Bounce

One Universe: World Of Heroes - A Marvel & DC Comics RPG

<Snipped quote by Bounce>

The sad thing is, there are three different heroes that could apply to.

@AndyC

I just assume that @Master Bruce's Superman is based on the Nick Cage screen test.

One Universe: World Of Heroes - A Marvel & DC Comics RPG

@Hillan

I am sorely disappointed by the lack of Nick Cage in your CS.

One Universe: World Of Heroes - A Marvel & DC Comics RPG

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

C A P T A I N M A R V E L

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^{_{W I L L I A M J O S E P H B A T S O N ♦ W I Z A R D ♦ R O C K O F E T E R N I T Y ♦ A V E N G E R S}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

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^{"S H A Z A M !"}

Billy Batson is the current Shazam, the guardian of the Rock of Eternity. During WW2, he fought alongside Steve Rogers and was a founding member of the Young Allies -- and was dubbed Captain Marvel by the media of the day. At war's end, he entered the Rock of Eternity to study and prepare for assuming the role of the Wizard. During the Chitauri attack on New York, Billy was alerted to the crisis and emerged, only then realizing how much time had passed. He now slips back into society as a young boy attending school in Fawcett City, Ohio while he tries to get reacquainted with the world and his place in it.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

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Billy Batson has always been a character distinguished by trauma, much like Batman or other Golden Age heroes. His being an orphan, his struggles with the foster care system, and his vulnerability as a child have always been contrasted by both the power of Captain Marvel and his optimistic personality. I want to explore a fresh take on Billy as the wizard, where he’s still the same vulnerable child at heart but burdened by the weight of decades and struggling to remain true to who he is in the face of his responsibilities as Shazam.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

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As the current Shazam, Billy Batson is the physical embodiment of the Rock of Eternity and, thus, is always empowered by it. He can alter his outward appearance, either by use of illusion or temporally displacing his physical body.

In this context, Billy is both Shazam and Captain Marvel. Shazam being the title of the guardian of the Rock of Eternity and Captain Marvel being the name that the newspapers gave him during the Second World War.

Supporting Cast
- Aelfyre Whitemane. The Shazam counterpart for the planet Kymellia. A longtime friend of the Wizard Shazam and one of Billy’s mentors. Aelfyre is the guardian of the White Room.

- Roma. The daughter of Merlin and the Shazam counterpart for the dimension known as Otherworld. Serves as the guardian of the Starlight Citadel and is another of Billy’s mentors.

- Kofi Whitemane (“Freddy Freeman”). Aelfyre’s nephew and his chosen successor, learning firsthand from Billy. He has an equine appearance, to include reverse knee joints on the legs. To blend in on Earth, he assumes a human guise as Freddy Freeman but feigns a physical disability to mask his different leg anatomy.

- Courtney Whitmore (Stargirl). A new heroine starting out as young as Billy had. She wields a cosmic staff.

- Smartship Friday. Kofi’s Kymellian spaceship, which doubles as his home on Earth (shared with Billy). When not in use, concealed within an abandoned subway station in Fawcett City.

- (Flashbacks) Elizabeth "Lizzie" Lawrence (Liberty Belle). A young WW2 heroine and a member of the Young Allies.

- (Flashbacks) Thomas Raymond (Toro). A young WW2 hero and the leader of the Young Allies.

Rogue’s Gallery
- Dr. Thaddeus Silvana. The aging patriarch of Silvana Heavy Industries, with a hidden obsession into Nazi occult research into eternal life.

- Blaze. Daughter of Mephisto and one of the Under-Lords of Hell.

- Micah Flint (Rock). An astronaut irradiated and transformed into a rock-like monster in a cosmic accident.

- Belasco. One of Earth’s most powerful sorcerers, banished to Limbo over a century ago by Shazam.

- Zn'rx (Snarks). A crocodile-like alien race.

S A M P L E P O S T:

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Sample Post

| Armed Forces Retirement Home
_{| Gulfport, Mississippi}

Patrick O’Toole had been a character in his youth.

A Brooklyn native who had lied about his age in order to join the Army during the Second World War, those who had served with him wouldn’t know a Patrick O’Toole. They knew Knuckles. Knuckles O’Toole, the Brooklyn brawler.

Officially, Patrick O’Toole had fought in the war in Europe, become a decorated sergeant, served as a drill instructor for a time before retiring from the Army. He didn’t really talk about it with his wife or kids, or grandkids, because that was how it had been. Loose lips sink ships. No one talked about the war, even though they’d all been living it.

What wasn’t in the public records was the fact that Knuckles O’Toole had been one of those enamored and foolish wartime youths who had been inspired by Steve Rogers and the Howling Commandos to form a group they’d called the Young Allies. Fools, the lot of them.

And no better friends.

Today, Patrick O’Toole was ninety-eight. The oldest living veteran inside the retirement home. Soon to be ninety-nine. His wife had passed five years earlier, his children had all moved away, and so he spent the twilight of his life as alone as when he’d snuck away to join the Army at fifteen.

He’d met one other kid who was even younger than him.

“We were...” the old man began, trailing off as he raised a spindly, frail arm. His skin was translucent with age and marked by spots. It was a far cry from the heavy handed mitts that once fought their way through ranks of Nazi soldiers. “Where were we?” the man asked, seemingly talking to himself, as he tried to recall the details of the memory that had come to mind. “Marseilles. We were in Marseilles and Tubby... you remember Tubby?”

Turning his head, the aging spectre of Knuckles O’Toole looked over and down at Billy Batson. A young kid with a bedhead mop of black hair and eyes that were as blue as the sky. Midwesterner, the sort who was Minnesota nice by nature, from Fawcett City, Ohio. In more than eighty years, that face hadn’t changed. “Yeah,” the boy said, wistfully, as though sharing in the memory of yesterday. “Yeah, I remember Tubby.”

“Tubby wanted to crawl up a... a...”

The old man stammered, his mouth falling open as the memory seemed to fade on his tongue.

“It was a church bell tower,” Billy supplied softly.

“It was a god damn church bell tower,” Patrick echoed, as though now invigorated. Arms outstretched, the man seemed almost a shadow of his former self as he said, “And there he is, with his fat ass, trying to shimmy up this wood scaffolding...” the man uttered, lapsing into a familiar laugh.

Then the laughter became a cough, which seemed to wrack the man’s entire body.

Reaching out with one arm, the boy placed a hand on the man’s back. The truth was, what Billy saw was more than just the shared memory. Pulmonary hypertension. He could see it. See the threads of time starting to fray and shorten as they extended out from Patrick O’Toole.

The man wouldn’t live to see his ninety-ninth birthday.

Could Billy change that? Reverse the ravages of time and ease the burden of age on Knuckles’ body? Yes. All that, and more. Restored youth. Renewed vigor. With but a whim and the word, Billy could change it all back to the way it was -- to the way that he remembered him -- with but a snap of his fingers.

He didn’t.

He wouldn’t. Which was not to say that it was not, still, more than a passing thought. After all, if one had the power to do something, to change something, wasn’t it at least worth a thought?

You are not entrusted with the Rock of Eternity that you may install yourself as a god, Billy Batson. You are the guardian of man’s mortal life. Never forget that. One before you once thought himself a god, and was brought low by it.

The lessons of the past. Which were no less the lessons of the present.

As the coughing fit subsided, the man emerged back into the cloud of confusion that had first greeted the boy. “Billy?” Knuckles uttered, as though looking at the youth for the first time. Then, seemed to have at least the wherewithal to realize that wasn’t true. “Who was we talking about again?”

A pained smile tugged at the sides of the boy’s face. “Tubby,” the boy supplied patiently. “You were talking about Tubby.”

“Huh. Tubby,” the old man echoed, sinking back into the seat. “Ol’ Tubby...” he murmured, his eyelids starting to flutter. “He died in... seventy-nine?”

Had it been a question? Or a memory? In either case, Patrick’s head rolled back as the old man fell into a quiet sleep.

A heavy, wearied sigh slipped from out of the young boy. He remembered vividly the Brooklyn native who had taught younger Billy Batson how to fight. Like, really fight. The kind of fighting where your life is on the line. Because their lives had been on the line and it had been Knuckles’ strong hands that had carried their asses out of the fire on more than one occasion.

A hand brushed across his shoulder. Turning his head, Billy looked up to see one of the nurses motioning him out of the room. “He talks like you were there,” the woman -- Annie was her name -- remarked as the two stepped out into the hallway.

“He says I remind him of someone he knew then,” Billy answered cryptically. This particular ward of the retirement home was the assisted living section. It more closely resembled a hospice, with a nursing station monitoring the rooms.

Waiting for the inevitable.

“Anything you want me to help with before I leave, Ma’am?”

“I just appreciate your spending time with them,” Annie answered, as the woman made her way back behind the nursing station. “I know they appreciate it as...”

She’d glanced up then, trailing off as she realized that the boy was no longer there. Turning her head to the left and right, she was presented with an empty hallway.

“I swear that kid’s a ghost.”

| Normandy American Cemetery & Memorial
_{| Colleville-sur-Mer, France}

“I saw Knuckles today.”

A tear slipped down the right side of the boy’s face. Craning his head back, the youth drew in a breath as, for a moment, the myriad of emotion seemed ready to overtake him.

He didn’t know what to say.

Should he say anything?

He was here. It seemed he needed to say something. “Seven kids, thirteen grandchildren, and now he’s got five great-grandchildren. I think he’s done well,” the boy said. Then, paused with a pained laugh as he added, “I think he’s done the best of all of us. Who’d have imagined, right?”

Another tear slipped down his face. He continued to stare up, but couldn’t help the fact that he was crying openly now. It was a pregnant pause before Billy found the courage to look down again.

At his feet was a simple headstone. It was identical to rows and rows of white marble headstones. He knew the names of many. Some better than others, but these had all been a band of brothers. The Americans who had died fighting in Europe against the Third Reich and Axis Powers.

Brothers and Sisters.

Elizabeth Lawrence
Women’s Airforce Service Pilots
Our Liberty Belle

“They’re everywhere!”

“Snipers in the bell tower! Toro, can you..?”

“I’m pinned down. We’re in a crossfire!”

“Billy, you have transform.”

“We’re too close!”

“They’re mowing right over us. IT’S A TRAP!”

“Billy, just say it!”

“I can’t.”

“You’re the only one who can! Billy, say it now!”

“God... fuck...”

“BILLY!”

_{“Shazam.”}

He remembered. All of it. Like it was yesterday. He could still hear the echoes of the German machine guns. Shells exploding in massive clouds of earth, as the tanks had rolled into view, blocking their only escape. It was supposed to have been a simple assignment, a rendezvous with British intelligence.

The whole thing had been a set up.

But the sound he remembered the most was the thunder, when the flash from the lightning had cleared. And he would never forget what he saw when the smoke had cleared.

Billy had been the one who had pulled them out of the fire that day, but he’d only managed to save less than half of them. Toro. Knuckles. Tubby. Wash Jones.

Lizzie had been pressed up against him. They’d been pinned down, taking cover together with German fire coming from both sides.

All his power and Billy couldn’t save her.

“Billy...”

In mid-air, a holographic window seemed to appear, containing the image of a horse-like alien.

When Billy had looked up, he wasn’t sure just which of the two of them were more startled.

“...are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Billy tried to utter, though he’d choked on the word even as he brought his arm up to wipe at the tears running down his face.

He wouldn’t have believed him either.

Clearing his throat, he tried again. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Still wiping at his face, the boy straightened up to ask, “What’s up?”

“Friday just picked up some trace energy readings. We believe that there is a Zn’rx ship hiding on the dark side of your moon.”

Billy was still having trouble with Earth geography. And the hundred-however-many nations. Keeping up with the different alien nations in the galaxy was, frankly, more than his brain seemed ready to handle. “Is this bad?” the boy asked finally. Might as well get to the point of it. It was either a good thing... or it wasn’t.

With aliens, he honestly was never sure what constituted good or bad.

“Potentially. The Zn’rx are space-capable, but quite primitive even by human standards. I do not imagine that they are here to open peace negotiations.”

Great. If it wasn’t Hell on Earth, it was the threat of alien invasion. What ever happened to the days when stopping a single nation dictator was all that being a hero required?

The air around the boy seemed to shimmer. His clothing and form crackled with an electric energy, as a red costume emblazoned with a golden lightning bolt appeared. As a white cape draped over one shoulder, the boy said, “Well, we should probably ask them.”

“You sure that you are okay?”

“Just... catching up with old friends,” Billy offered cryptically, before glancing back up toward the sky. “Dark side of the moon? See you in a bit.”

The holographic window blinked out of existence, giving Billy another moment of privacy in which to glance around the cemetery and memorial one more time.

Then he turned his head back toward the sky.

_{”Up, up and away.”}

P O S T C A T A L O G:

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A list linking to your IC posts as they're created. This can be used for a reference guide to your character or to summarize completed arcs and stories.

One Universe: World Of Heroes - A Marvel Comics / DC Comics Crossover RPG!

I believe @Sep used the wrong image.

This is what he meant to post.

One Universe: World Of Heroes - A Marvel Comics / DC Comics Crossover RPG!

I am interested in writing Billy Batson/Captain Marvel (aka Shazam)

Vampire: The Masquerade: The Not So Innocent Nights of the 1950s

Interested.

One, I love period pieces. Two, I love VtM.

DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All

It's still Friday on the West Coast, so I'll take it.

Ringing in Friday intensifies.

DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All

K A I - R O

_{T A L E S F R O M T H E G R E E N L A N T E R N C O R P S}

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_{ACT I: AD ASTRA PER ASPERA
Part 3: “Al-x”}

The young Tibetan’s eyes seemed even larger and more expressive than they already were.

Mouth agape, the black and green clad youth marveled at the landscape before him. It was a city unlike any he could have imagined. The violet hued sky above shimmered with sparks of green, as figures moved through the air as if propelled by the verdant light that radiated in streaks that vanished into the sky, or trailed through the streets of the alien cityscape.

A vine-like tendril looped around the child’s wrist, as the bulbous alien literally took the boy by the hand as the two emerged into this brave new world of Oa.

But for the guiding hand, the young monk would have walked into any number of people or objects along their path, as the child’s eyes marveled in sheer awe and wonder at the world in which he was being led.

“It’s really another world,” the boy uttered, the first time he had spoken since the two had left the room in which the monk had awoken. For that matter, the first time that he’d shut his jaw, which had been virtually dragging behind them at his surprise.

“There are many worlds, child.”

The voice in his head -- that is, the voice of the person who was talking to him without actually talking -- was named Apros. “Each is unique, though some may remind you of somewhere you’ve been. No one world is ever truly like another.”

From the street, the pair started up a winding stair that led them to a large structure that resembled the iconic form of the lantern sigil that the boy saw on the front of the strange attire that he was now garbed in. Variations of which seemed to reside on the clothing of everyone that they had encountered thus far.

“This is the Book of Oa,” Apros’ voice spoke, each word seeming to become Kai-Ro’s own thoughts. Entering inside, the walls seemed illuminated in green light, with all manner of shapes, sigils, icons, and other forms of writing tracing up and down the walls. “The repository of all knowledge that the Guardians of the Universe have shared with us.”

Craning his head around, the boy looked up at the tall, thin gourd. “The... guardians of the universe?”

“The architects of our future,” the voice replied. “Highly advanced lifeforms who seek to maintain harmony and balance among the various aliens that inhabit what you would think of as space. They created the ring that found you. Sent out among the stars to find rare individuals possessing extraordinary willpower.”

For some reason, that last statement seemed to trigger a memory for the boy. “It said that,” the young monk began, trailing off there as the recollection solidified for him. Finally, then, he turned his head back up as he recalled, “It said that I had the ability to overcome fear.”

“That is the first step.”

“The first step to what?”

Gilding the boy around the corner, Apros offered only, “For that question, I will leave you with a more appropriate companion.”

Confused, Kai-Ro turned his head and found himself staring at an alien who seemed roughly the same height and build as he was. He would have said that it was another kid his age, except this one had purple skin and pointed ears that seemed to stick out from the side of his head. And his eyes were large, almond shaped pools of pure white.

“This is Al-x,” Apros said, supplying the introduction as the vine at last unwrapped itself from around Kai-Ro’s hand.

Withdrawing from the two, the plant-like alien disappeared with a cryptic, “Al-x has waited to meet you for a long time.”

What was that supposed to mean? “Hi,” Kai-Ro said, turning his head back toward the other... boy? Maybe?

Did aliens even have genders like, well, people did? “I’m...” the monk began, though quickly found himself speechless as the purple kid leaned forward. Staring intently at him, the violet kid seemed to study him like a specimen of some kind “...uh...” Kai-Ro stammered, fumbling awkwardly, even as he took a step back away from the other kid.

“You look like a Graxian, except you’re the wrong color,” the purple kid stated flatly, slowly walking in a circle around the monk. Then, pausing back in front of Kai-Ro, noted “And, I’ve never seen a Graxian with brown colored eyes before.”

What was a Graxian? “I’m Tibetan,” the boy stated.

“Your planet is named Tibet?”

“Well, no,” Kai-Ro amended, fumbling for a moment. He wasn’t used to thinking in terms like this. “My planet is called Earth.” That really didn’t sound right. Was this how conversations in space went?

The purple kid’s head tilted to one side, an expression of what seemed like confusion apparent as he (?) asked, “So, you’re Earthian?”

“No, we’re humans.”

“But, you said you’re Tibetan?”

“I’m from Tibet,” Kai-Ro affirmed, with a nod.

“But you said you’re from Earth,” the purple kid quipped back.

“Tibet is a country on Earth,” Kai-Ro answered. Then paused there. “Well, it was a country on Earth. I guess I’m actually Chinese, except that’s, like, super offensive where I’m from.”

“Fascinating,” the purple kid uttered.

Seriously. What kid talked like that?

“You’re describing a system of division based on geo-political boundaries.”

Expressive brown eyes just blinked. “I’m..." Kai-Ro began. Then stopped. He blinked a second time. “...wait, what?” the monk asked, even as he tried to make sense out of what he’d just heard. “Are you really a kid?”

The purple kid’s head tilted over to the other side, as though contemplating this as a new question. “Are you?”

“I’m ten,” Kai-Ro stated.

“Ten?”

Yeah, ten. “Ten years old,” the monk clarified, pointing to himself and then gesturing toward the purple kid as he asked, “How old are you?”

“In order to have meaning, this ‘year’ requires a spatial or temporal context.”

These were words.

Kai-Ro understood that these were words. He even understood that these were words being spoken in what seemed like it was perfect Tibetan.

And he had no idea what any of these words meant.

Seemingly perplexed at his conversational companion’s speechlessness, Al-x touched a spot on the wall. As he did, the green light seemed to become malleable in his hands. Responding to his fingertips, soon there was a green construct of what seemed like an approximation of a planet and some writing in a script that Kai-Ro didn’t recognize.

“How did you do that?” the monk asked, in awe.

“What is a year, exactly?” Al-x asked.

“A year? Like, twelve months,” Kai-Ro said, though it likely sounded more a question. “Three hundred sixty-five days?”

“What is a day?”

“Like, one day to the next?” Kai-Ro responded, quite confused that the conversation had taken a turn for the, well, even more confusing. “Twenty-four hours, I guess?”

Consulting the various green icons, the purple kid gave a nod. “I think I understand now, your concept of time is connected to your planet of origin,” Al-x remarked finally. Glancing up, the purple kid stated, “You think in terms of orbital revolutions. Very well. If I understand your orbital mechanics, then I am one hundred and five of your years old.”

“One... what?” Did he just say one hundred and five?

“As for how I accessed this data, this is an archival data retrieval point for the Book of Oa,” Al-x noted, giving a wave of his hand. As he did, the planet and writing vanished. “You can use it, if you wish, to look up the relevant historical data regarding the Green Lanterns.”

“What’s a Green Lantern?”

“You,” Al-x answered. Then, amended, “Or, rather, you are a candidate. As am I.” Turning back toward the monk, the purple kid noted, “With your arrival, there remain two other candidates who will join us so that our training may commence.”

“Training?” Kai-Ro echoed. At some point, all of this was going to start making sense. Right? “Training for what?”

Tucking his (?) chin between the thumb and finger of one hand, Al-x seemed to ponder that question for a moment. Then, looking up, asked, “Does your planet have a concept of hierarchical governmental authority that is centrally controlled, but decentrally executed?”

Kai-Ro just blinked, again. “You keep using these words,” the Tibetan monk stated flatly. “I have... no idea what they mean.”

Re-phrasing the question, Al-x posed, “Are there authority figures on your planet whose role is the maintenance of society’s rules?”

It wasn’t a lot better than the first question. “Authority?” Kai-Ro echoed. “You mean, like, the police?”

“Policing?” Now it was Al-x’s turn to echo back a word. A slight nod, and a flicker of a smile -- as if what Kai-Ro had said was, in some way, funny. “A quaint societal mechanism,” the purple kid decided, finally, as he looked up and affirmed, “Yes, the police.”

Kai-Ro’s head went back. “Where I’m from, the police are the bad guys,” the child stated, in a surprisingly matter-of-fact tone.

Now, it was Al-x’s turn to be surprised. “You are an anarchist?” Then, the purple kid paused. “Or the product of a system of government oppression,” Al-x stated, amending his original theory with a few other snippets gleaned from the conversation. Turning back to Kai-Ro, the purple kid said, “Fascinating, but no. Green Lanterns seek to maintain peace and order among the various alien cultures which coexist. Like your Earth, space is also subject to many political boundaries that can be cause of conflict. And criminal elements may exceed the ability of any one planet to sufficiently address. These are the functions for which the Green Lanterns exist.”

The monk just gave a blank look, finally blinking before blurting out, “Are you really a kid?”

“I feel as though we have already addressed this,” Al-x stated crisply.

“I feel as though I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

Final Fantasy Crystallum en Absentia

_{[ Streets of Alexandria ] [ Nyan's Theme ]}

---

The streets were said to be unforgiving.

The streets were the repository for the trash that was cast out by society, become the last refuge of the downtrodden and the damned. Oddly enough, the young kit had always found that the people living on the streets were often far more welcoming than those who held themselves as society's betters. Those were unmistakable fixtures in any city anywhere. People passing by, wearing clothes that cost more than any one of these beggars might see in a year, or even a lifetime, with noses upturned and their gazes diverted.

What an eye sore, that people might have such poor taste as to be poor in their presence.

To be completely honest, the young Miqo'te wasn't even certain from just what city he'd even arrived. He'd hopped from one merchant caravan to another on the road, passing through what had seemed like more of a trading post than an actual town, and then arrived at the gates only to discover that this was the storied Kingdom of Alexandria.

The white haired kit was resplendent in the finest cloak no money could buy -- stitched together from stained and discarded sackcloth. It was not much to look at. Neither, for that matter, was he. But it suited him well enough. Seated an upended, broken pull-cart, the boy's tunic was similarly the mark of a pauper, being a patch-work garment. The black tips of his ears were not the only dark marks, as soot and dirt clearly betrayed the fact that the youth had been traveling for a bit and not seen a bath in as many days. If not weeks.

As it had happened, the kit had stumbled upon a boy perhaps two summers younger than he, who had belonged to a family that was turned out on the street. While they hadn't had enough porridge for themselves, let alone to share, but they had broken bread with him. It was stale, with mold that had to be scraped off, but they'd shown him a baker in town who could be relied on to make available what he didn't sell.

The kit had an eye on several carts that seemed to be getting loaded. There were likely to be one or more caravans that would be departing for destinations unknown. The boy didn't know that he planned to stay in Alexandria long enough to appreciate the baker's stale gift to the city's poor, but it was still nice to know where there existed the option of a free meal. Even if one had to scrape the mold off it beforehand. That was certainly preferable to rummaging a meal from out of the rubbish piles, which the destitute were apt to due when all pride had left and there remained no alternative.

But, life was all about capitalizing on the alternatives.

And with a city this size, there were apt to be merchants of all manner. Who likely had things of value, which could get misplaced or otherwise become both lost and found. Yes, maybe before he had to leave the city, he'd have the opportunity to make a slight withdrawal.

After all, where he was going, it never hurt to have some capital.

...even if he had no idea just where he might be going.

Details. He'd figure it out when he got there. Wherever. Maybe even home to Bellas, though that seemed a more fleeting possibility the more he hopped from caravan to caravan.

Final Fantasy Crystallum en Absentia

Name

Nyan
_{Full name at birth O'nyan Tia ("o nyh'an"), though this is unknown to him.}

Race

Miqo'te (Seeker of the Sun)

Age

12

Class

Thief

Place of Origin

Free Cities of Bellas

Personality

At first blush, Nyan appears no different than any other kit his age; usually presenting as an active, tactile youth who has difficulty with sitting still, inside voices, or quietly observing something. While it is true that he is a curious cat, and easily distracted, he's far more perceptive and intelligent than he leads others to believe.

Backstory

A free spirit, Nyan hails from the Gloriannas Coastal region of Atles. A bastard sired by an ousted nuhn, Nyan was abandoned by his tribe on the streets of one of the Free Cities. Adopted into roving gangs of street kids, the boy was brought up in a nomadic chaos that valued sharp wit, keen eyes, and sleight of hand. Most of all, he learned how to move unnoticed in a crowd, lightening the coin purses or lifting a loaf of bread from a merchant's stall before slipping away. His penchant for travel was not his original intention. On the run from the town guards for a minor misunderstanding regarding proper ownership of a piece of fruit, a brass gorget, and possibly a bone ring as well (who's counting?), the young Miqo'te stowed away among the cargo of a caravan that had departed for the road before he could disembark from his hiding spot.

Now, he's on his own. With only his wits and a pair of daggers, the young thief hopes to one day make it into the Hunter's Guild (or, at least, score a Guild Mark) so that he might be able to travel without the fear of being discovered as a stowaway, sneaking his way into or out of towns. But, in the meantime, it's not as though Altes has given him a lot of options.