Do the relics have any particular powers other than their relic status? I gave Xanatos a sword that has served his family for generations that will turn out to be his relic.
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Here's a thought... we don't need a pirate captain character to get started. Just say that he was injured in the fight to take the imperial ship, and is confined to quarters for the time being. Xanatos can run the ship well enough in his absence till a player makes a good captain.
That way we don't have to settle for a second-rate captain character.
That way we don't have to settle for a second-rate captain character.
@Aleranicus Was your character a member of the pirate crew before they captured the imperial ship containing the Grimnoire? Or was he a passenger on the imperial ship?
[hider=Work in Progress]
Character Image Here
[/hr]"A grown-ass man takes a skeleton doll and talks while wiggling its jaw, everyone laughs and showers him with money. I take a real skeleton and make that bitch sit up and talk, everyone runs screaming. The moral of that story... don't reanimate a German for conversation. They've got lousy senses of humor."[/hr]
Name: James Antonius Xanatos
Gender: Male
Age: 35
[b]Alignment:[b] Guild
Rank within Organisation: Member
Birthmark Shape: A triangle with extra prongs at each point, picture coming soon.
Location of Birthmark: The back of his right hand.
Magical Abilities: Necromancy. Xanatos can reanimate the dead. The zombies he creates are fully aware, with detailed memory leading up to the moment of their death. Depending on how much effort he puts into the spell, they can be barely able to speak, or able to flip a car onto its side. The more original matter that is present, the easier it is for him to reanimate the body regardless of the amount of trauma caused. However, they do seem to feel the pain of their body's damage, frequently moaning or screaming in pain. He seems able to diminish the pain they feel, but not do away with it entirely.
In response to questions on the ethics of what he is doing, he insists that he's not actually hurting anyone, that nobody's soul is being trapped or dragged out of purgatory. Rather, this is a fossil or a footprint left in the world that he is simply running energy into. There is no actual pain being felt, only a recreation of pain that can't be entirely done away with.
Some of the zombies are fully autonomous, thinking and reasoning exactly as their living selves would. Others seem unable to think for themselves, but more obedient to his wishes. It seems that he can sacrifice the zombie's personality and memories for mindless obedience, to whatever degree he wishes.
Place of Birth: Dallas, Texas
Currently Residing: Mystic, CT
Personality: Cheerful, friendly, the sort of extrovert who is reluctant to introduce himself to new people. His humor is a little dark at times, but nothing grievous. He's very polite in the Southern Charm way and despises New York City, going there only when he feels compelled to.
History/Bio:
Relationships
Name:
Relationship (Bold as needed):Best Friends - Good Friends - Friends - Well known - Warm - Acquaintances - Unknown - Cold - Dislikes - Hates - Enemies - Rival - Nemesis
Characters opinion of them: (Why do they feel the way that they do)
[/hider]
James Antonius Xanatos
Character Image Here
[/hr]"A grown-ass man takes a skeleton doll and talks while wiggling its jaw, everyone laughs and showers him with money. I take a real skeleton and make that bitch sit up and talk, everyone runs screaming. The moral of that story... don't reanimate a German for conversation. They've got lousy senses of humor."[/hr]
Name: James Antonius Xanatos
Gender: Male
Age: 35
[b]Alignment:[b] Guild
Rank within Organisation: Member
Birthmark Shape: A triangle with extra prongs at each point, picture coming soon.
Location of Birthmark: The back of his right hand.
Magical Abilities: Necromancy. Xanatos can reanimate the dead. The zombies he creates are fully aware, with detailed memory leading up to the moment of their death. Depending on how much effort he puts into the spell, they can be barely able to speak, or able to flip a car onto its side. The more original matter that is present, the easier it is for him to reanimate the body regardless of the amount of trauma caused. However, they do seem to feel the pain of their body's damage, frequently moaning or screaming in pain. He seems able to diminish the pain they feel, but not do away with it entirely.
In response to questions on the ethics of what he is doing, he insists that he's not actually hurting anyone, that nobody's soul is being trapped or dragged out of purgatory. Rather, this is a fossil or a footprint left in the world that he is simply running energy into. There is no actual pain being felt, only a recreation of pain that can't be entirely done away with.
Some of the zombies are fully autonomous, thinking and reasoning exactly as their living selves would. Others seem unable to think for themselves, but more obedient to his wishes. It seems that he can sacrifice the zombie's personality and memories for mindless obedience, to whatever degree he wishes.
Place of Birth: Dallas, Texas
Currently Residing: Mystic, CT
Personality: Cheerful, friendly, the sort of extrovert who is reluctant to introduce himself to new people. His humor is a little dark at times, but nothing grievous. He's very polite in the Southern Charm way and despises New York City, going there only when he feels compelled to.
History/Bio:
Relationships
Name:
Relationship (Bold as needed):Best Friends - Good Friends - Friends - Well known - Warm - Acquaintances - Unknown - Cold - Dislikes - Hates - Enemies - Rival - Nemesis
Characters opinion of them: (Why do they feel the way that they do)
[/hider]
In my CS, I called the pirate ship the Last Song. I can change that if I need to.
Cool.
Still accepting? Would some sort of necromancer be acceptable?
Question: what belts are there, and who currently holds them? A tag team title, women's title, and Grand Title, I assume, any others?
Instantly delighted, Billy had to lean back in his chair and touch his fist to his mouth, biting down hard to suppress the shit-eating grin that was threatening to earn him the ire of his boss. This was an opportunity that had just fallen into their laps on a silver platter. How often did the main event of Madison Square get tossed up in the air and get declared a free-for-all? He knew of one or two back on the indie circuit who would have literally killed for this kind of opportunity. Both were Mexican luchas. That wasn't racist, right? Some of his best friends were luchadors.
When the door closed at last, the lazy-eyed rocker glanced to his left at the big Irishman. "Damn, Red... this is gonna be too easy. You want the main event too?"
"Who doesn't?" Reddy had always gotten along well with Billy, they'd worked some great matches in the past. Standing, they both waved to the rest of the wrestlers and exited, heading for Billy's favorite brainstorming spot, the bleachers above the practice ring. Sitting down with a grunt, they both surveyed their kingdom in contented silence for a minute before getting down to business.
"Ok, so we've got ten weeks," Billy began. "You're one of the best heels on the roster, storywise. Everyone likes seeing Ivan lose the big one. But you're a hundred pounds bigger than me, so you're going to have no problem kicking me around. Honestly? As it stands, I want to start something now that will take us all ten weeks to the Garden. You and me, East versus West, it'll be gold."
The Irishman nodded. "I'd like to see that too. Ok, we aim big. What's the worst that can happen? Sonny pulls the plug and we've just wasted three weeks, regardless of what we've done up till then."
"That's the spirit," Billy grinned. "I need to hide a mini-fridge up here. Beer is always good for the brain."
Putting his feet up, Reddy considered the ring. "Mmmm.... how do you want to do this? Reckon I should kick a flag or something?"
Billy grimaced, and shook his head. "Too soon, man, too soon. We have to build up to it. No, and here's the thing... I think I should win his one. Wait, wait, hear me out. See, we want to make it personal, yeah? Generic USA vs. Russia has been done a thousand times. I want you to have a better reason to hate on me than just 'me big fat Russian, squash American!'. If I beat you in the first match, we give Sonny a sneak peek of the Garden match, and we give you a reason to hate on me."
"Can't we just wrestle?" Reddy half-joked. He'd never been one for the storylines, Billy remembered. "They'll cheer regardless of the complex shit. I cheap shot you for the win, then someone comes out of the back and clobbers me. I look dirty, you look strong, everyone's happy."
"You got no soul, man," Billy chided. "You got everyone else's soul rattling around in there and none of your own, you soul-snatching sonofa--"
"That's gingers!" Red shoved him, laughing. "I ain't ginger, I'm Black Irish!"
"Ginger on the inside," Billy cackled, shoving back and only succeeding in scooting his own ass further along the bench. "Ok, ok. So hear me out. I put you over, but I still win, see. You beat me like a pinata, I only win because of a clever reversal. You get mad, 'stupid tricky Americans take advantage of poor fat Russian', and spend the next ten weeks chasing me around the arena, sneak attacking me, interfering in my matches, all that good shit. Maybe I challenge you to a couple of straight fights and you win by cheating. Then it all comes to a head at the Garden."
Red mused on that. Ten weeks of TV time was nothing to sneeze at. This could be his big break, and they both knew it.
"All right," he said finally. "All right. So how do you want to do it?"
"We tape a couple of promos for Sonny," Billy said. "We work separate matches at the local venues, build each of us up separately. Make people curious to see who's gonna put the big fat Russian down. Then when the show starts, I'm the first one out, leading the people in the Pledge of Allegiance. You interrupt me, call me a few generic insults. I offer to kick you so hard the Motherland will feel it, you laugh and walk off. Then the first match starts. After that, we play a taped promo, me calling you out for your insult to the Pledge of Allegiance. I'll challenge you to a good old American Showdown. Another match, then we play the second promo, you accepting the challenge and threatening to make me your Gulag Girl."
"Reckon Sonny will let me say that on TV?"
"Worst that happens is we re-record that promo," Billy shrugged. "Then we have our match, but you're over-confident. We go back and forth, you build some great heat, then stop and start trying to lead the crowd in 'Oh Russia, the Motherland I'd Like To Fuck'. While your back is turned, I get up, tap you on the shoulder. You turn around and surprise, bitch! For America and apple pie!"
"I like apple pie."
"I don't. Clean win, I strut out of there. When I get to the top of the ramp, you grab a microphone and threaten me, tell me to watch my back."
Red considered that some more. "Sounds complicated. Reckon Sonny will go for it?"
"All we have to do is put the two promos together. The wrestling will take care of itself. Just show him the two promos, and tell him that I win clean. Short and sweet."
A doleful eye from the huge Irishman. "You came up with that awfully fast."
"I think fast." Which was partially true. Billy liked to think while he worked out, and pitching various storylines with people in the locker room was a great way to occupy his mind while pushing through sets. Billy had several such plots including a tag team partner already picked and a romantic triangle that was only coincidentally starring the finest two girls in the locker room.
"I still think we should just wrestle," Red stood up with a groan. "But fuck it, I'll give this a shot. I'll go write a couple of promos."
Giving him a thumbs-up, Billy sat back, quite pleased. Yeah. He could make this good.
When the door closed at last, the lazy-eyed rocker glanced to his left at the big Irishman. "Damn, Red... this is gonna be too easy. You want the main event too?"
"Who doesn't?" Reddy had always gotten along well with Billy, they'd worked some great matches in the past. Standing, they both waved to the rest of the wrestlers and exited, heading for Billy's favorite brainstorming spot, the bleachers above the practice ring. Sitting down with a grunt, they both surveyed their kingdom in contented silence for a minute before getting down to business.
"Ok, so we've got ten weeks," Billy began. "You're one of the best heels on the roster, storywise. Everyone likes seeing Ivan lose the big one. But you're a hundred pounds bigger than me, so you're going to have no problem kicking me around. Honestly? As it stands, I want to start something now that will take us all ten weeks to the Garden. You and me, East versus West, it'll be gold."
The Irishman nodded. "I'd like to see that too. Ok, we aim big. What's the worst that can happen? Sonny pulls the plug and we've just wasted three weeks, regardless of what we've done up till then."
"That's the spirit," Billy grinned. "I need to hide a mini-fridge up here. Beer is always good for the brain."
Putting his feet up, Reddy considered the ring. "Mmmm.... how do you want to do this? Reckon I should kick a flag or something?"
Billy grimaced, and shook his head. "Too soon, man, too soon. We have to build up to it. No, and here's the thing... I think I should win his one. Wait, wait, hear me out. See, we want to make it personal, yeah? Generic USA vs. Russia has been done a thousand times. I want you to have a better reason to hate on me than just 'me big fat Russian, squash American!'. If I beat you in the first match, we give Sonny a sneak peek of the Garden match, and we give you a reason to hate on me."
"Can't we just wrestle?" Reddy half-joked. He'd never been one for the storylines, Billy remembered. "They'll cheer regardless of the complex shit. I cheap shot you for the win, then someone comes out of the back and clobbers me. I look dirty, you look strong, everyone's happy."
"You got no soul, man," Billy chided. "You got everyone else's soul rattling around in there and none of your own, you soul-snatching sonofa--"
"That's gingers!" Red shoved him, laughing. "I ain't ginger, I'm Black Irish!"
"Ginger on the inside," Billy cackled, shoving back and only succeeding in scooting his own ass further along the bench. "Ok, ok. So hear me out. I put you over, but I still win, see. You beat me like a pinata, I only win because of a clever reversal. You get mad, 'stupid tricky Americans take advantage of poor fat Russian', and spend the next ten weeks chasing me around the arena, sneak attacking me, interfering in my matches, all that good shit. Maybe I challenge you to a couple of straight fights and you win by cheating. Then it all comes to a head at the Garden."
Red mused on that. Ten weeks of TV time was nothing to sneeze at. This could be his big break, and they both knew it.
"All right," he said finally. "All right. So how do you want to do it?"
"We tape a couple of promos for Sonny," Billy said. "We work separate matches at the local venues, build each of us up separately. Make people curious to see who's gonna put the big fat Russian down. Then when the show starts, I'm the first one out, leading the people in the Pledge of Allegiance. You interrupt me, call me a few generic insults. I offer to kick you so hard the Motherland will feel it, you laugh and walk off. Then the first match starts. After that, we play a taped promo, me calling you out for your insult to the Pledge of Allegiance. I'll challenge you to a good old American Showdown. Another match, then we play the second promo, you accepting the challenge and threatening to make me your Gulag Girl."
"Reckon Sonny will let me say that on TV?"
"Worst that happens is we re-record that promo," Billy shrugged. "Then we have our match, but you're over-confident. We go back and forth, you build some great heat, then stop and start trying to lead the crowd in 'Oh Russia, the Motherland I'd Like To Fuck'. While your back is turned, I get up, tap you on the shoulder. You turn around and surprise, bitch! For America and apple pie!"
"I like apple pie."
"I don't. Clean win, I strut out of there. When I get to the top of the ramp, you grab a microphone and threaten me, tell me to watch my back."
Red considered that some more. "Sounds complicated. Reckon Sonny will go for it?"
"All we have to do is put the two promos together. The wrestling will take care of itself. Just show him the two promos, and tell him that I win clean. Short and sweet."
A doleful eye from the huge Irishman. "You came up with that awfully fast."
"I think fast." Which was partially true. Billy liked to think while he worked out, and pitching various storylines with people in the locker room was a great way to occupy his mind while pushing through sets. Billy had several such plots including a tag team partner already picked and a romantic triangle that was only coincidentally starring the finest two girls in the locker room.
"I still think we should just wrestle," Red stood up with a groan. "But fuck it, I'll give this a shot. I'll go write a couple of promos."
Giving him a thumbs-up, Billy sat back, quite pleased. Yeah. He could make this good.
Ooo I get the Russian! *pumps fist*
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