[hider=A Shit-Magnet of the Highest Order] [center][u][b]Player Name:[/b][/u] Sir Lurksalot [u][b]Primary Character:[/b][/u] Champion... eventually. [u][b]Secret Identity:[/b][/u] Duncan MacAodhan [u][b]Status:[/b][/u] Solo, though that'll probably change with time [u][b]Age:[/b][/u] 22 [u][b]City:[/b][/u] Halifax, Nova Scotia [u][b]Day Job:[/b][/u] Diesel Mechanic at a local shipyard [u][b]Powers:[/b][/u] [b]Immense Physical Prowess-[/b] Duncan is, for lack of a better way of putting it, really goddamn strong... and fast... and pretty tough to boot; able to match the physical feats of even [i]Kryptonians under a yellow sun,[/i] though he lacks all the more fancy bits such as flight, crazy eye-lasers and the tactile telekinesis necessary to lift massive objects and not have them shatter under their own weight. On paper, this makes him an absolute [i]nightmare[/i] of an opponent to square off against. In practice, well... As a guy who spends almost every hour of every day trying his damnedest to [i]hide[/i] his abilities, he's never really tested what he can actually [i]do[/i] with them. As such, he has no real idea what he's capable of, what his limits are or if he even [i]has any[/i], only the knowledge that if he [i]does[/i] throw hands at the average person for whatever reason, they are most definitely going to die in the most gruesomely spectacular explosion of gore imaginable... and that knowledge alone is enough to make him stuff his hands in his pockets and seclude himself in a corner for most social gatherings. [u][b]Weaknesses:[/b][/u] While Duncan possesses Kryptonian levels of physical ability, he is still very much [i]human[/i]; He can't fly, he still needs to breathe, possesses no form of crazy eye-lasers or freezing breath and can't survive solely off sunlight. As such, though his physiology makes him all but invulnerable to [i]physical[/i] attacks, he is still vulnerable to poison, high voltage, or a good old fashioned [i]drowning[/i] (or being strangled or thrown into space, depending on the opponent). There's also the matter of just [i]how[/i] much restraint Duncan has to exercise in his daily life. It takes an awful lot of control and effort to throw a punch effectively when you know that if you put just a [i]teensy[/i] bit too much 'oomph!' into it, you will undoubtedly turn the other guy into scattered bits of hamburger meat. Add to that, his increasingly worrying dependence on alcohol, a pack-a-day habit, no small amount of unstated, harshly surpressed self-loathing and the fact that he hasn't had to really exercise or physically exert himself in any way since he was a teenager and we find ourselves with the unusual paradox of a man who could arm-wrestle with god-like aliens being [i]literally as out of shape and weak as he is capable of being.[/i] ...And that's not even getting into the fact that, as previously stated, [i]he has no idea what the fuck he's doing.[/i] [u][b]Skills:[/b][/u] [b]Savvy Mechanic-[/b] As a guy who grew up tinkering with cars, machines and the occasional boat in his Grandpa's shop, Duncan got... well, actually [i]pretty damned good at it.[/i] If it's big, heavy and full of a bunch of moving bits, Duncan can probably figure out how it works and how to keep it doing so. [b]Handyman-[/b] Though Duncan can't really claim to be anything like a [i]certified[/i] carpenter or plumber, he [i]is[/i] pretty adept at fixing random things around the house. [b]Surprisingly Good Cook-[/b] May very well be his [i]actual[/i] superpower. [b]Pure Stubbornness-[/b] He [i]is[/i] his granddaddy's boy, after all... [u][b]Appearance:[/b][/u] To read what Duncan is physically capable of, you might picture some sort of hulking mountain of a man with bulging muscles and a jawline chiseled from granite... to actually meet the man however, you'd be disappointed and maybe a little confused- MacAodhan is not a large man. In fact, compared to what immediately comes to mind when you think 'Superhuman', he is downright [i]tiny[/i], standing at only 5'6" on a good day and lacking the bulging, musclebound body of [i]proper superheroes[/i] in favour of a lean, though dense and chiseled physique closer to that of a Olympic runner, if anything, though his broad shoulders and some stubborn stains of grease on his hands make a fairly decent indicator of his blue-collar background, to which he also owes the habit of shaving his brown hair into a buzzcut, to cut deal with the heat in his workplace. Lacking much in the way of an actual superhero costume (again, actively trying [i]not[/i] to be a Superhero), when he [i]does[/i] feel the need to nut up and do something somewhat heroic, Duncan simply throws on his workboots, gloves, jeans and a denim jacket over either some plain wifebeater or t-shirt, topping it all off by tying a simple black rag over his face, leaving only his hazel eyes and a bit of skin exposed and putting on an old ballcap he got from some local minor-league sports team or another. [u][b]BRIEF Bio:[/b][/u] Despite what one might might assume when encountering literally anyone even remotely associated with superpowers and tights, Duncan's tale is... rather mundane. Born in Halifax, Nova Scotia with a Fisherman for a father and a mother who ran a local diner, the boy in question up grew extraordinarily normally; playing videogames, staying at his grandparents' when his mom was busy at the shop and his dad was out at sea and helping his granddad out in the garage fixing cars and the occasional boat. And then one day when he was fifteen, he got hit by a truck. After about a good ten seconds of screaming and another thirty spent wondering why he wasn't dead, he extricated himself from the big-rig's engine-block that had wrapped around both him and the streetlight he'd been leaning against only to find that not only was he not dead, he was perfectly intact. All things considered, that's some pretty heavy shit to lay on a fifteen year old. So it's not all that surprising that when the (very) drunk trucker half staggered, half fell out of his truck at the sight of him, and sirens began echoing in the distance, the kid ran the hell out of there. A few days of trial, error and a lot of Wikipedia later, and the boy had a pretty good idea what all that was about: He was a Metahuman, a one-in-a-million carrier of a superhuman gene that may or may not activate under extreme stress (Like, for instance, getting hit by a truck while waiting for the bus). Frankly, it sounded a lot like a bunch of pseudo-science crap you'd find in an old comic book, but lacking any other explanation for his sudden... talents... it was one he'd have to accept. Along with the many quietly uncomfortable, life-changing implications that went with it. Now, usually, when someone finds out they've got crazy superpowers, things usually go in one of two predictable ways; one, they become a spandex-clad boy-scout that dedicates every moment of every day to having the brightest smile, rescuing cats from trees and giving lectures about the dangers of "The Reefer" and sex before marriage or two; going full ham, burning orphanages, kicking puppies and generally being real goddamn edgy just for the sake of it. But to his credit, when the young lad began to realize that he could easily snap a human being like a twig if he didn't exercise absolute restraint at all times, he quickly chose the rarely considered, oft-forgotten third option. [color=teal]"Yeah... No. [i]Fuck this.[/i]"[/color] And so, despite the call to adventure literally screaming directly into his ears, Duncan tried his best to carry on as normally as he could- getting average grades, shoveling his grandparents' driveway in the wintertime, wearily trying and failing several times to find a way to have a meaningful relationship despite his 'gifts' and working through his apprenticeship as a diesel mechanic at the local shipyard after highschool. Even while the distance and rigid self-control his situation necessitated made him a pariah and the subject of scorn and open mockery from a rapidly shrinking circle of friends, something he would never admit would lead him quite heavily to the drink when he was alone with his thoughts. To his credit though, his dogged determination [i]not[/i] to be a Caped Crusader seems to be working; he has a pretty decent job, making Journeyman wages, his uncle set him up with a pretty decent place in a decommissioned lighthouse just outside of town and he still gets to hang out with his (very Gaelic) grandpa after work most days, tinkering in his garage, watching the game or just sitting around trading the kind of wit that makes his (very Acadian, very Catholic) grandma stifle a laugh and pretend to be offended. Often [i]strategically,[/i] so as to drown out his dad's groaning something along the lines of "Oh God, there's [i]two[/i] of them..." and his mum's (un)subtle attempts to pry about [i]when exactly he's gonna [b]meet a damned girl, already.[/b][/i] It's not [i]perfect[/i], and there [i]are[/i] some days when Duncan finds himself down, jaded and [i][b]perilously alone with the drink...[/b][/i] but it is a [i]good[/i] life, all in all. He has a roof over his head, he has satisfying work and most importantly, [i]he has a family that loves him.[/i] What more could a guy like him really ask for? As it turns out, [i]destiny[/i] has a few answers to that question. [i][b]And he is not gonna like most of them.[/b][/i] [u][b]Story Arcs:[/b][/u] [hider=Act I: "The Crucible" (Semi-open)] [hider="A Day of Infamy"] It's a completely mundane and average night in Halifax, and Duncan is just about wrapping up his shift at the Yard, putting life back into the engine of an old tug that probably should've been pulled apart for scrap when his [i]dad[/i] was his age. Little does he realize as he sits, quietly scrubbing at an old fuel line with a length of pipe-cleaner, that something [i]particularly nasty[/i] is headed his way in a shipping container on a freighter coming into his yard to unload. ...And that his 'normal' life is about to go [i]right to shit.[/i] [/hider] [hider="The Deluge" (Open)]Understandably disturbed by the idea that something like... [i]whatever the [b]hell[/b] that was in Halifax[/i] has been sitting under his nose for God knows how long, Luthor quickly surmises that he cannot afford to ignore this new potential threat from the north. Thus, he sends every villainous Tom, Dick and Harry he can spare up the coast and across the border to raise hell, gather intel and hopefully put this so-called 'Hero of Halifax' down before it can become a problem... leaving Duncan scrambling to deal with this new onslaught of supercrime bubbling up in his hometown and having to (begrudgingly) learn the hard way how to do this 'Hero' thing, even as he frantically claws to keep a hold of the steadily fading remnants of his 'normal' life with desperate, bleeding fingertips. The fact that he's all over the media, and they're starting to call him things like the 'Lion of Nova Scotia' and [i]'Champion'[/i] is not goddamn helping. [/hider] [hider="Every Dog has it's Day" (Open)] A new and confounding development seems to have followed our hapless Totally-Not-a-Hero home after the events of what local news is now referring to as "The Deluge"... in the most [i]hilariously literal way imaginable-[/i] A dog. And it [i]refuses to leave.[/i] Having developed something of an involuntary aversion to pets, knowing that he would most definitely accidentally turn them into paste if he pet (or, God forbid, [i]cuddled[/i]) one with the same amount of love and meaning others do but being unwilling to kick the poor thing out into the cold, Duncan quickly finds himself in the ludicrous position of living with an extraordinarily affectionate pooch he is [i]absolutely terrified of touching in any way.[/i] A pooch that is apparently fast enough to show up at his work the instant he goes on break. And smart enough to figure out exactly when that is. And how to open doors. And possesses the uncanny ability to sneak into Duncan's bed when he's passed out and not [i]fucking die[/i] due to his unconscious sleep-cuddling... ...And [i]also[/i] might have something to do with the Tameranean space pirate hovering in low orbit over the Earth in her warship loaded with murderous aliens with all guns pointed [i]down[/i] threatening to glass the entire east coast of North America if she doesn't get her prized, one-of-a-kind attack dog back. [i]Just maybe.[/i] [/hider] [/hider] [u][b]Supporting Characters:[/b][/u] [b]Malcolm MacAodhan-[/b] Duncan's grandfather, purveyor of off-side, dry witticisms and the source of everything his grandson knows. Not exactly [i]tall[/i], but still built like a brick shithouse, even in his old age and absolutely [i]covered[/i] in scars from his time in the war, old Man MacAodhan is an often crude, sarcastic old codger who balances being clever in the worst possible way with an increasingly old-fashioned style of manhood made up of equal parts honesty, stubbornness and very thinly concealed compassion. [b]Mari MacAodhan-[/b] Duncan's grandma, an Acadian woman of Breton stock possessing an almost impossible reserve of patience, the ability to find humour in just about anything and one hell of a singing voice, even in her advanced age; having an adorably uncanny habit of quietly humming or singing to herself as she goes about doing... well, just about anything, really. Now of course, when asked why such an adorably sweet old lady has such prolific scars around her knuckles and more noticeably, a rather large one stemming from her lips half-way up her left check, she'll just laugh it off and say call them mementos from her much more "Rowdy" youth... though that really only provides more questions than answers. [u][b]Secondary Character:[/b][/u] N/A [u][b]Additional Notes:[/b][/u] [/center][/hider]