Name: Lyec Perkim
Age: 11
Appearance: This young boy has an unkempt and playful look to him. His dark spiky hair sticks out every which way and clearly has not seen a professional barber in quite some time. His bright eyes are blue with a slightly greenish glint. Often they are covered by some strange glasses, that have a multitude of lenses that can slide away from the main glasses if needed. With a loose-fitting outfit, a few freckles around his nose and a ready smile, he is the image of an energetic, helpful young man.
Backstory: Ever since his mother died (which happened when he was very young, so he can’t really remember her) Lyec has lived with his grandfather, Rhys. Rhys owned a workshop where he made clocks, watches, music boxes and small mechanical toys and from a young age Lyec would help his granddad fix things up for the customers. Since they couldn’t afford to send Lyec to school, he was mostly homeschooled (if at all) and Rhys would buy books on science and such whenever he had some money to spare. Once Lyec even got a chemistry set, which soon became his favorite, but whenever he was not busy with that he was helping his grandfather in the workshop or the store. Over the years people became used to seeing Lyec run the store while his grandfather was in the workshop or out on some errant.
A few months ago Lyecs grandfather died in an accident and now he is on his own. He hasn’t told anyone about it because he doesn’t want to leave the shop (they lived above it) and go to a foster family. So now he tries to run the shop, always telling people that is grandfather is out or busy. So far it has worked out but even Lyec knows it is only a matter of time.
Personality: He is a friendly child, very curious and loves science. Though he is mature for his age he is still a kid, he loves to play (climb up on roofs or in trees and such) and while he likes to help others he is quite naïve and gullable.
Awakened Ancestor: Alchemist
Taylor Green
Spoiler
Age: 24
Appearence: This picture. She normally wears jeans and a t-shirt, with a bit of paint on them.
Backstory: Taylor has always known what she wanted to do, from the first time she tried art (fingerpainting, in kindergarden) onward. She grew up in downtown Seattle, and was your normal kid, banged knees and all. The family wasn't the richest: her dad sold hot dogs from a food cart, and her mom worked in daycare. But she was happy. She cheerfully painted, drew, and sketched anything that caught her eye: buildings, people, cars, a small kitten. She managed to get a scholarship to a local college for an arts degree. However, then she ran into problems: she didn't really have anything she could do outside of college. Her art was good, but not good enough to live off of. She sold off as much of her art as she could, and started up a small used book-and-other-knickknacks store in [wherever the campaign is], painting and drawing in her free time, living in a small apartment over the bookstore. She grew into the local community, attending Ren Faires and other such geekery, over the next two years, until last night, when she had the oddest dream...
Personality: Taylor is cheerfully optimistic, to the point of annoyance for some, and has no business sense whatsoever. She will happily debate philosophy or the merits of the latest book in a series, and is known to give out her books to people for free on occasion. However, she does have a short fuse for people she considers "bad apples", often ignoring them blatantly if she can get away with it. Her definition of who's a bad guy and who isn't is somewhat... off, however.
Awakened Ancestor: Dresdan Files Wizard
Powers: Lifespan measured in centuries, slowly regenerates from any health issue that doesn't kill her, magic.
Viktor Sokoloff
Spoiler
Name: Viktor Sokoloff
Age: 27
Appearance: Standing at a height of 6'1", Viktor is an imposing figure. It's not the muscles, or the crew-cut white hair. Nor is it the belligerent face or the piercings. Or even the tattoos and the metal-studded combat boots. It's all those things combined.
Backstory:
Viktor likes to call himself Russian, but the truth is that he has never even set foot in that country. He was born and raised in the United States, his father having emigrated there and his mother being a Texan dentist's assistant. Little Viktor loved the stories of Russia, and was particularly intrigued by the mythology of the ancient country. And although his family was poor, Viktor was happy as a child. Sure, they lived in a slum, and were harassed by local gangs. Okay, so they barely had enough food to get by. But Viktor was a tough kid, enduring it all without complaint.
But most people(or at least, the few people who knew Viktor), would say that his life truly began when he discovered Rock & Roll. Or, to put a finer point on it, Metal. When listening to the radio one day, Viktor heard a song, like no song he had heard before. It was called We Hate Everything, by the band Nuclear War. And to young Viktor, it was a revelation. It was like his whole life opened up, and he knew what he was born to do.
At age twelve, he managed to get a battered, knock-off electric guitar at the local pawn shop, and he practiced religiously, knowing that one day he would be known as a great musician the world over.
And that brings us to the present. Despite his hope of worldwide fame, Viktor's band DezTrucktion has gotten no further than playing at seedy bars as a warmup to more influential artists. Despite his constant managing of the other band members, their brain damaging lifestyles prevent them from amounting to anything, although Viktor refuses to admit it. The band lives in a flat, with Viktor paying the majority of the rent. A string of skanky girlfriends completes the picture of a failing metal artist.
Of course, that started to change after the car crash. The car crash that should have sent Viktor straight to hell, just as the steering wheel column went straight through his solar plexus. Despite the somewhat conspicuous hole in his chest, he managed to escape from the wreck and stagger to the ambulance unassisted. By the time he arrived at the hospital, the wound was gone. And the mystery deepened when he found a large kitchen knife and a leather mask under his pillow in the hospital bed...
As the story begins, Viktor has just left the hospital, the strange artifacts hidden under his coat.
Personality: Viktor is described as intense by most people. His blunt, to the point manner and his piercing stare tend to put people off. But those who get to know him realize that behind this cold exterior is a fun loving, caring guy who just loves to make music. Or maybe not. Regardless, Viktor has a certain disdain for authority that has caused more trouble than it is worth. He distrusts those who use unnecessarily complicated language, or that reference things that he doesn't understand. Which frankly is most things that aren't connected to metal or Russian mythology. However, he respects those who prove their toughness and tenacity, whether in body or mind. Friendship and loyalty are important above all else, and betraying someone's trust is something he would never do.
Awakened Ancestor: Evil Slasher
Powers & Equipment: Enhanced strength, on top of his already superb fitness, extreme resistance to damage and slow regenerative properties. He owns a very tough, razor sharp knife and a curious leather mask that provides a certain amount of protection to his face and also functions as an air filter. Also, a beat up motorcycle and his electric guitar.
Chris Butcher
Spoiler
Name: Chris Butcher (It'll make things easier if I just build off myself as a base, forcefully inserting a semblance of fantastical-ness here and there to obscure details.)
Spoiler
Age: 22
Appearance: Chris stands at a fairly average height, with an athletic build owing more to mesomorphism than any effort on his part. Brown ivy-league hair, getting a bit long, adorns an unspectacular head, with a darker black patchwork beard adorning its face. Poor complexion along with a slight asymmetry stops it from being anything more than handsome, but an infectious smile and green, laughing eyes contribute heavily to his continued status as a desirable bachelor. Short shins and wide feet give him an awkward gait as he walks, while long, graceful fingers and large hands hold the promise of a late final growth spurt. Scars on much of his torso, legs, and arms, from repeated horseplay in poison ivy as a child and teen, contribute heavily to his habit of embellishing stories and exploits.
His fashion sense is handpicked, formal, almost 'preppy' or 'ironic-hipster'-ish. It's not his fault. A string of sisters (or cousins? He didn't remember) he'd been dating one summer had burned most of his t-shirts and cheap, casual jeans, each building on what the previous had left them. He didn't mind the transition, or the coddling. While he took no pride in dressing well or looking good, he did enjoy the benefits and consequences of it.
Polished boots and a jacket that made him look like a drugdealer were his most often-worn winter wear, while in summers he preferred short-sleeved buttonups and khakis - or bright, colourful shorts and matching tees. He needed a new pair of shoes for the coming summer, it wouldn't do to muddy his boots with whatever activities his peers would surely engage him in.
Finally, Chris looks trustworthy, even with the drug-dealer's jacket. Between his smile, his tasteful clothing, and his relaxed, laid-back posture and attitude, he had no trouble getting "sir"s from teens and "fine young man"s from his elders. He'd perfected the "I look like I'm paying attention to you" gaze-and-nod, the "I empathize and understand where you're coming from" shrugs and hand gestures, and much of the other more interesting ways to convince someone you were actually listening to them. Which isn't to say he wasn't. He just liked to make sure you knew it.
Backstory:
Spoiler
Chris had a pretty easy, if lonely and boring, life. His parents both worked hard to pay for their spending habits and hoarding, giving him at least some attention on a weekly basis. Mostly, he was left at school or with a neighbour. As long as there was TV, and later on, Books or Videogames, he didn't really mind what was happening around him. School was wrought with attention-seeking activities, borne from boredom and diagnosed-but-untreated ADHD; his parents thought they could beat it out of him with a wooden spoon and isolationary groundings. Fat chance of that. However, because his marks were fine and he wasn't too violent, and he almost never started it, his academic punishments were limited mostly to detentions copying math problems, and after-school janitorial duty -- where he learned that no matter how many times you shower after flush someone else's poo, sometimes you just can't feel clean.
Middleschool and Highschool passed much the way you'd expect for an socially awkward introverted trouble-maker -- alone in the library, or less often, accompanied in the library by the occasional puppy-love partner also interested in reading and being alone. He didn't really make any friends in middleschool, and a move across the country meant that he probably wasn't going to make any in highschool either -- especially after his family moved once more before grade 12.
That was a lifetime ago. He'd moved across the country since then, striking out on his own in Vancouver after a completing a brief computer science program and fast-tracking into a Data Entry position, 9-5, medical, dental, vacation and overtime, Work from Home acceptable but free food at the office. Fine by him. It was good food, too. Mostly, he read. Fantasy, Science Fiction, Comics, Webcomics, Fanfiction, Political and Scientific Journals, Russian History, German History, Roman, Greek, Chinese, Indian, English, French, it was all just part of how the world led up to today. Cycles, patterns, we truly were doomed to repeat it. A natural cynic, and depressed since puberty, Chris often though of how crapped-on the world was. Everything from academic reform to agriculture to russia's doomed policies on child-bearing was in the hands of people who cared only about money -- money that didn't exist as anything but a measure of power, at the levels they were playing at. Money they would never need to buy food, or pay for rent. Heck, these were things he didn't even have to worry about, and he was aware of the problem -- the people playing with the big money were so far removed from hardship, or so engrained and tutored into their actions by generations of expectation and familial pressure, that they probably didn't even know there was a problem in any empathetic manner.
Chris had contemplated suicide bombing for a while. He'd been 20 then, a doctor he respected had been killed for his compassion towards others. The kind of hatred, ignorance, and biggotry that his killers kept willfully alive in the world sickened him to no end. It wasn't a religious motivation, but a profound and personal one -- his life to make the future better for others.
In he end, he picked up slack at his job and vowed to put his money towards making some sort of impact. The Singularity Institute was well on its way, and Friendly AI was the best thing he could think of. He just needed to save until he had an impressive donation, something that could get him in on their track and keep him up-to-date on any breaking developments.
Note: double-spoiler for anti-religion. Don't read it if atheism or atheistic arguments offend you, but it's part of who I am and who this character is.
Spoiler
Chris had been atheistic for many years; his early life as a roman catholic child had profusely turned him off from religion - the cultish behaviours and tariffs, the brainwashing of children, the sexism, the paedophilic scandals, and most importantly, the absurdity of an "all-powerful, all-knowing, all-loving" god, who would send you to hell if you didn't do what he liked, but wouldn't lift a finger to in your aid. It was preposterous, for hundreds of reasons, and no explanation or personal experience had ever done much to sway him from skepticism and rational thinking to faith-based belief.
He'd had plenty of 'spiritual' encounters and experiences. They were easily re-creatable with any large group bent on wishing to be awed, and had little to do with the subject of awe. He'd tried it with a potato. All hail the potato. The 'expectation' of wishing to 'please' or 'feel' God, combined with the social pressure of being surrounded by dozens or even hundreds of others who you also think are "going to feel god first" or "going to feel god better" is well documented for producing liars, seizures, abnormal heart-rates, false memories, or any combination there-of -- most commonly referred to by cultists as 'miracles' or 'speaking in tongues'. He'd been in awe the first time he'd watched someone speak in tongues at bible camp. Then it happened to 4 other campers. With a basis of comparison, it was very obviously an act. He'd done similar things to get attention in school, after all.
Ultimately, he was a bit viscous when it came to attacking religions and religious beliefs, especially when following those beliefs in the real world resulted in real world consequences. Like dead women and children. Like doctors who could refuse to save your life. Like shooting people who did something you disagreed with.
It would have to go.
The last couple of years have been the most interesting for Chris. On-the-job training, coupled with some promotions being available, meant he had enough money and vacation to start traveling. He spent a week in Amsterdam, where he was rescued from thugs by a little girl and her brother, only to find they had robbed him blind and run off after they'd led him down a string of back-alleys -- the thugs took me out to dinner and explained the setup, handing me back my wallet, sans-cash. Later on, he went to Croatia with his friend Ivan, a genuine Croatian Gypsy Prince. There wasn't much there. They brought a couple cheap laptops to give to relatives, along with a pillowcase full of bootleg dvds and porn. Mostly, it was an emboldening experience.
He'd planned to go to Italy this summer with some friends, and re-learn the fine art of making quality coffee.
[Note, I'll include this in my later post as well should I be picked, I just had it written and figure, "might as well include the first little while of my ass getting handed to me by the Kyubi." Think of it as a sampler of how I intend to pan-out]
A few months into winter, however and he started retching up blood. The doctors didn't know what it was. His body was rejecting something, violently, and every time it expelled anything it was accompanied by blood. lots of blood. He didn't feel faint, and he didn't need infusions... he felt pretty great, actually, all things considered. Aside from headaches, nausea, and bleeding from every hole in his body, he was constantly hungry. His ADHD, which he'd thought he'd gotten a handle on with the aid of some prescriptions, flared back into being, and he found himself taking 16 hours or more to do his previously 8-hour job. Luckily, he didn't sleep much anymore. There was too much on the internet, too much in books, for sleep to matter. His nearsightedness cleared up, helping him immensely, and eventually work got back to normal with a hastily drawn-up time management table. Guzzling protein shakes and bacon-wrapped potatoes, Chris was startled to hear his name one night, deep into his rhythm.
Now, this wasn't unusual. Chris had had audio hallucinations before, especially on higher dosages of depression medication, or after taking LSD for the first time as an adventurous teen. Audio illusions were scary, but they weren't... well, Chris had **** himself. It was horrifying. Something under his shirt glowed brightly, lighting up his apartment through his clothing, before his name was spoken once more, 'CHRIS', and, as if the speaker had taken possession of his very being, Chris found himself hurtling head-first into blackness.
He awoke in the forest behind his child-hood home. The trees changed constantly between the seasons, fruit swelling and then disappearing, blossoms blooming and then dissolving. Everything was still. Chris was lying on the grass of a hill he had tobogganed down many times. He got up slowly, wary of everything. This was unlike any trip he'd ever been on. He noticed, with disgusted disappointment, that he had indeed pooped himself. At least it wasn't bloody this time. Stripping his clothes, he wiped himself off in the grass as best he could, shivering slightly in the non-temperature of this most curious place.
Behind him was the bandit fort he'd made with his father as a child, in one of the rare instances where the older man had been home for more than a few hours. The fort was massive. He'd seen pictures of the Great Wall in postcards from friends, and built some pretty impressive structures in late-night energy drink fuelled gaming sessions with his friends in "CaveConstructer", but this dwarfed both by an order of magnitude, at least. Words like "hyperconstruct", "mountainous," and "impossible" came to mind. Standing naked before it, he wheeled backward as it shifted. Changed. Revealed bars, and a depth. A depth of permeating darkness, a black miasmic fog that seemed to seep out into the rest of... wherever this was.
Two red, red eyes opened. Pupils, an abyssal slit. Lids covered in blood-red fur, shiny and wet. Black specs of power racing and spinning through the red entranced Chris, and he was drawn to the fort, to the jail. Touching the bars. Dark fire washed out then, riding on the earth-shattering roar that emanated from the beast's fetid muzzle, dying at the entrance, an uncomfortable heat and stench assaulting Chris's senses. Red power lashed out, and deep and malevolent... and confused. A tantrum raged, for how long Chris didn't know.
Finally, the beast shifted. Its body hidden in the darkness, Chris followed its eyes up, almost, to the top of its prison. Saliva dropped and sizzled near him, and his legs were shaking too uncontrollably to even run. It was only a matter of seconds before the beast demolished his flimsy fort, devoured him, tortured him a thousand ways and never let him die. Chris would have fainted if he wasn't already unconscious in his mindscape. As it was, his brain furiously worked to update on what had happened -- his definitions of fear and power changed irrevocably, his memories subtly re-evaluated themselves in light of this scenario, mirror neurons racing across pathways to simulate future encounters, to ensure survival at all costs...
The darkness finally bled out of the fort entirely, revealing a creature he'd read about in many ancient legends from the far East. Nothing could have prepared him for the size of it, the death rolling off of its skin in visible waves. If anything, such a creature should have been amicable and playful, if possessed of a tricksy and inhumanly alien intelligence. His babbling , incoherent thoughts were cut short - his brain backpedalling yet again as he tried to make sense, any sense, of the situation - when the beast spoke.
Now, 'spoke' might give the wrong impression. Its mouth did not move, nor did words form in any way Chris could understand them at first. As he was thinking, it had stared at him intently, and at first, he'd missed it. A rumbling in the background. Soon, the rumbling became an earthquake. The entirety of reality shook, and Chris clutched his head, which had decided to threaten to split apart at that moment.
The impossible pressure and shaking subsided to the much more bearable volume of atomics being detonated in his ear, before he was finally comfortable with simply having his head inside the engine of a 747.
"THIS SHOULD BE ACCEPTABLE TO YOU, HUMAN. WHYYYY AM I HERE?" The drawn-out question forced Chris to stifle a laugh, for it was asked in precisely the same way a teacher from his highschool had spoken. Noticing this, the beast let out another roar, charging the wooden bars between man and... fox. As it got closer, it got smaller. Chris didn't notice at first, too busy shaking his head and screaming incoherently. The beast apparently hadn't noticed until just before he reached the bars, nearly the size of a double-decker bus. The wood looked much more capable of restraining the beast at this size, but Chris took no chances, moving away from the bars in a crab-scramble, before getting up and shouting at it. "I don't know! I don't even know where I a-"
"SILENCE." Chris was silent. The beast continued. I AM KYUBI, MORTAL, AND IF YOU DO NOT FREE ME IMMEDIATELY YOUR FATE WILL BE LEGENDARILY Painful." The Kyubi had taken 3 steps forward as he spoke, each bought with a substantial diminishing in size and voice. The beast stood as tall as Chris at the shoulder, its man-like torso rippled with muscle as it moved. "How?" Chris stammered, confused.
He was much less afraid of the animal now that it was a realistic size - he'd seen horses as big, and a hippo was bigger and far more dangerous (he thought) than either a horse or this creature - No, Chris, or at least the parts of him that weren't scared (literally) ****less, was angry. He gets abducted, abandoned, and thrown for a trip that would make all the drugs he did in highschool look like pixie sticks, and this motherlover had the audacity to blame HIM? That didn't stop his voice from coming out as a squeak as he desperately tried to explain himself, "Look," he says, cutting off another 'silence mortal' from the caged animal, "I don't know what's going on. I don't know you, I don't know where we are, and I just want to go home. Tell me how to get you out and we can be on our merry-freakin' ways."
His confidence (which had risen steadily as the beast - Kyubi - listened to him with its head cocked like a dog's) took a sudden nosedive as the beast roared in frustration and anger once again. It stalked off into the dim recesses of the fort, growing with each step until once again it was shaking the world, mountain-sized, and impossible to comprehend.
Chris was stuck waiting outside the cage, more confused than ever before.
And he was hungry.
Personality: Chris' dominant traits are his laid-back attitude towards, well, everything, and his desire for people to see things his way. Ironically, this has taken Chris in the direction of rationality and science, despite his fundamentalist background. You might even call it laziness. The easiest way to have others agree with you is to be correct. In order to be correct, you have to accept some defined way to measure correctness, which, for us humans, happens to be the world around us. A bit of round-about logic and combined with Chris' natural intelligence, curiosity, and the fact that Science makes Robots and Lasers, and, well, it's not so circumspect anymore.
He mostly uses his powers of rationally-applied psychology for good. Humans are easily influenced, and doing things to other peoples' thoughts that they wouldn't agree to if they knew it was possible isn't the most morally acceptable to him. Still, where's the harm in making people like you more, or showing off skills you worked hard to earn in a way that makes you stand out more than the other guy?
Honesty and, more and more as of late, loyalty are increasingly relevant to Chris' personality. Growing up, he didn't have rolemodels or friends, preferring books and videogames to reality. Now, faced with reality more than he wants to be, Chris has learned the value of having someone at your back, and the uplifting experience of being there for someone when they need you is not one he would lightly trade away.
Awakened Ancestor: Kyubi Jinchuuriki
Powers and Starting Equipment: "Chakra for Dummies" with a sticky-note saying "Read Me First!", a brace of Kunai and Shuriken, a shinobi bodysuit, and many small pieces of random, blank paper. Chris initially has no powers. We'll see how that changes.
Plotz:
Spoiler
None
NPCs you have met:
Spoiler
None
__________________
<-- Give the zombie a hug. You know you want too. It's so lonely.
I have quit Giantitp. I may be back but not anytime soon
Sorry everyone
Last edited by Anecronwashere : 01-29-2013 at 04:06 AM.
Checking in and claiming Dark Green for my speach color.
Edit: reposting character concept
Spoiler
Name: Lyec Perkim
Age: 11
Appearance: This young boy has an unkempt and playful look to him. His dark spiky hair sticks out every which way and clearly has not seen a professional barber in quite some time. His bright eyes are blue with a slightly greenish glint. Often they are covered by some strange glasses, that have a multitude of lenses that can slide away from the main glasses if needed. With a loose-fitting outfit, a few freckles around his nose and a ready smile, he is the image of an energetic, helpful young man.
Backstory: Ever since his mother died (which happened when he was very young, so he can’t really remember her) Lyec has lived with his grandfather, Rhys. Rhys owned a workshop where he made clocks, watches, music boxes and small mechanical toys and from a young age Lyec would help his granddad fix things up for the customers. Since they couldn’t afford to send Lyec to school, he was mostly homeschooled (if at all) and Rhys would buy books on science and such whenever he had some money to spare. Once Lyec even got a chemistry set, which soon became his favorite, but whenever he was not busy with that he was helping his grandfather in the workshop or the store. Over the years people became used to seeing Lyec run the store while his grandfather was in the workshop or out on some errant.
A few months ago Lyecs grandfather died in an accident and now he is on his own. He hasn’t told anyone about it because he doesn’t want to leave the shop (they lived above it) and go to a foster family. So now he tries to run the shop, always telling people that is grandfather is out or busy. So far it has worked out but even Lyec knows it is only a matter of time.
Personality: He is a friendly child, very curious and loves science. Though he is mature for his age he is still a kid, he loves to play (climb up on roofs or in trees and such) and while he likes to help others he is quite naïve and gullable.
Awakened Ancestor: Alchemist
Last edited by Grishnakh : 01-27-2013 at 10:36 AM.
Taylor will speak in (since somebody snagged green already, jerk) a purple. Well, technically Indigo. Whatever.
Taylor Green
Spoiler
Age: 24
Appearence: This picture. She normally wears jeans and a t-shirt, with a bit of paint on them.
Backstory: Taylor has always known what she wanted to do, from the first time she tried art (fingerpainting, in kindergarden) onward. She grew up in downtown Seattle, and was your normal kid, banged knees and all. The family wasn't the richest: her dad sold hot dogs from a food cart, and her mom worked in daycare. But she was happy. She cheerfully painted, drew, and sketched anything that caught her eye: buildings, people, cars, a small kitten. She managed to get a scholarship to a local college for an arts degree. However, then she ran into problems: she didn't really have anything she could do outside of college. Her art was good, but not good enough to live off of. She sold off as much of her art as she could, and started up a small used book-and-other-knickknacks store in [wherever the campaign is], painting and drawing in her free time, living in a small apartment over the bookstore. She grew into the local community, attending Ren Faires and other such geekery, over the next two years, until last night, when she had the oddest dream...
Personality: Taylor is cheerfully optimistic, to the point of annoyance for some, and has no business sense whatsoever. She will happily debate philosophy or the merits of the latest book in a series, and is known to give out her books to people for free on occasion. However, she does have a short fuse for people she considers "bad apples", often ignoring them blatantly if she can get away with it. Her definition of who's a bad guy and who isn't is somewhat... off, however.
Awakened Ancestor: Dresdan Files Wizard
Powers: Lifespan measured in centuries, slowly regenerates from any health issue that doesn't kill her, magic.
Going to be spotty posting for a couple of days as I will not be near a computer til about Thursday the 17th. Sorry will resume normal posting after that.
Viktor shall speak in Bold Black, because it is the most Metal of colours.
And his sheet.
Spoiler
Name: Viktor Sokoloff
Age: 27
Appearance: Standing at a height of 6'1", Viktor is an imposing figure. It's not the muscles, or the crew-cut white hair. Nor is it the belligerent face or the piercings. Or even the tattoos and the metal-studded combat boots. It's all those things combined.
Backstory:
Viktor likes to call himself Russian, but the truth is that he has never even set foot in that country. He was born and raised in the United States, his father having emigrated there and his mother being a Texan dentist's assistant. Little Viktor loved the stories of Russia, and was particularly intrigued by the mythology of the ancient country. And although his family was poor, Viktor was happy as a child. Sure, they lived in a slum, and were harassed by local gangs. Okay, so they barely had enough food to get by. But Viktor was a tough kid, enduring it all without complaint.
But most people(or at least, the few people who knew Viktor), would say that his life truly began when he discovered Rock & Roll. Or, to put a finer point on it, Metal. When listening to the radio one day, Viktor heard a song, like no song he had heard before. It was called We Hate Everything, by the band Nuclear War. And to young Viktor, it was a revelation. It was like his whole life opened up, and he knew what he was born to do.
At age twelve, he managed to get a battered, knock-off electric guitar at the local pawn shop, and he practiced religiously, knowing that one day he would be known as a great musician the world over.
And that brings us to the present. Despite his hope of worldwide fame, Viktor's band DezTrucktion has gotten no further than playing at seedy bars as a warmup to more influential artists. Despite his constant managing of the other band members, their brain damaging lifestyles prevent them from amounting to anything, although Viktor refuses to admit it. The band lives in a flat, with Viktor paying the majority of the rent. A string of skanky girlfriends completes the picture of a failing metal artist.
Of course, that started to change after the car crash. The car crash that should have sent Viktor straight to hell, just as the steering wheel column went straight through his solar plexus. Despite the somewhat conspicuous hole in his chest, he managed to escape from the wreck and stagger to the ambulance unassisted. By the time he arrived at the hospital, the wound was gone. And the mystery deepened when he found a large kitchen knife and a leather mask under his pillow in the hospital bed...
As the story begins, Viktor has just left the hospital, the strange artifacts hidden under his coat.
Personality: Viktor is described as intense by most people. His blunt, to the point manner and his piercing stare tend to put people off. But those who get to know him realize that behind this cold exterior is a fun loving, caring guy who just loves to make music. Or maybe not. Regardless, Viktor has a certain disdain for authority that has caused more trouble than it is worth. He distrusts those who use unnecessarily complicated language, or that reference things that he doesn't understand. Which frankly is most things that aren't connected to metal or Russian mythology. However, he respects those who prove their toughness and tenacity, whether in body or mind. Friendship and loyalty are important above all else, and betraying someone's trust is something he would never do.
Awakened Ancestor: Evil Slasher
Powers & Equipment: Enhanced strength, on top of his already superb fitness, extreme resistance to damage and slow regenerative properties. He owns a very tough, razor sharp knife and a curious leather mask that provides a certain amount of protection to his face and also functions as an air filter. Also, a beat up motorcycle and his electric guitar.
Normal Speech:"Pew Pew!"
Normal Thought:'Pew Pew!'
Tenant Speech:"RAWR"
Tenant Thought:'RAWR'
Sheet: Note, change names of locations to standard else-world "medium coastal city", and have him end up moving to new starting location instead of vancouver.
Spoiler
Name: Chris Butcher (It'll make things easier if I just build off myself as a base, forcefully inserting a semblance of fantastical-ness here and there to obscure details.)
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Age: 22
Appearance: Chris stands at a fairly average height, with an athletic build owing more to mesomorphism than any effort on his part. Brown ivy-league hair, getting a bit long, adorns an unspectacular head, with a darker black patchwork beard adorning its face. Poor complexion along with a slight asymmetry stops it from being anything more than handsome, but an infectious smile and green, laughing eyes contribute heavily to his continued status as a desirable bachelor. Short shins and wide feet give him an awkward gait as he walks, while long, graceful fingers and large hands hold the promise of a late final growth spurt. Scars on much of his torso, legs, and arms, from repeated horseplay in poison ivy as a child and teen, contribute heavily to his habit of embellishing stories and exploits.
His fashion sense is handpicked, formal, almost 'preppy' or 'ironic-hipster'-ish. It's not his fault. A string of sisters (or cousins? He didn't remember) he'd been dating one summer had burned most of his t-shirts and cheap, casual jeans, each building on what the previous had left them. He didn't mind the transition, or the coddling. While he took no pride in dressing well or looking good, he did enjoy the benefits and consequences of it.
Polished boots and a jacket that made him look like a drugdealer were his most often-worn winter wear, while in summers he preferred short-sleeved buttonups and khakis - or bright, colourful shorts and matching tees. He needed a new pair of shoes for the coming summer, it wouldn't do to muddy his boots with whatever activities his peers would surely engage him in.
Finally, Chris looks trustworthy, even with the drug-dealer's jacket. Between his smile, his tasteful clothing, and his relaxed, laid-back posture and attitude, he had no trouble getting "sir"s from teens and "fine young man"s from his elders. He'd perfected the "I look like I'm paying attention to you" gaze-and-nod, the "I empathize and understand where you're coming from" shrugs and hand gestures, and much of the other more interesting ways to convince someone you were actually listening to them. Which isn't to say he wasn't. He just liked to make sure you knew it.
Backstory:
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Chris had a pretty easy, if lonely and boring, life. His parents both worked hard to pay for their spending habits and hoarding, giving him at least some attention on a weekly basis. Mostly, he was left at school or with a neighbour. As long as there was TV, and later on, Books or Videogames, he didn't really mind what was happening around him. School was wrought with attention-seeking activities, borne from boredom and diagnosed-but-untreated ADHD; his parents thought they could beat it out of him with a wooden spoon and isolationary groundings. Fat chance of that. However, because his marks were fine and he wasn't too violent, and he almost never started it, his academic punishments were limited mostly to detentions copying math problems, and after-school janitorial duty -- where he learned that no matter how many times you shower after flush someone else's poo, sometimes you just can't feel clean.
Middleschool and Highschool passed much the way you'd expect for an socially awkward introverted trouble-maker -- alone in the library, or less often, accompanied in the library by the occasional puppy-love partner also interested in reading and being alone. He didn't really make any friends in middleschool, and a move across the country meant that he probably wasn't going to make any in highschool either -- especially after his family moved once more before grade 12.
That was a lifetime ago. He'd moved across the country since then, striking out on his own in Vancouver after a completing a brief computer science program and fast-tracking into a Data Entry position, 9-5, medical, dental, vacation and overtime, Work from Home acceptable but free food at the office. Fine by him. It was good food, too. Mostly, he read. Fantasy, Science Fiction, Comics, Webcomics, Fanfiction, Political and Scientific Journals, Russian History, German History, Roman, Greek, Chinese, Indian, English, French, it was all just part of how the world led up to today. Cycles, patterns, we truly were doomed to repeat it. A natural cynic, and depressed since puberty, Chris often though of how crapped-on the world was. Everything from academic reform to agriculture to russia's doomed policies on child-bearing was in the hands of people who cared only about money -- money that didn't exist as anything but a measure of power, at the levels they were playing at. Money they would never need to buy food, or pay for rent. Heck, these were things he didn't even have to worry about, and he was aware of the problem -- the people playing with the big money were so far removed from hardship, or so engrained and tutored into their actions by generations of expectation and familial pressure, that they probably didn't even know there was a problem in any empathetic manner.
Chris had contemplated suicide bombing for a while. He'd been 20 then, a doctor he respected had been killed for his compassion towards others. The kind of hatred, ignorance, and biggotry that his killers kept willfully alive in the world sickened him to no end. It wasn't a religious motivation, but a profound and personal one -- his life to make the future better for others.
In he end, he picked up slack at his job and vowed to put his money towards making some sort of impact. The Singularity Institute was well on its way, and Friendly AI was the best thing he could think of. He just needed to save until he had an impressive donation, something that could get him in on their track and keep him up-to-date on any breaking developments.
Note: double-spoiler for anti-religion. Don't read it if atheism or atheistic arguments offend you, but it's part of who I am and who this character is.
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Chris had been atheistic for many years; his early life as a roman catholic child had profusely turned him off from religion - the cultish behaviours and tariffs, the brainwashing of children, the sexism, the paedophilic scandals, and most importantly, the absurdity of an "all-powerful, all-knowing, all-loving" god, who would send you to hell if you didn't do what he liked, but wouldn't lift a finger to in your aid. It was preposterous, for hundreds of reasons, and no explanation or personal experience had ever done much to sway him from skepticism and rational thinking to faith-based belief.
He'd had plenty of 'spiritual' encounters and experiences. They were easily re-creatable with any large group bent on wishing to be awed, and had little to do with the subject of awe. He'd tried it with a potato. All hail the potato. The 'expectation' of wishing to 'please' or 'feel' God, combined with the social pressure of being surrounded by dozens or even hundreds of others who you also think are "going to feel god first" or "going to feel god better" is well documented for producing liars, seizures, abnormal heart-rates, false memories, or any combination there-of -- most commonly referred to by cultists as 'miracles' or 'speaking in tongues'. He'd been in awe the first time he'd watched someone speak in tongues at bible camp. Then it happened to 4 other campers. With a basis of comparison, it was very obviously an act. He'd done similar things to get attention in school, after all.
Ultimately, he was a bit viscous when it came to attacking religions and religious beliefs, especially when following those beliefs in the real world resulted in real world consequences. Like dead women and children. Like doctors who could refuse to save your life. Like shooting people who did something you disagreed with.
It would have to go.
The last couple of years have been the most interesting for Chris. On-the-job training, coupled with some promotions being available, meant he had enough money and vacation to start traveling. He spent a week in Amsterdam, where he was rescued from thugs by a little girl and her brother, only to find they had robbed him blind and run off after they'd led him down a string of back-alleys -- the thugs took me out to dinner and explained the setup, handing me back my wallet, sans-cash. Later on, he went to Croatia with his friend Ivan, a genuine Croatian Gypsy Prince. There wasn't much there. They brought a couple cheap laptops to give to relatives, along with a pillowcase full of bootleg dvds and porn. Mostly, it was an emboldening experience.
He'd planned to go to Italy this summer with some friends, and re-learn the fine art of making quality coffee.
[Note, I'll include this in my later post as well should I be picked, I just had it written and figure, "might as well include the first little while of my ass getting handed to me by the Kyubi." Think of it as a sampler of how I intend to pan-out]
A few months into winter, however and he started retching up blood. The doctors didn't know what it was. His body was rejecting something, violently, and every time it expelled anything it was accompanied by blood. lots of blood. He didn't feel faint, and he didn't need infusions... he felt pretty great, actually, all things considered. Aside from headaches, nausea, and bleeding from every hole in his body, he was constantly hungry. His ADHD, which he'd thought he'd gotten a handle on with the aid of some prescriptions, flared back into being, and he found himself taking 16 hours or more to do his previously 8-hour job. Luckily, he didn't sleep much anymore. There was too much on the internet, too much in books, for sleep to matter. His nearsightedness cleared up, helping him immensely, and eventually work got back to normal with a hastily drawn-up time management table. Guzzling protein shakes and bacon-wrapped potatoes, Chris was startled to hear his name one night, deep into his rhythm.
Now, this wasn't unusual. Chris had had audio hallucinations before, especially on higher dosages of depression medication, or after taking LSD for the first time as an adventurous teen. Audio illusions were scary, but they weren't... well, Chris had **** himself. It was horrifying. Something under his shirt glowed brightly, lighting up his apartment through his clothing, before his name was spoken once more, 'CHRIS', and, as if the speaker had taken possession of his very being, Chris found himself hurtling head-first into blackness.
He awoke in the forest behind his child-hood home. The trees changed constantly between the seasons, fruit swelling and then disappearing, blossoms blooming and then dissolving. Everything was still. Chris was lying on the grass of a hill he had tobogganed down many times. He got up slowly, wary of everything. This was unlike any trip he'd ever been on. He noticed, with disgusted disappointment, that he had indeed pooped himself. At least it wasn't bloody this time. Stripping his clothes, he wiped himself off in the grass as best he could, shivering slightly in the non-temperature of this most curious place.
Behind him was the bandit fort he'd made with his father as a child, in one of the rare instances where the older man had been home for more than a few hours. The fort was massive. He'd seen pictures of the Great Wall in postcards from friends, and built some pretty impressive structures in late-night energy drink fuelled gaming sessions with his friends in "CaveConstructer", but this dwarfed both by an order of magnitude, at least. Words like "hyperconstruct", "mountainous," and "impossible" came to mind. Standing naked before it, he wheeled backward as it shifted. Changed. Revealed bars, and a depth. A depth of permeating darkness, a black miasmic fog that seemed to seep out into the rest of... wherever this was.
Two red, red eyes opened. Pupils, an abyssal slit. Lids covered in blood-red fur, shiny and wet. Black specs of power racing and spinning through the red entranced Chris, and he was drawn to the fort, to the jail. Touching the bars. Dark fire washed out then, riding on the earth-shattering roar that emanated from the beast's fetid muzzle, dying at the entrance, an uncomfortable heat and stench assaulting Chris's senses. Red power lashed out, and deep and malevolent... and confused. A tantrum raged, for how long Chris didn't know.
Finally, the beast shifted. Its body hidden in the darkness, Chris followed its eyes up, almost, to the top of its prison. Saliva dropped and sizzled near him, and his legs were shaking too uncontrollably to even run. It was only a matter of seconds before the beast demolished his flimsy fort, devoured him, tortured him a thousand ways and never let him die. Chris would have fainted if he wasn't already unconscious in his mindscape. As it was, his brain furiously worked to update on what had happened -- his definitions of fear and power changed irrevocably, his memories subtly re-evaluated themselves in light of this scenario, mirror neurons racing across pathways to simulate future encounters, to ensure survival at all costs...
The darkness finally bled out of the fort entirely, revealing a creature he'd read about in many ancient legends from the far East. Nothing could have prepared him for the size of it, the death rolling off of its skin in visible waves. If anything, such a creature should have been amicable and playful, if possessed of a tricksy and inhumanly alien intelligence. His babbling , incoherent thoughts were cut short - his brain backpedalling yet again as he tried to make sense, any sense, of the situation - when the beast spoke.
Now, 'spoke' might give the wrong impression. Its mouth did not move, nor did words form in any way Chris could understand them at first. As he was thinking, it had stared at him intently, and at first, he'd missed it. A rumbling in the background. Soon, the rumbling became an earthquake. The entirety of reality shook, and Chris clutched his head, which had decided to threaten to split apart at that moment.
The impossible pressure and shaking subsided to the much more bearable volume of atomics being detonated in his ear, before he was finally comfortable with simply having his head inside the engine of a 747.
"THIS SHOULD BE ACCEPTABLE TO YOU, HUMAN. WHYYYY AM I HERE?" The drawn-out question forced Chris to stifle a laugh, for it was asked in precisely the same way a teacher from his highschool had spoken. Noticing this, the beast let out another roar, charging the wooden bars between man and... fox. As it got closer, it got smaller. Chris didn't notice at first, too busy shaking his head and screaming incoherently. The beast apparently hadn't noticed until just before he reached the bars, nearly the size of a double-decker bus. The wood looked much more capable of restraining the beast at this size, but Chris took no chances, moving away from the bars in a crab-scramble, before getting up and shouting at it. "I don't know! I don't even know where I a-"
"SILENCE." Chris was silent. The beast continued. I AM KYUBI, MORTAL, AND IF YOU DO NOT FREE ME IMMEDIATELY YOUR FATE WILL BE LEGENDARILY Painful." The Kyubi had taken 3 steps forward as he spoke, each bought with a substantial diminishing in size and voice. The beast stood as tall as Chris at the shoulder, its man-like torso rippled with muscle as it moved. "How?" Chris stammered, confused.
He was much less afraid of the animal now that it was a realistic size - he'd seen horses as big, and a hippo was bigger and far more dangerous (he thought) than either a horse or this creature - No, Chris, or at least the parts of him that weren't scared (literally) ****less, was angry. He gets abducted, abandoned, and thrown for a trip that would make all the drugs he did in highschool look like pixie sticks, and this motherlover had the audacity to blame HIM? That didn't stop his voice from coming out as a squeak as he desperately tried to explain himself, "Look," he says, cutting off another 'silence mortal' from the caged animal, "I don't know what's going on. I don't know you, I don't know where we are, and I just want to go home. Tell me how to get you out and we can be on our merry-freakin' ways."
His confidence (which had risen steadily as the beast - Kyubi - listened to him with its head cocked like a dog's) took a sudden nosedive as the beast roared in frustration and anger once again. It stalked off into the dim recesses of the fort, growing with each step until once again it was shaking the world, mountain-sized, and impossible to comprehend.
Chris was stuck waiting outside the cage, more confused than ever before.
And he was hungry.
Personality: Chris' dominant traits are his laid-back attitude towards, well, everything, and his desire for people to see things his way. Ironically, this has taken Chris in the direction of rationality and science, despite his fundamentalist background. You might even call it laziness. The easiest way to have others agree with you is to be correct. In order to be correct, you have to accept some defined way to measure correctness, which, for us humans, happens to be the world around us. A bit of round-about logic and combined with Chris' natural intelligence, curiosity, and the fact that Science makes Robots and Lasers, and, well, it's not so circumspect anymore.
He mostly uses his powers of rationally-applied psychology for good. Humans are easily influenced, and doing things to other peoples' thoughts that they wouldn't agree to if they knew it was possible isn't the most morally acceptable to him. Still, where's the harm in making people like you more, or showing off skills you worked hard to earn in a way that makes you stand out more than the other guy?
Honesty and, more and more as of late, loyalty are increasingly relevant to Chris' personality. Growing up, he didn't have rolemodels or friends, preferring books and videogames to reality. Now, faced with reality more than he wants to be, Chris has learned the value of having someone at your back, and the uplifting experience of being there for someone when they need you is not one he would lightly trade away.
Awakened Ancestor: Kyubi Jinchuuriki
Powers and Starting Equipment: "Chakra for Dummies" with a sticky-note saying "Read Me First!", a brace of Kunai and Shuriken, a shinobi bodysuit, and many small pieces of random, blank paper. Chris initially has no powers. We'll see how that changes.
__________________ Hurr hurr back to Archers. Probably a bit high T3 right now, but some abilities feel T2ish. Anyways, PEACH dat for love <3
Going to be spotty posting for a couple of days as I will not be near a computer til about Thursday the 17th. Sorry will resume normal posting after that.
Last edited by stanleyindraven : 01-30-2013 at 08:28 AM.
Buummpp bump, bump bump bump buummpp bump, bump bump bump bump!(tries and fails to convey the star wars theme) Anyone else still want to play? Necron, still want to DM this thing?
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