Call me Doc. I'm open to just about every form of roleplay at any time, so if you want to have some fun just toss a P.M my way.
I do prefer RM, URM, or low tier fights, with human or peak human hand-to-hand and swords & sandals being my speciality. Challenge me to a match just any old time!
Name:Xillian "Xil Gil" Giles Age: Thirty-two Gender: Male Race: Cyborg
Appearance: Xil Gil by all means appears to be a douchebag's rendition of a quintessential, stiff-gaited British salary man. He stands six feet tall, 180 pounds (He looks like he should weigh less, but you know, he's full of metal shit), with coke bottle glasses, tidy hair, and tea-stained teeth. He is never seen without a pair of black gloves on, and always wears long sleeve shirts in public. From about the middle of his forearms down, his skin tapers into black, zig-zagging wires and nodes which thicken into his fully mechanical hands, a flexible brown polymer coating the metal. This polymer feels and closely resembles what one might (falsely) guess to be some strange mix of leather and rubber, allowing Xil Gil's hands a protective covering just firm enough to pass for human skin when he has his gloves on.
Personality: Xil Gil comes across as a character you'd see in Monty Python. Everything about him screams "awful British humor". He's well-mannered but prone to accidental offences, a true upper-class twit. He enjoys the little things in life, and decidedly avoids discussions of a complex nature. Xil Gil is shallow and superficial, his quirky tidbits doing nothing to alleviate the unbridled cruelty with which he visits upon those his employers deem "troublesome". If anything, one could call Xil Gil a Bondian henchman and be right on the money.
Bio: Xillian Giles had a fine upbringing in (formerly) Great Britain, born in the year 2256. He had lousy showings in school and at home, not being the brightest bulb in the basement. Despite his poor aptitude he proved himself to be a hard worker and managed to claw his way into the Ministry of Defence, secret service. Hmm? His childhood? Not everyone has interesting childhoods, least of all little English turd tukeys. Trust me, it's boring. After a few years he migrated to Mexmerica (don't ask) and found work at the leading biomechanics organization. They appreciated his talents, and did their best to put him to good use. He was fitted with cybernetic enhancements and told to discreetly kill those that undermine the company. An assassin? No. A mercenary? Not that. You've gotta call it what it is, the lable on the can. They helped Xil Gil to become a murderer.
The true power of the Beardforce lay in it's ability to reduce a close quarters fight down to the its most basic components. Superman can trade blows with the hulk all day, but in in mortal combat with genuine implements of murder, all it takes is one square hit. If an opponent's power balance is drastically off kilter, say to the point of shrugging off a headshot from the deadliest melee fighter alive, the Beardforce will rise to the challenge and increase the force of the blow. Perhaps an opponent had existed who could block a punch with his hand, and not have his hand realistically broken because of his ability to redistribute kinetic energy. This would largely mean most melee attacks would be useless against him. Were he to try and catch the fist of Gonad, his kinetic redistribution power would not be negated. The punch would simply be so strong that it would work anyways, just as normal. That is the way of the Beard, for otherwise the weapon that was Gonad's body would be useless.
Is it still possible though, to shrug off a direct blow from Gonad? In a way, yes. Hits to nonvitals, mostly. Blocking with a sturdy part of the body, say, taking a punch on the shoulder (though it would severely bruise).
People began disappearing at a greater rate than before. Opponents of the corporation, some quite famous, just vanishing into thin air. Every force has its Red Baron. The one that people learn to fear. Is Xil Gil feared? Let's just say that he can get an empty table at any restaurant, at any time.
Abilities: Xil Gil uses his hands almost exclusively. His mitts are completely robotic, and their strength is such that he can crush an engine block in his grip as if it were Styrofoam. He can give industrial steel girders Indian sunburns or rub a quarter between two fingers and reduce it to warm shavings. The raw power of his pinching phalanges can make an industrial hydraulic press wet in the panties. The high tension single-atom filament muscle fibers and fiber optic nerve cables situated throughout his entire body serve only to make his paws as ridiculously strong as possible. Most of his frame is, metaphorically speaking, a pulley-system that powers his hands and wrists. This being the case, it should be obvious why he likes to shake hands in dark alleys.
Since most of the sinew and bone in his body is interwoven with composite metals to power his monster grip, Xil Gil is quite the tank. He can endure more damage than a Caterpillar tractor, able to withstand continuous automatic gunfire and shrug off the frenzied teeth and claws of a grizzly bear. His innards are studded with electrostatic transformers that create a field which counters the effect that technology disrupting junk has on his circuitry. Microwaves and ions and all that jazz. All in all, he's almost as tough to put down as the Terminator. The primary difference is that he still has most of his human organs, and so he can't quite survive being blown in half or guard himself from a shockwave fierce enough to liquify his fleshy parts. Yes, he also needs to breathe and can be poisoned. His feet are purely cybernetic like his hands, but for another reason. The circumference of his soles are flanked by retractable claws which can dig into concrete or seal against metal via magnetism. The primary purpose of this is to allow him to walk up walls to get at hard-to-reach victims and maintain sure footing in combat. His brain (in its shock-proof skull) also has a few chips in it that allow him to process information at a faster rate than what a normal human is capable of, juicing up his reflexes real good-like. He can perceive motion well enough to be able to evade a world champion boxer's punches without needing to take a step in retreat, snatch arrows out of flight, and identify the precise moment that a finger tenses to pull a trigger.
If Xil Gil finds himself in a tight spot, he can pull out a few mean stops. If given several seconds, he can open up his body's task manager and change his system processes, temporarily devoting all of his processing power into creaming the opponent before him. His reaction speed spikes even further and he no longer has any wasted movement. He becomes capable of extraordinary feats of agility and coordination.
Lastly, he can take his gloves off and latch a set of clawed braces onto his hands. In doing so he betters his chances of snagging careless victims and can use his deadly fingers like shivs, except few shivs if any can punch through cinderblocks as easily as the digits of Xil Gil.
Other: Despite Xil Gil's toughness and hand-to-hand killing power, he likes to avoid direct confrontations. He lacks the ability to deal with long-ranged attacks, and contrary to the public's perception of what a cyborg is capable of, he's actually no faster than a normal man. Yup, that's right. Xil Gil has no speed enhancements or guns. If you can outrun your average fit Brit, then you can outrun and most likely outmaneuver Xil Gil. Needless to say more physically balanced fighters can run absolute rings around him, and a good marksman can Kobe his ass from a hundred yards easy if they have the firepower required. He's also a bit of a dimwit, and can be outsmarted if somebody has the presence of mind to try and bluff him. The only conceivable way Xil Gil can nail a competent opponent is if he catches them unawares and grabs them before they can bolt. If he does manage to grab said opponent though, what usually follows is ghastly enough to make John Carpenter ralph in a baggie.
Tom was grabbed by his bruised side and hurled to the ground, letting out a choked groan as he slowly supported himself on hands and knees.
"Ugh... Shit, not bad son. You rang woodland bells with that one. Hope you like your beer cold and your chicken crispy. You win round one. Gimme a second, dammit."
If allowed, Tom would gradually climb to his feet and begin twisting from side to side, loosening up his cramping muscles and estimating the damage done to his ribs. After several seconds of this he'd turn his back to Steer, facing the crowd.
'Y'all motherfuckers better close your eyes. Serious now, I'll turn you wide-eyed punks into fat transvestites if you so much as peek."
Tom didn't seem to be the type of person to exaggerate. In one fluid motion, he whipped off his broken shades and flung them high into the air. He neatly jerked a thumb at himself and with a sharp utterance of "Blindorial Nerdwerdus", materialized a second pair of shades onto himself. He must have actually had bad vision, as they were most certainly prescription glasses. Then, before the cracked shades could hit the ground, he angled an index finger at them and snarled, "WeeMan Shinkickums". Out of nowhere flickered Wee Man, the midget from MTV's Jackass. Wee Man coolly snatched the sunglasses out of the air and crushed them in his pudgy fist, before vanishing into nothing.
Tom turned again to face Steer. Not a single hillbilly had dared to see what he looked like without sunshades. He tucked another cigarette into his mouth and flicked his thumb at the tip as if he were opening a Zippo lighter.
"Beachbaggo Burnsacko."
The cigarette was inexplicably lit, and Tom puffed a few times, regaining his composure, before finally, finally, FINALLY raising his fists again, tucking his chin in and bending at the knees, left foot leading. The left fist was extended out far in front of him, the overall impression being that of an early 1900's pugilistic fighting man's stance, the kind that large circus men with German mustaches used for rough and tumble boxing.
"Hey, one last thing Steer. You know any cartoons from before the 90's? Got a favorite?"
Name: Gonad Yaksplitter Title: The Lord of the Rising Sun Age: 34 Height: 7'2" Weight: 499 pounds Boxing Reach: 92" Shoe Size: 24 Race: Human Eye Color: Hazel
Weapons and Equipment-
-His body.
-A set of thick six-kilo gilded steel bracers.
-A pair of three-kilo gilded steel gauntlets.
-A pair of two-kilo hide boots reinforced with steel.
-A tough, magical cloak that's impervious to heat and cold.
Appearance- Silhouetted against the burning passions of war, a figure stands tall, unmoving. His physique is as definitive as the gory victory with which his gruesome hands secure. Woven into his beard is a tapestry of blood, proclaiming the legendary tales of the countless scars adorning the sacred weapon, known as Gonad. For weapon he is, heated and hammered in the unquenchable fires of battle.
Pure unadulterated muscle. Lean muscle that ripples under his flesh like the waves of the ocean. He has muscles on his muscles. Feet Muscles. Finger muscles. Gooch muscles. A grisly body resembling tanned granite that might as well have been chiseled by the gods. Bulging veins, thick and course. Tendons like steel cords. Fingers like blunt iron rods. Long, sinewy limbs crafted for naught but the deliverance of phenomenal destruction. His enormous yet supple frame moves with a primal grace, the likes of which are comparable only to the untamed beasts of the wild.
His body is riddled with the innumerable wounds left by his combative livelihood. There are hundreds upon hundreds. Where the scars do not cover his body, coarse manly hair, thick and strong like steel wool, does. He boasts a great dark gray beard speckled with the blood and bone flakes of his foes, flowing down his freakishly striated chest in thick, oily waves reminiscent of the River Styx. From it emanates the very stench of death and graverot, every bit as inescapable as his piercing glare. Within his single eye resides an undying flame, sizzling hotter than the arse-winds of Satan himself.
Personality- What attributes the primal organism known as "Gonad" bears are no different than the attributes of mother nature herself. Blood-tinged Westerlies carving jagged sluices along the tepid surface of a great and mysterious ocean, whose calm demeanor belies a vast and terrible capability. The wisdom of towering snow-capped mountains, whose interminable experience has been honed over countless millennia of wear and tear. The trepid balance between predator and prey, animal and man, intermingling to form a singular amalgamation of virile life. And yet, he maintains a feature apart from nature. Self-awareness. He lives only for pushing the boundaries of human strength and spirit, forcing himself beyond the utmost limit in extreme combat. He fears not death, nor pain, nor loss, for it is from these things that the vigor and strength of true manhood and honor spring. He revels in the pain, luxuriates in death, and basks in loss. He never will engage in dishonorable practices such as deception, and will not tolerate an unfair fight. Though he may oftentimes appear a comical fool, Gonad is truly just a simple man who very rarely premeditates an action, instead acting from the heart and without hesitation, following only the voice of his soul.
Abilities/Skills- Revered by many as the greatest warrior to have ever lived, Gonad boasts tremendous dynamic and static strength and is capable of overpowering virtually any foe near his size. His base strength is roughly equivalent to that of a large grizzly bear, his speed that of Bruce Lee crossed with Usain Bolt. Above all else the strength in his hands is legendary, and so far no foe, living or dead, has succeeded in breaking his grip. He fights through experience and instinct, capable of reacting to attacks through muscle memory before he consciously registers them. He witholds a vast array of rare and lethal wisdom and is said to know of over one-thousand ways to kill with his bare hands. What's more, Gonad is the supreme master of his own body and can control its functions at will. He uses the full potential of his musculatory system, is able to constrict blood vessels to keep from losing fluids, and can transmit senses other than sight through his visual cortex, along with every other kind of mind over body feat possible. Ripley's Believe It or Not type shit.
Gonad is a grandmaster of the berserker arts and has an effectively limitless tolerance for pain. If need be, he can, just as expected, go berserk. When he does he can generate such speed and strength that his own muscles can tear themselves from his bones, performing at nearly twice his normal abilities. When combined with the ability to create self induced hyposthenia within his body, bringing his muscles to the ultimate point of relaxation, Gonad can then contract them with the greatest amount of force that is physically possible. At the cost of having his very bones shatter from the overwhelming might of his own blows, Gonad can unleash attacks of such immensity that any entity on the receiving end of a direct hit gains an immediate and intimate understanding of what it feels like to be the fetus in a Mexican abortion. In other words, going berserk increases Gonad's offence at the cost of his defense. His blood flows much faster (hastening blood loss), he becomes considerably more aggressive (henceforth reckless), and his attacks are just as likely to inflict damage to himself as to the opponent due to the physical strain.
Background- They say when the Barbarian called Gonad Yaksplitter was born, he came into this world bearing a full and mighty beard and had the equivalent muscles of a shaved adult yak. He was born on the battlefield, his infantile but well defined body gushing forth from the womb of his mother and landing in a puddle of blood that had been pooling from the corpse of a nearby enemy. It was in this way that Gonad had first been christened with the blood of his enemies. His mother, Chukka, had broken both legs in the battle and only she and her newborn son had survived the disastrous conflict. It had been a Barbarian war party, sent out from Gonad's home village which lay fifty-five miles East.
Chukka was forced to crawl back using her hands and teeth, bearing Gonad on her back. Only by sustaining young Gonad with the meat of her placenta and the warm milk from her breasts was she able to keep him nourished during the arduous trip back. Using the prodigious length of young Gonad's beard, she was able to fashion a makeshift diaper to keep him from soiling her back. After two months, they managed to return to the village, much to the great joy of Chief Jarvi. Upon being shocked at the sight of Gonad's beard-diaper being removed, he promptly named muscular Gonad after his hefty namesake, and renamed their village after the miracle child. For many ages the Village of Gonad has been renowned for its strength, most often migrating around in the deep Wilderness. Gonad's birth was the very culmination of generations of hard-earned might, his destiny pre-determined by the selective breeding of his ancestors. Their intent? To create the ultimate physical human. And so they did.
Since before he could walk, Gonad was made to train in the berserker arts with a relentless fervor that surpassed common sense. Nearly every minute of every hour of every day of his life he endured the most excruciating physical and mental training imaginable, his talent for unarmed combat pushed well beyond the boundaries of reason. He bears as many scars from his training as he does from battle. Gonad has participated in tens of thousands of battles, ranging from one on one bouts to full scale wars, and from his experience has even created his own fighting style, which he dubbed "Hefty Fist".
From the moment of his birth, he was made to perform rigorous excercises in order to develop his body as soon as possible. The full details of his training remain unknown for the most part, as the accounts of Barbarians are often muddled with myth. What is known are the basics of his regimen, from the date of his birth, to current day.
Age One: Gonad is regularly beaten with a wet strip of leather. Gonad is regularly held over stoked flames. Gonad is regularly given rodents, and encouraged to crush them in his hands. Gonad is forced to develop his upper body strength via unknown means, involving a two pound rock, a plank, a boot, and rope crafted from yak hair.
Age Five: Gonad is regularly taken several dozen miles into the wilderness before being abandoned and told to make his way back. Gonad is regularly brought into tribal wars, and claims to have had a double digit kill-count before his sixth year. Gonad is made to regularly consume the flesh of his fallen enemies. Gonad is regularly made to carry an eighty-pound rock upon his back. Gonad is regularly beaten with wooden staves whilst wrestling with his older peers in a pit full of yak dung. Gonad is regularly made to mate with older Barbarian women. Gonad is regularly made to strike rocks with his bare fists. In tribal wars, often many warriors are left mortally wounded on the battlefield, unable to recieve medical treatment. Though Gonad speaks freely of the kills he made in honorable combat, he rarely describes the many grievously wounded allies and enemies he was tasked with mercy killing. Several of his own brethren Gonad had to kill in this way, by snapping their necks.
Age Ten: Gonad habitually trains to the point of sweating blood. Gonad is regularly made to fight wild animals unarmed. Gonad is regularly beaten with iron rods. Gonad regularly splits burning logs with his crotch. Gonad is made to carry a one-hundred and eighty pound rock upon his back at all times. Gonad is branded regularly with hot irons. Gonad regularly spars with his peers in the catacombs underneath the village, where it is pitch black. Gonad is regularly made to punch yaks until they die of blunt force trauma. Gonad is regularly made to skin and disembowel said yaks with bare hands. It was at this time Gonad met Lukka, his first wife. An enduring custom of the Village of Gonad, the wife always fights her spouse tooth and nail on their wedding night during mating. The fight is no holds barred, and often severe and permanent injuries result from it. The winner of this matrimonial bout becomes the dominant partner in the relationship. To overpower your mate is known in the village as "taming" them. Gonad tamed Lukka on the first night of their marriage.
Age Fifteen: As per the requirements of the Village's manhood ritual, Gonad and his brother Testiculese were made to journey up the steep side of Black Wolf Mountain. The hike spanning several days, the two barbarians took turns carrying eachother upon their backs so that the one being carried would have a chance for rest, and the one carrying him would make up for his lack of effort. Up sheer cliffs, and through howling wind and freezing snow did Gonad carry Testiculese, and did Testiculese carry Gonad. With naught but their own bare flesh, they bore both the furies of nature and of the ravenous white wolf packs. After five days, they reached the summit, and together they struck down the terrible Alpha Wolf, an animal thirty feet in height. And then, back down again they went, the trip back to the base of the mountain taking another five days of hardship. Through these ten days in icy Hell, the bonds of brotherhood grew stronger than any metal that had ever been forged.
Age Twenty: Gonad claims to have had a triple digit kill-count and regularly strikes his face against rocks. Gonad regularly falls from twenty foot high cliffs. Gonad regularly takes mass beatings from his village as endurance training. Gonad regularly punches himself in the face. Gonad is made to tote a three-hundred and forty pound training rock at all times. Gonad regularly sets off on three-month long expeditions to seek strong opponents. It was at this time that Gonad created the "Hefty Fist" style of martial arts. By this time, Gonad had already met and tamed his second, third, and fourth wives; Chinga, Brokki, and Dronna, respectively.
Age Thirty: Gonad seeks immense physical stress by any means possible. He continues to go on three-month long expeditions from his village to seek out strong opponents. Gonad claims to have a quadruple digit kill-count. Gonad regularly carries a four-hundred and sixty-four pound training rock in his arms. Currently, Gonad has a total of eight wives, with the new additions being Thorungi, Krabbucka, Chugga, and Grukara. Over eight feet tall, and weighing nearly a quarter of a ton, Gonad's favored wife Chugga is both the strongest female and the second strongest warrior in the village. Having attended all of the tribal wars that occured in her lifetime, she herself had killed many men with her bare hands. Better known as the Seventh Wife of Gonad, she fought Gonad as viciously as any opponent Gonad had ever faced. It was by her hand that Gonad lost his left eye. Gonad was able to tame her after a bloody scrap that lasted over two hours.
As weakness had been beaten out of him at birth, it was not long before he became so well associated with hardship and pain that both feelings became an integral part of his personality. He enjoys agony and difficulty, and carries upon his shoulders the full weight of his village's pride and future. To Gonad, shame and fear are emotions that no longer exist. With adversity drilled into the very core of his being, through unimaginable effort he shaped his mind into an unbreechable iron hull filled with undepletable reserves of determination. Though not by any means distanced from other negative emotions, he still bears them with neither complaint nor angst and has never allowed himself to feel regret.
Gonad now travels the land endlessly, seeking nothing more than worthy opponents to fight. He fights for fighting's sake and for honor, the honor of both himself, and for the honor of those who are unable to defend themselves against the dishonorable. He has seen countless wars, killed countless enemies, made countless friends. To recount the barbarian's many adventures would be an exercise in futility, for the blood wrought odyssey of Gonad transcends time and experience.
Trivia-
◾Gonad rarely calls people by their actual names, often using their physical appearance to give them a nickname such as Hood Man, Fancy Pants Lady, Pale Man, and Funny Beard. Those who have earned his utmost respect, however, are called by their true name.
◾Gonad's body is so well trained, that with muscle memory he performs isometrics in his sleep.
◾Gonad is almost entirely incapable of learning and/or doing anything that isn't related to combat, training, hunting, and women, the subjects in which he holds enough virtuosic ability to philosophize about. It took him two weeks to learn how to first use a doorknob, and he still hasn't learned how to read even a single word. He is utterly useless outside of his few areas of expertise.
◾Gonad is ambidextrous
◾Gonad's nose has been broken so many times, that all of the cartilage in it has deteriorated. He can push it completely flat against his face. He also has four false teeth crafted from ivory.
◾Gonad rarely travels via boat or ship, opting instead to swim across great bodies of water.
Theme Music-
“All warfare is based on deception. Hence, when we are able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must appear inactive; when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make him believe we are near.”
Appearance: A slight but sturdy man with scarce eyebrows, a baby-face, sunken green eyes, a porn stache, and sprayed back ginger hair. He almost always sports a languid grin and frequently wears black pants and dress shoes with suspenders and black gloves, in addition to a dark trench coat or overcoat. He's a big fan of ties and speaks with a nasally Downeast accent.
Weapons and Equipment-
-The weight of his combined personal gear is around thirty-five pounds, discounting the clothes and satchel. His suspenders help distribute and relieve the weight of his equipment.
-Customised Model M513 Raging Judge Magnum revolver with a 7.5" barrel, titanium firing cylinder, and a Mernickle quick draw holster worn on the thigh. The rifling of the barrel, the cylinder tapering, and the frame are modified in a manner reminiscent of the Smith & Wesson Model 460XVR, to accommodate high speed .460 Magnum rounds. Put simply, the most powerful six round revolver on the planet. Donny carries three .45 Colt 325 grain Buffalo Bore moon clips, three .454 Casull XTP Hornady clips, three .454 Hornady jacketed hollow point clips, and three .460 Magnum 200 grain DPX Cor-Bon clips. His suspender straps are stocked with six of each individual bullet type. The hammer of the Magnum is modified to allow for fanning as a faster alternative to the double-action function.
-Custom Earplugs. Molded to a perfect fit, guards against hearing loss from stun grenades and gunfire.
-Silenced Glock 18. A fully automatic machine pistol holding 17 9x19 mm Parabellum rounds, with a firing rate of 1,200 rounds per minute. When combined with Donny's accuracy, it becomes the perfect way to discreetly empty a room full of hostels.
-Unfiltered Camel soft pack cigarettes.
-Zippo lighter.
-A roll of quarters.
-Duplicate police inspector badge.
-Portable respirator gas mask.
-A flask of purified lamp oil.
-Digital recorder preset with several two-hour tracks, including pained sounds, occasional coughing and snorting, casual and serious phone conversations, a muffled voice, muffled whimpering, and whistling.
-A custom high powered 28,000,000 volt, 10 milliamp Runt stun gun holstered at his left side.
-Belt buckle knife.
-Set of steel cord handcuffs secured to the front of his belt and two spare keys. One key is stitched into his overcoat on the right side and the other is stitched into his left pants pocket.
-Trench coat with holes in the pockets and razorblades stitched into the collar. His shirt has razors in the collar as well.
-A black hearse fitted with bullet-proof black windows, tires and paneling, an electric 300 horsepower induction motor, and xenon flood lights. Goes from 0-60 in 2.7 seconds, makes very little noise compared to gas engine vehicles, and accelerates backwards as fast as it can go forwards.
-A modified X800 ShadowHawk flashlight secured to his belt on the left side. It has a custom tactical rail attached, and can be connected to the top of the Magnum's barrel or to the MP5.
-A gas compression ballistic knife with a snap button sheath secured vertically to his right suspender, with the hilt pointing downwards. Has an effective range of 6 meters and travels at 42 mph.
-Silenced QBZ-95-1 machine gun with two 60-round magazines, utilizing hollow points. This is kept in his car.
-Modified UTAS UTS-15 automatic shotgun with flash suppressor, silencer, and 32 round drum. Kept in a unique zipper satchel that Donny frequently wears slung over his back.
-.950 JDJ rifle with four rounds, one always being loaded. This 85 pound gun is kept in the back of Donny's van, which is usually nearby. Comes with a scope.
-Five pull-pin grenades with welded on rings (for ring clips) and optional tripwires, typically stored on the belt. One MK3 concussion grenade, two M67 fragmentation grenades, one M18 smoke grenade, and one M-14 napalm grenade.
-Six inch switchblade in his pocket. It has a ring clip at the hilt base.
-A white handkerchief and a one ounce aerosol bottle of cyanide, disguised as nose spray.
-Customized retractable high-density golf club made just for braining folks holstered at his belt. It has a ring clip at the hilt base.
-Twenty-five foot razor sharp microfilament garrote wire reel concealed within a wristwatch that can be withdrawn via clip ring. It's almost invisible to the naked eye, as light as a spider's web, sharp enough to cut through bone with effort, and can withstand up to 2,300 pounds of tension without breaking. Donny can control how much is extracted and retracted with the interface of his watch. He can also remove the wire spool from the watch at a moment's notice.
-Spring loaded five-inch knives within the heels and toes of his shoes that will jut out when a switch on the instep is triggered. The soles of his shoes are padded with rubber to muffle his steps.
-Pair of insulated quarter-pound S.A.P black combat gloves weighted with lead. They are fashioned from a high density polymer that can resist being cut by the garrote wire.
-A heavy duty bullet proof vest that can stop even the largest of slugs.
-Can of FOX military grade pepper spray holstered at his belt.
-Portable six inch shaving mirror on his belt.
-Four adhesive bombs, which can be remotely detonated via digital watch or set with a timer. Each bomb contains enough TNT to scrap a minivan. Three are kept in his car, and he keeps one on his person.
Physical Abilities/Skills: Donny looks like a geeky dad, the kind of embarrassing adult that could be found doing jumping jacks in neon dolphin shorts down at the local YMCA. This is a strength. Hardly anyone ever suspects just how obscenely dangerous he really is. As a former Green Beret, he diligently trains to stay in peak condition and is a grandmaster of unconventional warfare, as well as an expert on improvised, civilian, and military weaponry. He's a world class gunslinger with a level of manual dexterity and slight of hand most often attributed to master street magicians. Donny's extremely deceptive, excelling in both acting and psychological warfare, in addition to having a eidetic memory combined with a formidable spatial sense. In layman's terms, he fights dirty and abuses any advantages without hesitation. Concealed weaponry, surprise attacks, anything goes. His unwarranted ruthlessness alone is enough take most opponents off guard. His go-to solution for any troublemaker is an immediate and untelegraphed bullet to the skull.
He has over eighteen years of experience in combat as an elite professional killer, with at least 172 confirmed kills in Pakistan alone. Though he is a capable hand-to-hand fighter, he by far prefers mid-range firefights. He is a true "dead eye" with his selected firearms, and can hit a bottle cap at ninety-one meters with his Magnum revolver, the weapon he favors above all others. Such is his skill with the gun that he can fire off all six shots in just a little over a second by fanning the hammer, whilst still maintaining excellent accuracy. For reference as to the revolver's power, the .45 Colt slugs can put a one inch hole through a steel cooking pan at mid-range. The Casull rounds travel at Mach 1.7 and need but a single shot to take down an African bull elephant. The Casull hollow points can reduce a wild boar's innards to custard. The .460 Magnum rounds travel at Mach 2, easily faster than even .500 and .600 bullets, and can vaporize a human head as if it were a rotten cabbage.
At close range with the automatic shotgun, Donny can empty the drum and turn a human into hamburger in about as much time than it takes for the body to hit the ground. His secret weapon, the .950 JDJ rifle, fires a bullet with over nineteen tons of force per square foot. It can literally shoot through schools.
Personality: Donny is best described as an unfettered man. He does what he wants, when he wants, only to further his own goals. He is entirely unchained by morality or the legal system, which he holds in contempt. He follows orders only because he likes having something to do, and what he likes to do is kill. Killing is who he is, short and simple. As long as there is violence in the distance he will allow others to give him direction, for a price. He's outrageously crafty and as mean as an Arizona rattler, albeit with a nigh unbreechable calmness some would call detachment, though on an emotional level he's wholly into his job. He merely has an excellent poker face and never allows himself into a situation that he hasn't complete control over. He's an adrenaline junkie that gets his fix any way he can, primarily by way of murder, but also by driving like a complete maniac, playing games with law enforcement, and committing acts of terrorism. He's socially passable by modern standards, but has no qualms about being a public nuisance. He's quite skilled at being annoying, and uses it as a tool to pick fights. He enjoys smoking, but only does so before and after a kill. He likes taking first-class rides at the airport, drinking black coffee, making faces at children, and visiting strip clubs.
Background: When a young Donny was first asked himself what he wanted to be when he grew up, he found that he could answer the question immediately. He didn't think he was going to be a killer, he knew it as a fact. He was born to be bad, and bad to the bone at that. He had a typical shitty childhood. He was born in Bangor, Maine, his father a U.S Marine, his mother a sickly stay at home wife, and his uncle a pedophile. Not that his uncle made a difference, for Donny had made up his mind to be a killer long before being abused. He was often unsupervised, and frequently engaged in less than saintly activities. Teachers were astounded at his strange combination of emotional maturity and blatant lack of morals. He quickly learned how to make them think he was a swell kid. In his youth he won several national marksman championships, a regular Annie Oakley. As soon as he was old enough, he joined the military. He was good at what he did, to say the least. He became a Green Beret and served Special Forces in Pakistan and Egypt. He was given a dishonorable discharge for endangerment of human life, various human rights violations, and countless civil misdemeanors. It was during his being stationed in Libya that he was stuck with the nickname of "First-Degree" Donny, after fully destroying three villages with a MIL MI-24 gunship, taking advantage of the commanding officer's wording of orders and forcing the malfunction of his own headset. After his discharge, he settled into Las Vegas. There he found quick work as a crime syndicate hit man that dispatched anyone who filched on their gambling debts, seizing their assets for himself along with 20-40% of however much money they owed to his employers, plus expenses. Obviously his reputation decreased business, but it was a simple matter for the higher ups to conceal his involvement in many of the deaths. The consistency of his work easily made up for any gamblers he slew or scared away by proxy.
Whenever he wasn't popping filchers, he was taking up hits. Assassinations of all kinds were welcome. He grew into the role of an underworld grim reaper, dreaded to such an extend that the Mafia dared not to double-cross him. Even the local police, to avoid mass casualties, decided to simply stay out of his way. The way they saw it, no possible confrontation with him could result in anything less than a catastrophe rivaling 9/11. The Feds were only called in once, and never again after having eight dozen of their own slaughtered in an incident so brutally embarrassing, it was wiped from the records and in Donny's place a patsy was tossed to the dogs, the failure so complete that a cover-up was the only way to preserve the public's respect for the government. The police have since avoided investigating too deeply into any murder scene where unfiltered Camel cigarette butts are found. After the massacre Donny became the founder of "K9" (Killer Nine), a team of expert killers feared throughout the country. K9's been proven able to kill anyone, anywhere, within a week regardless of their location or importance. Perhaps it's fortunate that nobody who has thus far asked them to kill the president has had enough money to pay for the job.
Theme Music:
Name: Auz von Kilinger Epithet: Sir Auz the Undying Age: 462, but only about a youthful 28 in appearance. Height: 5'11" Weight: 165 pounds Race: Human, semi-immortal
Weapons and Equipment-
*Steel cuirass, tassets, greaves, half helm, and bladed gauntlets. The works, you know.
*120 cm straight sword known as the Mord Sword, a unique weapon with a razor sharp pommel and extra width and weight at the bade of the blade, all to augment its capacity to be used as a warhammer as much as a sword.
(The Mord Sword)
*Narrow steel buckler with sharp blades.
*Two knives, a stiletto with a 7" blade and a gauche dagger with a 12" blade.
Appearance- Auz is slender but sturdy man, with a light blonde bowl cut and large, blue eyes rimmed in red, as if he rarely gets good sleep. He has cruel eyebrows and usually wears a leonine expression, that of a man ready to fight to the death at a moment's notice. Over his heart is the tattoo of an ouroboros.
Abilities/Skills- Auz is an aggressive, calculating swordsman who employs techniques from the German School of Fencing, as well as irregular moves of his own design. He's highly versatile and creative with his long sword, able to use it in just about any way that can be imagined. Additionally he's skilled with his two knives and at using his buckler as a weapon, and has no qualms about using any part of his body to fight. Physically, he's got a heavy lean towards speed over power. He's frightfully fast, a sort of Bruce Lee among fencers, so to speak. Naturally it's not possible to swing a sword as fast as a fist, but regardless most warriors that encounter Auz for the first time are utterly taken aback by his diabolical swiftness. With a dagger in hand, he can swipe so quickly that an untrained opponent wouldn't even register the blade passing before their face.
Auz is unable to physically age past 28, and has the ability to come back to life four times against any single opponent, hence his epithet. His body will resurrect within thirty feet of where he died after a period of ten to fifteen seconds, his corpse fading into a crimson glow than vanishes and then reappears in a random spot, which then forms into his fresh (and fully equipped) body. This means that in order for him to die for good, the same warrior would have to kill him five times in a 24 hour period. Every day that passes without him dying to that opponent will return a life to him, so that if an enemy kills him twice and then waits two days, said enemy will be back at square one. Perhaps it's a good thing for opponents that Auz isn't the type to retreat. Furthermore, every time Auz dies he becomes 25% faster than he was in his previous body for a period of twenty-four hours. On his last body against a single enemy, when true death looms, Auz will have gained a full 244% increase in speed. His body does indeed become somewhat tougher and stronger in order to withstand greater speeds, and yes, Auz can commit suicide if he kills himself five times in a day.
Personality- Auz is cutting and sardonic, his dark wit (the man enjoys his one-liners) born from pessimism. He cares not for status or friendship, being a solitary soul in search of nothing but that which gives his life meaning; war. He doesn't like alcohol or other substances, and only enjoys the company of women after a battle. His solemn, irreverent mentality isolates him, but he's not necessarily a "bad guy". He fights for the underdogs when he can, and doesn't partake or suffer the killing of the helpless. That being said, he doesn't care for hostages. Should an opponent try to use another life as a bargaining chip, Auz would just as soon tell his adversary to go ahead and see how much worse of a death they'll get.
Background- Auz was born in the age of Germanic kings, a paladin trained from a young age whose lineage was thrown into obscurity. From the moment he could walk he was trained by the best fencers in the land to become a holy warrior. War was his love, bloodshed his life. He killed his first opponent at seventeen. He was knighted at 20. A year later he left on his own to seek his own path.
When he was 22, he encountered a Swiss witch that promised him a form of immortality in exchange for his immortal soul. He agreed, and she bestowed a tattoo of power upon him, that of an ouroboros, the serpent that endlessly eats its own tail. What had gone through Auz's head to make him accept the unholy bargain? Simple. He made up his mind that when he died, as all things inevitably do, he'd lay down the hurt on every single infernal entity that stood between him and the soul he'd sold, laying low demons and devils until he got it back. Not a likely outcome, but who can question the will of a resolute warrior until it's put to the ultimate test?
He spent his adulthood mastering his trade, devoting himself to the way of the sword as he cut down foe after foe. Old Auz was a regular Musashi, and soon other fighters started seeking him out, desiring to make a name for themselves. The only names they got were those carved on their grave markers.
little else can be said of Auz. There were no dramatic affairs, no arch rivals nor emotional conflicts. He traveled, he fought, he did the hokey-pokey.
Theme Music-
Aliases: Marmappa (Translated to 'Dreamfather' in Tamil, first known name given to it by humans), The Sleeper of the Clandestine, Shasheuss-Gux (Seminole), Salmu Pulhu (Sumerian), The Great Father
Species: Primal Nightmare
Lifespan: As long as it can continue drinking blood. It doesn't age when it sleeps for years in-between large meals.
Age: 2,387 (Current Physical Form), otherwise timeless and unrestricted by the concept of age.
Appearance: A piebald monstrosity with slime slicked flesh and no hind legs. Its only limbs are two craggy arms adorned with thickly webbed wings which start at the hands and annex down either flank halfway to the base of a powerful, gorgon-esque tail. The wings each bear thirteen additional clawed phalanges extending from the arms and flanks. It has three long fingers and a thumb on each hand, with the middle digit bearing a claw eight inches long. The other claws are half that length. The span of its grip is immense, to such an extent that were it to grab a woman about the waist with one hand, its fingers would nearly touch. Its head vaguely resembles the chiropteran caricature of a rubber hand puppet turned inside out, whose distinctly malleable features shift and bulge in cooperation with the unknown physiology operating beneath the flexible cartilage of its skull. The Magna Pater wears a dripping maw packed tightly with gruesome tombstone teeth, concealed beneath flabby lips most frequently pulled back into a sardonic, dog-like grin. Childhood fears, once long forgotten, echo dimly through unseeing, oily eyes. These features are accentuated by long, crinkle cut ears and wrinkled leaf nostrils. It has a sharp and hollow tongue which can extend four feet from its mouth, acting as a siphon to suck in blood. Dermal branchial Lorenzini papulae, similar in appearance to the thousands of little tube-like legs on a starfish, coat its skin and may protrude when needed. When inactive the respiratory buds retreat into the body, leaving the flesh spongy and pocked. Has a pair of retractable, double-jointed feelers on its muzzle just below the eyes which can't be seen when fully withdrawn. The feelers are two feet long and are made up of eleven joints. Hundreds of smaller inch-long antenna resembling twitching cricket legs haphazardly garnish the feelers from top to bottom, spreading when the feelers emerge and smoothing back when they retract. From snout to tail base the Magna Pater is over eight feet long. The tail is sixteen feet, and each arm is six foot five to the wrist. It weighs in at a total of about 365 kilos.
It has no reflection and both the monster's motion and form exhibit a surreal, lurid quality that offends the basic innermost sensibilities of any remotely natural or sane organism. Its overall appearance is so terrible that a single, clear sighting is stressful enough to turn the hair of a common man gray over the course of a single hair growth cycle, and white by the second. The effect itself depends on how well they've mastered their own fears, which refract through its eyes and flow unseen but not unfelt through its physical impression to form a subconscious insight within the victim, that they may know the Magna Pater is the vessel through which the worst of nightmares may be made both true and eternal.
Abilities
~Resistances: It can withstand the hottest or coldest planetary environments, able to easily outlast and outperform any Earthly life form known to science. Its body temperature adjusts to match its surroundings, with the aid of specialized glycoproteins in both its fluids and body which produce immensely powerful antifreeze molecules. The only organism that approaches (but does not exceed) the Magna Pater's vitality is the tardigrade, a micro-animal able to withstand 6,000 times atmospheric pressure, endure 1,000 times the lethal radiation that a human can, and immediately undergo reactionary chemobiosis to become nigh-immune to deadly toxins. It has five pseudohearts behind its circulatory system, the only effective way of killing it being the destruction of the brain, which is buried beneath layer after layer of thickly wadded muscle and cartilage. Like a snake, any limbs separated from the Magna Pater's nerve endings will proceed to react to stimuli and be capable of independent motion for up to two hours. Most often this results in the severed limb maintaining a 'death grip' on something it has captured, or attempting to capture whatever touches it, via a reaction similar to the Palmar Grasp reflex found in babies. If the Magna Pater's head is severed, it can retain consciousness for up to two hours as well due to its self-controlled metabolism and ability to survive without oxygenated blood. Its body is even naturally insulated against electricity, to the point of shrugging off multiple lightning strikes during an electrical storm. Sticking its foreclaw into a wall socket gives it about as much of a buzz as an expired can of Red Bull. It processes pain in a manner entirely separate from Earthly creatures, so that it does not experience physically distracting negative sensations. It knows when it's been hurt, and the knowledge itself is sufficient to influence its decisions.
~Tremendous strength, speed, and agility, can physically dominate any creature in the animal kingdom. Can casually strangle elephants to death, separate their vertebrae, and twist their heads with its tail, or yank the limbs off polar bears with only slight difficulty. It can run down a cheetah with little effort, using the phenomenal might of its tail and arms to propel itself. It can sustain a high rate of strenuous activity for months on end, and can fight without limit so long as it has a food source to draw energy from. As for the Magna Pater's physical durability, even without contracting its muscles to harden itself its body through and through is tougher than an industrial tractor tire as per the physiology required to thrive in the deepest parts of the ocean and in space.
~Its dermal Lorenzini papulae function as electroreceptors and touch receptors, with twenty times the sensitivity of a human hand. It uses them for electrolocation to find the bioelectric fields of targets immune to sonar and infrared, detect electrical signals in muscles (permitting it to respond near simultaneously to the motions of its prey), follow hydrodynamic or aerodynamic trails, and to circumnavigate the globe. The range for detecting life forms via electrolocation is 1,200 meters, and the range to read their muscles is 600 meters. In regards to following dynamic trails, its range is 2,000 meters.
~Keen hearing and sonar. It's echolocation has a maximum distance of 6,700 meters and can detect objects moving at half the speed of sound. Its hearing is so good it can locate a victim even through miles of dense forest and with its back turned. Anything faster than its echolocation it can sense almost instantly via air pressure gradient.
~Breathing: The Magna Pater respirates via both lungs and tracheae located all over its body. The tracheae are highly developed and allow it to survive in every kind of atmosphere or lack thereof. That includes the vacuum of space.
~Stealth: Its mucous gums up and muffles any minor sounds it may make when sneaking, and the Magna Pater is utterly immune to any magical or supernatural detection that doesn't naturally or scientifically originate within the five known senses. That is to say, it cannot be located via any kind of sixth sense. One may still detect it supernaturally, so long as said form of detection is directly based from sight, smell, hearing, taste, and touch. Sensory fields relying on electricity, magnetism, chakra, telepathy, and the like are all wholly ineffective, even if the field is translated into one of the five senses by proxy. Sonar can detect the Magna Pater, because it directly relates to hearing. Seeing through the mind's eye, however, does not count as a direct correlation to sight. Rather than resulting in a blank spot in the midst of such a field, it would simply be as if the Magna Pater was never there.
~Heat pits: Can detect all forms of heat and energy, similar to infrared in snakes. This includes light itself.
~Tongue: Can draw in blood through a wound like an industrial vacuum cleaner, enabling it to drain a human body as quickly and thoroughly as a dehydrated fat kid with a juice box at lunchtime. The tongue itself is a powerful muscle that can choke victims to death, tipped with a hypodermic-like tip made of the same chitin as its claws. It can also squirt, inject, or spray pressurized blood and saliva, or launch its tongue out like a harpoon (in the manner of a chameleon) at speeds rivaling Major League baseball pitches.
~Natural weapons: Its teeth and claws are composed of a complex chitin and protein polymer, harder and sharper than a Humboldt squid's beak, which can pierce modern body armor. The Magna Pater's bite force is vastly superior to what a Nile crocodile can exert, wielding a bite force of more than 15,o00 psi, twice that of the strongest recorded bite measured from a Nile crocodile. Its broad, spade-shaped molars and canines perfect for shearing through bone and muscle. Its tail has around 90,000 muscles, flexible enough to delicately pick up small pebbles, strong enough to grind masonry stone to powder, and fast enough to accelerate to whip-like striking speeds, enough to break the sound barrier at the tip.
~Can freely bend its entire body like rubber or stiffen to become hard. It lacks bones, instead maintaining its shape through different varieties of tensile muscle and cartilage. It can stretch itself within reason, potentially gaining several extra inches of reach in a pinch, as well as squeeze into any opening that it can fit its head through.
~Capable of entering a state of metabolic stasis which can last for decades. It retains spatial awareness during this "hibernation" and can awaken at will.
~Sense of smell: It can track down others thousands of kilometers away just by smelling them on the clothing of its prey.
~The Pull: The Magna Pater and the places it most often visits bear a quality that faintly arouses a victim's morbid curiosity when nearby. This doesn't work if one is aware of the monster's presence. As an example, were the Magna Pater to be waiting outside of a locked window, the victim may feel vaguely compelled to go to said window and look out, but not unlock the window after sighting the horror beyond it. The monster can decide whether or not a victim feels the "Pull". It has scarcely any effect on those with a strong will and a firm grasp of what is real, since the Pull is predominantly meant to snare children.
~Intelligence: Is highly sentient. It has more than two millennia of experience in its current form as a highly prolific interdimensional serial killer, can grasp (but not speak) all languages, and never makes the same mistake twice.
~Can quickly regenerate from wounds by consuming blood and flesh. The amount of mass healed is proportionate to how much is consumed, I.E one pound of food to replace one pound of damaged tissue. It can selectively heal different parts of its body, and any excess food it eats is stored for later regeneration. It can hold up to 110 kilos of food in its stomach.
~Wings: The membrane of its wings is far tougher than Kevlar and can stop bullets of the highest caliber with little difficulty. The maximum wingspan of each arm, when stretched, is comparable in surface area to a queen size blanket, and the membrane itself is twice as thick as a padded backstop mat. The membrane is composed of specialized nerve and muscle fibers which can expand, contract and move freely with incredible strength, more than enough to hold and even break the bones of virtually any mortal creature it catches. As could be assumed from the crushingly powerful phalanges ridging the wings, they aren't at all meant for flight but to allow the monster to both guard against particularly dangerous attacks and to catch and smother prey. It can secrete vast amounts of mucous from the membrane just as it can from every other part of its epidermis.
~Dream Feelers: The Magna Pater's feelers function to receive dreams rather than such things as scents or sounds. When the feelers are fully extended, the Magna Pater can view the dreams of every creature on the planet. It can influence dreams, but the influence decreases the further one is from the Magna Pater. When within a thousand miles it can only very slighter alter a dream, almost imperceptibly. At three-hundred miles it can turn a good dream into an uncomfortable one, or make an uncomfortable dream into a nightmare. When the target is within a hundred miles, the Magna Pater can easily cause nightmares, and even night terrors, but can't entirely influence the contents of the nightmares or dictate exactly how they proceed. It can also wipe the memory of said dreams before the victim wakes up, and tell with perfect precision when the victim will awaken. Over the course of several months and with continuous pestering, it can impress early onset Alzheimer's and dementia onto a victim at this range. When the Magna Pater is thirty miles or closer, it can manipulate dreams entirely and force the victim to witness any scenario it desires. Unless the target has immensely potent and self sustaining mental defenses set up to stop planetary-level psychics (psychics who can, in the least, influence events from across the distance of a large diameter planet), the nightmares may unequivocally result in the victim reverting into either a permanent vegetative state or violent lunacy, immediately losing their mind from fright as the Magna Pater fully claims them as a part of its transcendental nightmare. It can also inflict them with overnight Alzheimer's and dementia, entirely deteriorating their mental faculties over the course of a single dream. The Magna Pater's range may be limited to a thousand miles, but the concentration is in excess of planetary psychics.
~Sound: The Magna Pater can emit infrasonic frequencies with incredible potency, augmented by unnatural vocal organs. When just below the range of human hearing or at the limit of its vocal range, fifteen kilometers, it can make a typical victim feel uneasy, off-balance, and slightly nauseous. Within eighty yards it can match the frequency of a victim's eyeballs to create temporary blindness or gray spots, permanently damage eardrums, induce vomiting, cause difficulty breathing and heavy drowsiness (can force a man into unflinching unconsciousness after just few minutes), and severely affect balance to the point of the victim having great difficulty staying on their feet. At point blank, the effects can cause cerebral hemorrhaging and kill a normal human in seconds.
~Stomach: As evidenced by its ability to immediately digest whatever it eats, the Magna Pater's stomach utilizes a lethal super acid that can dissolve any organic matter in mere seconds. Though typically this acid remains in the stomach, as the Magna Pater cannot mass produce its acid as easily as its saliva or mucous, it still weaponizes this asset. It can turn its stomach inside out to engulf difficult prey and digest them externally, a feat most consistently displayed by certain species of sea snails and starfish.
~Sex: The Magna Pater is able to mate with any organism larger than thirty kilos, regardless of gender or lack thereof. Its young are hundreds of malformed, inch-long worm creatures that die hours after squirming out of the victim's body through the skin. This ability has no biological prerogative, only instituted for the sake of cruelty.
~Mucous: The Magna Pater's most versatile and powerful asset. Its body mucous and saliva contains anticoagulant, cytotoxic, and bufotoxic properties. Those whom it bites or claws will suffer gradual necrosis, unstoppable bleeding, and fast-acting, nightmarish hallucinations. Supernatural forms of healing are drastically hindered where the Magna Pater's juices are concerned, the anticoagulant preventing even magic from clotting or regenerating blood cells, although the monster is immune to its own toxins. The speed at which the bufotoxins take effect depends on how close the wound is to the head. As an example, were it to jab one of its claws into a large man, it would take roughly several minutes for the poison to take effect from a foot wound, and several seconds if the wound was near the head. Were the Magna Pater to inject a victim with its tongue (which can mass produce large amounts of saliva), even a blue whale would succumb in less than a minute if it were pierced in the center mass. The toxin has a median dose of (LD50) of 1.3–2.1 ng/kg, making it a top contender for the most potent toxin in the world. The viscosity of the mucous can be regulated, allowing the Magna Pater to be extremely slippery or adhesive. The mucous at its stickiest can bind even the strongest of victims, partially deaden the momentum of heavy impacts, and tear off the skin and muscle of any victims that are unfortunate enough to come into contact with it. The mucous is flame-retardant, boasting a stupidly high melting point and repelling most structural changes instituted by outside forces. So long as it has the mucous to do so, it can endure military flamethrowers, oil fires, and even a napalm bombing. The mucous is scentless and masks odors, provides an extraordinarily high resistance to electricity due to its non-conductivity and insulating properties, and bears an extremely low freezing point to act as extra insulation against low temperatures. When at its stickiest, it bonds on a molecular level to whatever it touches. The Magna Pater's body is the sole exception, the only matter that the slime doesn't fuse molecules with. Instead the slime clings to the monster like an exceptionally potent form of superglue, and is released from the Magna Pater's body when more layers of mucous are secreted beneath to uproot the first layer, in a word, "sloughing" off the slime.
It can convert and secrete up to twenty percent of its body weight in mucous at a rate of 15 liters per second, provided the entire body is producing the mucous. It becomes significantly faster when empty and can regain the weight by eating.
~Malocchio:
It may use this power by shutting down its other senses. Before it uses the Malocchio, the intended victim(s) will have a brief premonition of the danger to come, a split second to avert their eyes. Those who see the Malocchio will see also a fragmentation of its true essence, and a connection will be made. It's a thoroughly foul experience with no proper comparison, though it could be (vaguely) referenced as psychic rape. Afterwards, each time the victim goes to sleep, they will enter a trance and begin moving in the direction of the Magna Pater, wherever it may be. They will awaken at the time they normally would, such as a few minutes for a nap and several hours for deep sleep. It also allows the Magna Pater to see with the eyes of its prey whenever it uses the Malocchio, even at the same time if there are multiple victims. By using the Malocchio on one who is already cursed, the victim's sight will be replaced with that of the Magna Pater's until it deactivates its eyes. As it shares the sight of any victims cursed by the Malocchio, this enables it to mix and match the eyes of any marked opponents or claim new victims of the Malocchio by proxy, requiring them to merely look into the eyes of a victim whilst the Malocchio is active. Furthermore, a victim of the Malocchio is highly subject to the Magna Pater's dream feelers. A thousand miles with the Malocchio is the same as three-hundred without, and so on. The only way to break the Malocchio is to kill the Magna Pater's physical body.
The Malocchio is a passive curse that has no immediate negative effects unless the victim is entirely under the influence of the Magna Pater's hallucinogens, in which case the victim enters a 'waking dream' and may be immediately taken into the monster's nightmare, whereupon their mind is forfeit. If the bufotoxins haven't taken full effect then the victim will feel an intense fear which escalates in accordance to the strength of the already terrifying hallucinations, which the Magna Pater can influence with its extended dream feelers in escalation to the victim succumbing to the hallucinogens.
Looking into its eyes for too long can result in the victim's body becoming riddled with cancer at a later period in time, I.E developing prostate and skin cancer two years after the encounter. It takes roughly seven seconds of eye-to-eye contact (does not have to be constant) before the dormant cancer cells begin taking root. The Magna Pater can only keep the Malocchio active for at most sixteen seconds, and cannot use it again until the same amount of time has passed. As an example, if it only uses it for ten seconds and then deactivates, then it must rest its eyes for ten seconds. The Magna Pater is able to travel to any realm or dimension that withholds a victim of the Malocchio as well, by way of entering through their subconscious and manifesting nearby. It cannot use this to reach a victim it already shares a realm with.
Those that are consumed by the Magna Pater whilst cursed by the Malocchio are reduced to their "essential salts", or "sleep sand" within its body, the physical manifestation of their very being reduced to salt-sized particles. The amount of sand attained from a single victim is always a little less than a single ounce, regardless of body size. Their consciousness is bound to these grains, and at the monster's whim it can excrete its victims dry through its hypodermic tongue and leave them to be forever lost in the earth as inert particles buried beneath the crushing weight of the ages, their last tormented memories and nightmares intermingling with the otherwordly virulence of the Dreamfather to form an intimate and inescapable hell. It may also deposit or blow the sand into the eyes of a victim to induce slumber, or if the victim lacks said orifices, the Magna Pater may simply inject them with the sand. Either method will always result in the victim losing consciousness after thirteen seconds, their motor functions and cognitive abilities degrading with every passing moment. The Magna Pater can only hold the sand of a single victim at a time. It always keeps the sand of its last victim in reserve.
Behavior/Personality: The Magna Pater is what a child thinks of when the word 'monster' occurs to them for the first time in their life during dead of night, the shadow of a warning cast by nature itself in synchronicity with the presence of a lifeform within its atmosphere that should never have existed. It makes no noise, has no mercy, cannot be reasoned with, and lives only to drain the blood and devour the flesh of all living things it can bind within its greasy wings. Despite its incalculable intelligence, it never makes any attempts to genuinely communicate with victims. It has no desire for social interaction or personal expression, being a life form beyond both concepts.
It enjoys all manner of prey and is especially inclined to go out of its way to find toddlers and infants, but it is shy and despises the light. It prefers to remain in damp pitch-blackness, where no eyes can spy it and no light can fall upon it. Areas that it has frequented for many years are imbued with a multitude of bad vibes, as could be felt in a grievously haunted house. Its lairs are moreso thickened with an underlying feeling of unreality, as if partly submerged in an eerie, malleable fantasy.
("The dark side of life, and the horror of it, belonged to a world that lay remote from his own select little atmosphere of books and dreamings.")
It frequently impregnates victims, keeping them alive until its malformed young are birthed. It often eats both the victim and the young, doing these things not for food but to inflict prolonged torment. The few who come into contact with it and live may never be the same as before, for above all else it is a creature of persistence, a malady made mobile. Even if one leaves the Magna Pater, it'll never leave them. A variety of lifelong physical complications and psychological ailments can stem from a meeting with it and it never stops pursuing its prey, regardless of where they may travel. It will also track down any living thing that leaves its scent on a victim. This leads to the Magna Pater consuming the families of those it hunts, along with anyone those families had come into recent physical contact with. Though one may travel often and abroad, once the Magna Pater has chosen a victim their fate is inevitable. It could take days, weeks, months, even years, but eventually on some cold and moonless evening one will awaken to see a sticky face with dead eyes peering through their bedroom window.
(Drawing found in the desk of ten year old Vidya Singh, who went missing in Kanpur, India, two months after claiming to have seen a demon in his backyard.)
History:
In truth it is a primal horror that represents the physical manifestation of an ethereal, reincarnating monster originating in and as a part of an eternal non-Euclidean nightmare extending past the boundaries of reality, a sentient nexus made from the bad dreams of gods once dreaded, but now long forgotten, gods that have never been affiliated with a human realm. The oldest literal translation of the creature's name, and the name of the nightmare (for it resides within itself) is that of the "Dreamfather". In order to fully influence other spheres with its presence, it must obey most of the natural and dimensional laws present. As such, it casts forth a tangible extension of itself. Through this physical presence it may gradually submit other lifeforms and habitats to its will and alter their fundamental states of being, laying claim to every body, mind, and soul that spends too much time nearby. The ancients avoided mention of its mortal titles in fear of drawing its attention from afar, instead referring to it as "The Sleeper of the Clandestine". Even in death it can live again when one-hundred years of incubation within its true form has passed, though it can't retain the memories of its previous life. Only can the Magna Pater be permanently stopped if its pneuma, its true state of being, is destroyed or sealed away. Though it's nigh impossible to destroy the full entity, which in and of itself exists in abstract form, the Magna Pater can be ultimately contained and potentially trapped forever by capturing its pneuma, which leaves its eyes when it dies, in a stone of turquoise weighing at least five pounds. Turquoise was regarded by Aztecs and Native Americans alike to be the holiest of stones, and infinitely more potent than a woven dreamcatcher at stifling nightmares. Such is the truth. When filled with the pneuma of an entity like the Magna Pater, turquoise becomes everlasting, immune to degeneration from time. The monster may still be set free if a being of sufficient power breaks the stone, though such a being would require spiritual energy greater than what is currently held by the entire human race combined.
The Magna Pater travels far and with little preference, drawn to whatever realm has foolishly called it via black magic. In Sumeria it was worshipped as an obscure and cruel deity to which countless sacrifices were made. Before the Seminole Wars it was dreaded by the Creek Indians, who gave it many names and forms, as it was too wicked a thing to exist under any one description. Even the most vile of devils balk at associating with it. Fortunately it is a petty thing, and despite the magnitude of its origins, it remains content to personally antagonize one victim at a time. It treasures existence, but only for the sadistic pleasures it can derive from bringing pain and grief to other living things.
Though it lingers not permanently on this planet, it's anchored here during times of inactivity. Only, anchors tend to move from time to time. It's a concept rarely reckoned with except in bedside yarns spun by superstitious housewives of the old country. A mother who fears that should her twins venture out past the tree line where the porch light ends to play hide and seek, one of them might go missing while the other one, too late, realizes that it's no longer a sibling they're hiding from. Yes, mothers fear for their children. Out in the sticks, boys explore. It's what they do. They adventure, following wherever a fancy may lead. Out into vacant lots, under railways and through the boonies. Sometimes boys find small caves and cracks large enough to crawl through. These are hidey holes, but few boys hide in them. Always, the reason is because the possibility exists that the hidey hole is occupied. Cougars? Snakes? Yes, very often that's the case. Mother says to watch out for animal dens.
Sometimes, though, just sometimes...
There might be a hidey hole that wasn't there before, or isn't there anymore. One that travels. An opening to another place, a lonely place with a voice all its own. A crevasse five feet long and three feet wide. A soft wind churns out of the icy nether, a subterranean current that tousles the hair. It smells of mildew. Even a brave boy can hesitate, but the call of the secret is strong. It knows you by name, it beckons with fantastic mysteries. A lure, but not of the kind men set to catch fish. This lure pulls you down, not up. The blue sky transitions into a black void. It is too tight a fit to turn around. You can only back out, and all the while choose to either stare ahead or shut your eyes. To continue is to encounter a winding network, a sweating labyrinth of dolomite tunnels whose dimensions are identical to playhouse tubes. Some stretch for a hundred miles or more. Each one leads to the same place, and never back the way you came. The longer you remain in the tunnels, the more drunk you become. Your bearings fade, until there is naught but a dream of disorientation. The deeper you crawl, the more an oozing sweetness like that of a putrefying wound tints the air. Echoes so distant and dim that they could have been mistaken for tricks of the imagination trickle along the damp walls. Sooner or later, all will reach the end.
For some it takes days, others minutes. Always they wind up in the lair. One-hundred and fifty feet high and three miles in diameter. Hulking stalactites and stalagmites bear witness to the supreme age of the chamber, a lichen hellscape of death and graverot. For all the lair's imposing size, every inch of the floor is concealed deep beneath a disorganized carpet of skeletons, wet with moss. Every other surface seems powdered with a strange talcum dust, whose scent is not a physical thing, but scarce, indecipherable emotions. In the middle, looming in the distance, is a hillock whose pinnacle nearly reaches the ceiling. At this point the muddled dream ends, and what feels to be a sick hallucination born from a lucid fever begins. The Sleeper of the Clandestine slumbers upon a towering butte of soggy bones, the bones of children, reigning over its decaying empire on a haphazard throne several thousand lives thick. It's too dark to see anything. You cannot see when the dread form, glazed over with black corpse moss, starts moving for the first time that year. Like ancient clockwork gears, like a reptile out of the cold, it needs to wind up, warm up, shrug off the drowsiness of hibernation. It always moves slowly at first, even clumsily. Bones can be heard rolling down the hill as the Sleeper stretches. Now and then it speaks, or seems to speak.
Donny sighed and lit up another cigarette as he watched the two Ashen Level fighters go to town, the muscles in their sweat-laced backs straining as they dipped and punched and traded blows. It was the lowest level of power in the Colosseum, but it reminded him of those UFC fights that a considerable number of loan sharks kept tabs on. A little simplicity now and then was good for his blood pressure anyways. Anything above Cobalt Level made his eyes hurt from trying to keep track of what was going on. He leaned back and kicked his feet up onto the marble headrest of the seat in front of him, reclining as he tipped the brim of his fedora down to shade his eyes. It was always so fucking sunny here. Noticing a passing vendor, he crooked a thumb at her and barked out a jovial catcall.
"Ayuh, prettuh miss! How 'bout a beeyuh ovah 'ere, darlin'?"
The vendor, a prim girl with purple highlights, uttered a long suffering groan and approached Donny with her beer tray. She noted, with contempt, that the sphere above his head was green. The verdant ones were always so damned arrogant.
LINK TO DISCORD (WHERE LIVE CHAT ROLEPLAY OR GENERAL CONVERSATION MAY BE HAD):discord.gg/rUR8pe5
Disclaimer: I don't need to hear criticism about my method of tiering or of all the specifics and innate faults inherent to related matters. The Colosseum doesn't operate like a courtroom full of lawyers. This is a judgement-free casual roleplay and get-together where the aim is to simply have fun. It is what it is, so don't get those technicality flavored undies in a bunch. If one of your characters doesn't fit into a designated tier, don't sweat it, we'll find a way to accommodate you, just as we'll accommodate everyone and afford them every reasonable kindness. If you have useful suggestions unrelated to tiering, you may send them to me over P.M.
Other than that, please behave like a decent human being. The typical rules of roleplay apply. You know the schtick, treat everyone with respect, read the notes, don't metagame, autohit, spam, ect.
An arena suspended high in the sky, existing in multiple dimensions each separated to accommodate a tier of power, a stack of cards wherein each card represents another face of the Colosseum.
NOTE 1. One may move freely and fight freely between the Colosseum's upper layers (so long as you can find an opponent that agrees to fight you, as you cannot enter the Colosseum without a designated opponent and you cannot influence other combatants unless they agree to be influenced).
NOTE 2. It isn't possible to harm or influence others without their acceptance, or destroy/transmogrify material objects outside of the fighting ground.
NOTE 3. A low tier fighter may fight on a higher tier floor, but not vise versa due to the potential destructive capacity of higher tiers.
NOTE 4. Like the fabled Valhalla, death is only an inconvenience. If you die, you merely reappear back in the stands of the floor your power correlates to, as good as new. One may travel from floor to floor by stepping into a flux sphere, found outside the Colosseum walls overlooking a boundless blue view riddled with nimbus clouds.
NOTE 5. A fight will always take place in a separate thread or in the Discord chat. This thread's IC is strictly for character interaction/matchups/commentary. If your character is commenting on another player's fight, please provide a link to the match in your post.
(Flux Sphere)
The fighting stage itself is ringed by water, for those who feel like letting their opponent go for a swim. Food and drink of every imaginable variety are available from vendors traversing the stands. Whether you come to test your might, or improve your skill, the Colosseum is a holy ground of combat that everyone may revel in.
THE FLOORS
Each dimension may be considered a "floor", where fighters of similar strength respawn after death. Though it is preferred that fighters of a particular tier remain on their own floor, they are allowed to move between and fight on alternate floors. A fighter held within a specific tier will have a 'Tier Sphere' suspended five inches above their head. The Tier Sphere is wholly insubstantial and phases through anything, meant only to be an indicator of the combatant's strength. The Tier Sphere vanishes when a combatant accepts a match and steps onto the fighting grounds. Tiers are strictly judged based upon movement/attack speed and destructive capacity, and as such fighters with abilities which permit them to fight at a high level on inappropriately low tiers may be reevaluated to receive a different colored Tier Sphere based on performance.
FLOOR 1 - ASHEN LEVEL - WHITE TIER SPHERE - BASE SIZE ARENA
~Spawn point of human strength combatants who fight bare handed.
~Spawn point of human strength combatants who have access to weapons from before the 19th century, peak or semi-empowered humans, or Earthly animals such as tigers and bears.
~Spawn point of human strength combatants who have access to weaponry dated past the 19th century or empowered combatants whose power rivals gunpowder weaponry/bullet speed attacks.
FLOOR 4 - COBALT LEVEL - BLUE TIER SPHERE - FOOTBALL FIELD-SIZED ARENA
~Spawn point of combatants whose destructive capacity exceeds that of a small building and/or whose overall speed approaches but does not exceed the sound barrier.
~Spawn point of combatants whose destructive capacity rivals that of a low yield nuclear weapon, or whose speed is massively hypersonic, but not sub-relativistic.
~Spawn point of combatants whose abilities exceed or are otherwise incongruous with any other level. The floor size varies as needed, and the matchups must be decided amongst the specialty fighters themselves.
You can have as many characters as you want in the Colosseum. Simply post your character sheet/sheets in the Characters section and they'll be assigned a Tier Sphere as a sign of recognition. If you don't agree with the presented Tier Sphere, merely tell me why via P.M and we'll come to an agreeable resolution!
Tom's magic was weird indeed, but highly effective when properly utilized. Case in point, Tom's counter for the chi thrust aimed at his neck. He could cast up to three spells per second with his highly trained auctioneer's diction, a regular speedshooter of magic, and now the words to another spell pelted out of his mouth as Steer threw a counter punch.
"Glasswhackius Buttmunchickus!"
Just as Steer kept a hold on Tom's clothing with his free hand, so did Tom's own right hand stay in contact with Steer's arm for another on-contact spell. This one would force the target to punch the nearest target with glasses in the face. Tom's shades counted as glasses, and although Steer had a pair of his own during the split second before their twin blows landed, Steer's chi thrust was nearer to Tom's face than to his own prescription glasses. As such, if the spell worked, Steer's chi thrust would be converted into a punch and redirect itself up towards Tom's face. Whether or not Steer could maintain the chi effect with a fist depended on his own abilities. As for Tom, with timing born from continuous practice at mastering the utilization of his spells, he'd tuck his head down at the last moment before impact so that the bone of Steer's knuckles would impact Tom's hard forehead and only the meat of his finger joints would crack Tom's lenses and bruise the bridge of his nose, thus fulfilling the spell's 'quota' and at the same time avoiding the brunt of the damage and potentially damaging Steer's hand. If Steer kept up his anger chi, Tom's head would rock back from the force, his nose would gout blood as it broke flat, and he'd experience heated agony running up and down the centerline of his face like a razorblade. He'd even take an involuntary right step backwards, thus surrendering his condition to remain standing in one spot. Presumably Steer wouldn't be unscathed though, as even boxers fractured their knuckles and metacarpals all the time by accidentally punching a sparring partner or opponent in the forehead.
As soon as the words were out of Tom's mouth, he'd riddle off another spell as fast as he could through the searing pain, blood staining his white teeth. At about the same time he quickly withdrew his left hand from its punch, extending his index finger as he did to point at random to the right of Steer.
"Foolookius Overthereius!"
Another spell surged through Tom's right hand and presumably into Steer's according arm, perhaps matching the timing for Steer's next point blank chi blast into Tom's ribs. Regardless, the effect of this spell was simple. Steer had to look and see where Tom was pointing. If the chi blast was fired, one of Tom's ribs would crack. He'd yowl in anguish, and during the moment Steer looked away, would aim a swift, panicked right kick for Steer's crotch, good and hard. Were this intense exchange of attacks to proceed, then when the dust cleared, Tom would finally give actual ground and start to stagger backwards, the brunt of his multiple injuries apparent. He wasn't ready to follow up with anything else for a few seconds, this shit hurt too much. It would be a short reprieve, a moment to acknowledge that Steer had forced Tom to budge. Of course if Steer were able to fare better in regards to any damage he himself took as well, he could hang onto Tom's clothing and keep him from moving away, pressing his advantage to deny Tom a chance to trade a few snarky words about how he owed Steer lunch.
Tom tucked his elbows in and tightened his hands into fists as Steer took a step forwards from the kick, grunting in surprise that this opponent was actually as tough as he looked. Tom had been hoping this one would be all show. So much for that. He planted his right foot firmly, putting his weight down on it and screwing his heel into the dirt in preparation for enduring the sweep. It smacked into him and forced his boot to slide inwards six inches, leaving a deep bruise. It hurt far worse than Tom had expected. This Fatso hadn't even put his full strength behind the sweep, and it still felt like his foot was bruised to the bone. Tom wasn't a professional martial artist by any definition. He knew how to fight mainly from schoolyard brawls, backwoods tumbles, and Southern back alley scuffles. It was a rough form of combat, and not at all clean, but it got the job done when it had to. Tom's lack of formal training didn't allow him to prepare for Steer's chi thrust in time though, and the only thing he could do, out of blind reflex, was swing his right fist down to try and bat the thrust aside, figuring it for some kind of fancy palm strike. Given Steer's stout strength, Tom wouldn't even come close to redirecting the aim of the thrust, and the punch of chi hit him right in the spare ribs on his left flank. His eyes bulged behind his shades as he felt his ribs creak under the blow, a stifled groan escaping him as his cigarette dropped from his mouth. That was gonna feel bad in the morning. It took the full brunt of his Kentucky grit to not miss the chance for a counterattack.
Tom had managed to avoid getting the wind knocked out of him, and so was at least able to finish his spell.
"Nerdwerdus!"
He fired his spell through the hand that had struck Steer's right thrust for an on-contact curse delivery into the man's arm with little chance of escape. The effect of the spell was to render Steer both near and short sighted, and to materialize a pair of fine glasses onto his face so that he could see again. Even as the spell was launched, Tom hunched forwards, twisted at the waist, and hurled a left straight as hard as he could at where those spectacles were due. Aside from the torque of his body the punch was untelegraphed, Tom keeping the flare of his elbow to a minimum to keep the angle and destination of the punch a mystery until the last moment. The result could very well be Steer's fresh coke bottles getting broken, along with his nose.
[hider=The Golden rules (more like guidelines) of CRP][img]https://i.imgur.com/PAM455R.png[/img][/hider]
Call me Doc. I'm open to just about every form of roleplay at any time, so if you want to have some fun just toss a P.M my way.
I do prefer RM, URM, or low tier fights, with human or peak human hand-to-hand and swords & sandals being my speciality.
Challenge me to a match just any old time!
Arena Characters: [url]http://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/87852-docs-characters-no-posting/ooc#post-3105991[/url]
[hider=The Condensed Story of My Roleplay Career]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/xyxoXqR.png[/img]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/CAzb64T.png[/img]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/JuZqSnB.png[/img]
[/hider]
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;"><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="The Golden rules (more like guidelines) of CRP">The Golden rules (more like guidelines) of CRP [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/PAM455R.png" /></div></div><br><br>Call me Doc. I'm open to just about every form of roleplay at any time, so if you want to have some fun just toss a P.M my way. <br><br>I do prefer RM, URM, or low tier fights, with human or peak human hand-to-hand and swords & sandals being my speciality.<br>Challenge me to a match just any old time!<br><br>Arena Characters: <a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/87852-docs-characters-no-posting/ooc#post-3105991">http://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/87852-docs-characters-no-posting/ooc#post-3105991</a><br><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="The Condensed Story of My Roleplay Career">The Condensed Story of My Roleplay Career [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/xyxoXqR.png" /><br><img src="https://i.imgur.com/CAzb64T.png" /><br><img src="https://i.imgur.com/JuZqSnB.png" /></div></div></div>
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BangoSkank
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