorcycle in this new world, so as to avoid heights at all costs. It ended quite poorly in many accidents and after she damaged enough motorcycles, she was barred from using any more. Instead, she was given a bicycle. Not an electric one, no, the basic bicycle. At first, Lea was pissed at this change of pace. For several days, she refused to ride the bicycle, but eventually caved when she was supposed to have to fly somewhere. Slowly, but surely, she has actually gotten the hang of the bicycle and is getting faster on it, albeit one can only get so fast on a bicycle.
She loves to manipulate others to her own advantage and one of those ways includes psychological tricks from very simple ones to rather complicated ones. It is not uncommon for Lea to look down on those around her, but if one proves themselves as useful then she will see them as an equal. Unless they stab her in the back like her brother did.
Her last skill was one that Lea picked up after she became a Watcher. With whatever spare time she had, she fiddled with scraps and metals and slowly but surely learned to create small machines. They usually were not too advanced, but Lea messed around enough with everything to gain something of a mechanical skill. Her best invention thus far was a cat companion. Lea had watched others with mechanical skills from afar and learned both from her own mistakes and what she saw others doing. She had no idea how to program the cat to be a cat and this was where Celly stepped in. Being as difficult as she can be to get along with, Leandra was surprised when Celly decided to help her out. Without Celly’s aid in its programming, Leandra’s cat would never have been able to function properly. The cat is capable of acting like a cat and moving like one, even curling up at Lea's feet each night. It is often seem accompanying her wherever she goes and Lea soon had affixed deadly claws to the cat's paws and gave it sharper teeth. It did not take long for the cat to become a loyal, fighting companion to keep Lea company. She certainly preferred its company over that of other people. At least she did not have to fear the cat stabbing her in the back.
Interests: Surprisingly enough, Lea is quite the artist. It is an unknown fact of her career and life, but Lea would actually take the time to draw the death scenes of all of her targets as trophies for her successful missions. Over the years, she became quite an incredible artist, even if she draws some very disturbing images. As previously mentioned, she also learned how to draw her brother and in doing so, is that much better at drawing humans.
Lea is quite fond of music, too, which has advanced through the years in a great way to her. It is not too surprising to see her sporting some wireless headphones around her neck. They glow red appropriately with her eye.
An oddity compared to her other interests, Lea still loves animals and keeps her mechanical cat with her at all times.
Fears: Lea fears heights for good reason. She mostly fears the potential fall, but will enter panic mode really fast if she has to go high up for any reason. She used to love to run along London's rooftops, but can no longer bring herself to get near any roofs. Even having to go to the second floor of a building freaks her out. She sees staircases and starts remembering climbing to the roof that led to her demise.
She always assumes everyone is going to stab her in the back like her brother did, too. While she may see others as equals, she never fully trusts anyone. If her own twin brother was willing to kill her, then anyone could. She purposefully avoids getting close to anyone and hates inquiries about her past.
Lea also fears love. This is similar to the above fear, but is more specific to romance. She abhors it not only because of what happened between her brother, but also because of how her parents seemingly kicked her to the curb and slammed their door in her face. She no longer believes in love for anyone and scoffs at the mere idea of it.
Lea gets terrified if she ever sees an animal being abused. While it is extremely rare for her to find any living animals in Apocalypz, Lea still reacts this way if a mechanical animal is being abused. She will fight tooth and nail to defend the animal, living or not.
Other: Lea's British accent is so obvious, it sometimes pains her with the various reactions she can get for it. She does not try too hard to hide it, but dislikes how it can sometimes make her stand out like a sore thumb. Those who lived in her country refer to her specific accent as 'The Queen's English'.
She prefers to hide in a crowd unless she is after a target and wants them to fear her.
Lea learned over time to stop saying British slang, since most were baffled by it and could not understand her.
If Lea had lived long enough to try and survive with her injuries from her brother, her right eye would have eventually succumbed to corneal blindness due to the trauma of the cut into it. It would have become infected over time and she would have lost sight no matter how hard any doctors tried to save her eye.
Link to RPing/Writing Sample: I have made several posts of varying length within this RP: Code: Feral
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code by Ri.a
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NAME
Hai Li Song
(hye-lee)
NICKNAME
Hailey
(adopted after waking up in the Western world)
AGE
23
LOCATION OF BIRTH
Zhejiang Province, 1532
(during the Ming Dynasty of what was later named the Republic of China)
TAGLINE
The Surging Tide
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HEIGHT
5'7"
WEIGHT
128 lb
Although Hai Li has a slim figure, her dearth of fat is compensated with lean muscle throughout her body. After spending most of her life at sea under the sun, her complexion used to be quite tan. However, now that she has been reborn in this technological metropolis, her skin has become more fair (although still just as rough). Her jet black hair hugs the frame of her face and cuts off right below her jaw. On her face holds a pair of almond-shaped piercing amber eyes with a gaze that can cut through diamonds. She walks with an air of calmness yet precision, her careful eyes constantly surveilling her surroundings.
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Hai Li is a curious, adventurous, and passionate soul, holding an open mind and often wondering about the world. Born in a seaside village, she had always craved to explore new places and learn new ideas. She is rather in tune with her surroundings and the people in them, giving off a warm and relaxed aura. Due to the strict gender roles growing up, she was taught to respect authority and to never talk back, creating a frustrated, suppressed soul. Thus, Hai Li is rather introverted and often lost in her own world. She tends to be quiet around those she is not comfortable around, choosing her words carefully.
Under her apparent shyness, however, lies an intense and driven heart. She is not afraid to speak up for herself if she feels her values are being attacked. When something captures her attention and speaks to her beliefs, Hai Li goes all in, dedicating all of her time and energy to the project or goal. This value also applies to the people close to her. Once someone has earned her trust, she is undeniably loyal to that person or organization, such as the Watchers.
Growing up in an almost suffocating household then spending the rest of her life at sea, she is fiercely independent and resilient. Hai Li is quite adaptable to her surroundings, holding a flexible mindset and valuing her freedom of expression. Before she was reborn, her moral boundaries were somewhat blurred, given her life of piracy. However, now that she has been conscripted into the Watchers to protect humanity, she views this as a chance to redeem her past wrongs, sharpening her moral compass. At the same time, her past crimes keep her modest and prevents her from quickly judging others' characters.
SKILLS
Sailing- Hai Li is extremely well-versed in the art of sailing, having spent most of her life on a pirate ship. From ship maintenance and repairs to navigating the stars and reading the winds, boats are truly where she feels at home.
Fishing- Being raised by a fisherman for a father in a seaside village, she is very adept at fishing. Her patience combined with her sharp focus often reward her with big catches (including fat goldfish!)
Playing the pipa- The pipa is a 4-stringed Chinese musical instrument with a pear-shaped body. Hai Li became quite talented after playing merrily with the other pirates during many late nights at sea.
INTERESTS
Ships- Anything that reminds her of her old life at sea intrigues her, including sea navigation, naval battle, ship machinery, etc. She is fascinated by how much technology has changed maritime life from when she was a pirate, especially the high-tech military arks used to travel back in time. However, her death by drowning has rather complicated her feelings towards the ocean itself.
Nature- Living in this technologically advanced machinery of a world has lead her to really miss the silence and peacefulness of nature. She is still captivated by the skies, as that is the only thing that has stayed constant since her time. She loves watching the sunset/sunrise and gazing at the stars (or what little she can see).
Instruments- In her opinion, music is one of the only things that can transcend the centuries and connect people from every time period. From playing her pipa to listening to classical and rock music from the later centuries, Hai Li appreciates music from all instruments. However, she despises the electronic and techno noise created from computers that has become popular in the modern age.
FEARS
Abandoning her loved ones again
Being alone forever
Betrayal by those close to her
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RANK
Level 1 Officer
PLASMATIC CLASSIFICATION
Frost - Fluid
PLASMATIC MODIFICATIONS
Due to her familiarity with cannons after years aboard a pirate ship, Hai Li's hand cannon is usually tucked into her bionic belt that she can activate with ease with her right arm. After this limb had been filled with codewater, she can alternate between attaching her hand cannon and her normal, bionic hand. The cannon can shoot out rapid, powerful blasts of blue plasma energy that freezes the surface upon contact. Hai Li can precisely aim this weapon at her opponent's face, blinding them and freezing their softer skin into a frost bite, or at their feet, instantly slowing them down and buying her more time to dive in for the kill. The cannon can not only shoot out frosty blasts, but it also alternates with normal, stronger bullets to shoot at her opponent after they have been helplessly frozen in place. The cannon is designed for long-range battle, given its high range and fast firing rate, rather than melee (although Hai Li still retains the hand-to-hand combat training from her brother.)
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Hai Li was born in a small seaside fishing village of the Zhejiang province in what was later named the Republic of China in 1532. The Ming dynasty was the ruling dynasty of China at the time, known as the Great Ming Empire. Hai Li was fortunate enough to be born during the Age of Exploration, when the expansion of European trade into the East diminished famines and spurred population growth.
The young villager grew up with sea salt imbued in her skin and the poignant scent of fish represented comfort for her. Her father was a fisherman, spending most of his days at sea, sometimes a couple of weeks at a time, then selling his catch at the marketplace. She had always been fascinated by the ocean, learning to swim as soon as she could walk, spending all of her free time by the seaside, and constantly pestering her father to take her on boating expeditions. Young Hai Li wanted to be a fisherman when she grew up, just like her father. (Her name, after all, directly translates into "ocean jasmine.")
As she grew older, however, strict gender expectations meant that she was supposed to stay at home and learn household chores from her mother. "How will you ever find a good husband if you can't even cook," her mother would ask. But marriage and the nonsense was the last thing on her mind. Hai Li was always jealous of her older brother, Yu Jiang, who had the same passion for the ocean, yet he was free of any homemaking responsibilities. While Hai Li was trapped in the house, Yu Jiang was out at sea, fishing with their father and later taking solo expeditions. As her brother became more well-versed in the trade, he was given more independence and their family's monetary assets only grew.
One day, her parents received a request for Hai Li's hand in marriage from the village chief's son. Her parents were delighted that she had caught the eye of such a powerful family (however arrogant he was), as this would bolster their family's status and bring honor to their name. To her horror, this was Hai Li's worst nightmare. As the wedding date approached, she knew that her brother was taking a fishing trip soon with some of the other villagers. She concocted a plan to sneak onto their ship and hide amidst the cargo before they left.
When Yu Jiang found her little sister tucked in between the wooden boxes the next day, he was horrified. "We're turning back right now!" He exclaimed angrily. Hai Li pleaded with him to let her stay. "I would rather jump overboard than marry that pig and spend the rest of my life imprisoned at home," she argued. Finally, Yu Jiang relented, as she knew that his sister's words were not empty promises.
However, what Hai Li did not expect was the true nature of her brother's expeditions. He and some of the other villagers were in fact sea pirates, termed the infamous Wokou at the time. She had heard stories of the terrible crimes these god forsaken men would commit, and she was shocked to learn that not only was her brother was a part of them, but he was also the captain of this ship. All the "fishing" expeditions and the abrupt increase in their family's finances finally all made sense.
Hai Li became a significant asset to life aboard the ship. Yu Jiang trained her in close-combat fighting and cannon-firing for their raids and encounters with hostile ships. As the captain's sister, none of the other crewmen dared to mess with her, given that she was the only female pirate on board. After their first few successful raids, she grew to enjoy her new lifestyle, relishing in the freedom and finally being able to fully delight in the sea.
However, as time passed, the guilt of leaving her parents without an explanation began to eat away at her. After all, the initial decision had been a rather impulsive choice as a young teenager. She was ready to return to her fishing village and make amends. That is, until their ship was ambushed by another pirate ship hidden in the night fog. Their ship was burned down and most of the crew jumped overboard in an attempt to avoid the flames. The last thing Hai Li remembers is screaming her brother's name before the powerful waves overtook her.
When she first awoke on the shores of the Upper Layer, she thought that she had somehow survived the attack. As someone from the 1500's, imagine her surprise and bewilderment when she laid eyes on the sprawling city of Apocalypz. The unending metropolis, filled with strange technology that she couldn't even begin to comprehend, absolutely baffled her. When Hai Li was first told that she was part of the Destined, conscripted into the Watchers to protect humanity, she couldn't have felt like more a fraud. Destined? Protect? Her? Although her physical body was brand new, the guilt from her past crimes and abandoning her parents stayed.
Eventually, she began to utilize this as an opportunity to right her moral wrongs. If she couldn't make amends to her parents, then the least she could do was live out her destiny. The quantum leaps in technology since her death proved to be quite difficult for her to grasp, as it was like learning an entirely new language. Her first year was dedicated to training and overcoming this adjustment, but now that she has just begun her second year, Hai Li is ready for her first mission as a ranking Officer.
CAUSE OF ORIGINAL DEATH
Drowning
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[div class=textbox]
NAME
TBD
NAME
TBD
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Link
[/div]
[/div][/div]
[div class=textbox]
B A S I C S
NAME
Hai Li Song
(hye-lee)
NICKNAME
Hailey
(adopted after waking up in the Western world)
AGE
23
LOCATION OF BIRTH
Zhejiang Province, 1532
(during the Ming Dynasty of what was later named the Republic of China)
TAGLINE
The Surging Tide
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
A P P E A R A N C E
HEIGHT
5'7"
WEIGHT
128 lb
Although Hai Li has a slim figure, her dearth of fat is compensated with lean muscle throughout her body. After spending most of her life at sea under the sun, her complexion used to be quite tan. However, now that she has been reborn in this technological metropolis, her skin has become more fair (although still just as rough). Her jet black hair hugs the frame of her face and cuts off right below her jaw. On her face holds a pair of almond-shaped piercing amber eyes with a gaze that can cut through diamonds. She walks with an air of calmness yet precision, her careful eyes constantly surveilling her surroundings.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
P E R S O N A L I T Y
Hai Li is a curious, adventurous, and passionate soul, holding an open mind and often wondering about the world. Born in a seaside village, she had always craved to explore new places and learn new ideas. She is rather in tune with her surroundings and the people in them, giving off a warm and relaxed aura. Due to the strict gender roles growing up, she was taught to respect authority and to never talk back, creating a frustrated, suppressed soul. Thus, Hai Li is rather introverted and often lost in her own world. She tends to be quiet around those she is not comfortable around, choosing her words carefully.
Under her apparent shyness, however, lies an intense and driven heart. She is not afraid to speak up for herself if she feels her values are being attacked. When something captures her attention and speaks to her beliefs, Hai Li goes all in, dedicating all of her time and energy to the project or goal. This value also applies to the people close to her. Once someone has earned her trust, she is undeniably loyal to that person or organization, such as the Watchers.
Growing up in an almost suffocating household then spending the rest of her life at sea, she is fiercely independent and resilient. Hai Li is quite adaptable to her surroundings, holding a flexible mindset and valuing her freedom of expression. Before she was reborn, her moral boundaries were somewhat blurred, given her life of piracy. However, now that she has been conscripted into the Watchers to protect humanity, she views this as a chance to redeem her past wrongs, sharpening her moral compass. At the same time, her past crimes keep her modest and prevents her from quickly judging others' characters.
SKILLS
Sailing- Hai Li is extremely well-versed in the art of sailing, having spent most of her life on a pirate ship. From ship maintenance and repairs to navigating the stars and reading the winds, boats are truly where she feels at home.
Fishing- Being raised by a fisherman for a father in a seaside village, she is very adept at fishing. Her patience combined with her sharp focus often reward her with big catches (including fat goldfish!)
Playing the pipa- The pipa is a 4-stringed Chinese musical instrument with a pear-shaped body. Hai Li became quite talented after playing merrily with the other pirates during many late nights at sea.
INTERESTS
Ships- Anything that reminds her of her old life at sea intrigues her, including sea navigation, naval battle, ship machinery, etc. She is fascinated by how much technology has changed maritime life from when she was a pirate, especially the high-tech military arks used to travel back in time. However, her death by drowning has rather complicated her feelings towards the ocean itself.
Nature- Living in this technologically advanced machinery of a world has lead her to really miss the silence and peacefulness of nature. She is still captivated by the skies, as that is the only thing that has stayed constant since her time. She loves watching the sunset/sunrise and gazing at the stars (or what little she can see).
Instruments- In her opinion, music is one of the only things that can transcend the centuries and connect people from every time period. From playing her pipa to listening to classical and rock music from the later centuries, Hai Li appreciates music from all instruments. However, she despises the electronic and techno noise created from computers that has become popular in the modern age.
FEARS
Abandoning her loved ones again
Being alone forever
Betrayal by those close to her
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
C O M B A T
RANK
Level 1 Officer
PLASMATIC CLASSIFICATION
Frost - Fluid
PLASMATIC MODIFICATIONS
Due to her familiarity with cannons after years aboard a pirate ship, Hai Li's hand cannon is usually tucked into her bionic belt that she can activate with ease with her right arm. After this limb had been filled with codewater, she can alternate between attaching her hand cannon and her normal, bionic hand. The cannon can shoot out rapid, powerful blasts of blue plasma energy that freezes the surface upon contact. Hai Li can precisely aim this weapon at her opponent's face, blinding them and freezing their softer skin into a frost bite, or at their feet, instantly slowing them down and buying her more time to dive in for the kill. The cannon can not only shoot out frosty blasts, but it also alternates with normal, stronger bullets to shoot at her opponent after they have been helplessly frozen in place. The cannon is designed for long-range battle, given its high range and fast firing rate, rather than melee (although Hai Li still retains the hand-to-hand combat training from her brother.)
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
B I O G R A P H Y
Hai Li was born in a small seaside fishing village of the Zhejiang province in what was later named the Republic of China in 1532. The Ming dynasty was the ruling dynasty of China at the time, known as the Great Ming Empire. Hai Li was fortunate enough to be born during the Age of Exploration, when the expansion of European trade into the East diminished famines and spurred population growth.
The young villager grew up with sea salt imbued in her skin and the poignant scent of fish represented comfort for her. Her father was a fisherman, spending most of his days at sea, sometimes a couple of weeks at a time, then selling his catch at the marketplace. She had always been fascinated by the ocean, learning to swim as soon as she could walk, spending all of her free time by the seaside, and constantly pestering her father to take her on boating expeditions. Young Hai Li wanted to be a fisherman when she grew up, just like her father. (Her name, after all, directly translates into "ocean jasmine.")
As she grew older, however, strict gender expectations meant that she was supposed to stay at home and learn household chores from her mother. "How will you ever find a good husband if you can't even cook," her mother would ask. But marriage and the nonsense was the last thing on her mind. Hai Li was always jealous of her older brother, Yu Jiang, who had the same passion for the ocean, yet he was free of any homemaking responsibilities. While Hai Li was trapped in the house, Yu Jiang was out at sea, fishing with their father and later taking solo expeditions. As her brother became more well-versed in the trade, he was given more independence and their family's monetary assets only grew.
One day, her parents received a request for Hai Li's hand in marriage from the village chief's son. Her parents were delighted that she had caught the eye of such a powerful family (however arrogant he was), as this would bolster their family's status and bring honor to their name. To her horror, this was Hai Li's worst nightmare. As the wedding date approached, she knew that her brother was taking a fishing trip soon with some of the other villagers. She concocted a plan to sneak onto their ship and hide amidst the cargo before they left.
When Yu Jiang found her little sister tucked in between the wooden boxes the next day, he was horrified. "We're turning back right now!" He exclaimed angrily. Hai Li pleaded with him to let her stay. "I would rather jump overboard than marry that pig and spend the rest of my life imprisoned at home," she argued. Finally, Yu Jiang relented, as she knew that his sister's words were not empty promises.
However, what Hai Li did not expect was the true nature of her brother's expeditions. He and some of the other villagers were in fact sea pirates, termed the infamous Wokou at the time. She had heard stories of the terrible crimes these god forsaken men would commit, and she was shocked to learn that not only was her brother was a part of them, but he was also the captain of this ship. All the "fishing" expeditions and the abrupt increase in their family's finances finally all made sense.
Hai Li became a significant asset to life aboard the ship. Yu Jiang trained her in close-combat fighting and cannon-firing for their raids and encounters with hostile ships. As the captain's sister, none of the other crewmen dared to mess with her, given that she was the only female pirate on board. After their first few successful raids, she grew to enjoy her new lifestyle, relishing in the freedom and finally being able to fully delight in the sea.
However, as time passed, the guilt of leaving her parents without an explanation began to eat away at her. After all, the initial decision had been a rather impulsive choice as a young teenager. She was ready to return to her fishing village and make amends. That is, until their ship was ambushed by another pirate ship hidden in the night fog. Their ship was burned down and most of the crew jumped overboard in an attempt to avoid the flames. The last thing Hai Li remembers is screaming her brother's name before the powerful waves overtook her.
When she first awoke on the shores of the Upper Layer, she thought that she had somehow survived the attack. As someone from the 1500's, imagine her surprise and bewilderment when she laid eyes on the sprawling city of Apocalypz. The unending metropolis, filled with strange technology that she couldn't even begin to comprehend, absolutely baffled her. When Hai Li was first told that she was part of the Destined, conscripted into the Watchers to protect humanity, she couldn't have felt like more a fraud. Destined? Protect? Her? Although her physical body was brand new, the guilt from her past crimes and abandoning her parents stayed.
Eventually, she began to utilize this as an opportunity to right her moral wrongs. If she couldn't make amends to her parents, then the least she could do was live out her destiny. The quantum leaps in technology since her death proved to be quite difficult for her to grasp, as it was like learning an entirely new language. Her first year was dedicated to training and overcoming this adjustment, but now that she has just begun her second year, Hai Li is ready for her first mission as a ranking Officer.
CAUSE OF ORIGINAL DEATH
Drowning
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A C Q U A I N T A N C E S
NAME
TBD
NAME
TBD
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W R I T I N G S A M P L E
Link
[/div]
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code by Ri.a
Last edited:
Senor_Fluffy
What happens when you don't clean your hair brush
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[div class=textbox]
-Full Name-
Jaako Aguda
-Age-
29 Years Old
-Location of Birth-
Northern Modern-Day Ethiopia, Zagwe Dynasty 1138- 1164 AD
-Appearance-
At 6'5" Jaakko is anything but poorly built. Weighing at 237 lbs, his large frame makes him just a bit more intimidating than the average joe.
Bearing the scars of battle even before he became one with the Watchers. His left eye is scarred from a fight as a teenager, a light scratch on his neck and shoulder from training with his father. He prefers to keep a light scruff of a beard but can never seem to grow the moustache portion of it. Wearing whatever he is expected to while working but always opting to wear white clothing with traditional Ethiopian designs whenever he can. He wears his hair out of his face with braids, although not traditional to his culture he has made the look his own, finding a strange comfort in the weight of his hair. "It keeps me to the ground."
-Personality-
Not naturally a quiet individual, however due to his lack of familiarity with the English language he prefers not to speak often but rather to listen and learn. He is proud of his capabilities and will not tolerate being underestimated by those equal or below him in skill. He finds those who can not follow orders to be infuriating and will reinforce the expectations and rules, even if it may be deemed unfair. "Life isn't fair, live with it." Jaakko is able to trust those who have been proven to be capable with greater ease compared to those he deems to be his equal or lesser. However, once he becomes attached and trusts an individual, he will do everything in his power to keep that individual safe. Even if it isn't the most logical decision when it comes to stressful situations.
Although he is known to be quiet amongst the Watchers, he isn't immune to humor. He can be caught grinning quite often, even if nothing was really that funny. Favoring jokes pointed at others misdoings or misfortunes, even at himself. Hence why he has become attached to the nickname Sleeping Beauty, it is a reference to how he was strangled and never woke up until the curse of mortality was lifted. Upon learning the story of Sleeping Beauty, he quite appreciated the cleverness of the name. Jaakko is naturally very perceptive of the subtle body language given off by those around him and will often pull people aside to check what is up if they behave unusually. Some may say he is nosy because of his untrusting instincts, they are completely right. He wants to know as much as possible so he can see where things are leading. He will not tolerate a secret being brought up but not shared, he can get blindingly agitated if he feels something is not right and no one is telling him what.
Due to how he died, he struggles immensely with trusting those he works with. As he is surrounded by an absolutely alien environment he is prone to becoming overwhelmed quickly from too much stimuli. Once he becomes overwhelmed, he is unable to make decisions quickly and can rely purely on orders from those he deems equal or better than himself. He is also prone to adoring vanity more than usual, especially when it comes to hair. Don't be surprised if he stares at you when you do something new to your own hair.
-Tagline-
Sleeping Beauty/ The Vengeful Beast
-Backstory-
Was born as the seventh child to an elder who served as the ruler's advisor. Having no distinct privileges other than resources through human connections he was a diligent son and did everything he could to bring no shame to his father and people. Jaako trained in story telling and fighting by those who saw the gleam in his eye at the prospect of climbing the social ladder. He hunted regularly and was often trusted amongst the elders. With a knack for picking up information quickly he didn't struggle under the shadow of his father, but respected the expectations placed upon him. He was a cookie cutter good kid. Keyword: was. He was charismatic and created friends easily amongst his cousins and fellow tribe members. Even friendly with his rival, Abioye, who was the second son of a main commander beside his own father.
At the age of 26, he was honored with the position of commander of a group of 20 warriors. He was euphoric with pride. The night before he was to be officially given the title he held a feast for those who had supported him along the way. Alcoholic beverages for all! That night he invited Abioye to stay the night to reminisce about their past and future plans. "Abioye, my friend, you should prove your strength to our elders once more! Then we may fight side by side!" Was the last thing he said calmly as he sat on a mat, Abioye was retrieving some more food, he thought. Before he could act Jaakko found himself in a choke hold, putting up a fight, he never had a chance. The upper hand had been hidden from him and would be the hand to unravel his being. He would never be the same man again.
There was a soul crushing silence, left to contemplate his decisions, his naïve beliefs. He found himself on the shores of an unknown place, an alien world. He was brought back? Was this even the same world? Everything was so different, the pain of being revived silencing the charismatic spirit within. The knowledge of thousands of years of human evolution. The rise and fall of the Homosapiens. He was brought back as a Watcher and given a brief explanation of what happened and what his duties from now on were. He quickly began to pick up English although still struggles with it. He has been a Watcher for a little over two years as of the present day. A fractured man, he clings to his understanding of reality with every fiber of his being and tries his best to fulfill his duty. He prefers to keep his perceptions to himself.
-Cause of Original Death-
Strangulation
-Acquaintances-
Hai Li Song
-Rank-
Level 1 Officer
-Plasmatic Classification-
Frost-Shield
-Plasmatic Modifications-
His right arm can become bulkier and longer upon command. He has been called a defensive lobster before due to the lopsided appearance of his arm while fully activated. It creates large shields which he may use to protect himself and/or others. On the sides of the shields there are blades which he may use to deal frost damage. (The spoiler isn't really a spoiler more of what I imagine Jaakko looking like eventually while in full Plasmatics. Minus the staff. The right arm is what he has at the moment, only with blueish grey detailing instead of red.)
-Skills-
Past experiences which provide him with tactics of battle and strategy.
Perception, when no one else is looking, he certainly is.
Surprisingly, is capable of singing in a range of deeper tones.
Creating disguises.
Surviving in the wild with limited resources.
-Interests-
Is absolutely fascinated with goldfish and aquariums in general.
Languages and slang, he will pull you aside if he doesn't recognize the phrase and ask.
Hairstyles, he will braid your hair if given permission and he trusts you.
Traditional Ethiopian Info and objects.
Anything he hasn't seen before.
-Fears-
Sleeping in the same room as someone he does not trust.
Sleeping anywhere that isn't secure.
Not having control over how he dies.
Strangers "Stranger danger? No kidding."
Being under the influence of any drug, including alcohol.
-Link to RP/Writing Sample-
Prose - Various plots for Violet Roses
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
-Full Name-
Jaako Aguda
-Age-
29 Years Old
-Location of Birth-
Northern Modern-Day Ethiopia, Zagwe Dynasty 1138- 1164 AD
-Appearance-
At 6'5" Jaakko is anything but poorly built. Weighing at 237 lbs, his large frame makes him just a bit more intimidating than the average joe.
Bearing the scars of battle even before he became one with the Watchers. His left eye is scarred from a fight as a teenager, a light scratch on his neck and shoulder from training with his father. He prefers to keep a light scruff of a beard but can never seem to grow the moustache portion of it. Wearing whatever he is expected to while working but always opting to wear white clothing with traditional Ethiopian designs whenever he can. He wears his hair out of his face with braids, although not traditional to his culture he has made the look his own, finding a strange comfort in the weight of his hair. "It keeps me to the ground."
-Personality-
Not naturally a quiet individual, however due to his lack of familiarity with the English language he prefers not to speak often but rather to listen and learn. He is proud of his capabilities and will not tolerate being underestimated by those equal or below him in skill. He finds those who can not follow orders to be infuriating and will reinforce the expectations and rules, even if it may be deemed unfair. "Life isn't fair, live with it." Jaakko is able to trust those who have been proven to be capable with greater ease compared to those he deems to be his equal or lesser. However, once he becomes attached and trusts an individual, he will do everything in his power to keep that individual safe. Even if it isn't the most logical decision when it comes to stressful situations.
Although he is known to be quiet amongst the Watchers, he isn't immune to humor. He can be caught grinning quite often, even if nothing was really that funny. Favoring jokes pointed at others misdoings or misfortunes, even at himself. Hence why he has become attached to the nickname Sleeping Beauty, it is a reference to how he was strangled and never woke up until the curse of mortality was lifted. Upon learning the story of Sleeping Beauty, he quite appreciated the cleverness of the name. Jaakko is naturally very perceptive of the subtle body language given off by those around him and will often pull people aside to check what is up if they behave unusually. Some may say he is nosy because of his untrusting instincts, they are completely right. He wants to know as much as possible so he can see where things are leading. He will not tolerate a secret being brought up but not shared, he can get blindingly agitated if he feels something is not right and no one is telling him what.
Due to how he died, he struggles immensely with trusting those he works with. As he is surrounded by an absolutely alien environment he is prone to becoming overwhelmed quickly from too much stimuli. Once he becomes overwhelmed, he is unable to make decisions quickly and can rely purely on orders from those he deems equal or better than himself. He is also prone to adoring vanity more than usual, especially when it comes to hair. Don't be surprised if he stares at you when you do something new to your own hair.
-Tagline-
Sleeping Beauty/ The Vengeful Beast
-Backstory-
Was born as the seventh child to an elder who served as the ruler's advisor. Having no distinct privileges other than resources through human connections he was a diligent son and did everything he could to bring no shame to his father and people. Jaako trained in story telling and fighting by those who saw the gleam in his eye at the prospect of climbing the social ladder. He hunted regularly and was often trusted amongst the elders. With a knack for picking up information quickly he didn't struggle under the shadow of his father, but respected the expectations placed upon him. He was a cookie cutter good kid. Keyword: was. He was charismatic and created friends easily amongst his cousins and fellow tribe members. Even friendly with his rival, Abioye, who was the second son of a main commander beside his own father.
At the age of 26, he was honored with the position of commander of a group of 20 warriors. He was euphoric with pride. The night before he was to be officially given the title he held a feast for those who had supported him along the way. Alcoholic beverages for all! That night he invited Abioye to stay the night to reminisce about their past and future plans. "Abioye, my friend, you should prove your strength to our elders once more! Then we may fight side by side!" Was the last thing he said calmly as he sat on a mat, Abioye was retrieving some more food, he thought. Before he could act Jaakko found himself in a choke hold, putting up a fight, he never had a chance. The upper hand had been hidden from him and would be the hand to unravel his being. He would never be the same man again.
There was a soul crushing silence, left to contemplate his decisions, his naïve beliefs. He found himself on the shores of an unknown place, an alien world. He was brought back? Was this even the same world? Everything was so different, the pain of being revived silencing the charismatic spirit within. The knowledge of thousands of years of human evolution. The rise and fall of the Homosapiens. He was brought back as a Watcher and given a brief explanation of what happened and what his duties from now on were. He quickly began to pick up English although still struggles with it. He has been a Watcher for a little over two years as of the present day. A fractured man, he clings to his understanding of reality with every fiber of his being and tries his best to fulfill his duty. He prefers to keep his perceptions to himself.
-Cause of Original Death-
Strangulation
-Acquaintances-
Hai Li Song
-Rank-
Level 1 Officer
-Plasmatic Classification-
Frost-Shield
-Plasmatic Modifications-
His right arm can become bulkier and longer upon command. He has been called a defensive lobster before due to the lopsided appearance of his arm while fully activated. It creates large shields which he may use to protect himself and/or others. On the sides of the shields there are blades which he may use to deal frost damage. (The spoiler isn't really a spoiler more of what I imagine Jaakko looking like eventually while in full Plasmatics. Minus the staff. The right arm is what he has at the moment, only with blueish grey detailing instead of red.)
-Skills-
Past experiences which provide him with tactics of battle and strategy.
Perception, when no one else is looking, he certainly is.
Surprisingly, is capable of singing in a range of deeper tones.
Creating disguises.
Surviving in the wild with limited resources.
-Interests-
Is absolutely fascinated with goldfish and aquariums in general.
Languages and slang, he will pull you aside if he doesn't recognize the phrase and ask.
Hairstyles, he will braid your hair if given permission and he trusts you.
Traditional Ethiopian Info and objects.
Anything he hasn't seen before.
-Fears-
Sleeping in the same room as someone he does not trust.
Sleeping anywhere that isn't secure.
Not having control over how he dies.
Strangers "Stranger danger? No kidding."
Being under the influence of any drug, including alcohol.
-Link to RP/Writing Sample-
Prose - Various plots for Violet Roses
[/div]
code by Ri.a
[/div][/div]
Last edited:
Sacrosanctis
Drifting between worlds
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Name: Ingrid Rosenfeld
Age: 19
Location of Birth: New Jersey (3402-3421 A.D.)
Appearance: Ingrid stands at 5'4" and weighs 116 lb, and her slim build gives little room for raw physical strength but instead gives way to agility. Her short, navy blue hair goes just past her head, yet is long enough to be a nuisance unless restrained by a hair-clip that she wears on the left side of her head. Her long eyelashes, emerald green eyes, and smooth skin serves to create a youthful, feminine face, yet she typically retains a stoic expression and rarely smiles.
Personality: Ingrid tends to approach situations using cold logic, causing her to come off as apathetic. Although she does value the absence of emotions, Ingrid is not unfriendly; she is willing to selflessly help those in need, and she generally mirrors the kindness of those around her. She is hard-working and obedient, which perfectly aligns with her role as a Watcher. She will follow orders without hesitation and will only question them if they seem particularly impractical. She is focused and determined to fulfill her duties as a Watcher, and her unemotional standpoint makes her eager to go into danger.
Ingrid often flaunts a stolid front, but this barrier can be quickly shattered if her fellow Watchers or innocent people are endangered. She often panics when the people she cares about are badly wounded, and will put their safety over her own. Her sympathetic nature can even sometimes reflect onto her enemies, and although she will mercilessly annihilate enemies that she views as mindless criminals, she can easily pity them if they show high signs of suffering. She is hesitant to commit immoral acts, and this often causes her to speculate her actions and consider if what she is doing is right. If she judges her actions to be morally good, she will do them immediately, but if they show even a hint of moral corruptness she often hesitates.
Due to her introverted personality, Ingrid is hesitant to show her interests to others. However, in private she can temporarily let go of her strict hold on her stoney facade and leaves room for a soft side. She'd subtly pet cute things or chuckle to herself at a book she was reading. She would never be so reckless as to let other people see this side of her. Her lack of social connection to others makes her slightly awkward when dealing with social situations, and she tends to avoid socializing altogether. Despite this, she has no problem keeping a conversation going in a formal tone.
Tagline: The Apathetic Soldier
Backstory: The sudden death of Ingrid's father when she was 11 years old taught her that the pain of losing the person you love overrides the urge to show love in the first place. Her father was a kind, charismatic man who always kept her family together. As an only child, losing him made Ingrid feel incredibly lonely. She grew up in isolation, her only company being her emotionally scarred mother. Together, they both had to work equally hard to keep themselves financially stable, and Ingrid's focus on earning money combined with her philosophy towards love to make her distant from others. Ever since her father's death, Ingrid was forced into a deep existential crisis, and she was forced to mature more quickly for her own sake and her mother's. She decided to submerge herself into her responsibilities to distract herself from her constantly dark thoughts, which lead to unwavering focus when completing her assignments. Still, completing errands wasn't enough for her to emotionally recover from the pain of losing her father, and she needed something more fulfilling. She needed someone other than her mother who could sympathize with a life of tragedy, someone who could share her emotional burden and understand her. She could never have imagined that this person would come right to her doorstep.
It was December 18, 3420. A cold, harsh wind bit through Ingrid's skin as she looked at the peculiar figure that stood before her. The snowy sky was only dimly lit by the evening sun, but it was bright enough for her to clearly see the boy's strange mask. She later discovered that he had been the victim of a horrible experiment that involved immoral mutation of humanity to extract resources from the Earth, and she was willing to give him shelter and hide him from society. The test subject's code was 513912, and Ingrid nicknamed him "Emil" (with each number/pair of numbers corresponding with a letter in the alphabet) since the string of numbers was a mouthful. Ever since, she became close friends with Emil. The boy was a victim of harsh treatment, and this made him easy to connect with. She showed him as much as she could about conventional technology and the outside world while keeping him hidden inside her home, but together they promised to explore the world together with their own eyes. For a while, Ingrid's life was suddenly flooded with fond memories. Their conversations were always simple and innocent, and she was genuinely happy to finally be in the presence of someone she could relate to. He brought value to her, and Ingrid returned the value to Emil in equal measure. She showed him things such as the joy of conquering a tough video game and taught him how to ride a bike. Normal things. They were able to spend about half a year like that, and every moment during that time was precious. But all good things must eventually come to an end, and the time Ingrid spent with Emil was no exception.
It started small; at first, Ingrid was only able to see small horns jutting from Emil's head. However, more changes occurred overtime. His skin became brittle and eventually took the form of scales, and his unnatural strength became uncontrollable. The effects of his mutations were taking place. Project: Genesis used a man-made virus to generate biological slaves that were sent into a massive drill extending far beneath the Earth's surface. The virus was created to advance human capabilities to a supernatural level so that laborers could be sent in uninhabitable locations to work as efficiently as possible, and the children taken as test subjects were trained to obediently mine resources under the harshest of conditions that would later be taken to the surface. However, Genesis would eventually cause unpredictable mutations in the infected due to the instability of the newly formed virus, and many of them offered no progress towards mining efficiency. As a result, the useless mutations were reset with an antidote designed to reset the effects of any version of Genesis to its earliest stages. If the mutation was uncontrollable and fully developed before the reset process, the mutant would be promptly disposed of, while the rare successful mutation would lead to a life of endless service in the Earth's lowest depths. It was hard to tell which fate was more cruel. With no antidote available for Emil, it was likely that he would undergo a monstrous mutation that would cause him to lose his humanity, and neither Ingrid nor Emil wanted that. They also rejected the idea of simply allowing the experiment to run its course while suffering continued, and together with the few friends Ingrid possessed, they conspired to assault the laboratory that held the majority of the scientists' illegal research and captives.
Ingrid's tech-savvy friends gave her and Emil the tools they needed for a successful infiltration; they somehow provided them with firearms and helped them hack into the security of the lab. They managed to free several mutated victims of the Genesis Project, but Ingrid and Emil were locked in a room during their search for the antidote of Genesis. The lab's security system activated, and it was made to keep anyone from escaping until they were successfully restrained. Just then, Emil's mutations caused the peak of his descent into madness, and he requested that Ingrid kill him before he could fully mutate; it was not only likely that Emil would murder Ingrid if he fully mutated, but it was also possible for him to escape the lab and go on a killing spree. Ingrid strangled Emil to death as she was locked in the lab of Genesis, and moments later she committed suicide from the emptiness that followed.
After the pain of killing her closest friend, one could imagine Ingrid's euphoric joy at the sight of Emil on the ethereal shores of the Upper Level. However, her joy quickly turned to sorrow when she realized that he had no memories of her; his traumatic childhood caused him to habitually forget particularly harsh experiences, and this caused him to completely forget her existence due to the tragedy that followed. Thus, Ingrid's belief that the act of loving is not worth the pain of losing the one you love was reinforced. Despite this, she couldn't bring herself to separate from Emil, and she wants to continue to stay by his side.
Cause of Original Death: Sharp damage to the throat
Acquaintances: Emil
Rank: Level One/Officer
Plasmatic Classification: Pure-Resource
Plasmatic Modifications: Pure plasmatic energy extends from what acts as a small sheath above Ingrid's right forearm, forming the likeness of a forearm blade. The small reach compliments Ingrid's mobility, and her fighting style favors attacking in quick succession while in short range of her opponents. In the ideal combat scenario, Ingrid would pierce through the enemy's defenses with a series of quick strikes and end the battle when it hardly began. She is eager to obtain a second prosthetic arm, as it is rather awkward and less effective to use only one.
Skills:
Interests:
Fears:
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Name: Ingrid Rosenfeld
Age: 19
Location of Birth: New Jersey (3402-3421 A.D.)
Appearance: Ingrid stands at 5'4" and weighs 116 lb, and her slim build gives little room for raw physical strength but instead gives way to agility. Her short, navy blue hair goes just past her head, yet is long enough to be a nuisance unless restrained by a hair-clip that she wears on the left side of her head. Her long eyelashes, emerald green eyes, and smooth skin serves to create a youthful, feminine face, yet she typically retains a stoic expression and rarely smiles.
Personality: Ingrid tends to approach situations using cold logic, causing her to come off as apathetic. Although she does value the absence of emotions, Ingrid is not unfriendly; she is willing to selflessly help those in need, and she generally mirrors the kindness of those around her. She is hard-working and obedient, which perfectly aligns with her role as a Watcher. She will follow orders without hesitation and will only question them if they seem particularly impractical. She is focused and determined to fulfill her duties as a Watcher, and her unemotional standpoint makes her eager to go into danger.
Ingrid often flaunts a stolid front, but this barrier can be quickly shattered if her fellow Watchers or innocent people are endangered. She often panics when the people she cares about are badly wounded, and will put their safety over her own. Her sympathetic nature can even sometimes reflect onto her enemies, and although she will mercilessly annihilate enemies that she views as mindless criminals, she can easily pity them if they show high signs of suffering. She is hesitant to commit immoral acts, and this often causes her to speculate her actions and consider if what she is doing is right. If she judges her actions to be morally good, she will do them immediately, but if they show even a hint of moral corruptness she often hesitates.
Due to her introverted personality, Ingrid is hesitant to show her interests to others. However, in private she can temporarily let go of her strict hold on her stoney facade and leaves room for a soft side. She'd subtly pet cute things or chuckle to herself at a book she was reading. She would never be so reckless as to let other people see this side of her. Her lack of social connection to others makes her slightly awkward when dealing with social situations, and she tends to avoid socializing altogether. Despite this, she has no problem keeping a conversation going in a formal tone.
Tagline: The Apathetic Soldier
Backstory: The sudden death of Ingrid's father when she was 11 years old taught her that the pain of losing the person you love overrides the urge to show love in the first place. Her father was a kind, charismatic man who always kept her family together. As an only child, losing him made Ingrid feel incredibly lonely. She grew up in isolation, her only company being her emotionally scarred mother. Together, they both had to work equally hard to keep themselves financially stable, and Ingrid's focus on earning money combined with her philosophy towards love to make her distant from others. Ever since her father's death, Ingrid was forced into a deep existential crisis, and she was forced to mature more quickly for her own sake and her mother's. She decided to submerge herself into her responsibilities to distract herself from her constantly dark thoughts, which lead to unwavering focus when completing her assignments. Still, completing errands wasn't enough for her to emotionally recover from the pain of losing her father, and she needed something more fulfilling. She needed someone other than her mother who could sympathize with a life of tragedy, someone who could share her emotional burden and understand her. She could never have imagined that this person would come right to her doorstep.
It was December 18, 3420. A cold, harsh wind bit through Ingrid's skin as she looked at the peculiar figure that stood before her. The snowy sky was only dimly lit by the evening sun, but it was bright enough for her to clearly see the boy's strange mask. She later discovered that he had been the victim of a horrible experiment that involved immoral mutation of humanity to extract resources from the Earth, and she was willing to give him shelter and hide him from society. The test subject's code was 513912, and Ingrid nicknamed him "Emil" (with each number/pair of numbers corresponding with a letter in the alphabet) since the string of numbers was a mouthful. Ever since, she became close friends with Emil. The boy was a victim of harsh treatment, and this made him easy to connect with. She showed him as much as she could about conventional technology and the outside world while keeping him hidden inside her home, but together they promised to explore the world together with their own eyes. For a while, Ingrid's life was suddenly flooded with fond memories. Their conversations were always simple and innocent, and she was genuinely happy to finally be in the presence of someone she could relate to. He brought value to her, and Ingrid returned the value to Emil in equal measure. She showed him things such as the joy of conquering a tough video game and taught him how to ride a bike. Normal things. They were able to spend about half a year like that, and every moment during that time was precious. But all good things must eventually come to an end, and the time Ingrid spent with Emil was no exception.
It started small; at first, Ingrid was only able to see small horns jutting from Emil's head. However, more changes occurred overtime. His skin became brittle and eventually took the form of scales, and his unnatural strength became uncontrollable. The effects of his mutations were taking place. Project: Genesis used a man-made virus to generate biological slaves that were sent into a massive drill extending far beneath the Earth's surface. The virus was created to advance human capabilities to a supernatural level so that laborers could be sent in uninhabitable locations to work as efficiently as possible, and the children taken as test subjects were trained to obediently mine resources under the harshest of conditions that would later be taken to the surface. However, Genesis would eventually cause unpredictable mutations in the infected due to the instability of the newly formed virus, and many of them offered no progress towards mining efficiency. As a result, the useless mutations were reset with an antidote designed to reset the effects of any version of Genesis to its earliest stages. If the mutation was uncontrollable and fully developed before the reset process, the mutant would be promptly disposed of, while the rare successful mutation would lead to a life of endless service in the Earth's lowest depths. It was hard to tell which fate was more cruel. With no antidote available for Emil, it was likely that he would undergo a monstrous mutation that would cause him to lose his humanity, and neither Ingrid nor Emil wanted that. They also rejected the idea of simply allowing the experiment to run its course while suffering continued, and together with the few friends Ingrid possessed, they conspired to assault the laboratory that held the majority of the scientists' illegal research and captives.
Ingrid's tech-savvy friends gave her and Emil the tools they needed for a successful infiltration; they somehow provided them with firearms and helped them hack into the security of the lab. They managed to free several mutated victims of the Genesis Project, but Ingrid and Emil were locked in a room during their search for the antidote of Genesis. The lab's security system activated, and it was made to keep anyone from escaping until they were successfully restrained. Just then, Emil's mutations caused the peak of his descent into madness, and he requested that Ingrid kill him before he could fully mutate; it was not only likely that Emil would murder Ingrid if he fully mutated, but it was also possible for him to escape the lab and go on a killing spree. Ingrid strangled Emil to death as she was locked in the lab of Genesis, and moments later she committed suicide from the emptiness that followed.
After the pain of killing her closest friend, one could imagine Ingrid's euphoric joy at the sight of Emil on the ethereal shores of the Upper Level. However, her joy quickly turned to sorrow when she realized that he had no memories of her; his traumatic childhood caused him to habitually forget particularly harsh experiences, and this caused him to completely forget her existence due to the tragedy that followed. Thus, Ingrid's belief that the act of loving is not worth the pain of losing the one you love was reinforced. Despite this, she couldn't bring herself to separate from Emil, and she wants to continue to stay by his side.
Cause of Original Death: Sharp damage to the throat
Acquaintances: Emil
Rank: Level One/Officer
Plasmatic Classification: Pure-Resource
Plasmatic Modifications: Pure plasmatic energy extends from what acts as a small sheath above Ingrid's right forearm, forming the likeness of a forearm blade. The small reach compliments Ingrid's mobility, and her fighting style favors attacking in quick succession while in short range of her opponents. In the ideal combat scenario, Ingrid would pierce through the enemy's defenses with a series of quick strikes and end the battle when it hardly began. She is eager to obtain a second prosthetic arm, as it is rather awkward and less effective to use only one.
Skills:
- Cleaning: Ingrid likes to maintain a clean environment and can rework a messy space better and faster than most people would.
- Athletic: Ingrid can run quickly and likes to train her body in the barracks of the Upper Level, giving her a relatively lean and fit body.
- Playing the piano: Ingrid has moderate levels of skill with the piano, but she isn't that good.
Interests:
- Ingrid is always eager to learn about the modern technology of Apocalypz, as even for her time the innovations of this world seem unreal.
- Ingrid finds it fascinating to be able to communicate with people who were born before her time.
- Ingrid is curious about the truth of Apocalypz, and she wants to find out more about its history and the history of the Watchers.
Fears:
- Permanently dying: Understandably, Ingrid fears death as long as it is still considered a possibility.
- Losing her fellow Watchers (Emil in particular): She fears her own death, and likewise fears the death of her friends. She hates losing the people she cares about, and she would be heartbroken if she lost Emil once again.
- Killing herself to be reborn: It always feels wrong to simply dispose of her body, only to be resurrected again. It isn't natural, and it gives her a bad feeling every time.
- The lower class: She feels uncomfortable around the miserable laborers and hopes that she can help them one day. She despises the Apocalypzian upper class for their mistreatment of the poor, but that would never drive her against them unless she were given a direct order to do so.
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code by Ri.a
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Last edited:
Plutoni
spin it!
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NAME:
Setka Oubastet
AGE:
18
LOCATION OF BIRTH:
Thebes, Egypt | 18th Dynasty | 1548 BC
HEIGHT:
5'8 | 1.73 m
WEIGHT:
134 lbs | 61 kg
APPEARANCE:
Setka may be pretty, but his attitude certainly isn’t. His aristocratic brow is often pulled down into a frown, his demeanour full of all the same rigid airs of vanity that possess him to groom his appearance with such religious fervour. His rich, cool-toned and obnoxiously perfect complexion glows with the scented oils that he has somehow managed to bribe and wheedle into his manicured and extremely un-grubby mitts. This obsessive pampering is just as much habit as it is now a coping mechanism; in such an unfathomable and nightmarish world, his ritual is one of the only things that Setka really understands. It gives him sanity. It also gives him gorgeous hair - deep, chocolate brown waves, so shiny they have an iridescent, purplish gloss even in dim light - which is probably his greater priority. His eyes are dark and feline, evasive at times, and fringed with heavy lashes.
Setka would rather die than get dirt on him and it makes him loathe being touched by the unwashed masses, alternately known as 'peers'. Who knows where their hands have been? Not him, for sure. His usual body language helps keep people away, anyway, and frosts over his otherwise winsome features to turn them slightly sour. It's been said before; the only time Setka is any angel is when he sleeps. He's gained a little muscle mass since his rebirth, though he still remains as lean and boyish and immaculately groomed as he was when he lived under the sun thousands of years ago.
PERSONALITY:
Most who have met Setka upon Apocalypz probably wouldn't disagree that most of his best characteristics appear to be sheerly aesthetic. Not that you'd say that to his face, of course; not only is he extraordinarily proud but his temper runs hot, and he needs very little excuse to start up an argument. But say it anywhere else and you'd probably get away with it - he's also extremely unobservant. Why look out for crocodiles when you have others to do it for you?
His vanity is obvious from a thousand paces, though you'd be hard pressed to see the vague, lonely insecurities that have given it shape, the ones that only raise their faces up close. His eyes are the hopeless tell-all, and he likes to keep his personal bubble un-burst as a result. But Setka is also a shitty liar, and even distance can't save him from that reality. Death, either, hasn't been able to unstick his naïvety - for all his spoilt, self-centred stubbornness he's unexpectedly forgiving (usually, at least), and in doing so can sometimes let slip this strange, almost endearing artlessness that he's kept. His prissy attitude the rest of the time ruins it spectacularly, though. He acts like a snooty, argumentative brat, and still somehow expects not to be treated like one.
Being left to one's devices so often throughout childhood in such a protected environment seems to present all sorts of authority issues and little tact later on in life, having for so long obeyed only his own rules, though they frequently come at odds (and are often overcome) with another, more subconscious desire to please. He wants recognition, affection, even, but is quick to mock anyone who even genuinely looks at him long enough to possibly begin to provide it. He knows in the back of his mind that he's making it difficult to like him. He knows he finds it difficult to stop. He lines his often thoughtless words with a narcissism that can quickly become hard to stand.
Though he holds onto most of his fierce, usually ill-considered nerve, Apocalypz, likely as it is for so many others, has still inevitably shifted him for the worse. He used to be far more open; genuine smiles weren't nearly so rare. But his sheltered life has come to an abrupt end, and he still struggles to reconcile it with this new beginning.
BACKSTORY:
Thebes, the great City of the Scepter, was already in the throes of a new dynasty when Setka was born. His mother was a descendant of the far-reaching family of the reigning pharaoh, son of the late Seqenenre Tao, Ahmose I, granting Setka the title of no more than a minor prince. That seemed to be enough for his father, however - it was no small source of gossip amongst the nobility that it had been a bizarre marriage, having been, allegedly, made solely for political leverage, though on who's side it came from was unknown. Perhaps a little bit of both. Their relationship had been an odd one, at least. Even Setka couldn't say what real depth or kind of feeling they shared. His father had already gained favour through his role in the final years of the campaign against the Hyskos as a naval commander, and it allowed him to reach greater heights than what one of lower birth could usually only dream of. Setka remembers his father clearly - a tall, regal, broad-shouldered man, silhouetted against the sky as he spoke before their king. He knew how his voice dripped in ambition, but he doesn't recall what he was talking about.
His memories of the pharaoh himself become even vaguer, though he remembers a smaller man with turquoise lining his fingers, a toothy smile as he ruffled his hair as he and his entourage sailed past. That was as close as he came to his cousin - Setka was something of the youngest darling of the family, blessed with beauty, but treated like he was as distant and as fragile as a vase.
He spent much his time around the palace or on the hot, lazy banks of the Nile, an only child left to find his own amusement amongst the halls of the royal and wealthy. He had some friends, sure, but many of them came and went like the tide as their parents did to see the pharaoh, leaving him to explore the palace and the streets beyond. He even danced, sometimes, with the children of the poorer folk. Perhaps he even befriended some. It took a long time for his parents to find out, despite him doing little to hide it. It seemed to become a recurring theme. No amount of acting out ever really made them notice.
During Ahmose's extensive reforms of Egypt's administration, his father had his ear. He had exchanged military for government, and served as an advisor during the reopening of trade routes throughout the country. But his ascension had made him enemies - he was greatly disliked, though perhaps not all to the same level as his mother's eldest brother, his uncle, a businessman, who Setka only knew as Khamet. Speaking of Setka, he remained blissfully ignorant of much of this political manoeuvring that was happening around him; his parents payed none of his activities any mind. Why should he acknowledge theirs? He had his own, far more important worries, anyway. He was fast approaching his 18th birthday and had still met no-one who really interested him, no-one who made his heart beat that much faster; he had no end of admirers, something that stroked his ego to the point of making him somehow even more insufferable than usual, but he remained ultimately alone. He remembers glimpses of those days. Pearls under the sun, the reflection of gold wavering across the ceiling as a servant combed his hair. The quiet of the feathered fans. Sunlight sparkling from the Nile. Surrounded by people, but alone.
A year later, and Khamet had been irreparably weakened and humiliated by the reforms Setka's father had put in place, and he was in the grips of fury. He had ground him into the dirt, and disgraced a sister he had once held dear. He dreamt of retribution in the only way left open to him, and at the coming of the Beautiful Festival of the Valley, he decided to call time. Setka had never even been in the equation.
The night is truly different out in the desert. There's nothing between you and the bottomless infinity where only gods roam, and it made Setka's head spin with vertigo and wine. It was the last night of the festival. He came across his father by sheer accident, lying in the hallway as his blood soaked into the reeds below him. He would've lived if he'd taken another corner. If he hadn't seen his murderer's face. He knew it to be Khamet's son, Tarik, and Tarik saw this too. His memories here become jagged. He knows he made it to the closed courtyard where one of the servants kept watch. The man had drawn his sword to protect him, but he was cut down. He remembers the long, pointed shard of mirror that he used as a weapon in his bloodied hand, though he doesn't recall how it got there. He remembers the feel of the sand that swirled gently across the ground, his face held up towards the moon, his confusion, the cold at his throat, then nothing.
Setka was an absolute nightmare when he awoke. This was no Field of Reeds, nor was it oblivion. If he had known the concept of hell, that would have been what he'd have called it. He took what seemed like hours to calm to a state of comprehension. He couldn't understand why his father wasn't there. He believes that his soul has somehow been lost on the way to the Hall of Maat where he should have been judged, though he doesn't get why he's kept his body. Part of him holds the Watchers responsible, though he doesn't know how they would've done such a thing. Had his name not been written down? Had his body been beheaded? What had he even done to deserve that? For the first time in his life, Setka had to look at himself. Actually look. Search for something he may have done to deserve this un-life, and at this kind of introspection, his insecurities burst wide open. His anger and self-pity grew. It was just a mistake. He just couldn't - still can't - accept the blame, and this unwelcome feeling of self-doubt made him desperate to place it on someone else. Anyone else. He blames the Watchers. He blames the Gods. He blames politics. Most of all, he blames his father.
He likes to say he's only carried on with this organisation just to have his plasmatic modification upgraded with something far more aesthetically pleasing, aka his actual forearm. It's true, of course - his vanity will gladly outlive sense. He's too scared to run, anyway, but in a strange way, the Watchers also make him feel kind of wanted. It's with both curiosity and self-loathing that he regards this, like so much else he's encountered in this new world.
Maybe he'd stay for that feeling alone.
CAUSE OF ORIGINAL DEATH:
Massive blood loss | Severed carotid artery
TAGLINE:
The Prickly Princeling
AQUAINTANCES:
TBA
RANK:
Level One | Officer
PLASMATIC CLASSIFICATION:
Spark | Resource
PLASMATIC MODIFICATIONS:
Setka's right arm has been replaced with a mechanical prosthetic nearly up to his shoulder that electrifies upon activation in order to produce enough energy to completely envelop a long, hollow polearm that folds out and snaps neatly together. The shaft of the weapon is around 6 inches taller than him, and is tipped with a curved, glaive-like blade. Most of the energy is concentrated in this single edge, though it crackles down the entirety of the weapon to allow it to be used as a kind of quarterstaff. As a result, the palm and fingers of his left hand of his Forcefield are reinforced to cope specifically against this spark plasmatic, and this spark plasmatic alone. His hand and arm nearly up to his elbow is practically open machine, though the modifications to the rest of his arm are mostly internal. Setka hates this strange and ugly thing with a passion, and hides it under a long, white glove.
Despite being as strong as any other basic resource plasmatic, Setka tends to use it defensively, for which it's certainly suited; it's strong and nimble and maintains a longer reach than what most other weapons would afford, though it can struggle at very close range. The blade, if completely dead on, has a crushing amount of leverage behind it.
SKILLS:
❂ Having spent much of his childhood playing down by the Nile, he's an excellent swimmer.
❂ He owned four tesem dogs back in Thebes who were the greatest loves of his short life. They were adored and, thanks to his surprising talent with them, well trained. Many of his numerous character flaws - his selfishness and irritability, particularly - seem to melt away for a while when he's around dogs. He has a weak spot for them a mile wide.
❂ Flexible, and has a good sense of balance.
❂ He's already familiar with spears from the time he was once taught spear-fishing by a Nubian mercenary who was visiting the palace, though his stories fascinated him far more than the pastime did.
❂ Setka can be quite imaginative in finding ways of getting out of things he doesn't want to do.
INTERESTS:
❂ Music and Dance; it was a common and well-loved part of much of his life spent around the palace, and though he has glaringly little musical talent of his own, he was a keen and gifted dancer.
❂ Games and Puzzles; he often played senet when it was too hot to be outdoors, but has developed a new interest in these so-called 'playing cards' that he's been recently introduced to.
❂ The Arts; though he'd never admit it, he has a growing fascination of the many cultures and their art that the world has seen flourish over the millennia.
❂ Gymnastics; though already familiar to him, he's become more frequent in stretching due to the almost calming feeling it creates amongst the tensions and strangeness of Apocalypz.
❂ Literature; Setka once had no need for literacy, having always had any number of scribes at his disposal, but this new development genuinely excites him. Being able to actually read the kind of tales and stories he enjoyed when he heard them sung or spoken is a novel thing for him, and something he hungrily pursues, if only in private; he's not exactly excellent at it - his writing is particularly shoddy - which embarrasses him far too much to read openly.
FEARS:
❂ Once fought a goldfish and lost. Now regards them with mortal fear.
❂ Setka hates filth and grime to the point of being mildly germophobic. He doesn't quite believe the supposed 'disease immunity' that they now all allegedly have and is currently awaiting the contraction of the plague. (That'll show 'em.)
❂ The idea of death has never been a thing that has scared him much before, but the cruelty and indifference to it in this culture certainly does. He still can't bear to think about his own, let alone going through it again - he's sure he'd have a complete mental breakdown if he tried.
❂ He's sensitive and very much conscious about his neck due to his way he died, and often wears high-necked outfits to try and compensate.
❂ He fears a vast amount of this nightmare he's got himself stuck in, to be fair. It's beyond surreal. His knowledge of life just doesn't apply any more, and every time his Bronze-age reasoning fails to explain something, the little more scared he becomes. If what he's been told is to be believed, his gods and people are long dead, and such utter solitude terrifies him.
OTHER:
♡ Cover Art by awanqi ♡
I'll tidy it all up in a bit, sorry for the wait!
WRITING SAMPLE:
An Apple A Day
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
NAME:
Setka Oubastet
AGE:
18
LOCATION OF BIRTH:
Thebes, Egypt | 18th Dynasty | 1548 BC
HEIGHT:
5'8 | 1.73 m
WEIGHT:
134 lbs | 61 kg
APPEARANCE:
Setka may be pretty, but his attitude certainly isn’t. His aristocratic brow is often pulled down into a frown, his demeanour full of all the same rigid airs of vanity that possess him to groom his appearance with such religious fervour. His rich, cool-toned and obnoxiously perfect complexion glows with the scented oils that he has somehow managed to bribe and wheedle into his manicured and extremely un-grubby mitts. This obsessive pampering is just as much habit as it is now a coping mechanism; in such an unfathomable and nightmarish world, his ritual is one of the only things that Setka really understands. It gives him sanity. It also gives him gorgeous hair - deep, chocolate brown waves, so shiny they have an iridescent, purplish gloss even in dim light - which is probably his greater priority. His eyes are dark and feline, evasive at times, and fringed with heavy lashes.
Setka would rather die than get dirt on him and it makes him loathe being touched by the unwashed masses, alternately known as 'peers'. Who knows where their hands have been? Not him, for sure. His usual body language helps keep people away, anyway, and frosts over his otherwise winsome features to turn them slightly sour. It's been said before; the only time Setka is any angel is when he sleeps. He's gained a little muscle mass since his rebirth, though he still remains as lean and boyish and immaculately groomed as he was when he lived under the sun thousands of years ago.
PERSONALITY:
Most who have met Setka upon Apocalypz probably wouldn't disagree that most of his best characteristics appear to be sheerly aesthetic. Not that you'd say that to his face, of course; not only is he extraordinarily proud but his temper runs hot, and he needs very little excuse to start up an argument. But say it anywhere else and you'd probably get away with it - he's also extremely unobservant. Why look out for crocodiles when you have others to do it for you?
His vanity is obvious from a thousand paces, though you'd be hard pressed to see the vague, lonely insecurities that have given it shape, the ones that only raise their faces up close. His eyes are the hopeless tell-all, and he likes to keep his personal bubble un-burst as a result. But Setka is also a shitty liar, and even distance can't save him from that reality. Death, either, hasn't been able to unstick his naïvety - for all his spoilt, self-centred stubbornness he's unexpectedly forgiving (usually, at least), and in doing so can sometimes let slip this strange, almost endearing artlessness that he's kept. His prissy attitude the rest of the time ruins it spectacularly, though. He acts like a snooty, argumentative brat, and still somehow expects not to be treated like one.
Being left to one's devices so often throughout childhood in such a protected environment seems to present all sorts of authority issues and little tact later on in life, having for so long obeyed only his own rules, though they frequently come at odds (and are often overcome) with another, more subconscious desire to please. He wants recognition, affection, even, but is quick to mock anyone who even genuinely looks at him long enough to possibly begin to provide it. He knows in the back of his mind that he's making it difficult to like him. He knows he finds it difficult to stop. He lines his often thoughtless words with a narcissism that can quickly become hard to stand.
Though he holds onto most of his fierce, usually ill-considered nerve, Apocalypz, likely as it is for so many others, has still inevitably shifted him for the worse. He used to be far more open; genuine smiles weren't nearly so rare. But his sheltered life has come to an abrupt end, and he still struggles to reconcile it with this new beginning.
BACKSTORY:
Thebes, the great City of the Scepter, was already in the throes of a new dynasty when Setka was born. His mother was a descendant of the far-reaching family of the reigning pharaoh, son of the late Seqenenre Tao, Ahmose I, granting Setka the title of no more than a minor prince. That seemed to be enough for his father, however - it was no small source of gossip amongst the nobility that it had been a bizarre marriage, having been, allegedly, made solely for political leverage, though on who's side it came from was unknown. Perhaps a little bit of both. Their relationship had been an odd one, at least. Even Setka couldn't say what real depth or kind of feeling they shared. His father had already gained favour through his role in the final years of the campaign against the Hyskos as a naval commander, and it allowed him to reach greater heights than what one of lower birth could usually only dream of. Setka remembers his father clearly - a tall, regal, broad-shouldered man, silhouetted against the sky as he spoke before their king. He knew how his voice dripped in ambition, but he doesn't recall what he was talking about.
His memories of the pharaoh himself become even vaguer, though he remembers a smaller man with turquoise lining his fingers, a toothy smile as he ruffled his hair as he and his entourage sailed past. That was as close as he came to his cousin - Setka was something of the youngest darling of the family, blessed with beauty, but treated like he was as distant and as fragile as a vase.
He spent much his time around the palace or on the hot, lazy banks of the Nile, an only child left to find his own amusement amongst the halls of the royal and wealthy. He had some friends, sure, but many of them came and went like the tide as their parents did to see the pharaoh, leaving him to explore the palace and the streets beyond. He even danced, sometimes, with the children of the poorer folk. Perhaps he even befriended some. It took a long time for his parents to find out, despite him doing little to hide it. It seemed to become a recurring theme. No amount of acting out ever really made them notice.
During Ahmose's extensive reforms of Egypt's administration, his father had his ear. He had exchanged military for government, and served as an advisor during the reopening of trade routes throughout the country. But his ascension had made him enemies - he was greatly disliked, though perhaps not all to the same level as his mother's eldest brother, his uncle, a businessman, who Setka only knew as Khamet. Speaking of Setka, he remained blissfully ignorant of much of this political manoeuvring that was happening around him; his parents payed none of his activities any mind. Why should he acknowledge theirs? He had his own, far more important worries, anyway. He was fast approaching his 18th birthday and had still met no-one who really interested him, no-one who made his heart beat that much faster; he had no end of admirers, something that stroked his ego to the point of making him somehow even more insufferable than usual, but he remained ultimately alone. He remembers glimpses of those days. Pearls under the sun, the reflection of gold wavering across the ceiling as a servant combed his hair. The quiet of the feathered fans. Sunlight sparkling from the Nile. Surrounded by people, but alone.
A year later, and Khamet had been irreparably weakened and humiliated by the reforms Setka's father had put in place, and he was in the grips of fury. He had ground him into the dirt, and disgraced a sister he had once held dear. He dreamt of retribution in the only way left open to him, and at the coming of the Beautiful Festival of the Valley, he decided to call time. Setka had never even been in the equation.
The night is truly different out in the desert. There's nothing between you and the bottomless infinity where only gods roam, and it made Setka's head spin with vertigo and wine. It was the last night of the festival. He came across his father by sheer accident, lying in the hallway as his blood soaked into the reeds below him. He would've lived if he'd taken another corner. If he hadn't seen his murderer's face. He knew it to be Khamet's son, Tarik, and Tarik saw this too. His memories here become jagged. He knows he made it to the closed courtyard where one of the servants kept watch. The man had drawn his sword to protect him, but he was cut down. He remembers the long, pointed shard of mirror that he used as a weapon in his bloodied hand, though he doesn't recall how it got there. He remembers the feel of the sand that swirled gently across the ground, his face held up towards the moon, his confusion, the cold at his throat, then nothing.
Setka was an absolute nightmare when he awoke. This was no Field of Reeds, nor was it oblivion. If he had known the concept of hell, that would have been what he'd have called it. He took what seemed like hours to calm to a state of comprehension. He couldn't understand why his father wasn't there. He believes that his soul has somehow been lost on the way to the Hall of Maat where he should have been judged, though he doesn't get why he's kept his body. Part of him holds the Watchers responsible, though he doesn't know how they would've done such a thing. Had his name not been written down? Had his body been beheaded? What had he even done to deserve that? For the first time in his life, Setka had to look at himself. Actually look. Search for something he may have done to deserve this un-life, and at this kind of introspection, his insecurities burst wide open. His anger and self-pity grew. It was just a mistake. He just couldn't - still can't - accept the blame, and this unwelcome feeling of self-doubt made him desperate to place it on someone else. Anyone else. He blames the Watchers. He blames the Gods. He blames politics. Most of all, he blames his father.
He likes to say he's only carried on with this organisation just to have his plasmatic modification upgraded with something far more aesthetically pleasing, aka his actual forearm. It's true, of course - his vanity will gladly outlive sense. He's too scared to run, anyway, but in a strange way, the Watchers also make him feel kind of wanted. It's with both curiosity and self-loathing that he regards this, like so much else he's encountered in this new world.
Maybe he'd stay for that feeling alone.
CAUSE OF ORIGINAL DEATH:
Massive blood loss | Severed carotid artery
TAGLINE:
The Prickly Princeling
AQUAINTANCES:
TBA
RANK:
Level One | Officer
PLASMATIC CLASSIFICATION:
Spark | Resource
PLASMATIC MODIFICATIONS:
Setka's right arm has been replaced with a mechanical prosthetic nearly up to his shoulder that electrifies upon activation in order to produce enough energy to completely envelop a long, hollow polearm that folds out and snaps neatly together. The shaft of the weapon is around 6 inches taller than him, and is tipped with a curved, glaive-like blade. Most of the energy is concentrated in this single edge, though it crackles down the entirety of the weapon to allow it to be used as a kind of quarterstaff. As a result, the palm and fingers of his left hand of his Forcefield are reinforced to cope specifically against this spark plasmatic, and this spark plasmatic alone. His hand and arm nearly up to his elbow is practically open machine, though the modifications to the rest of his arm are mostly internal. Setka hates this strange and ugly thing with a passion, and hides it under a long, white glove.
Despite being as strong as any other basic resource plasmatic, Setka tends to use it defensively, for which it's certainly suited; it's strong and nimble and maintains a longer reach than what most other weapons would afford, though it can struggle at very close range. The blade, if completely dead on, has a crushing amount of leverage behind it.
SKILLS:
❂ Having spent much of his childhood playing down by the Nile, he's an excellent swimmer.
❂ He owned four tesem dogs back in Thebes who were the greatest loves of his short life. They were adored and, thanks to his surprising talent with them, well trained. Many of his numerous character flaws - his selfishness and irritability, particularly - seem to melt away for a while when he's around dogs. He has a weak spot for them a mile wide.
❂ Flexible, and has a good sense of balance.
❂ He's already familiar with spears from the time he was once taught spear-fishing by a Nubian mercenary who was visiting the palace, though his stories fascinated him far more than the pastime did.
❂ Setka can be quite imaginative in finding ways of getting out of things he doesn't want to do.
INTERESTS:
❂ Music and Dance; it was a common and well-loved part of much of his life spent around the palace, and though he has glaringly little musical talent of his own, he was a keen and gifted dancer.
❂ Games and Puzzles; he often played senet when it was too hot to be outdoors, but has developed a new interest in these so-called 'playing cards' that he's been recently introduced to.
❂ The Arts; though he'd never admit it, he has a growing fascination of the many cultures and their art that the world has seen flourish over the millennia.
❂ Gymnastics; though already familiar to him, he's become more frequent in stretching due to the almost calming feeling it creates amongst the tensions and strangeness of Apocalypz.
❂ Literature; Setka once had no need for literacy, having always had any number of scribes at his disposal, but this new development genuinely excites him. Being able to actually read the kind of tales and stories he enjoyed when he heard them sung or spoken is a novel thing for him, and something he hungrily pursues, if only in private; he's not exactly excellent at it - his writing is particularly shoddy - which embarrasses him far too much to read openly.
FEARS:
❂ Once fought a goldfish and lost. Now regards them with mortal fear.
❂ Setka hates filth and grime to the point of being mildly germophobic. He doesn't quite believe the supposed 'disease immunity' that they now all allegedly have and is currently awaiting the contraction of the plague. (That'll show 'em.)
❂ The idea of death has never been a thing that has scared him much before, but the cruelty and indifference to it in this culture certainly does. He still can't bear to think about his own, let alone going through it again - he's sure he'd have a complete mental breakdown if he tried.
❂ He's sensitive and very much conscious about his neck due to his way he died, and often wears high-necked outfits to try and compensate.
❂ He fears a vast amount of this nightmare he's got himself stuck in, to be fair. It's beyond surreal. His knowledge of life just doesn't apply any more, and every time his Bronze-age reasoning fails to explain something, the little more scared he becomes. If what he's been told is to be believed, his gods and people are long dead, and such utter solitude terrifies him.
OTHER:
♡ Cover Art by awanqi ♡
I'll tidy it all up in a bit, sorry for the wait!
WRITING SAMPLE:
An Apple A Day
[/div]
code by Ri.a
[/div][/div]
Last edited:
Foogels
That One Tall Guy
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[div class=textbox]
Name:
Deo Athas
Nickname:
D
Age:
20
Location of Birth:
Samos Island, Greece, 384 BCE
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Appearance:
Deo stands at a hefty 5 feet and 10 inches. He has a more slim build with muscle built on. He fits the bill for a lightweight boxer and uses that to his advantage. He weighs a nice 134 pounds. Deo's natural hair color is platinum blond but he dies a light purple to separate him from his past life as much as possible. His hair naturally leans backwards on his head leading to it standing up. His skin is a pale white which is normally unnatural but in his "past life" he was more of a hermit and didn't catch the sun as often as others. He was lucky to be one of the approximately 600 people on planet earth to be born with purple eyes. Deo walks with a slight hunch mainly bending in his shoulders rather then his back.
Personality:
When someone explains Deo they explain him as a cheerful guy who smiles at the thought of losing. Deo tries his best at everything he does. His competitive spirit never dies down unless someone's getting hurt. He'll drop what he's doing to prevent the hurt if he's able. He laughs with his friends and participates in gatherings. He always does his best to be the life of the party, he'll crack jokes or tell stories. Everything is a competition even if no one else is participating. He doesn't take no for an answer when he doesn't need to. If people had auras his would be raging flames of self pride. "Giving 100%, 100% of the time is the key to life" -Deo
Though hiding behind those flames would be the truth, a black ball. Deo shows his bright happy side, but he's miserable in his own mind. He plays off being happy as a disguise for his true pessimistic nature. Deo never looks at the glass half full, because to him at that point there is no point in having the glass. Everything he does is seen through a small hole. His competitive nature isn't because he thinks he's the best, or that he thinks he should win. It's simply the need to prove himself wrong and make himself believe that he can be good. He acts happy in the moment but when he reflects he realizes that it was just an act. An act that he's been putting on since before he died.
When it comes to making decisions Deo might be the last person to ask. He hides his thought process with a response that can only be described as vague and inconclusive. When trying to make a decision Deo thinks of all the way's it can go wrong and instinctively tries to do it on his own. But when he realizes what he's doing he convinces himself that he should rely on someone else, and waits. Deo ends up freezing and not doing anything until someone helps him or he realizes that no one is going to. Both results end in Deo eating at himself afterwards, if he does it on his own he feels lonely, and if he accepts help he loses to himself by not being strong enough to do it.
Tagline:
The Raging Spirit
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Backstory:
Deo was born on Samos Island, Greece, May 30th, 384 BCE. It was a beautiful sunny day, he was born at 10:34 am. The sun sat in the sky, slowly rising to its peak so it can fall again tomorrow. His mother held him in her arms. She teared up at the sight of her new born baby boy. When the baby finally stopped crying and opened his eyes, his mother froze with excitement and disbelief. He had extravagant purple eyes. She cradled him on the floor, resting her back on the birthing chair she was just relying on to hold all of her weight. She was surrounded by her mother and sister, the midwife was standing over them with a smile. The Athas family didn't like using slaves, so they asked for none to be present, and that anything that needed to be done or helped with would be taken care of by his aunt. The mother took great care of the baby for a full week. Thinking of a name for him the entire time, along with gathering the decorations and food for her feast. On the seventh day after Deo was born his mother decorated the outside of their house with olive branches. The local pastor purified the baby and the boy lived at home with his mother his entire life.
Deo's father was a soldier. So he wasn't around much, though he was able to come for the feast of his child and the purification. Though do to this Deo went to school instead of learning his fathers profession. He started school at the age of 7 and it only went downhill. The children spread lies about him. He was punished by the teachers for every thing he did. His mother was disappointing and his father beat him when he came home if he heard anything bad. This lead to Deo's staying at his house during his free time, reading books or doing school work from home. One day a boy in his class said that he had broken a vase that held flowers in the classroom. The teacher forced him to leave the school immediately. His mother scolded him and he ran to his room, nothing but tears in his bright purple eyes. His mother brought him in dinner. She was angry but empathetic for the child, he didn't know better. She woke him up and being a grumpy 10 year old he threw a fit. He smacked the food and his mother yelled at him. She forced him out of the house. He couldn't come back until he was ready to apologize and clean up his mess. Though he found his bully whilst walking the streets. Before he could think he ran up to him and started punching him. He tackled him to the ground and threw punch after punch until his possy gripped him and threw him to the ground. They kicked and spit on him. Deo's went home the next day and sorted things out with his mother, saying he fell down a hill and landed on rocks.
The rest of his life was a similar blur. Being blamed and beat up. He was 17 and his birthday was in 1 day. Turning 18 means he would have to leave home for the army. He would finally be gone from this place. For 2 years at the least. His mother made an extra big dinner the night before his birthday. She made it for the two of them to enjoy. Something special that normally wouldn't happen. She hugged him and gave him a kiss on the forehead before finding her way to her room. Deo's went to his and laid down. He would be 18 in the morning and would have to leave the day after that. It took him ages to fall asleep. And he awoke to soldiers breaking into his room and telling him get up or die. He stood up with his arms in the air, he let them lead him to the outskirts of town with about what looked like half of the town. They all stood straight and looked at the crowd with spears out. What could only be the general shouted among the white noise "Everyone! Now!" The soldiers started poking and stabbing forward with their spears. Killing hundreds, Deo's ducked and weaved as he watched all of the people he knew die besides him. He dodged a stab of a spear and looked to his left. His mother was impaled. A spearhead sticking through her. Deo's going into instinctive rage grabbed the stick of the spear coming toward him. He pulled and punched it with his dominant arm. A strong left fist flying down snapping the spear in half as he spun stabbing the Spartan between his shoulder piece and helmet, gargling confirmed the kill, he went to lunge at the man who murdered his mother when he felt a cold shiver on his back, as he looked down to see the bloody tip of a spear through his chest, he felt nothing, life slowed down and he could see sweat and blood mix together on the ground, when suddenly everything came back to him, and the spear was ripped out. He fell to the ground and the noise muffled and his vision dimmed until he woke again in Apocolypz.
Cause of Original Death:
Spear through chest.
Acquaintances:
TBA
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Rank:
Officer, Level 1
Plasmatic Classification:
Resource, Scald
Plasmatic Modifications:
Deo's has a mechanical arm running from his fingers to his elbow on his left arm. He can make it transform at will to gauntlets covering his metal fist.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Skills, Interests and Fears:
Deo's is surprisingly good at reading. He spent a lot of his time alone reading books and learning from them. So he has a knack for word puzzles and fun word play. He loves animals and going out with friends. Deo's would give up a competition to pet a dog and would rather go out with people then stay home since he was home his entire past life. Deo's loving animals doesn't mean all animals, specifically insects. He get's wheezy and almost girly when it comes to insects. He despises them and would rather be with anything/anyone else.
Other:
N/A
Link to RPing/Writing Sample:
(This is a rp i'm dedicated and constantly posting in->)BNHA: WhiteGate Academy
(And this is a RP I joined recently that shows how I can make long and detailed posts->)The Beta
[/div]
Deo Athas
Nickname:
D
Age:
20
Location of Birth:
Samos Island, Greece, 384 BCE
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Appearance:
Deo stands at a hefty 5 feet and 10 inches. He has a more slim build with muscle built on. He fits the bill for a lightweight boxer and uses that to his advantage. He weighs a nice 134 pounds. Deo's natural hair color is platinum blond but he dies a light purple to separate him from his past life as much as possible. His hair naturally leans backwards on his head leading to it standing up. His skin is a pale white which is normally unnatural but in his "past life" he was more of a hermit and didn't catch the sun as often as others. He was lucky to be one of the approximately 600 people on planet earth to be born with purple eyes. Deo walks with a slight hunch mainly bending in his shoulders rather then his back.
Personality:
When someone explains Deo they explain him as a cheerful guy who smiles at the thought of losing. Deo tries his best at everything he does. His competitive spirit never dies down unless someone's getting hurt. He'll drop what he's doing to prevent the hurt if he's able. He laughs with his friends and participates in gatherings. He always does his best to be the life of the party, he'll crack jokes or tell stories. Everything is a competition even if no one else is participating. He doesn't take no for an answer when he doesn't need to. If people had auras his would be raging flames of self pride. "Giving 100%, 100% of the time is the key to life" -Deo
Though hiding behind those flames would be the truth, a black ball. Deo shows his bright happy side, but he's miserable in his own mind. He plays off being happy as a disguise for his true pessimistic nature. Deo never looks at the glass half full, because to him at that point there is no point in having the glass. Everything he does is seen through a small hole. His competitive nature isn't because he thinks he's the best, or that he thinks he should win. It's simply the need to prove himself wrong and make himself believe that he can be good. He acts happy in the moment but when he reflects he realizes that it was just an act. An act that he's been putting on since before he died.
When it comes to making decisions Deo might be the last person to ask. He hides his thought process with a response that can only be described as vague and inconclusive. When trying to make a decision Deo thinks of all the way's it can go wrong and instinctively tries to do it on his own. But when he realizes what he's doing he convinces himself that he should rely on someone else, and waits. Deo ends up freezing and not doing anything until someone helps him or he realizes that no one is going to. Both results end in Deo eating at himself afterwards, if he does it on his own he feels lonely, and if he accepts help he loses to himself by not being strong enough to do it.
Tagline:
The Raging Spirit
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Backstory:
Deo was born on Samos Island, Greece, May 30th, 384 BCE. It was a beautiful sunny day, he was born at 10:34 am. The sun sat in the sky, slowly rising to its peak so it can fall again tomorrow. His mother held him in her arms. She teared up at the sight of her new born baby boy. When the baby finally stopped crying and opened his eyes, his mother froze with excitement and disbelief. He had extravagant purple eyes. She cradled him on the floor, resting her back on the birthing chair she was just relying on to hold all of her weight. She was surrounded by her mother and sister, the midwife was standing over them with a smile. The Athas family didn't like using slaves, so they asked for none to be present, and that anything that needed to be done or helped with would be taken care of by his aunt. The mother took great care of the baby for a full week. Thinking of a name for him the entire time, along with gathering the decorations and food for her feast. On the seventh day after Deo was born his mother decorated the outside of their house with olive branches. The local pastor purified the baby and the boy lived at home with his mother his entire life.
Deo's father was a soldier. So he wasn't around much, though he was able to come for the feast of his child and the purification. Though do to this Deo went to school instead of learning his fathers profession. He started school at the age of 7 and it only went downhill. The children spread lies about him. He was punished by the teachers for every thing he did. His mother was disappointing and his father beat him when he came home if he heard anything bad. This lead to Deo's staying at his house during his free time, reading books or doing school work from home. One day a boy in his class said that he had broken a vase that held flowers in the classroom. The teacher forced him to leave the school immediately. His mother scolded him and he ran to his room, nothing but tears in his bright purple eyes. His mother brought him in dinner. She was angry but empathetic for the child, he didn't know better. She woke him up and being a grumpy 10 year old he threw a fit. He smacked the food and his mother yelled at him. She forced him out of the house. He couldn't come back until he was ready to apologize and clean up his mess. Though he found his bully whilst walking the streets. Before he could think he ran up to him and started punching him. He tackled him to the ground and threw punch after punch until his possy gripped him and threw him to the ground. They kicked and spit on him. Deo's went home the next day and sorted things out with his mother, saying he fell down a hill and landed on rocks.
The rest of his life was a similar blur. Being blamed and beat up. He was 17 and his birthday was in 1 day. Turning 18 means he would have to leave home for the army. He would finally be gone from this place. For 2 years at the least. His mother made an extra big dinner the night before his birthday. She made it for the two of them to enjoy. Something special that normally wouldn't happen. She hugged him and gave him a kiss on the forehead before finding her way to her room. Deo's went to his and laid down. He would be 18 in the morning and would have to leave the day after that. It took him ages to fall asleep. And he awoke to soldiers breaking into his room and telling him get up or die. He stood up with his arms in the air, he let them lead him to the outskirts of town with about what looked like half of the town. They all stood straight and looked at the crowd with spears out. What could only be the general shouted among the white noise "Everyone! Now!" The soldiers started poking and stabbing forward with their spears. Killing hundreds, Deo's ducked and weaved as he watched all of the people he knew die besides him. He dodged a stab of a spear and looked to his left. His mother was impaled. A spearhead sticking through her. Deo's going into instinctive rage grabbed the stick of the spear coming toward him. He pulled and punched it with his dominant arm. A strong left fist flying down snapping the spear in half as he spun stabbing the Spartan between his shoulder piece and helmet, gargling confirmed the kill, he went to lunge at the man who murdered his mother when he felt a cold shiver on his back, as he looked down to see the bloody tip of a spear through his chest, he felt nothing, life slowed down and he could see sweat and blood mix together on the ground, when suddenly everything came back to him, and the spear was ripped out. He fell to the ground and the noise muffled and his vision dimmed until he woke again in Apocolypz.
Cause of Original Death:
Spear through chest.
Acquaintances:
TBA
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Rank:
Officer, Level 1
Plasmatic Classification:
Resource, Scald
Plasmatic Modifications:
Deo's has a mechanical arm running from his fingers to his elbow on his left arm. He can make it transform at will to gauntlets covering his metal fist.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Skills, Interests and Fears:
Deo's is surprisingly good at reading. He spent a lot of his time alone reading books and learning from them. So he has a knack for word puzzles and fun word play. He loves animals and going out with friends. Deo's would give up a competition to pet a dog and would rather go out with people then stay home since he was home his entire past life. Deo's loving animals doesn't mean all animals, specifically insects. He get's wheezy and almost girly when it comes to insects. He despises them and would rather be with anything/anyone else.
Other:
N/A
Link to RPing/Writing Sample:
(This is a rp i'm dedicated and constantly posting in->)BNHA: WhiteGate Academy
(And this is a RP I joined recently that shows how I can make long and detailed posts->)The Beta
code by Ri.a
[/div][/div]
Last edited:
Nadja Kramer
New Member
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[div class=textbox]Name: Mstislav Metalnikov
Age: 32
Location of Birth: Gorky, USSR, 1922
Appearance:
Underneath the helm, Mstislav bears the scars of his past. His pale blue eyes scan the world around, flicking to and fro, always watching. In the rare moments he reveals his visage, one would find a middle-aged man with few laugh lines and worn skin. His skin pale and rough, his jawline strong and sharp. Where hair should be there is only clean scalp. His nose bent from numerous breaks, betraying his violent tendencies to all.
Personality:
Mstislav sees the world through tired eyes, his troubled past ravaging his mindset at all times. The word "pessimistic" may be used to describe him, but it falls far too short of accuracy. The cold of his homeland, both in nature and culture, have twisted his ability to feel joy and happiness. The concepts elude him, mostly.
His relationships are terse, as are his words. He speaks little, and when he does it is rarely friendly and laced with thick Russian overtones. He makes his demands, asks his questions, and then moves on. He sees small talk as an annoyance. Despite this, what friends he may make find themselves in the company of a loyal companion, one who expresses his loyalty with decisiveness. He is quick to anger when those few he cares for are threatened or endangered.
He performs his role as a Watcher begrudgingly, primarily due to the opportunity to vent his own frustrations into his work. He operates more as a soldier than a protector of society. More than once this has cause some difficulties with the local populace.
Tagline: The Pessimistic Soviet
Backstory:
Mstislav was born into a communist poverty, and his parents' names are lost to the ages, a seemingly intentional decision. His father was an alcoholic, inebriated at almost all hours, which made him dangerous. Many nights, Mtislav was kept awake by the cries from his mother. Rarely did his father turn his attention to the boy himself, however, a fact that Mstislav possesses mixed feelings toward. He hated his father for his actions towards his mother but was also grateful that the same "punishments" were not extended to him. When his father was not under the influence of his водка, he was lethargic and barely acknowledged the existence of the wife he terrorized and the son he ignored.
His relationship with his mother was strained at best. She was just a shell, a hollow being. Her spirit had been beaten into submission long ago, and she was no more capable of motherhood as a mouse was capable of murder.
As for Mstislav, violence was his bread and butter. As a young adolescent, he found a new family with organized crime. His "natural" tendency for violence allowed him to rise into the role as an enforcer, and he was good at it. Very good. If a family needed coercing, or a competing crime syndicate need to be shown their place, Mtislav was the one to call. He was well known for results, and his name rightly avoided.
But it seems he had finally crossed the wrong person, broken the wrong people. For in the winter of 1955, as he left his home one early morning, he felt the barrel of pistol pressed against the back of his skull. What he didn't feel was the bullet passing through.
Cause of Original Death: Gunshot to the back of the head
Acquaintances: Open!
Rank: Officer, Level One.
Plasmatic Classification: Frost-Resource
Plasmatic Modifications:
Upon his initial reawakening, Mstislav's arm was severed and replaced with a new mechanical appendage. He later replaced his left arm on his own. The right is where his primary Plasmatic resides. His entire arm is capable of plummeting to temperatures beyond what most materials can withstand. At a touch, he can cause most objects, organic or otherwise, to quickly freeze over. His control is very fine, allowing him to simply chill someone to the bones, or cause potentially fatal frostbite. The arm itself is more than capable of withstanding the negative effects the cold might bring.
His left arm bears more mundane modifications, with brass knuckles emerging from his hand at a moments notice, and his fingers capable of extending 6" blades. With the brass knuckles, he's more than capable of pummeling most opponents into submission, while his "claws" can stab or cut through a variety of materials without dulling.
While not a body modification, Mstislav makes extensive use of an armored helm, preferring to keep his appearance hidden to the local populace. The helm provides protection from the elements and allows for various modes of vision, his most popular choice to be night vision. It also is capable of modifying his voice, either obscuring its features or projecting it through a loud speaker. A built-in translator is available when needed.
Skills:
Mstislav is an extremely capable fighter, and while he may have no formal training, he is well experienced in the methods of street-brawling. His strikes carry the intent to kill and he never pulls his punches. His coercion skills are also well maintained, and through the pure malice in his voice is he capable of retrieving information from the average citizen.
He possesses a reliable skill in firearms, despite their near non-existence.
While he has no need for food, his cooking skills were nearly as well known as his violence in the 20th century.
Interests:
Funnily, Mstislav is an avid reader and frequently has books pulled up on the HUD of his helm. He especially enjoys the classics of his former time.
He is, of course, attracted to physical engagements and in his off-time frequents a number of fighting establishments. Sometimes to watch, sometimes to participate.
Fears:
Behind his harsh exterior, Mstislav is deathly afraid of human connection, as, in his experience, it brings only misery highlighted by small glimpses of happiness.
As a child, he was terrified of the dark. In adulthood, his fondness of night vision may hint that the fear hasn't quite been abolished.
Writing Sample:
Life's made of e'er so many parts welded toge'er.
Fat chance that is. Life is just bullshit stacked on more, further decayed bullshit. One such example of this neatish scat was the hand sitting before Junis Faar. It wasn't an organic hand, mind you. Although you'd be hardpressed to think otherwise once the piece was complete. For now the artificial skin, a thin membrane really, was currently stretched back, folded over itself, its edges terminating at the top of the upward-facing palm.
The palm was mostly hollow, save the micro welder pressed against the left-hand (ha, puns) side of the prosthetic. A heap of wires and mechanical linkage sat patiently upon the stainless-steel countertop, awaiting the reunion with their harness. What a time to be alive.
Normally such work wouldn't be such a bore, in fact Junis lived for the stuff. The heat from welding, the snap and pop as parts fit snugly into their intended positions, the smell of sulfur, fuel, hydraulic fluid, and oil. She couldn't get enough of it. The difference here was that this particular appendage had been in her shop 4 times in the past week alone. Her owner apparently didn't understand the concept of equipment maintenance.
First it was a missing finger, second was torn skin, third was a busted tactile sensor, fourth was a bloody blade through the godforsaken palm. A week hadn't even bloody well passed! Alas, the man paid well, too well. All the repairs had been rather hush-hush or I'll slit your throat kind a' deal.
Granted, that mindset quickly went out the window, along with the man who had aired such threats. He agreed to pay for the window.
Junis shut down the welder to examine her work. The weld was clean, and from a liberal shake of the hand, secure. Satisfied, she determined that a break was in order. While under normal circumstances, she worked quickly and without stopping, as most customers held certain time constraints, she'd made it explicit that she would contact the owner when the job was done, not the other way around.
She stood from her stool, the actuators in her legs whirring at a whisper, the joints faintly rubbing against one another. Pushing the stool to the right with her foot, she turned away from the counter.
I should probably "declutter" this place one day.
That was the word one of her more "well-off" customers had used to describe her repair center once. Despite the seething glare Junis had shot out, she couldn't argue with the claim. Walking space was a premium here, as only a single "aisle" was available for traveling. The rest of the 20'x20' garage was filled to the brim with spare parts, machinery, tool boxes, protective equipment, a fire extinguisher, and a benchstock. The benchstock consisted of over 900 metal drawers line up against the east wall to her left. Every drawer was cleanly labeled as to their contents, namely small items such as tape, caps, bolts, nuts, screws, heat-shrink wrap, filters, and numerous other cheap parts. Junis kept it filled at all times, insuring her ability to service customers regularly. As her Da had always said:
Prior Proper Planning Prevents Piss Poor Performance.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]Name: Mstislav Metalnikov
Age: 32
Location of Birth: Gorky, USSR, 1922
Appearance:
Underneath the helm, Mstislav bears the scars of his past. His pale blue eyes scan the world around, flicking to and fro, always watching. In the rare moments he reveals his visage, one would find a middle-aged man with few laugh lines and worn skin. His skin pale and rough, his jawline strong and sharp. Where hair should be there is only clean scalp. His nose bent from numerous breaks, betraying his violent tendencies to all.
Personality:
Mstislav sees the world through tired eyes, his troubled past ravaging his mindset at all times. The word "pessimistic" may be used to describe him, but it falls far too short of accuracy. The cold of his homeland, both in nature and culture, have twisted his ability to feel joy and happiness. The concepts elude him, mostly.
His relationships are terse, as are his words. He speaks little, and when he does it is rarely friendly and laced with thick Russian overtones. He makes his demands, asks his questions, and then moves on. He sees small talk as an annoyance. Despite this, what friends he may make find themselves in the company of a loyal companion, one who expresses his loyalty with decisiveness. He is quick to anger when those few he cares for are threatened or endangered.
He performs his role as a Watcher begrudgingly, primarily due to the opportunity to vent his own frustrations into his work. He operates more as a soldier than a protector of society. More than once this has cause some difficulties with the local populace.
Tagline: The Pessimistic Soviet
Backstory:
Mstislav was born into a communist poverty, and his parents' names are lost to the ages, a seemingly intentional decision. His father was an alcoholic, inebriated at almost all hours, which made him dangerous. Many nights, Mtislav was kept awake by the cries from his mother. Rarely did his father turn his attention to the boy himself, however, a fact that Mstislav possesses mixed feelings toward. He hated his father for his actions towards his mother but was also grateful that the same "punishments" were not extended to him. When his father was not under the influence of his водка, he was lethargic and barely acknowledged the existence of the wife he terrorized and the son he ignored.
His relationship with his mother was strained at best. She was just a shell, a hollow being. Her spirit had been beaten into submission long ago, and she was no more capable of motherhood as a mouse was capable of murder.
As for Mstislav, violence was his bread and butter. As a young adolescent, he found a new family with organized crime. His "natural" tendency for violence allowed him to rise into the role as an enforcer, and he was good at it. Very good. If a family needed coercing, or a competing crime syndicate need to be shown their place, Mtislav was the one to call. He was well known for results, and his name rightly avoided.
But it seems he had finally crossed the wrong person, broken the wrong people. For in the winter of 1955, as he left his home one early morning, he felt the barrel of pistol pressed against the back of his skull. What he didn't feel was the bullet passing through.
Cause of Original Death: Gunshot to the back of the head
Acquaintances: Open!
Rank: Officer, Level One.
Plasmatic Classification: Frost-Resource
Plasmatic Modifications:
Upon his initial reawakening, Mstislav's arm was severed and replaced with a new mechanical appendage. He later replaced his left arm on his own. The right is where his primary Plasmatic resides. His entire arm is capable of plummeting to temperatures beyond what most materials can withstand. At a touch, he can cause most objects, organic or otherwise, to quickly freeze over. His control is very fine, allowing him to simply chill someone to the bones, or cause potentially fatal frostbite. The arm itself is more than capable of withstanding the negative effects the cold might bring.
His left arm bears more mundane modifications, with brass knuckles emerging from his hand at a moments notice, and his fingers capable of extending 6" blades. With the brass knuckles, he's more than capable of pummeling most opponents into submission, while his "claws" can stab or cut through a variety of materials without dulling.
While not a body modification, Mstislav makes extensive use of an armored helm, preferring to keep his appearance hidden to the local populace. The helm provides protection from the elements and allows for various modes of vision, his most popular choice to be night vision. It also is capable of modifying his voice, either obscuring its features or projecting it through a loud speaker. A built-in translator is available when needed.
Skills:
Mstislav is an extremely capable fighter, and while he may have no formal training, he is well experienced in the methods of street-brawling. His strikes carry the intent to kill and he never pulls his punches. His coercion skills are also well maintained, and through the pure malice in his voice is he capable of retrieving information from the average citizen.
He possesses a reliable skill in firearms, despite their near non-existence.
While he has no need for food, his cooking skills were nearly as well known as his violence in the 20th century.
Interests:
Funnily, Mstislav is an avid reader and frequently has books pulled up on the HUD of his helm. He especially enjoys the classics of his former time.
He is, of course, attracted to physical engagements and in his off-time frequents a number of fighting establishments. Sometimes to watch, sometimes to participate.
Fears:
Behind his harsh exterior, Mstislav is deathly afraid of human connection, as, in his experience, it brings only misery highlighted by small glimpses of happiness.
As a child, he was terrified of the dark. In adulthood, his fondness of night vision may hint that the fear hasn't quite been abolished.
Writing Sample:
Life's made of e'er so many parts welded toge'er.
Fat chance that is. Life is just bullshit stacked on more, further decayed bullshit. One such example of this neatish scat was the hand sitting before Junis Faar. It wasn't an organic hand, mind you. Although you'd be hardpressed to think otherwise once the piece was complete. For now the artificial skin, a thin membrane really, was currently stretched back, folded over itself, its edges terminating at the top of the upward-facing palm.
The palm was mostly hollow, save the micro welder pressed against the left-hand (ha, puns) side of the prosthetic. A heap of wires and mechanical linkage sat patiently upon the stainless-steel countertop, awaiting the reunion with their harness. What a time to be alive.
Normally such work wouldn't be such a bore, in fact Junis lived for the stuff. The heat from welding, the snap and pop as parts fit snugly into their intended positions, the smell of sulfur, fuel, hydraulic fluid, and oil. She couldn't get enough of it. The difference here was that this particular appendage had been in her shop 4 times in the past week alone. Her owner apparently didn't understand the concept of equipment maintenance.
First it was a missing finger, second was torn skin, third was a busted tactile sensor, fourth was a bloody blade through the godforsaken palm. A week hadn't even bloody well passed! Alas, the man paid well, too well. All the repairs had been rather hush-hush or I'll slit your throat kind a' deal.
Granted, that mindset quickly went out the window, along with the man who had aired such threats. He agreed to pay for the window.
Junis shut down the welder to examine her work. The weld was clean, and from a liberal shake of the hand, secure. Satisfied, she determined that a break was in order. While under normal circumstances, she worked quickly and without stopping, as most customers held certain time constraints, she'd made it explicit that she would contact the owner when the job was done, not the other way around.
She stood from her stool, the actuators in her legs whirring at a whisper, the joints faintly rubbing against one another. Pushing the stool to the right with her foot, she turned away from the counter.
I should probably "declutter" this place one day.
That was the word one of her more "well-off" customers had used to describe her repair center once. Despite the seething glare Junis had shot out, she couldn't argue with the claim. Walking space was a premium here, as only a single "aisle" was available for traveling. The rest of the 20'x20' garage was filled to the brim with spare parts, machinery, tool boxes, protective equipment, a fire extinguisher, and a benchstock. The benchstock consisted of over 900 metal drawers line up against the east wall to her left. Every drawer was cleanly labeled as to their contents, namely small items such as tape, caps, bolts, nuts, screws, heat-shrink wrap, filters, and numerous other cheap parts. Junis kept it filled at all times, insuring her ability to service customers regularly. As her Da had always said:
Prior Proper Planning Prevents Piss Poor Performance.
[/div]
code by Ri.a
[/div][/div]
Kharmin
Moon Pie Maven
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[div class=textbox]Name: Marie-Louis
Age: 21
Location of Birth: Paris, France (~1630)
Appearance: Marie-Louis stands 5'9" with the athletic build of a well-trained soldier or warrior. Straight, wispy shoulder-length brown hair compliments her otherwise unremarkable chestnut-brown eyes which hold the pain of watching hundreds of deaths at such a young age. Her skin is lightly tanned as if she has spent enough time in the sun.
Inasmuch as possible, Marie-Louis has her Forcefield replicated to the armor style of her time. While the look is somewhat esoteric when compared to simpler body suits, her unique design offers her comfort for a role that she has yet to fully embrace.
Marie-Louis loves long dresses and gowns despite their inefficiency in combat. When not on assignment, she will be in the most fancy, luxurious gown that she can afford. Regardless of whatever attire she's wearing, she will always have a silk or leather choker of fashionable design that matches.
Personality: Marie-Louis is a very compassionate woman and extremely loyal for a cause in which she has fervent belief. This trait can have the negative effect of blinding her to a larger view of the times or situation. Marie-Louis deals only in truths and not speculation. She does not lie.
Although not outwardly a fighter by choice, Marie-Louis has donned armor before and is quite capable when the need arises; however, her first instinct is to protect others first.
Having been part of a resistance movement which practically formulated her life, Marie-Louis can be a bit pretentious, thinking that she is perhaps more important than she really is. It is a coping mechanism of which she is aware, but flatly refuses to do anything about.
She has a kind-hearted spirit and laughs lightly and easily with an internal joy of life. She can be rather blunt to the point where her words might offend.
Tagline: Ghost of Salvation
Backstory: Born and raised in the slums of Paris, Marie-Louis always knew extreme poverty and hunger. These experiences would help mold her into the woman that she would later become during the uprisings of the Fronde in 1648. The unsanitary and squalid living conditions infested her family with disease and vermin to which her parents would both succumb when she was only fourteen. Left alone with her younger sister, Élise, and no prospects Marie-Louis learned the hard life lessons of surviving in the streets. Three years later, at seventeen, sickness would take her sibling and leave Marie-Louis all alone to face her future.
She did not have to wait long. Inspired by the uprisings, Marie-Louis poured everything she had into supporting the cause against the French monarchy. With nothing else to lose, Marie-Louis became fully involved in whatever aspect of the Fronde that would take her. She donned armor from fallen soldiers and enveloped herself in street demonstrations and various melées.
Eventually, she took the responsibility of secreting her fellow conspirators (and their families) away from the investigators of Cardinal Mazarin often times at the last minute. Her ability to glide in, rescue people and disappear just before the cardinal's men arrived earned her moniker among her accomplices.
When the young Louis XIV was officially recognized as king in 1651, support for the revolution wavered. Marie-Louis maintained her role and continued to fight against the crown. She was captured and hung as a traitor in 1652 as the last elements of the froundeur resistance crumbled.
Cause of Original Death: Asphixiation (no, not choking on a goldfish!)
Acquaintances: N/A
Rank: Level One / Officer
Plasmatic Classification: Frost-Shield
Plasmatic Modifications: Marie-Louis' surgery removed her entire left arm from the shoulder and replaced it with a mechanical one. This prosthetic spiders over her collarbone and around her neck. From this, she is able to produce a plasma-frost shield cloak, complete with hood, that extends to the ground. She can enhance the cloak to spread wider to cover herself and one other person adjacent to her.
Additionally, Marie-Louis fire a burst of frost from her mechanized hand causing persons affected by it to be slowed or immobilized for a short period of time (for several seconds up to a half of a minute, depending on circumstance and number of targets).
Skills, Interests and Fears:
Skills: Marie-Louis is proficient with swords. All kinds of swords. If it has a handle and an edge, then she can wield it. She has also been known to use disguises and/or stealth to get into places she probably shouldn't be.
Interests: Marie-Louis' interests mainly lay in protecting the persecuted and oppressed. Her life hasn't been much else. She has a fondness for elaborate dresses and gowns of her own period.
Fears: Marie-Louis really has only one fear: dying. Her execution didn't go exactly as planned: the noose didn't break her neck, so she was strangled during which time she could see and hear everything around her until she blacked out. Now knowing the only way to not truly die is to re-live that experience terrifies her. Oh, and she's not so fond of rodents either.
Other:
Link to RPing/Writing Sample: Sample
[/div]
[div class=textbox]Name: Marie-Louis
Age: 21
Location of Birth: Paris, France (~1630)
Appearance: Marie-Louis stands 5'9" with the athletic build of a well-trained soldier or warrior. Straight, wispy shoulder-length brown hair compliments her otherwise unremarkable chestnut-brown eyes which hold the pain of watching hundreds of deaths at such a young age. Her skin is lightly tanned as if she has spent enough time in the sun.
Inasmuch as possible, Marie-Louis has her Forcefield replicated to the armor style of her time. While the look is somewhat esoteric when compared to simpler body suits, her unique design offers her comfort for a role that she has yet to fully embrace.
Marie-Louis loves long dresses and gowns despite their inefficiency in combat. When not on assignment, she will be in the most fancy, luxurious gown that she can afford. Regardless of whatever attire she's wearing, she will always have a silk or leather choker of fashionable design that matches.
Personality: Marie-Louis is a very compassionate woman and extremely loyal for a cause in which she has fervent belief. This trait can have the negative effect of blinding her to a larger view of the times or situation. Marie-Louis deals only in truths and not speculation. She does not lie.
Although not outwardly a fighter by choice, Marie-Louis has donned armor before and is quite capable when the need arises; however, her first instinct is to protect others first.
Having been part of a resistance movement which practically formulated her life, Marie-Louis can be a bit pretentious, thinking that she is perhaps more important than she really is. It is a coping mechanism of which she is aware, but flatly refuses to do anything about.
She has a kind-hearted spirit and laughs lightly and easily with an internal joy of life. She can be rather blunt to the point where her words might offend.
Tagline: Ghost of Salvation
Backstory: Born and raised in the slums of Paris, Marie-Louis always knew extreme poverty and hunger. These experiences would help mold her into the woman that she would later become during the uprisings of the Fronde in 1648. The unsanitary and squalid living conditions infested her family with disease and vermin to which her parents would both succumb when she was only fourteen. Left alone with her younger sister, Élise, and no prospects Marie-Louis learned the hard life lessons of surviving in the streets. Three years later, at seventeen, sickness would take her sibling and leave Marie-Louis all alone to face her future.
She did not have to wait long. Inspired by the uprisings, Marie-Louis poured everything she had into supporting the cause against the French monarchy. With nothing else to lose, Marie-Louis became fully involved in whatever aspect of the Fronde that would take her. She donned armor from fallen soldiers and enveloped herself in street demonstrations and various melées.
Eventually, she took the responsibility of secreting her fellow conspirators (and their families) away from the investigators of Cardinal Mazarin often times at the last minute. Her ability to glide in, rescue people and disappear just before the cardinal's men arrived earned her moniker among her accomplices.
When the young Louis XIV was officially recognized as king in 1651, support for the revolution wavered. Marie-Louis maintained her role and continued to fight against the crown. She was captured and hung as a traitor in 1652 as the last elements of the froundeur resistance crumbled.
Cause of Original Death: Asphixiation (no, not choking on a goldfish!)
Acquaintances: N/A
Rank: Level One / Officer
Plasmatic Classification: Frost-Shield
Plasmatic Modifications: Marie-Louis' surgery removed her entire left arm from the shoulder and replaced it with a mechanical one. This prosthetic spiders over her collarbone and around her neck. From this, she is able to produce a plasma-frost shield cloak, complete with hood, that extends to the ground. She can enhance the cloak to spread wider to cover herself and one other person adjacent to her.
Additionally, Marie-Louis fire a burst of frost from her mechanized hand causing persons affected by it to be slowed or immobilized for a short period of time (for several seconds up to a half of a minute, depending on circumstance and number of targets).
Skills, Interests and Fears:
Skills: Marie-Louis is proficient with swords. All kinds of swords. If it has a handle and an edge, then she can wield it. She has also been known to use disguises and/or stealth to get into places she probably shouldn't be.
Interests: Marie-Louis' interests mainly lay in protecting the persecuted and oppressed. Her life hasn't been much else. She has a fondness for elaborate dresses and gowns of her own period.
Fears: Marie-Louis really has only one fear: dying. Her execution didn't go exactly as planned: the noose didn't break her neck, so she was strangled during which time she could see and hear everything around her until she blacked out. Now knowing the only way to not truly die is to re-live that experience terrifies her. Oh, and she's not so fond of rodents either.
Other:
Link to RPing/Writing Sample: Sample
[/div]
code by Ri.a
[/div][/div]
Last edited:
Epiphany
Proverbs 17:9
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[div class=textbox]NAME:
Vi Enceladus ("Call me Celly")
AGE:
32
LOCATION OF BIRTH:
London Arcology, circa the 55th century
APPEARANCE:
Celly is a perfectly engineered specimen conforming to IDC Phenotype KL13781132-22H-F-HWROY. As such, she's precisely 5'5" with a metabolism that naturally stabilizes her weight at 118 lbs. Her hair is the color of sunlight dribbled with honey with an intrinsic .32 on the Nells-Panir Waviness Scale. A combination of breeding and training lends her a natural elegant carriage in how she moves, gestures, or simply stands. Her voice is a full lyric soprano with four octave range and though her native accent is a somewhat exotic variant on 'Classic Received Pronunciation, she's able to switch seamlessly depending on her needs. Her resting expression projects warmth, interest and a certain degree of class that makes inspires people to respond to her. The HWROY template appears naturally made up, with a flawless complexion, eyeliner-like pigmentation, glossy lips and perfectly sculpted eyelashes and eyebrows.
As for her wardrobe, it used to be a gleaming white one-piece, the customary garb of the Arcology's Blood Royal. In this fallen time, she's resigned herself to whatever passes for a uniform for a Watcher. Celly will happily make use of variable fabric, if available, especially if it allows her to better create disguises as needed.
PERSONALITY:
Celly's life as a Watcher is one of exile from Heaven. She was harmoniously happy in the 55th century, bred to do exactly what she was expected to do. At her best, she was naturally charming, kind and considerate, forceful when necessary and able to switch modes of address across the whole spectrum of social classes to make the other party comfortable. As a 22H-F-HWROY template, Celly is naturally a social chameleon, and finds her likes and dislikes shifting to accommodate the role she's in. It takes an extraordinary balance to lose oneself in a role while maintaining a core integrity of character and she walked that balance like a gynmast.
Apocalypz was a hell of a shove. The world she was bred to rule is gone. None of the people behave the way her instincts and training tell her they should. Society is falling apart and the human race could literally end in her lifetime. And there's no Overwatch AI to monitor others or herself to minimize risk of conflict. To make matters worse, the Watchers expect her to be security; a role she's played but not a role she was engineered to actually be. She took to training with admirable enthusiasm but that was more of a reflection of her attitude towards learning than any actual passion or ability with the subject matter.
Even now, Celly is a study in contrasts. Her surface remains charming, polite and warm; not being those things takes an act of will and it's an effort to not put people at ease when a situation calls for it. Most psychiatrists and virtually all people never see past the veneer of the Blood Royal, a social trait that's almost bone-deep at this point. Beneath the happy facade she puts on for Watchers or whatever face she needs to put on for a role during an assignment, Celly is intensely depressed. Her world is gone and there's no getting it back. If she were capable of it, Celly might well go to bed and never get up again.
And yet she perseveres. She doesn't know how not to. Under the charming surface and her tormented interior lies a glimmer of hope that she might find some real purpose in Apocalypz after all. If not with its people, then perhaps with someone special, perhaps with her new peer group the Watchers. When all else fails, hope is all that's left. Religion has virtually vanished by the 55th century, so she lacks the self-awareness to realize that having a literal life-after-death followed by an intuitive sense of where everyone else goes has left her with something like belief after all.
TAGLINE:
'The Perfect Spy'
BACKSTORY:
Celly was bred to be a member of London Arcology's Ruling Class, one of 10,000 members of the Blood Royal who oversaw every administrative and governance function in a mega-city that held a billion people. She was raised from infancy to lead. In her case, the Vi Family opted to conceive her according to the 22H template, which inclined her to espionage, social engineering, disguise and the kind of composure that could withstand scrutiny, interrogation or even torture. By her early twenties, Celly had a nominal position of oversight in a dozen committees like any juvenile Blood Royal yet most of her time was spent being other people, ranging from servant to corporate to even visiting foreign Blood Royal, whatever was needed to achieve the Vi Family's objectives.
By the 55th Century, violence had been eradicated thanks to everyone being chipped with their psyche monitored by the Arcology's Oversight, a vast AI built for the express purpose of social maintenance. Even for the Blood Royal, actual living quarters were arbitrary spaces used for sleeping. Lives were otherwise spent working or engaging socially. With every citizen engineered for a role, family outside of the Family was irrelevant and Vi never knew the people whose genetic material was used as a baseline for building her. Life was a utopia, at least for the Blood Royal, and Oversight ensured their rule would never be challenged.
Until they were brought down by Rome Arcology, a long time rival who successfully hacked Oversight and enabled the working classes to rise up and overthrow. In the security action that followed, Celly was struck and killed by a Nightstick, a compressed force generator that broke her ribs and crushed her heart.
At which point, Celly woke up on the shores of the Upper Level.
The radical change in her circumstances took enormous adjustment on her part. To this point, Celly has coped largely by adopting the role of a Watcher as if it were just another mission for the Vi Family. As one of the Blood Royal, she received superlative martial art training for performance purposes but lacked any real training in combat or security. Thousands of years of genetic engineering meant information acquisition was quick and her physical baseline was already superior relative to past human phenotypes so she adapted quickly. Still, it took most of the last year of service to overcome those obstacles. The several time jumps she's taken proved to be her favorite part of the work, as pretending to be someone else to avoid suspicion was exactly what she was made to do.
CAUSE OF ORIGINAL DEATH:
Crushed heart.
ACQUAINTANCES:
RANK: Level One/Officers.
PLASMATIC CLASSIFICATION: Spark-Fluid
PLASMATIC MODIFICATIONS: Both of Celly's feet were replaced with the HighRunner series of Plasmatic upgrades. As an offensive weapon, she's able to 'kick' rivulets of lightning at a target, though it typically makes for slower rate of fire relative to other Plasmatic modifications. Her chief method of Plasmatic attack is to electrify both of her feet and deliver damaging attacks in direct hand to hand. Additionally, her feet (and ankles) are engineered to allow her to run or skate over most surface types and enhance her ability to absorb the impact of a fall or other powerful blow.
SKILLS:
Highly educated in politics, economics and history (mostly between the 45th and 55th century).
A natural genius as listening to, persuading and manipulating people.
Expert at disguising herself and switching mannerisms, accents, and backstory on the fly.
Excellent at hand-to-hand, somewhat better than average with guns, somewhat worse than average at tactical thinking.
Thanks to her genetic heritage, she's largely immune to disease, requires 2 hours of sleep a night and clots most wounds within seconds.
INTERESTS:
Enjoys history and art (goldfish aren't art).
Naturally disposed to enjoy listening to and learning from people, as well as giving direction.
Respects people with at least a modicum of courtesy and takes pleasure in conversing with the socially skilled.
Collects teacups.
FEARS:
The HWROY Phenotype is tremendously resistant to fear, largely owing to a very well regulated amygdala.
That said, Celly won't allow herself to admit that she's lonely and fears being alone.
While not precisely a fear, the looming extinction of the human species has left her profoundly depressed, robbing her of some of the natural initiative and dynamic problem solving she's designed to exhibit.
OTHER:
LINK TO RPING/WRITING SAMPLE:
Will some Western: Magistone do?
[/div]
[div class=textbox]NAME:
Vi Enceladus ("Call me Celly")
AGE:
32
LOCATION OF BIRTH:
London Arcology, circa the 55th century
APPEARANCE:
Celly is a perfectly engineered specimen conforming to IDC Phenotype KL13781132-22H-F-HWROY. As such, she's precisely 5'5" with a metabolism that naturally stabilizes her weight at 118 lbs. Her hair is the color of sunlight dribbled with honey with an intrinsic .32 on the Nells-Panir Waviness Scale. A combination of breeding and training lends her a natural elegant carriage in how she moves, gestures, or simply stands. Her voice is a full lyric soprano with four octave range and though her native accent is a somewhat exotic variant on 'Classic Received Pronunciation, she's able to switch seamlessly depending on her needs. Her resting expression projects warmth, interest and a certain degree of class that makes inspires people to respond to her. The HWROY template appears naturally made up, with a flawless complexion, eyeliner-like pigmentation, glossy lips and perfectly sculpted eyelashes and eyebrows.
As for her wardrobe, it used to be a gleaming white one-piece, the customary garb of the Arcology's Blood Royal. In this fallen time, she's resigned herself to whatever passes for a uniform for a Watcher. Celly will happily make use of variable fabric, if available, especially if it allows her to better create disguises as needed.
PERSONALITY:
Celly's life as a Watcher is one of exile from Heaven. She was harmoniously happy in the 55th century, bred to do exactly what she was expected to do. At her best, she was naturally charming, kind and considerate, forceful when necessary and able to switch modes of address across the whole spectrum of social classes to make the other party comfortable. As a 22H-F-HWROY template, Celly is naturally a social chameleon, and finds her likes and dislikes shifting to accommodate the role she's in. It takes an extraordinary balance to lose oneself in a role while maintaining a core integrity of character and she walked that balance like a gynmast.
Apocalypz was a hell of a shove. The world she was bred to rule is gone. None of the people behave the way her instincts and training tell her they should. Society is falling apart and the human race could literally end in her lifetime. And there's no Overwatch AI to monitor others or herself to minimize risk of conflict. To make matters worse, the Watchers expect her to be security; a role she's played but not a role she was engineered to actually be. She took to training with admirable enthusiasm but that was more of a reflection of her attitude towards learning than any actual passion or ability with the subject matter.
Even now, Celly is a study in contrasts. Her surface remains charming, polite and warm; not being those things takes an act of will and it's an effort to not put people at ease when a situation calls for it. Most psychiatrists and virtually all people never see past the veneer of the Blood Royal, a social trait that's almost bone-deep at this point. Beneath the happy facade she puts on for Watchers or whatever face she needs to put on for a role during an assignment, Celly is intensely depressed. Her world is gone and there's no getting it back. If she were capable of it, Celly might well go to bed and never get up again.
And yet she perseveres. She doesn't know how not to. Under the charming surface and her tormented interior lies a glimmer of hope that she might find some real purpose in Apocalypz after all. If not with its people, then perhaps with someone special, perhaps with her new peer group the Watchers. When all else fails, hope is all that's left. Religion has virtually vanished by the 55th century, so she lacks the self-awareness to realize that having a literal life-after-death followed by an intuitive sense of where everyone else goes has left her with something like belief after all.
TAGLINE:
'The Perfect Spy'
BACKSTORY:
Celly was bred to be a member of London Arcology's Ruling Class, one of 10,000 members of the Blood Royal who oversaw every administrative and governance function in a mega-city that held a billion people. She was raised from infancy to lead. In her case, the Vi Family opted to conceive her according to the 22H template, which inclined her to espionage, social engineering, disguise and the kind of composure that could withstand scrutiny, interrogation or even torture. By her early twenties, Celly had a nominal position of oversight in a dozen committees like any juvenile Blood Royal yet most of her time was spent being other people, ranging from servant to corporate to even visiting foreign Blood Royal, whatever was needed to achieve the Vi Family's objectives.
By the 55th Century, violence had been eradicated thanks to everyone being chipped with their psyche monitored by the Arcology's Oversight, a vast AI built for the express purpose of social maintenance. Even for the Blood Royal, actual living quarters were arbitrary spaces used for sleeping. Lives were otherwise spent working or engaging socially. With every citizen engineered for a role, family outside of the Family was irrelevant and Vi never knew the people whose genetic material was used as a baseline for building her. Life was a utopia, at least for the Blood Royal, and Oversight ensured their rule would never be challenged.
Until they were brought down by Rome Arcology, a long time rival who successfully hacked Oversight and enabled the working classes to rise up and overthrow. In the security action that followed, Celly was struck and killed by a Nightstick, a compressed force generator that broke her ribs and crushed her heart.
At which point, Celly woke up on the shores of the Upper Level.
The radical change in her circumstances took enormous adjustment on her part. To this point, Celly has coped largely by adopting the role of a Watcher as if it were just another mission for the Vi Family. As one of the Blood Royal, she received superlative martial art training for performance purposes but lacked any real training in combat or security. Thousands of years of genetic engineering meant information acquisition was quick and her physical baseline was already superior relative to past human phenotypes so she adapted quickly. Still, it took most of the last year of service to overcome those obstacles. The several time jumps she's taken proved to be her favorite part of the work, as pretending to be someone else to avoid suspicion was exactly what she was made to do.
CAUSE OF ORIGINAL DEATH:
Crushed heart.
ACQUAINTANCES:
RANK: Level One/Officers.
PLASMATIC CLASSIFICATION: Spark-Fluid
PLASMATIC MODIFICATIONS: Both of Celly's feet were replaced with the HighRunner series of Plasmatic upgrades. As an offensive weapon, she's able to 'kick' rivulets of lightning at a target, though it typically makes for slower rate of fire relative to other Plasmatic modifications. Her chief method of Plasmatic attack is to electrify both of her feet and deliver damaging attacks in direct hand to hand. Additionally, her feet (and ankles) are engineered to allow her to run or skate over most surface types and enhance her ability to absorb the impact of a fall or other powerful blow.
SKILLS:
Highly educated in politics, economics and history (mostly between the 45th and 55th century).
A natural genius as listening to, persuading and manipulating people.
Expert at disguising herself and switching mannerisms, accents, and backstory on the fly.
Excellent at hand-to-hand, somewhat better than average with guns, somewhat worse than average at tactical thinking.
Thanks to her genetic heritage, she's largely immune to disease, requires 2 hours of sleep a night and clots most wounds within seconds.
INTERESTS:
Enjoys history and art (goldfish aren't art).
Naturally disposed to enjoy listening to and learning from people, as well as giving direction.
Respects people with at least a modicum of courtesy and takes pleasure in conversing with the socially skilled.
Collects teacups.
FEARS:
The HWROY Phenotype is tremendously resistant to fear, largely owing to a very well regulated amygdala.
That said, Celly won't allow herself to admit that she's lonely and fears being alone.
While not precisely a fear, the looming extinction of the human species has left her profoundly depressed, robbing her of some of the natural initiative and dynamic problem solving she's designed to exhibit.
OTHER:
LINK TO RPING/WRITING SAMPLE:
Will some Western: Magistone do?
[/div]
code by Ri.a
[/div][/div]
Last edited:
