Here's my app then. 

[hider=Caine MacFondóir]

[center][b][u]Create a Hero RPG Application[/b][/u]

[B][U]Character you have created:[/b][/u] 

The Grim North

[b][u]Alias:[/b][/u]

Caine MacFondóir

[b][u]Speech Colour:[/b][/u]

N/A

[b][u]Character Alignment:[/u][/b] 

Walking the Line

[u][b]Identity:[/u][/b]

Unknown, though he is marked by British and European law enforcement agencies. 

[u][b]Character Personality:[/u][/b] 

Caine's personality is somewhat at odds with his brutish appearance. While he looks little more than slightly more savage version of your average loan shark leg-breaker he is actually a deep thinking man, one who finds himself constantly wrestling with the morality of his own actions. 

There was once a time where his every action was geared towards one objective; making himself a name. He wanted to be the sort of man that other people would speak with respect , admiration, and if need be fear. Now his name, and the deeds it took to earn it, weigh on him iron. Redemption is what he seeks now, regardless of the cost to himself. 

If he was to name his fatal flaw, the one that con that takes center stage of the many he owns, it would be pride. It was pride that led him down the many dark paths that has led to his current situation. It is pride that gets him in constant trouble. If someone tells him to move it is pride that makes him dig in his heels and dare them to make him. If he's told what he can and can't do its pride that sees him go out of his way to prove everyone wrong. Ironically enough there's very little in his life that he's genuinely proud of despite all that. 

In a fight Caine prefers to mix it up close and personal rather than use a ranged weapon. Its not that he's a bad shot (he's all right, he's just far from the best) its just he knows his strengths and weaknesses so he plays to them rather than muddling along . He has a affinity for combat, a natural born fighter who understands instinctively that which other men spend years of their life training for. 

[u][b]Uniform/costume:[/u][/b]

Caine doesn't really have a costume of any kind, nor does he have any wish to hide his identity. His tastes in clothing is simple yet comfortable, usually wearing tees, plaid shirts and jeans, his [url=http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/39/Dr_Martens%2C_black%2C_old.jpg]boots[/url] being almost as old as he is. The one concession to his former high paid position is his [url=http://jackets.cwmalls.com/media/catalog/product/cache/1/image/9df78eab33525d08d6e5fb8d27136e95/m/e/mens_sheepskin_shearling_coat_833075m1.jpg] sheepskin, fur lined jacket[/url], a classy piece of attire he lifted from a French mob boss who paid a truly obscene amount of euros for it. Its a bit weatherbeaten now, but it's still clearly a well made piece of clothing. 

As far as weapons and equipment goes Caine will usually pack what he feels is relevant to what he's doing, budget allowing of course. The one constant is that he will try to secrete a few knives on his person. Never can have too many knives. . . 

[b][u]Origin Info/Details:[/u][/b]

Caine was born to Fergus and Caitlain MacFondóir in the Northmost reaches of the Scottish highlands on a cold December morning slightly over thirty years ago. Simply put he was a big baby, weighing at 11lb 8oz. His father, an ex-royal marine, was overjoyed, his son being healthy and more importantly strong, a perfect candidate to carry on the family name. Fergus named the boy Caine, meaning 'battle' in old Gaelic, a grim and unorthodox subject to name a child after, but the senior MacFondóir had always been a little in love with war. He wanted his son to be a fighter, and this was the first step. 

Caitlain MacFondóir left the family while Caine was still a toddler, with no word as to why or where. The young Caine hated her for that for a while, but as he grew he came to understand, if not condone, her decision. His father was not an easy man to live with, joyless and quick with criticism yet fiercely attached to his son, his legacy. Caitlain was no doubt driven away by Fergus' behaviour, Caine liking to think the only reason she didn't take him with her was fear of her husbands wrath if he ever found her with his legacy. 

The rest of his childhood was only what you could describe as grim. Fergus wanted a fighter, a warrior to become a soldier like him, and he would put his son through any hardship to achieve that. Spartan boys of old probably had it easier than Caine. His father liked to brag about how his son learnt to box before he learnt to walk, and exaggeration, but not a massive one. Caine was encouraged to fight with other children, to meet every slight with violence, to never back down, a mindset that still affects him today. At first the junior MacFondóir thought he could earn his fathers love by excelling in the challenges set for him, but eventually came to realise he wasn't a son to Fergus, merely an object. 

It was during this time that Caine first heard the Great Song. He never spoke of it to anyone, at first fearing he was going insane, but slowly came to realise that the Song was a gift. He taught himself to tell the differences in the tune and what the changes in beat and temp signified. As his understanding of the Song increased he began to grow distant from Fergus. His father, ever a paranoid man, began to fear that his legacy was going to leave him. The two had a violent falling out when Caine was in his late teens, leaving Fergus hospitalised and Caine looking for a new place to live. He left the North without a backwards glance. 

His travels eventually brought him to Edinburgh, the capital of Scotland. Without going into the gory details his fate was intertwined with a young man named Robert Prince when he was inducted into Robert's fathers criminal organisation. Robert was Caine's polar opposite, slight were Caine was broad, cunning were MacFondóir was brutal, the two became inseparable friends, filling gaps in each others lives left by their less than stellar father figures while complimenting each others weaknessess. 

Robert's father eventually died, leaving Prince a criminal orginisation which he quickly expanded, to encompass all of Britain. His success could be attributed to his cunning, but much could be said for Caine's hand in his friends rise to power. When Robert couldn't convince men to do what he wanted with his words and his intellegince he would send in Caine, as people who diasagreed with him rarely did it for long, and they never did it again. During this time MacFondóir made a name for himself in the criminal underworld as the sort of man you never wanted to run into. He earned himself several epithet in relation to his propensity for violence including Red Caine, Bloody Caine, The Prince's Sword, The Big Dog, Big Caine, The Bad Highlander and several others. His most well known name though was The Grim North, in relation to where he was from and how cold he was to his enemies. 

Caine grew disillusioned this life though, eventually becomming sickened by the paths and the actions and the people that had brought him to were he was. Most of all he was sickened by himself though, of the monster he had become. He knew he had to change, but that he would never get that chance to change at Robert's side. 

He told his old friend all this, how he had to leave to become a better man. Prince seemed to take it well enough on the surface, but the killers he sent to Caine's door the night before he left said different. Caine knew to much about Robert and his operation, and would be too much of a liability in the wind, to easy a prize for rival gangs or the police. Prince had to kill him to be safe. Caine realised this, knowing that he would never be safe himself while Robert was alive, but couldn't quite bring himself to kill his old friend. Instead he did the only thing left to him. He ran. 

He's been running for almost two years now, unable to stop anywhere for long as Robert's organisation has grown more powerful in the intervening time, able to reach Caine wherever he stops now. He has come to Lost Haven, figuring that it's higher than average heroic meta human count would intimidate Prince from entering the city in strength. Wherever this will work or not, only time will tell.

[b][u]Hero Type:[/b][/u]

Brick/Muscle mixed with some low level empath/emotional manipulation as well as a limited danger sense.

[b][u]Power Level:[/b][/u]

B. City Level

[b][u]Powers:[/u][/b]

Caine's physical attributes are all above those of a peak human athlete, especially his strength and endurance. His body also recovers from wounds far faster than is the norm, sealing cuts and abrasions in a matter of hours.
 
His greatest power to his mind is the ability to hear what he calls the Great Song. The Song is like a series of harmonious notes and chords that are constantly playing in the back of his head, usually a soft and lilting tune that provides comfortable background music to his actions, which he more often than not doesn't listen to. When things are going wrong though, when he's in trouble, about to be attacked or to walk into an ambush the song changes, becoming more hectic and urgent, a warning to him. In battle the song changes again, becoming the boom of the war drum, the crakoom of thunder, sounds to fire his blood and urge him on, the beat and the tempo leading him like a ballerina in a well choreographed dance. Listening to the music allows him to predict his opponents movements and guess at their strategy's. 

Connected with the Great Song is the one he refers to as the Singer. The Singer is a being that occasionally takes over Caine's body in a fight, usually when all other hope is lost. The Singer is faster, stronger and more ferocious than any man could ever hope to be, able to interpret and affect the Great Song in ways Caine could only dream off. The Singer lives to kill, to silence all those living until there is nothing left save it and the Song. It does not differentiate between friend nor foe, to him all beings are a discordant note. Caine isn't sure what the Singer is, whether it is a Spirit, a Demon or just the manifestation of his own rage, knowing only that it has its hooks in him and wont let go. He fights to keep it from ever regaining control, but in his darkest moments he knows its only a matter of time until it emerges next.
 
His mood has some effect on the moods on others, although in very blunt and heavy handed ways. When he is angry he inspires fear in those around him, a sort of primal terror, almost like the sensation most people get when they see a creature like a snake or a bear. When he stands his ground he can incite his allies to greater levels of courage or steadfastness. He thinks this may be an offshoot of his ability to effect the Great Song, changing the music that others subconsciously hear, but he can't be sure. 

Caine has an intuitive feel for all thinks martial, especially close combat. Though he has also had extensive training in un-armed and armed combat he feels his skills in combat are more natural than learnt. He seems especially adept with ancient European medieval weaponry, such as axes, spears, maces and swords. Why this is he isn't sure. 

[b][u]Attributes[/b][/u]

[u][b]Strength Level:[/u][/b]

2 tonnes

[u][b]Speed/Reaction Timing Level:[/u][/b] 

Slightly above human peak speed, with vastly greater reaction times.

[u][b]Endurance at MAXIMUM Effort:[/u][/b] 

10 hours. Advanced regenerative properties helps battle lactic acid build up.

[b][u]Agility:[/b][/u] 

About half again higher than peak human.

[u][b]Intelligence:[/u][/b]

 Average 

[u][b]Fighting Skill:[/b][/u] 

Mastered 

[u][b]Resources:[/u][/b] 

Minimal

[u][b]Weaknesses:[/u][/b]

Caine's greatest weakness is the Singer. If the Singer takes over it makes him stronger, faster and more effective in battle but he loses all control, much like berserker of old. He no longer differentiates between friend and foe, instead seeing people only as targets to vent his fury upon. 

Another of his weaknesses is his pride. Though it can work for him, a canny opponent can easily use his pride to manipulate him, pushing and prodding him into paths they wish him to take. 

He is also a certified technophobe. Be it computers, cellphones, or anything in between, there's a fairly good chance he doesn't know how to work it. 

[u][b]Supporting Characters:[/u][/b]

([I]Will add more as they are introduced in the RP[/i])

[u]Robert Prince;[/u] Head of a British based criminal organisation which uses several legitimate business fronts to hide the more unsavoury pursuits such as drug trafficking, arms dealing and sex slavery. Caine's former employer and best friend, they are currently engaged in a game of deadly cat and mouse. 

[u]Joseph 'Big Murph' Murphy;[/u] Middle-aged former SAS captain, as bad tempered as he is big. Prince brought him into his organisation after Murphs fall from grace with the forces, at first as some extra muscle but he quickly brought Caine under his wing, teaching him the finer points on warfare and combat. It was Big Murph that Prince gave the job of finishing North too. Their parting wasn't friendly.

[u][b]Do you know how to post pictures on RPG boards?:[/u][/b]

[img=http://img2.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20140310102804/firstlaw/images/8/86/Logen-MathiaArkoniel.jpg]

[u][b]Sample Post :[/u][/b]

Well this is a hell of a situation, ain't no arguing with that. There I was, packing up my old life in the London flat I've been dossing out of the last two years, head full of ideas on how I could become a better man, how I'd begin the slow climb outta the pit I'd dug for myself with all my dark words and darker deeds when the Great Song went from a pleasant background refrain to a furious storm of sound, that usually only happening when I was in deep shit. I'd long ago learnt to trust the Song implicitly, throwing myself forwards over the back of the couch instinctively. Good thing too, as I felt a sharp burning across my upper arm that could only mean I'd just been bled a little. Ironically enough if you apply a little hindsight I shoulda known better, you keep both eyes on the future and you're liable to miss it when your past sneaks up on you to stab ya in the back. Case in point, one Mr Joseph Murphy, AKA 'Big Murph', currently engaged in trying his damndest to kick the brains out of your's trulys skull. 

Course the fella in front of me is wearing a balaclava and dressed in black, but there's still no mistaking him for anyone but Murph, ain't anyone else that big in London. A full half foot taller than I am, me being a pretty respectable 6'3”, with the breadth of shoulder that you could only get with a lifetime of lifting heavy weights and some truly freakish genetics, Murph might have well as called ahead as worn a mask to disguise himself. That, and he's probably the only person in the city to willingly sneak into my house to kill me, and definitely the only one who would come without a gun. 

That's not to say that Murph ain't armed, he isn't stupid. Nah, he's come with a knife, foot long steel blade that still looks little more than a tooth-pick in that big paw of his, the bloody wound on my bicep testament to its sharpness. I glare across my lounge room at Murph, still trying to figure out why he was here and and more importantly why he was trying to kill me. He didn't really look like he cared to give me the time to figure it out though, stepping lightly, despite all that bulk of his, around the couch to come at me with the knife levelled at my chest. He'd missed his chance for an easy kill though, and I wasn't planning on giving him another. 

Pa used to always say [i]'You want to win a fight Caine, you attack! Ain't no one ever won a scrap by waiting for the other guy to make his move.'[/i] My Pa doesn't know much, but he does know how to fight so I spared no time in taking his advice, leaping at Murph when he got close enough. For his part Murph had the decency to look surprised that I'd attacked in stead of getting stuck like a Christmas goose, especially when I slapped his knife-hand away before smashing my fist into his nose. 

I keep pressing him, knowing that you gotta take every advantage you can get when fighting a guy like Big Murph, but I only get one more hit in before he's recovered enough of his wits to get back into this fight, rolling with the next blow while flicking that knife of his out again. The Song gives me enough warning to jump backwards but I still feel that hot tear of metal through flesh as the blade scores across the skin of my chest. 

Murph follows in, knife stabbing forwards straight for my throat. I catch his wrist at the last second, too close for my liking, twisting hard to make him drop the knife, evening the playing field a little in my favour. I pull him in close, driving my knee up into his stomach, looking to wind him, but he manages to get his free arm in the way to deflect the force of the blow. He follows up with a quick, sharp gut punch, not enough force in it to really hurt but enough to drive me back, squawking like some kinda panicked bird. That's embarrassing. Murph advances, throwing a quick combination of punches, some I dodge, some I block, a few I can't do nothing about cept take em on the chin. I manage to get a few licks of my own in, but even without powers Big Murph is near my equal in a straight scrap, and if you factor in his extra two decades of experience then he comes pretty close to having my number. 

I get one last could crack in, a straight left that thunders of his chin. Feels like I'm hitting granite, but he backs off, neither of us as keen as we were to get back into it. We stand there glaring at each other, breathing deep and heavy. Pretty sure I'm growling like a dog with each exhale. Now's a good as time as any to find out why he's here, though I've got a few guesses of my own as to why now.

“That mask was a lesson in futility, eh Murph?” I say, my voice somewhere between a snarl and a wheeze. Been a long time since I've actually had a real fight, most folk just roll over as soon as I lumber up. Hate to admit it, but I'm outta shape. Big Murph's mask comes off, whether to let the air come easier or because he finally realised that it wasn't doing anything to hide him, I ain't sure. 

“Never did like to hide behind those things,” he mutters, letting the fabric drop to the floor. “Does nothing for a man's reputation when all his accomplishments are done while wearing a mask.” 
“You'd know all about that though, eh North?” A grin broke Murph's craggy face at that, though there was very little genuine humour in it. “Ain't a name blacker than yours, not in all of Europe. Doesn't matter what you do, that stain'll always follow you. Couldn't believe my ears when the Prince told me that you think you can go straight. Just like a leopard can't change its spots, Caine MacFondóir ain't gonna become a man of peace.”

I ain't afraid to say that Murph's words irked me more than a little, not half because he was just voicing the fears I was hiding from myself. I [b]needed[/b] to change a new leaf, needed it like a man in the desert needs water. The thing was, what if I couldn't do it? I'd never known any other way than the way I do things now, what if I was incapable of being the better man? Murph said I couldn't be the peaceful sort, I was afraid he was right and so that made me angry, which made me want to rearrange his face with my fists. If there is a God then I'm damned sure he's laughing at me. 

“What you doing here Murph.”

“Ain't it obvious?” He responds. It is, but my heart needs to hear the words out loud to come to the same conclusion my brain did about ten minutes ago. “Robert can't let you go. I don't mean that in a Hugh Grant rom-com He-can't-live-without-you kinda he can't let you go, I mean he can't let you go running around with all you know. You're a loose end, and the Prince can't abide loose ends.” That was about what I'd figured. Shoulda known, Robert was far to canny to let someone like me leave his services. 

No, even if I got outta this I'd be a marked man. Robert would want to silence me, his enemies would want to use me, the law would want to lock me up. It was a grim choice, but it'd already been made. I needed out, so it looked like I'd just have to live with being marked, and anyone who wanted to kill me or use me or lock me up would have to get ready for the fight of their lives, cause thats what I'd give em. The Great Song began to beat faster, roiling like summer thunder, near deafening in its volume. I feel the Singer pawing around at the back of my brain, desperate to claw his way to the fore, take control of my body and do his bloody work. For once I've got half a mind to let him. Instead I exert all the limited control I have over him to wrestle him back down, forcing him to take a back seat this time. This ones mine. I want to feel Murph break under my fists first hand.

Maybe I ain't ready to be a better man after all. That's a question I'll have to ponder later, as right now I've got an old friend to beat to death first.
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