[center][img]http://66.media.tumblr.com/a724e2eb0ae0b09d881a5e845267c2f7/tumblr_obfux2TVFw1s841xbo1_500.jpg[/img]

[i]"All men are afraid in battle. The coward is the one who lets his fear overcome his sense of duty."[/i]
-- George S. Patton[/center]

[b]Player Name:[/b] Nightrunner

[b]Alias:[/b] The Black Panther

[b]Real Name:[/b] T'Challa

[b]Moral Alignment:[/b] WTL

[b]Affiliation:[/b] The Black Panther

[b]Character Origin & Backstory:[/b]
[Indent]Wakanda has remained a pariah on the African continent for millennia, despite proving throughout every stage of its existence that it is a sterling example of progress. While not entirely responsible for their distinction from neighboring nations, their most valuable asset has always been the metal Vibranium, which is renowned for its durability, light weight, and absurd propensity for shock absorption. In all of its history it has never been conquered, with military might comparable to Rome, albeit without the empirical status. The leaders of the nation have always been identified as The Black Panther, as a way of identifying him as the sovereign leader in accord with their mythology. If you are not in line to inherit the position through heredity, to become the next Black Panther you must overcome the present Black Panther in unarmed combat, thigh this option has traditionally only been available one day out of the year. This has not always led to the most competent leadership.

In the nineteen eighties, Wakanda entered the rulership of T'Chaka, a skilled warrior, though more for his brash demeanor. Shortly after his rule began he received a request for a mining company, Klaw Industries, to extract Vibranium in exchange for a multimillion dollar compensation. Already exceedingly wealthy and highly protective of their cherished metal, T'Chaka declined. In response the company simply brought an army, which included many mutants, over the border along with their mining equipment. Rather than engage in combat with the Wakandan forces directly, they fought with ecological devastation, burning down the forests and polluting the rivers. In the end, the Klaw Corporation was expelled and the Vibranium mines were protected, but the environmental damage was too extreme for life in Wakanda to continue being pleasant for the time.

For the mostpart, the citizens of Wakanda emigrated to a neighborhood in New York City, leaving their home to recover for a time. The mines, to this day, remain protected by a complex security system designed to keep anyone unauthorized out. The Wakandan people adapted, urbanizing as necessary without losing their sense of community. Their warriors changed in style from that of a formal army to resemble a street gang, whose members identified themselves as The Black Panthers to the confusion of many. The figurehead of the community was still The Black Panther T'Chaka.

T'Challa grew up with many benefits of being upper class despite living in a slum. Early on, his father recognized his superb intelligence and chose to nurture it with private tutoring, along with anyone else in the community who displayed special skills. T'Challa grew up taking a full share in combatting other gangs around the neighborhood, and he got rather good at it. He got so good, in fact, that his father instructed him to join the United States military just so that he could receive the training. He did just so, treating his time there like a college education for a fighter. When he returned, he was a strong young man, and his condition inspired several other boys to follow his example of training.

At this point, he was unquestionably more powerful than his father T'Chaka, who resigned, largely on account of his own age catching up to him. Now imbued with the symbolic authority owed to the head of the Wakandan nation, T'Challa's first order of business was to make his presence known. The national treasury of Wakanda was an asset available to T'Challa, so he tapped into it into to give the ceremonial garb of The Black Panther a modern update, reimagining it as a fully fledged battlesuit.

Wearing it, he made it abundantly clear that no rivals would be tolerated within the realm of the Black Panthers. Unfortunately, their past followed them. Within Wakanda, there had been one micronation that contained a rival to the Black Panther, the Cult of the White Gorilla followed the Wakandans to the states, bringing with them a man-ape bent on bringing about the death of The Black Panther. He did not succeed, on account of the fact that the Black Panther does not rely merely on his physical prowess.

Unsurprisingly, the extreme territorial nature of the Wakandan immigrants has brought the attention of the authorities. No police officers are actually welcome unless they are actively on The Black Panther's payroll. When they initially arrived, the members of the community were subject to scrutiny and prejudice, spilling over into harsh mistreatment from the police department. The Black Panthers have been sure to prevent further incidents from going unnoticed.[/Indent]
[b]Powers and Abilities:[/b]
[Indent]T'Challa is a superb athlete. His physique is in a condition that comparisons to the ancient gods are not difficult to draw. He is well versed in a handful of martial arts, most of which are Eastern in origin, and has recieved training in both melee weapons and firearms alike. His intelligence is not something to shake a stick at, as he is considered a genius by many, and his education covers a vast swath of the sciences. He is very wealthy personally, and has the collective treasury of Wakanda in order to fund his ventures when necessary. When anticipating danger as well as when performing certain ceremonies, he wears his Black Panther suit, which has an exterior layer made of a Vibranium weave that is perfect for absorbing and diffusing forces within itself. It's propensity for absorbing vibration also makes it rather convenient for sneaking around and dropping from great heights. Among other armaments, the suit is equipped with retractable claws made of Anti-metal, a form of Adamantium that can create divisions in all other metals.[/Indent]
[b]Sample Story Arcs:[/b]
[Indent][I]Runoff -[/I] Several Wakandan immigrants are caught in an explosion set by an "eco-terrorist" group. T'Challa takes it as a personal attack on his people and determines that he will find the perpetrators and force them to face what they've done. In doing so, he has to confront his own feelings about the situation regarding Wakanda's damaged eco-system.

[I]Injury -[/I] The black panther has been killed, the one belonging to the zoo that is. In a gruesome display of disdain for the Wakandan immigrants, a few boys from a nearby gang perform animal cruelty along with a series of other symbolic attacks at the Wakandan community. Teasing is one thing, but T'Challa isn't sure when the best time is to intervene and forcibly put a stop to it - if any.

[I]Technicolor -[/I] A member of the police force unofficially joins the Black Panther gang as it's most aggressive proponent. It's been said that there is no preacher like a convert. The same principle applies in the case of the White Wolf, whose brutal methods are enough to stir the disapproval of the Black Panther and require intervention.[/Indent]
[b]Rules:[/b] I read 'em.

[b]Sample Post:[/b]

[img]http://www.pngmart.com/files/2/Black-Panther-Logo-Transparent-PNG.png[/img]

[B] The Wakandan Sector, New York City
3:30 A.M.[/B]

Some men delude themselves into believing that the modern world provides them some sort of protection, some kind of separation from their primal, frenetic base instincts. They like to think that that there is nothing that they don't know about in the world and that the monster under their bed was never real. Monsters are real. Frighteningly so. You can assign them a genus if you'd like, but it will never change what they really are. Study will never take away their claws and fangs, their greed, or their malevolent aptitude. But surgery will.

In the concrete jungle of New York City, a hunter stalks his prey. Two hundred pounds of camouflage and muscle casually float through the thick shadow. The cloud of predation hangs there, lingering like the spectre of poverty over the aging parasitopolis. He is invisible, as undetectable as a pathogen hacked onto you by your well meaning grandmother.

Just beyond his line of sight inside a cozy little condemned motel, there are vultures picking at their carrion. Two of them specifically. One is staring into the blue light of his cell phone, wondering what pleasures his near future will bring him. The other is smiling, studying the contents of the wallet in his hand, the wallet he'd just lifted from the unconscious man by his side.

"Most.. Moist.. Moss.. eh.. Bomvera, male, thirty one years old," the walletholder reads. "We got a buyer, yet?"

"Yes sir. Thirty dollars. Enough to pay off Netflix and still have enough left over for a bag of popcorn," the one holding his cell phone reads.

"Y'know, it's really been bugging me lately. There has got to be an easier way to make a buck than this. I mean, some of these people are violent criminals, some of them have guns."

"Almost makes you think it's worth getting a job and earning an honest living."

"You got that right, partner. Almost!!!"

"Wah ha ha ha ha heh!" The pair burst into simultaneous laughter as they stand up before tossing the man's wallet back onto his body, keeping the thin pad of dollar bills in hand.

"Y'know, I could go for a burger right now."

"Can't swing it -- we won't have enough left over to cover Spotify. Those piracy charges are crazy anyways -- two hundred fifty grand for a single case of copyright infringement? No, thank you. I will buy my own vinyl collection first."

As the pair discuss the difficulties of life, they do not notice the ebony silhouette creeping noiselessly through their window sill. They do not heed the sound of their stirring victim's groaning. They do not recognize the mistake they have made. Frightened from the clawed hand materializing on their shoulders, they do not maintain their poise nor their high spirits. And they do not stand the faintest chance against the mighty Black Panther!

Their screams punctuate the late hour of the night like a period at the end of a sentence.

"Give him back what you have stolen!" The Black Panther commands, digging his claws into the men's shoulders. They scream again.

"We can't," one whimpers, "it's his identity. We sold his identity."

"Then you owe him an identity, don't you?" The Panther suggests, persuading the men with a stronger squeeze.

"Okay! O-kaaayy!!" The cell phone holder concedes, producing his own wallet. "Just stop squeezing, please."

The Panther concedes before snatching the wallet and scanning over each and every one of the thieves' cards, taking pictures with a camera installed within his mask. "You owe this man more than your identity, where is his money?"

Silently, the man who'd held the billfold surrendered every last time he'd taken. "We're sorry. Okay?"

"You hear that, Moise? They said they're sorry. Is that good enough?" The Panther asks his comatose countryman, who nods his head in an affirmative manner. "It would seem he is feeling merciful today. Pray that you ruffians never need our mercy again. That well is starting to run dry."