AtomicNut

Game of Thrones : The Pact of Ice and Fire (Always Open)

I need a hero.

I mean i am waiting.

Gotham City: Shadow of the Bat

Some OC ramblings

Name:Ludwig Sauer
Age:98
Alias: The Lich

Appearance:Unmasked

He usually wears a rather disturbing mask which resembles a half-dissecated corpse, alongside a checkered tailored suit, with a tie who has skulls and crossbones over it. He's rather gaunt and thin, somewhate on the tall side. His voice is extremely gutural and raspy, due to an old shrapnel scar, and he has a noticeable Prussian accent when angered. He rarely parts away from a specially modded one-shot cane gun.
Skills/Abilities:

• Die Hard War veteran: Even though he no longer can boast of all the energy and power of his youth, this man has survived the big War, and has also survived being a Soviet POW. As old and as frail as he is, he can still land good punches, and his ability to shoot weapons, which are on par with trained armed forces can still keep the GCPD special operatives at bay should he need to. He can also be quite tenacious even when injuried.
• Skilled Physician: After the war, however, Ludwig focused his life into how to heal and repair the fragile lives of others, eventually achieving great skill as a medic and a surgeon, with a focus on trauma surgery and limb-replacement prosthetics, to give others body parts that they had missed.
• Corpse Master Even so, his ambition to replace what was lost didn't end up there, and he also acquired great forensic skill. As he would say himself:"The dead talk to me more than the living sometimes." All in all, this goes with his obsession to restore the lives that he witnessed end, and he goes so far in this ill-fated quest he is able to steal corpses, and replacing their spines and brain with state-of-the art cybernetics, give them a mockery of life likeness. He is so skilled he can even scan some parts of the deceased people's brains as if they were wetware computers in order to salvage certain skills, but one thing is true: his "revenants" are all but mindless drones and not truly alive.

Biography: Ludwig Sauer was once a well meaning citizen wrong in the wrong place in the wrong era, namely Berlin during the Nazi Regime. Drafted like many youths in the war, he nevertheless complied to his so-called patriotic duty even though he had aspirations to be a clinician. Trapped in the siege of Stalingrad, Ludwig could only fight and despair as the war turned for the worst. The dead began to haunt him. The people he killed. The comrades that died. The innocents. All for what? A madman's idea of Third Reach, pitched against the monstrous Soviet war effort. There simply was no happy ending, and the release of death never came to him, as he was carted to become a Soviet prisoner in the aftermath. He could not bear anymore, his will to live faded. But the nightmares kept waking him up. And the corpses. They were everywhere. They wanted him to live more, so they could haunt him with their sneering, curled rigor-mortis smiles. He would never rest. They would eternally mock him.

Days became months, months became years. Ludwig was freed. He was allowed to have a semblance of life. Unable to move past his visions of corpses, he decided to learn the only thing that could alleviate new corpses appearing, medicine. Fashioning himself a semblance of tranquility, he applied himself to his talent and medicine, and soon it bore fruit. He made it, he became a renowned medic, earning respect that a decade ago would have thought he would never reach. But the dead... his comrades always waited for him. He could feel them, when he was alone. Corpses would never allow him to rest. So he began to live a double life. By day, he would save lifes. By night he would experiment with corpses.

There was no god, just humans, madness and science. Eventually his outings and bizarre schemes were lured into the open, and he was forced to flee his native Germany. Tossing and tumbling, he ended up in Gotham, a place he had been told that several people who seemed to never die lived, and with so many grime and crimes nobody would miss a few corpses...

At least that's what his fellow doctor, Hugo Strange, told him...

Gotham City: Shadow of the Bat

8:30 PM. Somewhere near the docks.

Like a merciless buzzing drone, the alarm clock hammered into his eardrums. The large man-beast stirred up lazily, a huge paw full of outgrowths reaching for the offending device, as a deep, guttural rumble surged from the depths of his throat. Deftly tapping the crocodile-shaped alarm clock, the man grumbled and stirred. The bed heaved and creaked under his enormous weight, as his eyelids opened slowly. A couple of slitted, reptilian eyes peeked into the darkness of the room, as his other claw reached for his chin, scratching it. Waylon Jones was finally awake. He slowly got up from his resting place, half due to being careful as to not need a new bed or trespass one of the wafer-thin walls of his cheap lodging, half because his metabolism seemed to go at an snail's pace this eve.

The ever-present ringing of police sirens announced that it was night once again in Gotham city. When all up and nice people slept, and the crooks and the freaks raved, taunting the police. Waylon, the Killer Croc had once been one of them, but now. Now he had a night shift to comply, so he grumbled in his inhumane voice once again as he head for the sink. Spraying an entire toothpaste tub in a custom-made hybrid between toothbrush and toiletbrush he began to energically tend to his reptilian sharp teeth. Truth to be told, even if his bucal hygiene had been lacking several times because of obvious reasons, and the fact that he could grow teeth, he had coworkers who would rather be spared of his usual sewer breath. Straightening forward, he dared brave to look at himself in the mirror.

Still ugly as sin. But hey, those are the cleanest crocodile teeth ever. He added, before finally settling for getting dressed. He could always take a shower at work. The communal showers were way more spacious. He did remember ruefully the time he had tried to shower in the shower attached to his room. He had to pay the wall's repairs afterwards. Plus for a time, his neck hurt considerably.

"Hrm." He gutturally growled as he fumbled for his keys as he got into his clothes. Simple jeans and shirts. Durable enough and cheap to replace. He had long forgotten to ever buy shoes. They never fit, and when your soles were made of crocodile skin, there was hardly any point in doing it. The finishing touches were a massive trenchcoat and a fedora. They did hide his most bestial features, but he could hardly hide his size or bulk this way.

And thus, he braved into the outside space of the apartment in this guise. A couple of neighbours eyed him for a moment, before exchanging customary greetings, to which Waylon answered. There was a perceived tone of deference, but otherwise, he could not feel scorn nor fear from them. Waylon wondered if they had seen too much, or had too much to worry about in their lives to pay attention to the big croc man.

"Well, time to work." The beast-sized man uttered, as he began to walk the streets.

4:30 AM. Somewhere near the docks.

Tired and cold, the crocodile man sniffed the air of the city. The shift had been long, and it had taken a toll on everyone. Waylon himself could never remember in his short stint as a welder so many crud in the same place. And it had been the Penguin's fault. Well, that or of the Bat himself. Apparently one of the trick umbrellas had fell into the docks, and had rotted for years, before misfiring in a septic sewage and spreading a lot of...well...waste. His nostrils still felt numb for swimming in that kind of stuff. Well, sometime in the past, this had been par for the course, but he couldn't help but see his coworkers reel at the mere sight of him.

The more polite ones (the ones that were not trying to contain their lunches inside their own stomach, who struggled to be free) directed him to the showers after the deed had been done, much to the big reptilian's man grumble. And the secretary, that fiery ginger of Stacey, was nowhere to be seen. How would he ask her out like that? A big, crocodile man, stinking worse than the Mayor's farts. He sighed, and decided to let it go. Tomorrow would be a new night.

He carefully opened the lid of the massive bucket of Cobbler's Chunky Chicken, and let the oily and crisp aroma awake his sense of smell once more. He had been lucky that such a shop was open at this time of the night (well, probably to cash on nightcrawlers and drunks, much like him). The chicken... well, it didn't look like chicken exactly. Most likely, it was a mix of several creatures (!) that even the smell of the Killer Croc could not tell apart. But they tasted nice enough to his empty stomach. Mindfully, he nibbled the fleshy bits until the bones were stripped out of flesh, and then thoughtfully, eyeing what other people would discard, hurled the small bones into his gargantuan maw, crushing them with a forceful bite, letting the flavour of the marrow seep in his palate. Waste not.

Once upon a time, he had been known as Killer Croc. Now he was just Lonnie, enjoying his crispy chicken after an ardous night shift. He continued to parade around the dark streets, sure and mindful that no one in their right mind would attempt to disturb the half-concealed gargantuan man and his bucket of food. For the sake of old times, he even hummed one of his old phrases...

"Tic toc...feed the croc."

Gotham City: Shadow of the Bat

Tick...tock, here's worker croc.

Name:Waylon Jones
Age:Early 30s
Alias:Killer Croc, "Lonnie"
Appearance:
Skills/Abilities:

-Crocodilian Atavism: Killer Croc is afflicted with an atavic condition as well as a metagene that has ravaged his body with mutations since he was young. Even if they're quite grotesque and disfiguring, they are not without perks. His skin is tough enough to resist abrasions and even firearms, and he has strength that surpasses the human limits. He has keen senses, including a highly developed olfactory sense and good nightvision, as well as feral-like reflexes. His constitution and vitality are also affected, being able to shrug off damage and recover from wounds that otherwise would cripple a normal human. He can move in water as well as in land, and spend long periods submerged.

-Expert Wrestler: Killer Croc is highly proficient in wrestling, due to the time he partook in a circus by wrestling alligators. With his size and strength, there are few opponents he cannot subdue.

-Tracking: Croc, thanks to his keen senses, and specially olfactory sense, boasts he can track down prey quite efficiently.

-Regeneration: Thanks to his metagene, Croc can regenerate wounds that would be crippling, although this usually has the side effect of furthering his condition.

-Technical maintenance and Welding skills: As part of his new job, Waylon is acquainted with the basics of most infrastructure systems, as well as how to assess and repair them. On the other side, this allows him to be able to sabotage several critical structures of buildings.

Biography: Waylon Jones was born with a rare form of a disease that made his appareance develop and mutate to that of a crocodile. Having lost his mother at birth, he was raised by an abusive aunt and subject to much ridicule due to his striking appearance. Given his physical prowess, it was no wonder he became a regular in the juvenile conviction center, and eventually trialed and convicted as an adult at the age of 16. After being released on parole, he made himself a name as an alligator wrestler and sideshow freak, and it was those two professions that would become the mainstay of his life for a while, before realizing that given his background and physical prowess, a life of crime would be more lucrative.

Full with rage against the world, he sought to shake the Gotham underworld and make a name for himself. He was never quite successful. The bat twarthed him several times, and even when he didn't his inhuman nature and imposing form was exploited by other less than reputable rogues. Croc eventually entered a self-degrading spiral of being shunned by his inhuman exploits, and the subsequent bitterness fueling eventual scapes and crimes. At times, and into the eyes of many he had become a Killer Croc, an inhumane beast.

However, in recent times, Killer Croc became more subdued due to a longstay effective treatment in Arkham Asylum and a stroke of peaceful times with the drop and lull in crimes. He eventually found himself pondering if crime was all that there was to it. After the seemingly successful improvement, Waylon Jones was released on parole once again, and ironically he found himself a calling that didn't involve breaking people's bones or alligator necks, not even breaking things.

It was all about fixing things. Underwater welding was always a tough job, and with all the old rotten submerged structures of Gotham, someone had to go dive and fix them. Waylon then saw his physiology as more than ideal for such job, and offered himself. After some initial reticence, Waylon was granted an apprenticeship, which he completed sucessfully. Little by little, he earned respect borne out of his skill rather than respect borne out of his fear, and the Killer Croc faded out, leaving the quirky Lonnie to replace it.

Nowadays, Killer Croc is all but in the past, and Lonnie is all but another maintenance worker in a small company in the Gotham Docks. He lives in a rented cramped room, and he wishes trying to ask out his boss' secretary in a date.

Gotham City: Shadow of the Bat

I blame Ink for this one. To overwrite Gator.

Tick...tock, here's worker croc.

Name:Waylon Jones
Age:Early 30s
Alias:Killer Croc, "Lonnie"
Appearance:
Skills/Abilities:

-Crocodilian Atavism: Killer Croc is afflicted with an atavic condition as well as a metagene that has ravaged his body with mutations since he was young. Even if they're quite grotesque and disfiguring, they are not without perks. His skin is tough enough to resist abrasions and even firearms, and he has strength that surpasses the human limits. He has keen senses, including a highly developed olfactory sense and good nightvision, as well as feral-like reflexes. His constitution and vitality are also affected, being able to shrug off damage and recover from wounds that otherwise would cripple a normal human. He can move in water as well as in land, and spend long periods submerged.

-Expert Wrestler: Killer Croc is highly proficient in wrestling, due to the time he partook in a circus by wrestling alligators. With his size and strength, there are few opponents he cannot subdue.

-Tracking: Croc, thanks to his keen senses, and specially olfactory sense, boasts he can track down prey quite efficiently.

-Regeneration: Thanks to his metagene, Croc can regenerate wounds that would be crippling, although this usually has the side effect of furthering his condition.

-Technical maintenance and Welding skills: As part of his new job, Waylon is acquainted with the basics of most infrastructure systems, as well as how to assess and repair them. On the other side, this allows him to be able to sabotage several critical structures of buildings.

Biography: Waylon Jones was born with a rare form of a disease that made his appareance develop and mutate to that of a crocodile. Having lost his mother at birth, he was raised by an abusive aunt and subject to much ridicule due to his striking appearance. Given his physical prowess, it was no wonder he became a regular in the juvenile conviction center, and eventually trialed and convicted as an adult at the age of 16. After being released on parole, he made himself a name as an alligator wrestler and sideshow freak, and it was those two professions that would become the mainstay of his life for a while, before realizing that given his background and physical prowess, a life of crime would be more lucrative.

Full with rage against the world, he sought to shake the Gotham underworld and make a name for himself. He was never quite successful. The bat twarthed him several times, and even when he didn't his inhuman nature and imposing form was exploited by other less than reputable rogues. Croc eventually entered a self-degrading spiral of being shunned by his inhuman exploits, and the subsequent bitterness fueling eventual scapes and crimes. At times, and into the eyes of many he had become a Killer Croc, an inhumane beast.

However, in recent times, Killer Croc became more subdued due to a longstay effective treatment in Arkham Asylum and a stroke of peaceful times with the drop and lull in crimes. He eventually found himself pondering if crime was all that there was to it. After the seemingly successful improvement, Waylon Jones was released on parole once again, and ironically he found himself a calling that didn't involve breaking people's bones or alligator necks, not even breaking things.

It was all about fixing things. Underwater welding was always a tough job, and with all the old rotten submerged structures of Gotham, someone had to go dive and fix them. Waylon then saw his physiology as more than ideal for such job, and offered himself. After some initial reticence, Waylon was granted an apprenticeship, which he completed sucessfully. Little by little, he earned respect borne out of his skill rather than respect borne out of his fear, and the Killer Croc faded out, leaving the quirky Lonnie to replace it.

Nowadays, Killer Croc is all but in the past, and Lonnie is all but another maintenance worker in a small company in the Gotham Docks. He lives in a rented cramped room, and he wishes trying to ask out his boss' secretary in a date.

Gotham City: Shadow of the Bat

On second thought, let me withdraw the half baked Gator. I got another idea.

Take someone who survived the war, add some mysantrophy for decades, and some League of Shadows goodness, and you get a dude named Lich (corpse).

Edit: Nevermind. Better stick with Gator and not overcomplicate things.

Gotham City: Shadow of the Bat

Cool! But since the reply was a bit ambiguous, is the character idea ok?

Dragonball +

is pieson an actual word?

@chukklehed

Maybe?

Gotham City: Shadow of the Bat

Well, I got some stupid idea. But It might prove entertaining. Still accepting?

A dodgy villainy-guy

Name: Job Ridges, M.D.
Age:32
Alias: Doc Gator (Yeh, I know it's lame.)
Appearance: Doc Gator is rather tall and well muscled man...if he can be described as man, that is. Being a sufferer of a rarely known atavic condition, very much like a certain infamous crook of Gotham, he is massive in size, with feral features and pointy teeth, and a hardened skin covered in bony patches. His skin is a slightly different shade than the infamous Croc, (namely being a bit more brownish than green) but it is often not enough to distinguish both, at least when it comes to first glances. Much to his chagrin, his clothes often than not are tattered, a side effect of his natural dermal armor, and he can only manage to keep a singed pair of jeans on his self without breaking them away completely, as well as a spacious and equally worn longcoat where he carries his meager posessions, including a wallet and a sturdy wind-up pocket watch. Doc Gator also carries a backpack full of the tools of the trade for a doctor, taking advantage of the weight carrying capabilities of his strong back. A crude metal faceplate hiding his monstrous mouth, held together with straps of tough leather, completes the set. However, it is when he speaks what really sets him apart from that other Gotham crook, because Doc Gator shows a highly proficient and literate expression.
Skills/Abilities:
Crocodilian Atavism: Doc Gator is afflicted by the same genetic condition as Killer Croc, and has ravaged his body with mutations since he was young. Even if they're quite grotesque and disfiguring, they are not without perks. His skin is tough enough to resist abrasions and even firearms, and he has strength that surpasses the human limits. He has keen senses, including a highly developed olfactory sense and good nightvision, as well as feral-like reflexes. His constitution and vitality are also affected, being able to shrug off damage and recover from wounds that otherwise would cripple a normal human. He can move in water as well as in land, and spend long periods submerged.

Skilled Doctor: Doctor Gator is called Doctor for a reason. He is a surprisingly good medic, with skills that branch out in almost all disciplines of medicine. One could only wonder how good would he really be had he had been born with normal nimble hands. He also has managed to publish a thesis in Genetics, due to his own personal interest to find about his condition.

Stoic Master: He has a very thick skin. Both physically and metaphorically, making him very hard to unsettle and pretty unreadable. It was this or becoming a cannibal berserk. Which he only becomes on rare ocassions when he is truly and well angered.

Survivor: Doc Gator is also rather competent at finding himself the way out of hopeless solutions, thanks to a combination of quick wits and a resilient physique. He's not much of a polished fighter, though, as his fighting knowledge amounts to hitting things really hard until they stop moving.

Biography:

Job was a foundling, as someone born with his kind of condition would be cast off by a lot of parents minutes within after birth, and he was no special case in that regard. What followed, though, was nothing short of a miracle. The orphanage he was abandoned into was a well enough, nice place, run by some people of the clergy. And yes, he got bullied, but not to the extent one would expect. Everyone in that place was like a big family, even the strange kid with the weird skin and the big teeth. More often than not, Job would take the physically demanding jobs even from adults to help in any way he could, and would use his strength to protect the little community. However, time passed, and he grew old, and eventually he had to face the real world instead of the somewhat sheltered environment.

Things, as expected, were not easy for Job. Nobody wanted him anywhere. Even if he actually was a bright would-be college student, there simply was no place among society for him, for they saw the beast that he looked, and not the man that he was. Tired and jaded, Job clenched his teeth, and vowed in defiance that he would become a doctor, even if it was the last thing he ever did. He eventually found a place where they could accept him as student.

Santa Prisca.

While for normal people this would mean a really horrible time, Job played his cards of being strong and mean-looking, and he did manage to study and advance in such a turbulent country with relative ease. However, nothing was ever free, and even young Job's faith in humanity erased little by little as he struggled to make ends meet in the cesspool of violence that was said country. One day, he pretended not to notice a murder that happened next door... the next day, he was offered money for a certain patient to "never survive" an operation. Little by little, his heart became dark and apathetic. He wanted to become a medic to spite people... not to save them. And in all fairness, who would put their lives in his hands other than the various crooks of the underworld? Eventually, his skills garnered him some late recognition, and he was awarded a fund to do a thesis on Genetics, a subject he was completely enthralled with, as a means to discover the secret of his own existence.

...However the strings attached to the grant meant he had to serve as a backalley doctor for a criminal syndicate in Gotham...

After all, who else would actually want him as a doctor?

Dragonball +

I'm a fairly ambiguous guy. I often enter conversations with a single punctuation, and it's never been a problem before.

@chukklehed

It is a problem if you refuse to clarify just to be cheeky, you pieson. :P I need actual text to read between the lines.