DeadDrop — Roleplayer Guild

[[[P R O J E C T ::: U N D E R G O D]]]

 [[[L A I N   E D G A R - W E S T]]] 

Layer 01:::

Patient Profile:::

”Do you feel it? The force of ten Gs as you turn wildly, I can feel it from here.”

Name:  Lain Edgar-West  "Joker-2"

Gender:Male

Age: Twenty-nine.

Classification: Human.

Physical Description: He was impressive, standing at six foot one the man was something of a beast. A beautiful caged animal just yearning to be let out, he could of been a model he was a handsome babyface thing. The one women dream about and the one men envy, he was close to being pale but there was blood underneath the flesh. He was a platinum blonde, with an athletic build he rivaled sometimes even his strongest foes but his strength lay in his wings not his fists. He had a smile, the one you could see your reflection in. He oozed everything that a perfectly sculpted human could, yet something was off. Something was oddly inhuman.

Psychological Profile:::

 Egotistical | Charming | Calculating| Dishonest | Callous | Psychotic

Patient Observations::: It's unilaterally accepted that Lain is a violent individual, his ability to overpower and injure staff is relatively so often that a special team of trained personnel are on call to sedate the young pilot. Though once sedated Lain is docile and compliant with staff as he simply cannot resist them at that point. He is often under increased surveillance due to his malcompliance with staff, though when he isn't combative he is quiet and often seen humming or singing to himself. Looking up at the ceiling, treatment so far has been progressing decently but it often hampered by his outbursts.

Deepest Desire:::Worthy Foes of The Everlasting Skies

During his time as a pilot he never found a true foe he could call his equal nor could he find someone that would challenge his very skill as the King of the Skies. It's a void that needed to be filled, every Ace every team or squadron he face he fell them all without too much remorse. There was no one that could sate his quest for a decent fight, perhaps this generation of pilots were just so lack luster that they fell into futility? Regardless, he'd continue to search even in his state of captivity.

Quest:::Return the Crown

Ruling the skies was the sole source of Lain's power it balanced around the fact that Joker team could take on anyone and fell them. It was a good life style, the power they could project was truly knee trembling yet with the fall of Joker team and the illegal incarceration of Lain the two have been broken up. Once freed from his chains, Lain will find Joker-1 (The fabled Kilgore Garcia-Menaz) and take up the skies one last time. Reclaim his crown, and defeat all pretenders.

For only one pair of kings rules these deep blue skies.

Virtue:::Triggerman

Lain is the force that drives the nail into it's place, he's the glue that keeps it all together. Whether it's his natural prowess at commanding the mechanical giants that fly so high above our lifetimes or the sauve way he's speaking to his enemies and foes that demoralize and defeat them before contemplation of engagement is considered. He considers himself to be the Triggerman, the man that will get the job done no matter how gritty or painful it may be. Sometimes morally ambiguous, the skies don't cede to black or white or the morally grey. What happens up there is based on instinct, and surviving it often left to second guesses.

Vice:::Sin baby, it's a sin.

Hubris is something that never crosses the mind of the bright and ever vigilant mind of Lain's. He thinks he is so good, no one has ever told him no. It's just so fucked, one day it will catch up with him there will be a reality check if this even is reality any more. It won't be pretty, but his ever-constant ego reminds him that what he's doing is righteous and just. He knows that he'll never fall, that he's untouchable but that overconfidence will ultimately be the downfall of the downtrodden pilot.

Likes:::
►The Skies
►Fighter jets
►Freedom
►Winning
►Joker Team

Dislikes:::
►The Ground
►The Man
►The House
►The Useless
►The Damned

Oddities::: Lain keeps a journal, of all the sorties and all the kills he has racked up. Every plane, every pilot, their allegiances and dates. He can't forget, no he won't the things he's done. Is it remorse or just some twisted game to him, it's simply unknown.

Background Information:::

 “You and I are the opposite sides of the same coin, we may look similar when we're face to face but we'll never be in the same direction.”

Wisps of Memory:::

The jets soared over head.

Looking up into the sky Lain saw a beautiful dance, two jets chasing each other like a break neck dance of something sinister. It was beautiful like an art and it was something he'd never forget, the crackling of sound came to him in an instant. The 30mm guns firing off from the jet ripped into the other sending it smoking as it took a nose dive towards the town, a plume of fire and smoke erupted as it crashed into a building. Specifically the Red Tide (the towns favourite, now lost forever in the void). Lain blinked, excitement rushed through his veins as the victor flew away. He'd be hailed a hero, the enemy was dead and what more could be asked for? It was a fuck-you moment, he had lived the others had died and there was nothing more too it. A live on the edge like that, who could resist it? Lain knew he wouldn't be able to, it would suck him in and in the end it did.

That War was a terrible one, the one where the U.S. had to do a lot of flying and a lot of killing. After university it was clear where his sights were set on, the USAF was in a deficit of pilots and they needed to be trained, young and smart pilots even more so now than ever. Enlisting was the best thing he could of done, going through the air academy and receiving his commission made his parents so proud but they'd never understand what being a pilot meant to him. They lacked those kind of receptors in their brains, Lain was special and he knew it and so did some other people but this story is about him - not them. Earning his commission as a second lieutenant he was assigned to the 5th Fighter Squadron. Fancy names didn't matter it was about what you did that everyone cared about, what he'd do would change the war. 

He was mentored by him, not Joker-1 like people would suspect but him. The old man, he'd survived many wars and many conflicts. He was old but still in service, a lieutenant-colonel. He'd been all over the globe, fought dozens of flags and brought them all down. Borders ceded and treaties were signed because of him, Rainer Kellerman  a strange name but it rang bells everywhere he went. He was a hero, a war hero and one that everyone respected. He was the king of the skies but his time had gone, someone else had to take his place as king. Maybe he had been that pilot he saw oh-so long ago, dancing through the skies with ease and grace. The one that never let his prey get away.

Joker team formed by the hands of Kellerman, the teams were all his fledglings waiting to become full-grown big birds just like him. When Kellerman left it was just Joker and a few other teams, they were special yet the still didn't see their potential. Joker-1, Kilgore Garcia-Menaz the man the myth and legend was his best friend. They went through everything together, with the start of This War the two would be key in it's development. Over the years, fighting in such a austere environment the two became soured with their opponents. No one could beat them, was it fate or was it just a boring and torturous existence. They'd been promoted, both captains both wild and young bucks. It was great, yet something was stumbled upon. Kilgore was nosy, he liked to know what he was getting into. Intelligence-driven, he dug into something evil. 

He went to share it with Lain, it was about This War. Nothing was what it seemed, yet Lain coulden't remember exactly what it was he found. All he knew is that the military police came, they tried to take Lain but he took off though Kilgore was swiftly arrested by the MPs. In a last-ditch effort, Lain strafed the airbase blowing up the command center leaving it in a state of twisted metal and gore. He went deep-north, stashing his plane on an abandoned farm. He thought his plan was foolproof, he'd escape north to the Land of the Leaf but a militarized swat team had other plans as he was subdued before he makes it. The papers claimed he was a domestic terrorist, he was committed to the JOHN where'd he never sees those blue skies ever again.

Yet, they were wrong.

The next strike would be for the throat.

In the House of High John:::

Being eternally caged in the JOHN Was not an ideal lifestyle, he tried to fight it all the fog and the nurses. They would all be felled eventually, but he would not allow the FOG to take over his mind he coulden't forget who he was. Yet it was working, he forgot some things like the documents he was shown. He was a fresh face though, unlike the mysterious Chica he had not done hard time in the JOHN yet. He continues to resist where he can but they are getting smarter and are employing a variety of not-so nice tactics to ensure his compliance.

The Team as they are verbally referred to as, must be some kind of special forces or of trained descent. They were not here for games and knew exactly how to restrain or coerce poor Lain. They would be the first to fall under his fist of the ever-damned. Though he rued the place, he enjoyed the peace yet it would soon be broken. Peace is a lie.

Fragments and Connections:::

The first image that comes to mind is Garcia-Menaz the fabled Joker-1 his wingman and his compatriot they did everything together in the times of service. Though it's unclear if the man is alive or if he's just another corpse in the carcass of the betrayed and hung. Though once he got out he'd have to find him, a pair of kings were no pair without the other. The second rings to his parents, Ma' and Pa' they were both tough and well-liked people back in the town but were they still alive. They should be, lest the U.S. government wanted the full wrath of their creation, the flag would burn if the old ones were harmed.

Flickering images of a pretty young woman, a blonde passed through his mind like a vision of future-past. She was an ex or a girlfriend at the time, a name slipped from his mind as he drew back on his past but the fog was just too strong. Who was she? It was unclear, but an investigation would truly needed to be conducted to find out what her role was. 

Layer 02:::

Description of a Doomsayer in the Interim:::

[[[DOOMSAYER:::THE UNDERGOD]]

Doomsayer Title:::
UNDERGOD, The Unremorseful

Description::: It looked like it was of a warrior of old, like from the bronze age the doomsayer looked like it was hailing from The Empire. He was stoic with the ways of his appearance, adorned in the oldest of attire the robes of purple and the golden laurel of death spoke waves about the leader. The Undergod wasen't massive he was a smaller statue of six feet, though his agents are a different story. His skin was fading, rotting even and he was demonic in nature. His armor was faded, and oozed black as he carried around weapons of old. A gladius, a round shield amongst other ancient spawn-slaying gear.

Doomsayer Paragon:::Warlord
The Undergod is known to the world of dead as a leader and warlord of the damned and be-broken, the dead follow him. Not all dead, but those who know what's about to come. Those who can see the End Times follow the man in his undead legion of the unremorseful, he's a leader and truth purveyor first and foremost. The being is stoic and speaks with charisma, courage and certainty. He's given speeches for as long as time has existed, he can pull and sway those who dare listen to him. Perhaps the most intimidating thing about the Undergod. Regardless, his legion follows him and it continues to grow. For a warrior must shed blood when the sword is unsheathed those who fall only bond themselves to a fate already decided to them. Joining the legion may be their only escape, but those who refuse only find themselves smited from the depths of purgatory, perhaps this is fate.

Doomsayer Prophecy:::The End Times

Throughout the constant visions of the ever-bound future, the End Times are what is signaled in the visions to the Undergod. The gates of the dead open up and leading the fight is the Undergod himself as the legions of the dead and hungry enter Earth, the helpless are soon consumed and those who fight are felled without much struggle. The legion of dead overtake earth, their new home and their new kingdom ruled by the Undergod. Chaos and destruction await, the time of which this is will occur is unclear but the legion grows - so does their hunger.

A Legend:::

The stories grow as time passes in the Land of the Dead, for the word of the Undergod spreads to every crevice and enclave of the damned and forgotten. The Undergod is the embodiment of war, he's a greedy and unremorseful Doomsayer from what the scribes of the dead ascertain from their interactions. They claim he was born from a warrior of the ancient age, betrayed by the vestiges of his service to the public the Undergod sought to rally a legion that would face any foe that challenged it. Though his motives were clear, the Land of the Dead was a forgotten relic and Earth would be the home of his new empire. Some say the Undergod is the prophet of a new age while other see him as a warlord looking to secure his power in the Land of the Dead. One thing was for certain, the gods would ultimately decide his purpose.

A Sighting:::
It started with a sounding of a horn, it was distorted and sounded like something of old but it had a twisted twang to it when blown into. The lone dead scab blew into it as the shuffling of feet, rather the marching of the undead came. They were armored, armed, and blindly stepped forward as the Doomsayer himself appeared. The Undergod was flanked by a retinue, rather a group of Praetorian guardsmen - a bigger and deader group of tallboys. His standard-bearer was nearby, the flag bore a melting face grotesque and gore for all to see. Was it truly a banner or was that someone's face?

The Undergod spoke, he was stoic as he preached one of his speeches from long ago speaking of unity and the End Times oh how soon they were coming. His ability to swoon the undedicated caused envy in some as he pulled more bodies to join his legion of the ever-damned and corpsed. He'd often give speeches to large gatherings or places of congregation, though during the battle against the legions of hedonists and unmoveable it's often described as a blood bath of unspeakable proportions. Whatever truly happens on the field, stays there.

𝒜 𝒞𝑜𝓃𝓉𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉 𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽:::
Lain Edgar-West

THE UNDERGOD

I own all char ideas as of now.
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