The Glass Menagerie
Page 1 of 1
The Glass Menagerie
by Fluff Wed Jul 29, 2009 4:50 pm
Name: Kyzra
Gender: Male
Age: 18
Race: Human
Appearance:
Kyzra is long and lean, 6'0", 170 lbs, built like a hunting cat. He was scrawny as a child, but has grown into a body of whipcord muscles, clearly defined without being bulky, and without an ounce of fat on his entire body. His fingers are slender, adept at the softest touches despite the terrible strength within them. His hair is black, tinged nearly blue-green in the light, and hangs down just beyond his earlobes. His skin is pale, a rather yellowed hue, and scarred with pock-marks from a deadly childhood disease. His ears are cut to points, and the sharp tips just barely poke through his hair.
His facial features are sharp and angular, his nose thin and sharp, his chin slender, his lips thin over surprisingly clean teeth, and his eyes sunken above high cheekbones. His right eye is bright red, the color of freshly-spilled blood. It cuts through the darkness, giving him nearly normal vision even in smothering blackness. His eye is swollen, the entire orb a sickly yellow shade. He wears a veil over it, usually slanting the semi-transparent cloth so that it leaves his right eye free. His depth perception is accordingly flawed, and he rarely stands still in a fight, constantly moving around to keep aware of the distances between him and the rest of the world.
He rarely ever wears any color but black. He wraps most of his body in black cloth almost like a mummy, tightly wound to prevent any slip of his skin from showing through. He wears a wide black silk sash across his waist like a belt. He keeps a silk scarf around his neck, and when he does not wish his face to be seen he pulls it up over his mouth and nose, leaving only his angry crimson eye showing. Over it all, he wears a voluminous black cloak, the hood long enough to hang over his face and obscure all but his mouth, and the body of it wide enough that he can wrap himself in it like a bat in its wings, to ward off the cold or other things.
Personality:
Kyzra is a terrifying killer with the emotional maturity of a little child. He is curious, hot-tempered, often cruel, occasionally merciful by virtue of sheer whim, and above all he holds his personal goals to be worth sacrificing the lives of every man, woman, and child he has ever met. He will butcher whole towns to get what he wants, and only at the oddest of times does he ever feel the slightest tinge of guilt. He can be impatient, and yet he can sit motionless in the same spot for hours on end. He rarely changes his mind about a decision he has made, but his state of mind for making decisions is as fickle as the sea. He is resentful of life in general, and few things ever touch his heart unless he sees in them some warped reflection of himself, or more importantly, his mother.
Abilities:
Kyzra is a lethal fighter, physically and supernaturally. His own speed and stamina are enough to earn him a place in the ranks of the world's most dangerous assassins, but when augmented by his inhuman abilities he is nearly unstoppable. Kyzra's own shadow is an extension of his will, and when he fights it fights with him, mimicking his movements a split-second behind him. This means that each lunge must be parried twice, each kick must be dodged again, and each blow that lands will land with the strength of two men. This effectively grants Kyzra unnatural strength, allowing him to lift grown men with one arm and toss them aside like dolls. Perhaps as a side-effect of this ability, Kyzra also has control over the effect of gravity on his own body, allowing him to fall hundreds of feet without injury, and leap from roof to roof like skipping across puddles. The less impressive but just as useful applications of this ability let Kyzra perform acrobatics unthinkable for most people, and escape twice as easily from any outmatched fight.
History:
Kyzra was raised by his mother in the shadow of the huge merchant caravans that traveled between the big cities. Not twelve months out of the womb, he caught sick, a dreadful disease that was known to claim the lives of grown men without exception. It was never caught by any except men over the age of fifteen, and so Kyzra's case was both mysterious and hopeless. Told time and time again that her son would die, his mother nevertheless nursed him through the illness, and after a full year of the threat of death, it was apparent that he had survived, but irreversibly marked for it, his skin pocked and scarred over his entire body.
His mother's love for him was fathomless. He was her world, and whether he realized it or not, he reflected her adoration with all his heart and soul. She was kind, gentle, and beautiful. She was crushed beneath the wheel of a wagon when he was six, her face slowly turning purple as her spine was ground to powder. She was buried in a crude wooden box, her body barely recognizable. There was no grave-marker, but in the twelve years past, Kyzra has never once forgotten its exact location.
He grew up a street rat, picking pockets and stealing from windows in a gang, but he was never "one of them." He killed another boy in a fight a month after his twelfth birthday, and from then on assumed his own independence. He moved on to robbing houses, and when his muscles matured early, discovered he could fight. He dove headfirst into the world of contract killings, and found that he could take the lives of fat and wealthy merchants without the slightest regret, seeing in them every time the face of the man who drove thoughtlessly over his mother.
It was in Iarad that he became more than just an underage hitman. He kidnapped young Ylaenne Draec, a rich merchant's daughter his own age, and brought her to the dungeon of a family rival. There, deep under the earth, he disturbed something within himself, and his shadow awoke. Ylaenne escaped, and when the city guard arrived Kyzra was knocked into a vast underground chasm, but like a cockroach, he survived. He found his way out, and his strength never stopped growing. Now, several years later, he is nothing if not more hardened and powerful. Despite it all, though, he has never lost sight of his one real dream: to bring back his mother. Only, now he thinks he's found a way to do it...and nothing, no power known to man, will keep him from it.
Equipment:
-Bane: The red-tinted wide-bladed dagger that soaks up blood like a sponge, transferring the life-energy within to Kyzra's body. A stab with this blade will return Kyzra to health from even the most horrific wounds. Kept in a sheath behind Kyzra's back above his right hip.
-Soul: The blue-tinted slender dagger that houses a prison of souls. A wound with this blade will prove no worse than ordinary steel, but a killing blow will trap the victim's soul inside the blade indefinitely. Kept in a sheath behind Kyzra's back above his left hip.
-Agony: The whip blessed with trapped lightning. When unleashed, it will lash out with blinding speed, tearing holes through solid plate armor. Kept wrapped like a belt around Kyzra's waist, beneath a black sash.
-Throwing Stars: Four-pronged metal stars with a hole in the center of each, balanced well enough to be thrown like discs if so needed. Kept stored in the sash around Kyzra's waist.
Gender: Male
Age: 18
Race: Human
Appearance:
Kyzra is long and lean, 6'0", 170 lbs, built like a hunting cat. He was scrawny as a child, but has grown into a body of whipcord muscles, clearly defined without being bulky, and without an ounce of fat on his entire body. His fingers are slender, adept at the softest touches despite the terrible strength within them. His hair is black, tinged nearly blue-green in the light, and hangs down just beyond his earlobes. His skin is pale, a rather yellowed hue, and scarred with pock-marks from a deadly childhood disease. His ears are cut to points, and the sharp tips just barely poke through his hair.
His facial features are sharp and angular, his nose thin and sharp, his chin slender, his lips thin over surprisingly clean teeth, and his eyes sunken above high cheekbones. His right eye is bright red, the color of freshly-spilled blood. It cuts through the darkness, giving him nearly normal vision even in smothering blackness. His eye is swollen, the entire orb a sickly yellow shade. He wears a veil over it, usually slanting the semi-transparent cloth so that it leaves his right eye free. His depth perception is accordingly flawed, and he rarely stands still in a fight, constantly moving around to keep aware of the distances between him and the rest of the world.
He rarely ever wears any color but black. He wraps most of his body in black cloth almost like a mummy, tightly wound to prevent any slip of his skin from showing through. He wears a wide black silk sash across his waist like a belt. He keeps a silk scarf around his neck, and when he does not wish his face to be seen he pulls it up over his mouth and nose, leaving only his angry crimson eye showing. Over it all, he wears a voluminous black cloak, the hood long enough to hang over his face and obscure all but his mouth, and the body of it wide enough that he can wrap himself in it like a bat in its wings, to ward off the cold or other things.
Personality:
Kyzra is a terrifying killer with the emotional maturity of a little child. He is curious, hot-tempered, often cruel, occasionally merciful by virtue of sheer whim, and above all he holds his personal goals to be worth sacrificing the lives of every man, woman, and child he has ever met. He will butcher whole towns to get what he wants, and only at the oddest of times does he ever feel the slightest tinge of guilt. He can be impatient, and yet he can sit motionless in the same spot for hours on end. He rarely changes his mind about a decision he has made, but his state of mind for making decisions is as fickle as the sea. He is resentful of life in general, and few things ever touch his heart unless he sees in them some warped reflection of himself, or more importantly, his mother.
Abilities:
Kyzra is a lethal fighter, physically and supernaturally. His own speed and stamina are enough to earn him a place in the ranks of the world's most dangerous assassins, but when augmented by his inhuman abilities he is nearly unstoppable. Kyzra's own shadow is an extension of his will, and when he fights it fights with him, mimicking his movements a split-second behind him. This means that each lunge must be parried twice, each kick must be dodged again, and each blow that lands will land with the strength of two men. This effectively grants Kyzra unnatural strength, allowing him to lift grown men with one arm and toss them aside like dolls. Perhaps as a side-effect of this ability, Kyzra also has control over the effect of gravity on his own body, allowing him to fall hundreds of feet without injury, and leap from roof to roof like skipping across puddles. The less impressive but just as useful applications of this ability let Kyzra perform acrobatics unthinkable for most people, and escape twice as easily from any outmatched fight.
History:
Kyzra was raised by his mother in the shadow of the huge merchant caravans that traveled between the big cities. Not twelve months out of the womb, he caught sick, a dreadful disease that was known to claim the lives of grown men without exception. It was never caught by any except men over the age of fifteen, and so Kyzra's case was both mysterious and hopeless. Told time and time again that her son would die, his mother nevertheless nursed him through the illness, and after a full year of the threat of death, it was apparent that he had survived, but irreversibly marked for it, his skin pocked and scarred over his entire body.
His mother's love for him was fathomless. He was her world, and whether he realized it or not, he reflected her adoration with all his heart and soul. She was kind, gentle, and beautiful. She was crushed beneath the wheel of a wagon when he was six, her face slowly turning purple as her spine was ground to powder. She was buried in a crude wooden box, her body barely recognizable. There was no grave-marker, but in the twelve years past, Kyzra has never once forgotten its exact location.
He grew up a street rat, picking pockets and stealing from windows in a gang, but he was never "one of them." He killed another boy in a fight a month after his twelfth birthday, and from then on assumed his own independence. He moved on to robbing houses, and when his muscles matured early, discovered he could fight. He dove headfirst into the world of contract killings, and found that he could take the lives of fat and wealthy merchants without the slightest regret, seeing in them every time the face of the man who drove thoughtlessly over his mother.
It was in Iarad that he became more than just an underage hitman. He kidnapped young Ylaenne Draec, a rich merchant's daughter his own age, and brought her to the dungeon of a family rival. There, deep under the earth, he disturbed something within himself, and his shadow awoke. Ylaenne escaped, and when the city guard arrived Kyzra was knocked into a vast underground chasm, but like a cockroach, he survived. He found his way out, and his strength never stopped growing. Now, several years later, he is nothing if not more hardened and powerful. Despite it all, though, he has never lost sight of his one real dream: to bring back his mother. Only, now he thinks he's found a way to do it...and nothing, no power known to man, will keep him from it.
Equipment:
-Bane: The red-tinted wide-bladed dagger that soaks up blood like a sponge, transferring the life-energy within to Kyzra's body. A stab with this blade will return Kyzra to health from even the most horrific wounds. Kept in a sheath behind Kyzra's back above his right hip.
-Soul: The blue-tinted slender dagger that houses a prison of souls. A wound with this blade will prove no worse than ordinary steel, but a killing blow will trap the victim's soul inside the blade indefinitely. Kept in a sheath behind Kyzra's back above his left hip.
-Agony: The whip blessed with trapped lightning. When unleashed, it will lash out with blinding speed, tearing holes through solid plate armor. Kept wrapped like a belt around Kyzra's waist, beneath a black sash.
-Throwing Stars: Four-pronged metal stars with a hole in the center of each, balanced well enough to be thrown like discs if so needed. Kept stored in the sash around Kyzra's waist.
Fluff- Poltergeist
- Join date : 2009-06-06
Posts : 735
Age : 33
Location : North Carolina -
Re: The Glass Menagerie
by Fluff Wed Jul 29, 2009 4:57 pm
Killian
Killian O'Brien
Age: 21
Gender: male
Heritage: Irish-American
Appearance:
Killian's height belies his Irish heritage. He is 6'1" tall, lithe and fit, with light skin that refuses to tan. His dark hair has a slight curl to it, and is unruly to the point of his constant frustration. Naturally, it is a very dark brown color, but he prefers to dye it black, as off-colors annoy him. His eyes are green and piercing, granting him the gift of a very intense stare (whether he wants it or not). His facial structure is very fine and thin, almost effeminate. There is a Celtic Knot tattooed across his center of his chest, and the same Celtic Band around each of his wrists and ankles. There are thin light scars across his back, from his shoulders to his buttocks, not readily visible save for up close. There are jagged scars on his forearms, much more prominent and much larger than on his back.
He dresses economically, usually wearing worn jeans and old sneakers, used but never ragged. He tends towards wife-beater shirts as well, sometimes wearing a loose cotton lumberjack shirt or his only piece of overclothing, an old denim jacket, mildly ripped but still wearable. He never wears leather, preferring cheap cloth belts instead to keep his pants up.
Personality:
Killian is an angry soul. There's a quiet resentment in him, not an active force, but rather a feeling that his life would be much the better if not for other people. He doesn't like committments to anything, because he doesn't like the complications that always seem to arise later on. With women, it's some emotional thing of theirs that he has to deal with. With gangs, it's the violence and the intrigue, the never knowing when someone (whether police or otherwise) is going to show up banging down your door. He has a few casual friends, people he can bring over for a drink to watch the game, but no one he cares for specifically.
History:
Killian's father was an alcoholic. His mother left them when he was small, an only child with nothing but a violent father for family. He grew up angry and resentful, with a problem with authority. As he grew older, he hardened and matured, the rebellious attitude fading away, but never disappearing from the back of his mind. It was always a defensive reaction, not an aggressive one, to the world around him.
Killian's father always beat him. He used a leather belt lined with metal on his back, leaving the thin gashes to scar him permanently. The beatings happened for little reason, or no reason at all, often the result of one of his father's drunken rages. His father failed to see that Killian was getting older, though, growing into a tall, muscular lad, and one day the boy snapped. He went berserk, attacking his father with a fury equal to the passion the whisky inspired. His father smashed a bottle and cut him, ripping the skin of his arms into horrible tatters, but Killian ultimately cracked his old man's skull with another bottle, leaving him dead on the floor.
Killian fled his old apartment and rented a small four-room house about the same size (and quality) as a trailer. He stayed out of gang life as far as he could despite living in a heavily-gang-populated area, not wanting the complications that other people caused. They learned to respect him, and left him alone with his job working at a home improvement store. He was enjoying his relative solitude, drinking on the weekends and indulging in the occasional one-night stand. Alas, women tend to ruin things like that.
Killian O'Brien
Age: 21
Gender: male
Heritage: Irish-American
Appearance:
Killian's height belies his Irish heritage. He is 6'1" tall, lithe and fit, with light skin that refuses to tan. His dark hair has a slight curl to it, and is unruly to the point of his constant frustration. Naturally, it is a very dark brown color, but he prefers to dye it black, as off-colors annoy him. His eyes are green and piercing, granting him the gift of a very intense stare (whether he wants it or not). His facial structure is very fine and thin, almost effeminate. There is a Celtic Knot tattooed across his center of his chest, and the same Celtic Band around each of his wrists and ankles. There are thin light scars across his back, from his shoulders to his buttocks, not readily visible save for up close. There are jagged scars on his forearms, much more prominent and much larger than on his back.
He dresses economically, usually wearing worn jeans and old sneakers, used but never ragged. He tends towards wife-beater shirts as well, sometimes wearing a loose cotton lumberjack shirt or his only piece of overclothing, an old denim jacket, mildly ripped but still wearable. He never wears leather, preferring cheap cloth belts instead to keep his pants up.
Personality:
Killian is an angry soul. There's a quiet resentment in him, not an active force, but rather a feeling that his life would be much the better if not for other people. He doesn't like committments to anything, because he doesn't like the complications that always seem to arise later on. With women, it's some emotional thing of theirs that he has to deal with. With gangs, it's the violence and the intrigue, the never knowing when someone (whether police or otherwise) is going to show up banging down your door. He has a few casual friends, people he can bring over for a drink to watch the game, but no one he cares for specifically.
History:
Killian's father was an alcoholic. His mother left them when he was small, an only child with nothing but a violent father for family. He grew up angry and resentful, with a problem with authority. As he grew older, he hardened and matured, the rebellious attitude fading away, but never disappearing from the back of his mind. It was always a defensive reaction, not an aggressive one, to the world around him.
Killian's father always beat him. He used a leather belt lined with metal on his back, leaving the thin gashes to scar him permanently. The beatings happened for little reason, or no reason at all, often the result of one of his father's drunken rages. His father failed to see that Killian was getting older, though, growing into a tall, muscular lad, and one day the boy snapped. He went berserk, attacking his father with a fury equal to the passion the whisky inspired. His father smashed a bottle and cut him, ripping the skin of his arms into horrible tatters, but Killian ultimately cracked his old man's skull with another bottle, leaving him dead on the floor.
Killian fled his old apartment and rented a small four-room house about the same size (and quality) as a trailer. He stayed out of gang life as far as he could despite living in a heavily-gang-populated area, not wanting the complications that other people caused. They learned to respect him, and left him alone with his job working at a home improvement store. He was enjoying his relative solitude, drinking on the weekends and indulging in the occasional one-night stand. Alas, women tend to ruin things like that.
Fluff- Poltergeist
- Join date : 2009-06-06
Posts : 735
Age : 33
Location : North Carolina -
Re: The Glass Menagerie
by Fluff Wed Jul 29, 2009 4:57 pm
Name: Matthew Reels
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Appearance:
Instrument: Vocals
Influences: Disturbed, Muse, Opeth, REM, The Rasmus
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Appearance:
Instrument: Vocals
Influences: Disturbed, Muse, Opeth, REM, The Rasmus
Fluff- Poltergeist
- Join date : 2009-06-06
Posts : 735
Age : 33
Location : North Carolina -
Re: The Glass Menagerie
by Fluff Wed Jul 29, 2009 4:59 pm
Name: Lee Wao, no. 113353
Age: 12
Species: Woodland/Ringtail (Ringtail cat, Ring-tailed cat, Miner's cat)
Appearance: What the hell.
Lee is a short boy, skinny, and barely 120 pounds in weight. His eyes are "masked" by black ring-like markings, and a four-foot-long ringed tail sprouts from the base of his spine. His human heritage is distinctly Asian, his slanted eyes accenting the mask markings on his face. His flattish nose is vaguely pink-tinted, and his pupils are so large as to obscure the irises of his eyes completely. The white hair on the top of his head is thick, but short, like fur. Two black-furred ears poke out of the sides of his head.
Personality: Lee is young, curious, and simultaneously playful and serious. He is nearly manic in his mood swings, dancing frivolously about one moment and sitting in rapt contemplation the next. (You said you didn't want too much here.)
Bio (or rather, notes): Lee is an experiment dealing almost solely with increasing human agility. So far, it seems to have worked. During one of his excitable moods, he can be seen literally bouncing off the walls, scrambling all over anything and everything without the slightest hitch in his balance. They say that cats always land on their feet, but Lee never has to land in the first place; he never falls. He's passed every test put to him thus far: ricochet-jumping, tightrope walking, swinging...all save the long jump, for which his pre-pubescent muscles simply aren't well-developed enough.
Age: 12
Species: Woodland/Ringtail (Ringtail cat, Ring-tailed cat, Miner's cat)
Appearance: What the hell.
Lee is a short boy, skinny, and barely 120 pounds in weight. His eyes are "masked" by black ring-like markings, and a four-foot-long ringed tail sprouts from the base of his spine. His human heritage is distinctly Asian, his slanted eyes accenting the mask markings on his face. His flattish nose is vaguely pink-tinted, and his pupils are so large as to obscure the irises of his eyes completely. The white hair on the top of his head is thick, but short, like fur. Two black-furred ears poke out of the sides of his head.
Personality: Lee is young, curious, and simultaneously playful and serious. He is nearly manic in his mood swings, dancing frivolously about one moment and sitting in rapt contemplation the next. (You said you didn't want too much here.)
Bio (or rather, notes): Lee is an experiment dealing almost solely with increasing human agility. So far, it seems to have worked. During one of his excitable moods, he can be seen literally bouncing off the walls, scrambling all over anything and everything without the slightest hitch in his balance. They say that cats always land on their feet, but Lee never has to land in the first place; he never falls. He's passed every test put to him thus far: ricochet-jumping, tightrope walking, swinging...all save the long jump, for which his pre-pubescent muscles simply aren't well-developed enough.
Fluff- Poltergeist
- Join date : 2009-06-06
Posts : 735
Age : 33
Location : North Carolina -
Re: The Glass Menagerie
by Fluff Wed Jul 29, 2009 5:00 pm
Name:
"Atropos"
Faction:
Cyber Ninja
Age:
Atropos insists that he is 27. However, he's been "27" for some time now, so his real age is indeterminate.
Appearance:
Atropos's facial features are hidden behind a thick black mask, the eyes a bright green. They reflect the light easily, although they emit none of their own, bearing a great resemblance to a cat's eyes. He is very short, barely 5'6", and of a very light build. His slick black hair falls straight down to his shoulders over skin that, when exposed, gleams as white as ivory. He dresses in a stiff-collared black coat that shrouds his body all the way down to his shins, polished midnight leather boots, and black silk gloves.
Personality:
The cyber ninja known as Atropos is notoriously finicky about the jobs he takes. One rumor whispers that Vash industries has tried to kill him twice, and failed each time, although that is to be taken with a grain of salt. He likes to have things his way, and will go to great lengths to make them so. He detests needless violence, but operates under his own personal definition of needlessness, which can change several times in a single day. He intentionally cultivates a silent and mysterious demeanor, but beneath it he is as curious as a cat, and twice as slippery.
Abilities:
Atropos's mask is his primary enhancement. It is integrated into his central nervous system (although it can be painstakingly removed), and is a formidable computer in its own right. Although can function simply as a gas mask with night vision, it is also capable of remote-distance hacking, provided the console to be hacked is within acceptable eyesight, and it is familiar with his entire body structure, providing him with an accessible way to plot routes across the less-traversed paths of the city. It can predict projectile paths, especially useful versus gun-wielding opponents, and is built to improve his balance and coordination--not so much as to be superhuman, but more than enough to keep him from falling off a rooftop.
His legs are highly customized shock-aborbers, capable of taking a fall from extreme heights if the landing is properly executed. His boots are for more than show--they mask and reinforce his highly modified ankle joints, made to prevent twisting or breaking upon impact. The muscles of his legs are mostly intact, but fitted with cybernetic stimulants to increase strength and stamina without significantly altering mass.
His arms have been fitted with the same stimulants as his legs, with an emphasis on dexterity, as well as a set of reinforced bones. A small metal shock-stud has been set on the outside edge of his wrists, each no bigger than a fingernail but capable of a painful electric current.
His lower abdomen has been heavily modified. Most of his organs have been replaced by cybernetic equivalents, resulting in a much more efficient metabolism and immunity to most ingested substances weaker than sulfuric acid.He can also shit nuclear waste.
Each of his enhancements has been painstakingly crafted as to resist Electro-Magnetic Pulses, the primary weakness of most cybernetics. Very few of his bodily essentials contain any actual computerized systems. Were he hit by an EMP, he would lose functionality in his mask and the shock ability in his wrists, but otherwise be unaffected in the short term. Of course, he would also lose the ability to digest food and perform many bodily functions, and so repairs would be critical before long.
Possessions:
In addition to his mask, he wears a twelve-inch blade under each sleeve, fitted with sheaths set to spring open upon being triggered by the shock-studs in his wrists. Although small for a cutting edge, each blade is thick and heavy, capable of dismemberment with a clean blow.
Other:
As "freelance" as a cyber ninja can get. He still accepts contracts from Vash Industries, but has few friends there.
"Atropos"
Faction:
Cyber Ninja
Age:
Atropos insists that he is 27. However, he's been "27" for some time now, so his real age is indeterminate.
Appearance:
Atropos's facial features are hidden behind a thick black mask, the eyes a bright green. They reflect the light easily, although they emit none of their own, bearing a great resemblance to a cat's eyes. He is very short, barely 5'6", and of a very light build. His slick black hair falls straight down to his shoulders over skin that, when exposed, gleams as white as ivory. He dresses in a stiff-collared black coat that shrouds his body all the way down to his shins, polished midnight leather boots, and black silk gloves.
Personality:
The cyber ninja known as Atropos is notoriously finicky about the jobs he takes. One rumor whispers that Vash industries has tried to kill him twice, and failed each time, although that is to be taken with a grain of salt. He likes to have things his way, and will go to great lengths to make them so. He detests needless violence, but operates under his own personal definition of needlessness, which can change several times in a single day. He intentionally cultivates a silent and mysterious demeanor, but beneath it he is as curious as a cat, and twice as slippery.
Abilities:
Atropos's mask is his primary enhancement. It is integrated into his central nervous system (although it can be painstakingly removed), and is a formidable computer in its own right. Although can function simply as a gas mask with night vision, it is also capable of remote-distance hacking, provided the console to be hacked is within acceptable eyesight, and it is familiar with his entire body structure, providing him with an accessible way to plot routes across the less-traversed paths of the city. It can predict projectile paths, especially useful versus gun-wielding opponents, and is built to improve his balance and coordination--not so much as to be superhuman, but more than enough to keep him from falling off a rooftop.
His legs are highly customized shock-aborbers, capable of taking a fall from extreme heights if the landing is properly executed. His boots are for more than show--they mask and reinforce his highly modified ankle joints, made to prevent twisting or breaking upon impact. The muscles of his legs are mostly intact, but fitted with cybernetic stimulants to increase strength and stamina without significantly altering mass.
His arms have been fitted with the same stimulants as his legs, with an emphasis on dexterity, as well as a set of reinforced bones. A small metal shock-stud has been set on the outside edge of his wrists, each no bigger than a fingernail but capable of a painful electric current.
His lower abdomen has been heavily modified. Most of his organs have been replaced by cybernetic equivalents, resulting in a much more efficient metabolism and immunity to most ingested substances weaker than sulfuric acid.
Each of his enhancements has been painstakingly crafted as to resist Electro-Magnetic Pulses, the primary weakness of most cybernetics. Very few of his bodily essentials contain any actual computerized systems. Were he hit by an EMP, he would lose functionality in his mask and the shock ability in his wrists, but otherwise be unaffected in the short term. Of course, he would also lose the ability to digest food and perform many bodily functions, and so repairs would be critical before long.
Possessions:
In addition to his mask, he wears a twelve-inch blade under each sleeve, fitted with sheaths set to spring open upon being triggered by the shock-studs in his wrists. Although small for a cutting edge, each blade is thick and heavy, capable of dismemberment with a clean blow.
Other:
As "freelance" as a cyber ninja can get. He still accepts contracts from Vash Industries, but has few friends there.
Fluff- Poltergeist
- Join date : 2009-06-06
Posts : 735
Age : 33
Location : North Carolina -
Re: The Glass Menagerie
by Fluff Wed Jul 29, 2009 5:01 pm
Name: Victor Anderson
Race: Vampire
Clan: Nosferatu Antitribu
Concept: Sabbat Killer
Nature: Fanatic
Demeanor: Fanatic
Generation: 8th
Age: 310
Appearance:
Most Nosferatu are ugly. Victor is uglier. Not only does he bear the ordinary marks of the clan--baldness, pasty skin, pointed ears, and goblin-like features--but his flesh is not wholly there. Here a tendon is exposed to the air, here the bone of his chin peeks out from under his rotted skin. Muscles, veins, and some bones are uncovered by his ragged outer layer, giving him the appearance of something out of NIghtmare On Elm Street. He is tall, 6'1", and emaciated, and his hair is long and rust-brown. When he must venture out at all, he wears a bandanna over his nose and mouth, and keeps his hat pulled low in hopes of avoiding displaying his corpse-like face to the world.
Bio:
Victor is an agent sent by the Sabbat to the city of [____] to wreak havoc upon the established Camarilla court there. He is an Elder, albeit a very young one, and was chosen by the Lasombra for the strength of his blood and his willingness to embrace new throwaway childer to hurl against the Camarilla. He is unquestioningly loyal to the Sabbat, believing it to be the only hope for his clan's salvation from the Niktuku, the mysterious unaligned vampires dedicated to hunting the Nosferatu down.
=Attributes=
PHYSICAL (primary)
Strength: @@@00
Dexterity: @@@@0
Stamina: @@@00
SOCIAL (tertiary)
Charisma: @@@00
Manipulation: @@000
Apperance: 00000
MENTAL (secondary)
Perception: @@@00
Intelligence: @@000
Wits: @@@00
=Abilities=
TALENTS (primary)
Alertness: @@@00
Athletics: @@@00
Dodge: @@000
Intimidation: @@@00
Streetwise: @@000
SKILLS (secondary)
Melee: @@@00
Security: @@@00
Stealth: @@@00
KNOWLEDGES (tertiary)
Computer: @@000
Investigation: @@@00
=Disciplines=
Obfuscate: @@000
Potence: @0000
Presence: @@000
=Merits/Flaws-
Hunted: (4 pt Flaw)
You are pursued by a fanatical witch-hunter who believes you are a dangerous, vile beast inimical to humanity (perhaps you are). All those with whom you associate may be hunted by the same individual as well. Though this hunter seeks to destroy all vampires, something about you drives the passion of this killer.
=Virtues=
Conscience: @0000
Self-Control: @@@@@
Courage: @@@@@
Humanity: @@@@@@0000
Willpower: @@@@@@@@00
=Backgrounds=
Generation: @@@@@
(Freebie count: +4 for the Hunted flaw, -14 for both dots of Presence, -2 for one dot of Self-Control, -3 for 3 dots of Willpower)
Race: Vampire
Clan: Nosferatu Antitribu
Concept: Sabbat Killer
Nature: Fanatic
Demeanor: Fanatic
Generation: 8th
Age: 310
Appearance:
Most Nosferatu are ugly. Victor is uglier. Not only does he bear the ordinary marks of the clan--baldness, pasty skin, pointed ears, and goblin-like features--but his flesh is not wholly there. Here a tendon is exposed to the air, here the bone of his chin peeks out from under his rotted skin. Muscles, veins, and some bones are uncovered by his ragged outer layer, giving him the appearance of something out of NIghtmare On Elm Street. He is tall, 6'1", and emaciated, and his hair is long and rust-brown. When he must venture out at all, he wears a bandanna over his nose and mouth, and keeps his hat pulled low in hopes of avoiding displaying his corpse-like face to the world.
Bio:
Victor is an agent sent by the Sabbat to the city of [____] to wreak havoc upon the established Camarilla court there. He is an Elder, albeit a very young one, and was chosen by the Lasombra for the strength of his blood and his willingness to embrace new throwaway childer to hurl against the Camarilla. He is unquestioningly loyal to the Sabbat, believing it to be the only hope for his clan's salvation from the Niktuku, the mysterious unaligned vampires dedicated to hunting the Nosferatu down.
=Attributes=
PHYSICAL (primary)
Strength: @@@00
Dexterity: @@@@0
Stamina: @@@00
SOCIAL (tertiary)
Charisma: @@@00
Manipulation: @@000
Apperance: 00000
MENTAL (secondary)
Perception: @@@00
Intelligence: @@000
Wits: @@@00
=Abilities=
TALENTS (primary)
Alertness: @@@00
Athletics: @@@00
Dodge: @@000
Intimidation: @@@00
Streetwise: @@000
SKILLS (secondary)
Melee: @@@00
Security: @@@00
Stealth: @@@00
KNOWLEDGES (tertiary)
Computer: @@000
Investigation: @@@00
=Disciplines=
Obfuscate: @@000
Potence: @0000
Presence: @@000
=Merits/Flaws-
Hunted: (4 pt Flaw)
You are pursued by a fanatical witch-hunter who believes you are a dangerous, vile beast inimical to humanity (perhaps you are). All those with whom you associate may be hunted by the same individual as well. Though this hunter seeks to destroy all vampires, something about you drives the passion of this killer.
=Virtues=
Conscience: @0000
Self-Control: @@@@@
Courage: @@@@@
Humanity: @@@@@@0000
Willpower: @@@@@@@@00
=Backgrounds=
Generation: @@@@@
(Freebie count: +4 for the Hunted flaw, -14 for both dots of Presence, -2 for one dot of Self-Control, -3 for 3 dots of Willpower)
Fluff- Poltergeist
- Join date : 2009-06-06
Posts : 735
Age : 33
Location : North Carolina -
Re: The Glass Menagerie
by Fluff Wed Jul 29, 2009 5:02 pm
Name: Samael
Age: 27
Appearance:
Samael has intense, piercing eyes deeply sunken under his strong eyebrows. They are pale, almost colorless, and often disconcerting for those unfamiliar with him. His face is thin without being angular, and while his build is tall and thin he is far from weak. His grueling rate of physical activity keep his body perfectly fit for his bloody work. A huge black feathered wing juts out of his right shoulder, useless for flight or even gliding. Samael uses it for balance almost as he would use a tail, but otherwise keeps it folded against his back like a cape, or wraps it around his body like a feathered robe.
Personality:
"Sadism" and "mockery" describe Samael's demeanor best. He is a hunter through and through, but a hunter who toys with his prey. He holds no strong personal convictions, not necessarily because he doesn't care, but because it's never even occurred to him to care. He has little to no conception of other being as people, or of their rights. He is intelligent, but single-minded. Because he has never seen anything else, he behaves like any bloodthirsty mercenary would. Samael is, in truth, a very insecure, very naive man.
Background:
Samael is the "Angel of Death," a hellion swordsman from the Low World specializing in one-on-one duels. His dogged single-mindedness nurtured a formidable and deadly skill in him at the same time as it kept him stunted to nothing more than a tool of the "Lower-Downs" that commanded him. He refuses to fight against more than two men, citing professional pride but secretly fearing the unknown potential of loss in battle. Death leaves him unimpressed; danger excites him, but the possibility of defeat leaves him trembling inwardly, no matter how much he might sneer on the surface.
Age: 27
Appearance:
Samael has intense, piercing eyes deeply sunken under his strong eyebrows. They are pale, almost colorless, and often disconcerting for those unfamiliar with him. His face is thin without being angular, and while his build is tall and thin he is far from weak. His grueling rate of physical activity keep his body perfectly fit for his bloody work. A huge black feathered wing juts out of his right shoulder, useless for flight or even gliding. Samael uses it for balance almost as he would use a tail, but otherwise keeps it folded against his back like a cape, or wraps it around his body like a feathered robe.
Personality:
"Sadism" and "mockery" describe Samael's demeanor best. He is a hunter through and through, but a hunter who toys with his prey. He holds no strong personal convictions, not necessarily because he doesn't care, but because it's never even occurred to him to care. He has little to no conception of other being as people, or of their rights. He is intelligent, but single-minded. Because he has never seen anything else, he behaves like any bloodthirsty mercenary would. Samael is, in truth, a very insecure, very naive man.
Background:
Samael is the "Angel of Death," a hellion swordsman from the Low World specializing in one-on-one duels. His dogged single-mindedness nurtured a formidable and deadly skill in him at the same time as it kept him stunted to nothing more than a tool of the "Lower-Downs" that commanded him. He refuses to fight against more than two men, citing professional pride but secretly fearing the unknown potential of loss in battle. Death leaves him unimpressed; danger excites him, but the possibility of defeat leaves him trembling inwardly, no matter how much he might sneer on the surface.
Fluff- Poltergeist
- Join date : 2009-06-06
Posts : 735
Age : 33
Location : North Carolina -
Re: The Glass Menagerie
by Fluff Wed Jul 29, 2009 5:03 pm
Name: Daniel Dantino
Age: 30 (I always feel bad putting a round number for age, but if that's as old as you let 'em go, sure.)
Appearance:
Daniel is only of middling height (5'10") and while sturdy, could not be thought muscular by any stretch of the imagination. His face, however, is harder than triple-reinforced steel. His strong jaw is set in a permanent grim line, and his high cheekbones emphasize his gauntness. His eyes are wrinkled but hawk-like under his lined brow, and usually hidden behind menacing square mirror-shades.
Weapon:
Daniel carries a powerful custom SHRP .45 handgun, expensively stabilized for additional accuracy at surprising ranges. Instead of the usual "bang" sound of projectile weaponry, the custom SHRP produces a sharp crack, making Daniel's shots very easily distinguishable from any other (strangely though, from a distance the sounds are often not even recognized as gunfire). In addition, he carries an extended knife, so long it could nearly be called a short sword. It fits upside-down into a sheath in the back of his coat, and he wields it backwards.
Class/Ranking: NA Assassin
Personality:
Daniel is grim and humorless, relying on sheer implacable intimidation to open his doors. He has no friends and precious few contacts, preferring to maintain anonymity. Even though he dresses plainly and has no particularly distinguished facial features, his morbid demeanor can sometimes identify him as "...that guy." He prides himself on being completely inscrutable, and as impossible to predict as can be.
Short/Brief History:
Daniel is an assassin, pure and simple. He doesn't limit himself to one method, one target type, one weapon, or anything much for that matter. He's a killer for sale, and his services are only available to the Neo-Anarchists. He carries a perverse loyalty to the NA, a mixture of grim cynicism and an underlying obedience not even he can fathom wholly. In truth, the NA doctrine has been ingrained into him over the course of his life, so much that whether he truly believes it or not, it is a part of his head, part of his concept of the world. He doesn't really believe that anything else can work, can't really imagine anything other than what is. His past is largely irrelevant other than that, save for his training. Daniel isn't dangerous because of any inborn martial skill, he's dangerous because of years of training by the NA's top specialists, and a mind that analyzes each life-or-death situation like a mathematical problem, and coldly deconstructs it to serve to his advantage.
Other:
He carries various items about his person, gathered and crafted from things anyone could find lying at home. Rat poison, flares, a taped-together tear gas grenade, several very small charges, a cable, matches, a small flask filled with gasoline, a lockpick, and two extra clips of ammunition.
Age: 30 (I always feel bad putting a round number for age, but if that's as old as you let 'em go, sure.)
Appearance:
Daniel is only of middling height (5'10") and while sturdy, could not be thought muscular by any stretch of the imagination. His face, however, is harder than triple-reinforced steel. His strong jaw is set in a permanent grim line, and his high cheekbones emphasize his gauntness. His eyes are wrinkled but hawk-like under his lined brow, and usually hidden behind menacing square mirror-shades.
Weapon:
Daniel carries a powerful custom SHRP .45 handgun, expensively stabilized for additional accuracy at surprising ranges. Instead of the usual "bang" sound of projectile weaponry, the custom SHRP produces a sharp crack, making Daniel's shots very easily distinguishable from any other (strangely though, from a distance the sounds are often not even recognized as gunfire). In addition, he carries an extended knife, so long it could nearly be called a short sword. It fits upside-down into a sheath in the back of his coat, and he wields it backwards.
Class/Ranking: NA Assassin
Personality:
Daniel is grim and humorless, relying on sheer implacable intimidation to open his doors. He has no friends and precious few contacts, preferring to maintain anonymity. Even though he dresses plainly and has no particularly distinguished facial features, his morbid demeanor can sometimes identify him as "...that guy." He prides himself on being completely inscrutable, and as impossible to predict as can be.
Short/Brief History:
Daniel is an assassin, pure and simple. He doesn't limit himself to one method, one target type, one weapon, or anything much for that matter. He's a killer for sale, and his services are only available to the Neo-Anarchists. He carries a perverse loyalty to the NA, a mixture of grim cynicism and an underlying obedience not even he can fathom wholly. In truth, the NA doctrine has been ingrained into him over the course of his life, so much that whether he truly believes it or not, it is a part of his head, part of his concept of the world. He doesn't really believe that anything else can work, can't really imagine anything other than what is. His past is largely irrelevant other than that, save for his training. Daniel isn't dangerous because of any inborn martial skill, he's dangerous because of years of training by the NA's top specialists, and a mind that analyzes each life-or-death situation like a mathematical problem, and coldly deconstructs it to serve to his advantage.
Other:
He carries various items about his person, gathered and crafted from things anyone could find lying at home. Rat poison, flares, a taped-together tear gas grenade, several very small charges, a cable, matches, a small flask filled with gasoline, a lockpick, and two extra clips of ammunition.
Fluff- Poltergeist
- Join date : 2009-06-06
Posts : 735
Age : 33
Location : North Carolina -
Similar topics» Seloc's Shards of Glass.
» Trapped inside the Looking Glass
» *pounces upon the forum... and smacks into glass door*
» Trapped inside the Looking Glass
» *pounces upon the forum... and smacks into glass door*
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