GingerBoi123

Capes of Denver: A Worm RP

Paranoid as ever, Spectre reached into his jacket and kept his hand on the hilt of his precious sword before opening the door to first floor... Huh. Empty again. He began to feel uneasy with this emptiness. When you were trying to do a business transaction, not knowing who your employer is can lead to more unknown information. Knowing who you're working for can help you understand who you're gonna piss off by taking a job from this person. At the level of hits Spectre was taking, someone wanted someone else killed because they benefited someone else by being alive. That someone else bites back, sometimes with Spectre himself in some instances. For now, Ben let go of the sword. He could always pull it out if shit went sideways. However, that would not seem to be the case.

Ben walked across the room and picked up the note, reading it through. Halfway through, he saw the location of the promised payment. Walking over, he reached under and grabbed the case, lifting it up onto the table and flicking open the locks. Damn. This is way more than he's ever got before and this was only half! Welp, so much for wondering who his employer was. At this point, Spectre didn't care anymore. With a smirk, he closed the case and read through the rest of the note. Payment, a target, and the promise of danger. What more could Ben ask for?

Finally, it was time for him to move up in the world and start making some real money, fighting some real competition. Ben carried the briefcase back to his hideout and left it there before making his way to the bar. His smirk and turned to a wide, sadistic grin and as he put on his own gas mask. Ben began to chuckle to himself. This was going to be a great mission!

Capes of Denver: A Worm RP

@Old Amsterdam

Spectre was awoken to the sound of someone knocking at the door. He groaned as he rolled out of the bed and yawned as he checked his phone. His payment from the last job had gone through as promised. That was the replacement suit paid for at least. Ben walked up to the door and picked up the envelope, peeking out into the corridor of the hotel hallway to see if he could find who left it. He shrugged and closed the front door, leaning against it and opening the letter. He rubbed his eyes awake before double checking the offer. He chuckled before looking over all his gear. Apart from the bloodied suit form yesterday's job, he seemed good to go to grab that 50 grand. Ka-Ching! He needed something to really wake him up. Ben opened up the bedside drawer and found a needle filled with heroin. This was what he needed. Ben wrapped a belt around his arm and plunged the needle into his arm, pushing the syringe and injecting himself with the sweet nectar.

Having a shower and putting on a spare shirt, Ben made his way into town to pick up a new suit. It had to be somewhat decent so he could present himself to the new employer. First impressions are important after all, right? Ideas raced through his mind of who he was going to take down. This was a lot of cash being promised, so it might be someone high-profile. High-level gangsters? Mafia? Maybe Ben was finally getting the call to engage in some corporate warfare. Maybe he was going to take out a CEO or a political target. Something that made waves. The ideas excited Ben, and it made him stride even faster towards the suit store. Taking out cash from the ATM machine, Ben wandered around before seeing a Suit store that would catch his eye. Soon enough, he found one.

"Bespoke." Sounded fancy enough. Immediately, he found a suit showy enough that he liked. If you got the money, why can't you show off and enjoy it right? He picked out a dark blue jacket with matching pants. A brown pair of oxfords, a brown leather belt and a white shirt underneath with a white shirt and a burgundy red tie to finish. After paying for the suit and putting it on in the changing rooms, Ben emerged satisfied and walked out. Now it was time to make final preparations until he had to make it to the agreed address. He went back to the hotel room and prepared his gun, sword and holster, putting it on underneath his new jacket. Ben proceeded to find a secluded spot to burn the old suit and finally get going to the address.

It takes him a couple of hours to get there. He didn't want to smoke his way everywhere all of the time. It was nice to take a walk like regular people do. Ben was under no impression that he was a regular human being, even without the freaky powers. He was a killer who enjoyed his work. He feels alive when he's killing people and doing drugs. Preferably both. At the same time. Eventually, he found the deli that was talked about in the note. He took out the paper and reread it. Ben looked across the street and saw "Denver Prints." Seemed legit. The hitman walked across the street and opened the shop door. Empty. Must've been out to lunch. Without a second thought, he shrugged and made his way up the stairs once he eventually found them and made his way to the required second floor.

Underrated and Overrated Video Games

I used to play PUBG and I didn't really get fortnite when it came out. Having played both, I personally prefer Fortnite. It's distinct and original look at least makes it nice to look at when you gotta do a lot of running, unlike the brown and yellow blandness that is the PUBG map. Both gameplay is very similar except for the building overall (which either adds a layer for you or pisses you off).

I think because Fortnite is more chill overall, I get less angry with it and makes me want to play more. The win flowchart for PUBG is just-

"Do you have a sniper?"
No

"Are you dead yet?"
No

"Repeat until you've won, died or became a chinese hacker".

Whereas snipers aren't as bullshit in Fortnite so I can actually be happy with having a shotty and assault rifle rather than being limited to pretty much one weapon :/

Capes of Denver: A Worm RP

"Come to the location yourself in an hour. Then you can transfer the money."

The Spectre hung up the phone before looking down on the target building from the roof he was perched on. Ben had got a contract to take out some new blood that was muscling in on some established turf. The men at the front checked either end of the road before heading inside and closing the door of the old warehouse. Ben chuckled. What a joke. A couple of guys with guns, the rest with pipes and bats. These schmucks were easy pickings. It would be those at the back with the boss himself that was going to be the trouble. No doubt that would be where the guns would be, probably for his bodyguards. Slinging the gas mask over his face, Ben made all final checks on his weapons before stepping off of the building.

A few seconds before impact, Ben felt a surge of energy rush over him, as he activated his power. A cloud of black smoke replaced where Ben was falling, and as the smoke reached the ground, it practically rolled forward across the road and began to seep through the crack underneath the doorway. He could see two guys walking away from the door. Ben shifted behind a pillar and smirked as he reformed back to his human form. He reached into his jacket and gripped the handle of his sword, the Wakizashi. A Japanese short sword which it's blade reached 16 inches. The crossguard, called the Tsuba, had the carving of a crashing wave. Like the crack of a whip, Ben ran out from his hiding place. With two swift motions of his arm, Ben had made clean slashes across the backs of the guards. Their weapons clattered on the ground, which drew the attention of a group of them. Wiping the lens of his mask, Ben grinned and marched forward.

Cut... Slice... Kill... Oh, how Ben loved carving his bloody handiwork. The contract was very clear. No survivors. Ben slaughtered his way through the warehouse, making his way to the target. The gang leader watched in horror as his men fell one by one. One guy actually managed to get a hit on Ben. However, what the man saw next was the eyes of a demon. Creepy, haunting laughter began to echo throughout the hideout, and the gangster watched as the man he just punched began to transform into smoke. Something was filling his lungs, the man desperately clawed at his throat, trying to will the smoke out of his body. It was too late. Whatever this smoke contained, it was worse than chain-smoking a thousand cigarettes in a minute. Ben had transformed into smoke and entered the man's body and choked him from the inside. The body slumped to the cold floor, as the smog seeped out of his mouth and began to reform. All that was left was the guys with the guns and the boss himself.

Fear tactics was such an underappreciated technique in a hitman's arsenal, Ben found. He looked at the bodyguards, shaking where they stood. "My God, this is pathetic. You're certainly not worth what I'm getting paid." He taunted with a chuckle. One of the unnerved men took a shot. As soon as the gun fired, Ben was once more smoke, and the bullet whizzed through, creating a small hole that was quickly filled up. An arm began to condense in the shadow, holding the Longbarrel Hardballer pistol. The barrel pointed straight at the man, and Ben squeezed the trigger. Two more shots rang out, the first burying itself deep into the gangster's chest, and the other one splattering his grey matter against the wall. The arm swung around to the other bodyguard, who met the same grisly fate. Finally, the gun found itself pointed at the leader, and Ben soon reformed with the rest of his body.

"C-C'mon man!" The gang leader stammered, begging for his life. "Th-This is about money? I'll pay you man! Double? Triple!" He continued to beg. Men who could give the big talk but pissed their pants when shit gets real disgusted Ben. He stabbed the man's hand, pinning him to the desk. The assassin reached into his coat pocket and showed the gangster a black playing card. He flipped it around, showing the guy's name, written in red. Pushing the card towards him, Ben laughed as he put the steel against the man's head. The last shot of the fight rang out.

Ben walked out of the warehouse, sheathing his sword and holstering his gun before looking at his suit. Messy work again. He'd have to buy a new one, and burn this one too. With a satisfied sigh, Ben pulled off the gas mask and pulled his phone out. It muffled his voice too much. With another job done, Ben can finally get a reputation going, and keep the money stacking. A bigger payout with each successful hit.

"It's done. You know my details."

Capes of Denver: A Worm RP

Spectre

Name: Benjamin Dunhill

Alias: Spectre

Age: 19

Alignment: Villain

Loyalty: Independent.

Appearance: Ben stands at 5' 8", slightly shorter than most males. He has a slim but toned frame, sporting amber eyes and raven black hair. Underneath the clothing, he has multiple scars from old stab wounds or gunshots that are littered all over over his body. Ben likes to look professional all the time. He's got a reputation to uphold after all, gotta look the part. Usually sporting a formal shirt and tie ensemble with well fitting yet flexible trousers, complete with a smart pair of oxfords for shoes. He has a leather shoulder holster to keep his pistol on one side and his sword on the other. If he's out in the public, Ben will probably have a suit coat on to match with his outfit, and also to conceal his weapons. He also wears a gas mask to hide his identity.

History: Born an orphan, and destined to be a monster. Ben grew up in a dark 10 x 7 x 5 ft room (Length x Height x Width), the only window being that of his door. He was told from a very young age that his parents gave him up and that he was now just "property". In actuality, he was taken by a local mafia, and the Godfather of this particular clan was a cruel man. He wanted a loyal, trained killer who would pull the trigger without question. Years of mental torture and drugs kept Ben subjugated and "agreeable". Whenever he was let out, he would be trained to become a competent combatant. With cruel punishments if he couldn't keep up, such as beatings or being starved, and nothing else to do, Ben became deadly proficient in multiple combat forms, able to take down men twice his age.

Sometimes given rewards such as being let out for ten minutes (albeit under close watch), the system set up by the mafia taught Ben one thing. Killing was good. And it made him feel good for doing it. However, something in the back of his mind was niggling. Whatever this was, it wasn't right. He had to get out, before he'd be made to do something he would regret. Ben managed to break out and find the first two weapons he could get his hands on. A Colt M1911 handgun and an ornate Wakizashi mounted on a wall in the complex. His urge to escape was overwhelming. However, the first two goons he came across, he shot before they could even put a hand to their own weapons. Ben looked at his shaking hand. He didn't even think about it. He just... killed them... and it felt good. The more Ben slaughtered in his wake, the wider the grin grew on his face. His escape plan and turned into a bloody rampage of revenge for all of the torture... all of the pain... the criminals put him through. Finally, he kicked open the office door of the Mafia Father.

The crimelord merely chuckled. His project was a brilliant success. He had finally given in to what these people were trying to make him, and he was happy about it. After a whole lifetime of being powerless, there was suddenly this overwhelming feeling of being in control. Ben began to chuckle along with his former boss and owner, before finally pulling the trigger. He knew what was about to happen next. He wouldn't be able to just walk out of here. Now he had to employ the skills he was taught over the years once again. He had no time to contemplate the killings. It was time to holster his gun and let his new sword do most of the work. Ben managed to outmanoeuvre and skirt around those who were hellbent on not letting him escape. The Wakizashi was no longer just a showpiece on a wall, it was now an effective weapon of discreet killing. Necks were slit, stomachs were sliced and there were the unfortunate few who just got decapitated.

Ben did it. He escaped. He walked out of the "safehouse", covered in blood. However, he never had contact with the outside world. Where could he go? His only choice was to live on the streets. After that, he had time to deal with what happened. He had just killed... slaughtered people. Lives, feelings, thoughts. All taken. Just like that. Because of him. They deserved it. They had it coming. Ben was bred to kill people. What the hell else was going to happen!? However, this wasn't the first of his problems. Withdrawals from the drugs he had been pumped with over the years were finally starting to kick in. After 72 hours, Ben was in a horrible state. His skin was pale and slick with sweat, he couldn't stop vomiting and his stomach had been churning for what seemed like an eternity. He hadn't eaten or drank since he left either. It was then that a random stranger approached him. A fellow vagabond. He showed Ben a pipe and a tiny block of opium.

He didn't escape. Not really. No matter what he did, he couldn't escape his past. God damn it. God fucking damn it. Why!? He had literally killed his past, so why did he have to go back to it!? He knew that going back to drugs would ease the pain, but in his mind it was going back. Back to what he was, what he's become. The temptation was too great. Just anything that would stop the pain. Ben accepted the offer, and took the first drag. That's when he saw them. The bodies. The gangsters. The Godfather. All of them were surrounding him, all of them bloody. They were all asking the same fucking question. "Why?" Ben bolted. He ran through the streets in his drug-fuelled haze, screaming "YOU KNOW!?!?! YOU FUCKING KNOW WHY!?!?!" No matter what corner he turned or how fast he ran, Ben could still see them. Hear them. And they were getting louder, and louder, and louder until the voices screamed and swirled inside of his head as a cacophony of torture.

And then Ben woke up. He was on top of a roof. He didn't know how he got up there. The first thing Ben looked at were his hands. His... black... wispy arms and hands made out of inky smoke.

What. The. Fuck.

His arms were literally made out of smoke. Ben didn't panic however. It felt... natural. Ben concentrated, and his arms were willed back to normal. He stood there in thought, turning the smoke on and off with his arms. Then Ben had a thought. Suddenly, he looked own and his entire body was black smoke. He began to move and surge forward. Everything felt like he had done it before. The smoke dashed over the edge of the roof. Ben reformed mid-air before transforming back into smoke and falling to the ground before reforming again. Once he reformed, Ben laughed. He could do things with this. He could do what he was hand-crafted to do. And make money from it. He'd never have to worry about where his next hit was going to come from or staying homeless. He could become the assassin he was meant to be, but not from the orders of some old punk. No. Now he's going to kill for himself.

Personality

Motivations: Money. Lots of it.

Sexuality: Straight

Likes:

• Money
• Killing
• Opium
• Buying a new suit

Dislikes:

• Going hungry
• Police
• People sticking their noses where it doesn't belong
• Fakes

Derangement: While he would've ended up this way at least somewhat, a side effect of Ben's powers make him even more sadistic and crueller than usual. His moral compass is horribly skewed, and it makes him way more violent and vindictive than others in the same profession would deem necessary, even for a trained killer.

Parahumanism

Skills: Ben is a skilled hand-to-hand combatant, proficient in mixed martial arts. He's also a crack shot with a pistol, but not too great with heavier weapons. He's also incredibly skilled with his Wakizashi short sword, and is responsible for many of his stealth kills, another discipline he's proficient in. He's incredibly athletic and agile, able to incorporate parkour techniques when hunting down his targets. While he is good at all these physical skills, he has really bad social skills. Unsympathetic, untrusting. He's a really hard guy to be around. It suits him just fine though.

Classification: Breaker, with Mover and Changer sub-categories.

Details: Ben can transform himself into a black cloud of smoke, able to move at incredible speeds. It takes him two seconds to form and another two seconds to turn back into his human form. His vision turns black and white, and he can't hear or feel anything else. He can condense this down to only having one limb turned into smoke at a time, but he can't seem to concentrate this down any smaller. Vice versa, he can have one limb normal (and whatever it's holding) while the rest of him is smoke. Transforming allows him to pass through small gaps and entrances and objects or projectiles will pass straight through him. Ben can continuously stay as smoke for a maximum of ten minutes. If he passes that, then Ben will reform completely passed out, and it could take a while for him to come to. However, when he reforms before, then the timer is reset. The longer he's gone as smoke, the longer it will take for him to recharge. He can expel unwanted materials within his body when turning into smoke, such as bullets or poisons. However, these take time. He also has a sort of "aero-sense". Meaning he can feel changes in the air that will give him a better chance at reacting and turning into Smoke, or sensing strong air currents that will ruin his day.

Limitations: His smoke can be affected like normal smoke. Wind and vacuums can be completely debilitating to his power. Within smoke form, he has to stay as one separate entity. If someone can remove some smoke and keep it in an airlock container, then it's entirely possible that Ben would have lost part of his body. As stated before, while Ben can transform certain parts of his body, it is only contained to his limbs. He can transform small objects such as his pistol or sword, but as of now, Ben can't transform larger objects. He cannot transform other people into smoke, due to the Manton Effect. Another problem he is subjected to is that he has to have enough room to reform into a human. If he is forced into a container as smoke, he has the rest of his time limit to get out or go into an unconscious state, bordering a coma. His powers cannot recharge until he has enough space to reform back to a human. Above all that, when he's not in smoke form, he's just as human as every other normal. His body, at least.

Equipment: Ben keeps his weapons on him at all time. An ornate Wakizashi and a Longslide Hardballer pistol, with two extra .45 magazines to accompany them. As well as that, he keeps a phone on him as well as a pack of completely black cards. He writes the name of his target in red before showing them the card and then killing them, leaving the card there. His personal "mark".

Other:BA0000

Theme

Capes of Denver: A Worm RP

Spectre

Name: Benjamin Dunhill

Alias: Spectre

Age: 19

Alignment: Villain

Loyalty: Independent.

Appearance: Ben stands at 5' 8", slightly shorter than most males. He has a slim but toned frame, sporting amber eyes and raven black hair. Underneath the clothing, he has multiple scars from old stab wounds or gunshots that are littered all over over his body. Ben likes to look professional all the time. He's got a reputation to uphold after all, gotta look the part. Usually sporting a formal shirt and tie ensemble with well fitting yet flexible trousers, complete with a smart pair of oxfords for shoes. He has a leather shoulder holster to keep his pistol on one side and his sword on the other. If he's out in the public, Ben will probably have a suit coat on to match with his outfit, and also to conceal his weapons. He also wears a gas mask to hide his identity.

History: Born an orphan, and destined to be a monster. Ben grew up in a dark 10 x 7 x 5 ft room (Length x Height x Width), the only window being that of his door. He was told from a very young age that his parents gave him up and that he was now just "property". In actuality, he was taken by a local mafia, and the Godfather of this particular clan was a cruel man. He wanted a loyal, trained killer who would pull the trigger without question. Years of mental torture and drugs kept Ben subjugated and "agreeable". Whenever he was let out, he would be trained to become a competent combatant. With cruel punishments if he couldn't keep up, such as beatings or being starved, and nothing else to do, Ben became deadly proficient in multiple combat forms, able to take down men twice his age.

Sometimes given rewards such as being let out for ten minutes (albeit under close watch), the system set up by the mafia taught Ben one thing. Killing was good. And it made him feel good for doing it. However, something in the back of his mind was niggling. Whatever this was, it wasn't right. He had to get out, before he'd be made to do something he would regret. Ben managed to break out and find the first two weapons he could get his hands on. A Colt M1911 handgun and an ornate Wakizashi mounted on a wall in the complex. His urge to escape was overwhelming. However, the first two goons he came across, he shot before they could even put a hand to their own weapons. Ben looked at his shaking hand. He didn't even think about it. He just... killed them... and it felt good. The more Ben slaughtered in his wake, the wider the grin grew on his face. His escape plan and turned into a bloody rampage of revenge for all of the torture... all of the pain... the criminals put him through. Finally, he kicked open the office door of the Mafia Father.

The crimelord merely chuckled. His project was a brilliant success. He had finally given in to what these people were trying to make him, and he was happy about it. After a whole lifetime of being powerless, there was suddenly this overwhelming feeling of being in control. Ben began to chuckle along with his former boss and owner, before finally pulling the trigger. He knew what was about to happen next. He wouldn't be able to just walk out of here. Now he had to employ the skills he was taught over the years once again. He had no time to contemplate the killings. It was time to holster his gun and let his new sword do most of the work. Ben managed to outmanoeuvre and skirt around those who were hellbent on not letting him escape. The Wakizashi was no longer just a showpiece on a wall, it was now an effective weapon of discreet killing. Necks were slit, stomachs were sliced and there were the unfortunate few who just got decapitated.

Ben did it. He escaped. He walked out of the "safehouse", covered in blood. However, he never had contact with the outside world. Where could he go? His only choice was to live on the streets. After that, he had time to deal with what happened. He had just killed... slaughtered people. Lives, feelings, thoughts. All taken. Just like that. Because of him. They deserved it. They had it coming. Ben was bred to kill people. What the hell else was going to happen!? However, this wasn't the first of his problems. Withdrawals from the drugs he had been pumped with over the years were finally starting to kick in. After 72 hours, Ben was in a horrible state. His skin was pale and slick with sweat, he couldn't stop vomiting and his stomach had been churning for what seemed like an eternity. He hadn't eaten or drank since he left either. It was then that a random stranger approached him. A fellow vagabond. He showed Ben a pipe and a tiny block of opium.

He didn't escape. Not really. No matter what he did, he couldn't escape his past. God damn it. God fucking damn it. Why!? He had literally killed his past, so why did he have to go back to it!? He knew that going back to drugs would ease the pain, but in his mind it was going back. Back to what he was, what he's become. The temptation was too great. Just anything that would stop the pain. Ben accepted the offer, and took the first drag. That's when he saw them. The bodies. The gangsters. The Godfather. All of them were surrounding him, all of them bloody. They were all asking the same fucking question. "Why?" Ben bolted. He ran through the streets in his drug-fuelled haze, screaming "YOU KNOW!?!?! YOU FUCKING KNOW WHY!?!?!" No matter what corner he turned or how fast he ran, Ben could still see them. Hear them. And they were getting louder, and louder, and louder until the voices screamed and swirled inside of his head as a cacophony of torture.

And then Ben woke up. He was on top of a roof. He didn't know how he got up there. The first thing Ben looked at were his hands. His... black... wispy arms and hands made out of inky smoke.

What. The. Fuck.

His arms were literally made out of smoke. Ben didn't panic however. It felt... natural. Ben concentrated, and his arms were willed back to normal. He stood there in thought, turning the smoke on and off with his arms. Then Ben had a thought. Suddenly, he looked own and his entire body was black smoke. He began to move and surge forward. Everything felt like he had done it before. The smoke dashed over the edge of the roof. Ben reformed mid-air before transforming back into smoke and falling to the ground before reforming again. Once he reformed, Ben laughed. He could do things with this. He could do what he was hand-crafted to do. And make money from it. He'd never have to worry about where his next hit was going to come from or staying homeless. He could become the assassin he was meant to be, but not from the orders of some old punk. No. Now he's going to kill for himself.

Personality

Motivations: Money. Lots of it.

Sexuality: Straight

Likes:

• Money
• Killing
• Opium
• Buying a new suit

Dislikes:

• Going hungry
• Police
• People sticking their noses where it doesn't belong
• Fakes

Derangement: While he would've ended up this way regardless, a side effect of Ben's powers make him even more sadistic and crueller than usual. His moral compass is horribly skewed, and it makes him way more violent and vindictive than others in the same profession would deem necessary, even for a trained killer.

Parahumanism

Skills: Ben is a skilled hand-to-hand combatant, proficient in mixed martial arts. He's also a crack shot with a pistol, but not too great with heavier weapons. He's also incredibly skilled with his Wakizashi short sword, and is responsible for many of his stealth kills, another discipline he's proficient in. He's incredibly athletic and agile, able to incorporate parkour techniques when hunting down his targets. While he is good at all these physical skills, he has really bad social skills. Unsympathetic, untrusting. He's a really hard guy to be around. It suits him just fine though.

Classification: Breaker, with Mover and Changer sub-categories.

Details: Ben can transform himself into a black cloud of smoke, able to move at incredible speeds. It takes him two seconds to form and another two seconds to turn back into his human form. His vision turns black and white, and he can't hear or feel anything else. He can condense this down to only having one limb turned into smoke at a time, but he can't seem to concentrate this down any smaller. Transforming allows him to pass through small gaps and entrances and objects or projectiles will pass straight through him. Ben can continuously stay as smoke for a maximum of ten minutes. If he passes that, then Ben will reform completely passed out, and it could take a while for him to come to. However, when he reforms before, then the timer is reset. The longer he's gone as smoke, the longer it will take for him to recharge. He can expel unwanted materials within his body when turning into smoke, such as bullets or poisons. However, these take time. He also has a sort of "aero-sense". Meaning he can feel changes in the air that will give him a better chance at reacting and turning into Smoke, or sensing strong air currents that will ruin his day.

Limitations: His smoke can be affected like normal smoke. Wind and vacuums can be completely debilitating to his power. Within smoke form, he has to stay as one separate entity. If someone can remove some smoke and keep it in an airlock container, then it's entirely possible that Ben would have lost part of his body. As stated before, while Ben can transform certain parts of his body, it is only contained to his limbs. He can transform small objects such as his pistol or sword, but as of now, Ben can't transform larger objects. He cannot transform other people into smoke, due to the Manton Effect. Another problem he is subjected to is that he has to have enough room to reform into a human. If he is forced into a container as smoke, he has the rest of his time limit to get out or go into an unconscious state, bordering a coma. His powers cannot recharge until he has enough space to reform back to a human. Above all that, when he's not in smoke form, he's just as human as every other normal. His body, at least.

Equipment: Ben keeps his weapons on him at all time. An ornate Wakizashi and a Longslide Hardballer pistol, with two extra .45 magazines to accompany them. As well as that, he keeps a phone on him as well as a pack of completely black cards. He writes the name of his target in red before showing them the card and then killing them, leaving the card there. His personal "mark".

Other:BA0000

Capes of Denver: A Worm RP

@ProProRoom for more?

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Matt "Woody" Abrams

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Skills: N/A
Locations: Sharpsburg, Main Street (E11 to Antique Shop)

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Matt sighed with relief. Seemed the girl was friendly enough to at least let him closer. The lumberjack picked up his axe off of the pavement and jogged over, swinging his axe onto his shoulder and letting it rest there. He managed to get a closer look at the group before him. Sure enough, his suspicions were confirmed that one of them was missing a leg. The redhead seemed exhausted and the other two men seemed to be the ones taking charge. Matt looked at the one legged man who asked who he was. "I'm Matt. But everyone used to call me Woody." He explained. Matt waited in thought of how he was going to answer the next question.

"I guess the best way to describe it is that I'm coming from nowhere..." Matt continued. "I used to be with a group... until about two years ago. I've been wondering the woods ever since." He said. Looking at how worn out everyone was, Matt slung his backpack off his shoulder and unzipped it. Maybe it would be best to make a peace offering since he was the new guy, and therefore the new possible threat to these people. "I've got... three cans of food and about... half a litre of water if you want it." He offered, taking a knee and opening up the bag to show the group with a smile.

Something Beyond The Abyss, a Lovecraftian Horror RP.

Victor Cathmore

Name: "Father" Victor Cathmore

Sex: Male

Occupation: Ex-Pastor, self-proclaimed Warrior Saint.

Height: 5' 9"

Weight: 143 lbs

Appearance:


Eldritch Encounters:

• First encounter was a group of Ghouls in the Church Cemetery.
• Flock of Byakhee kidnapping people in a swamp.
• Multiple cults and small creatures since joining the Order.

Traits:

• Pious- Victor is a devout Christian man, bordering zealot, who believes he is doing God's work in being a part of the Order and ridding the world of these infestations of evil.
• Scars- Deep scar on the right hand side of his face has rendered his right eye partially blind. His face mask is to cover his mouth from swallowing anything unwanted, as well as hide acid burns.
• Duellist- Using his sabre, Victor learnt how to properly defend himself in a fight. It was made even more important due to the part of England he grew up in. One wrong look could end up in a rather vicious scrap. Even a holy man has to protect himself and his church.
• Crusader- He is a self proclaimed Warrior Priest.
• Studious- Enjoys reading to gain knowledge, especially religious texts and scriptures, and information to assist in goals.

Equipment:

• Silver Sabre, blessed at the Altar
• Flintlock Pistol, each bullet that is taken out into the field is dipped in holy water before being dried and stored for use.
• Metal Rosary, which can double up as a handy spike in desperate situations.
• Bible strapped underneath his jacket.
• A signet ring, engraved into top is a star made of lines that curve into a point giving the symbol a look as if it was wavering. In the middle of the start is what appears to be a branch with five offshoots, two angling off from the underside and three angling upwards from the top.

Order: Yes

Background:

• Born in 1802 in England, Durham
• Father ran the local church, it was only a matter of time before Victor would join him.
• Father dies in mugging, Victor takes over at a young age of 17.
• Two years later, Victor was told of groaning near the church. No one would go near.
• Found a group of flesh-eating monsters, later discovered they were Ghouls, one of which resembled his Father.
• Mother entered a state of shock from seeing her husband and died from heart attack.
• Victor slayed the ghouls. Scar given by his father that day.
• Found people were missing from the Parish. Followed trails.
• Discovered flock of Byakhee. Attempted to fight.
• Acid was spat on his lower face, causing burn scars.
• Was saved by a member of the Bouclier Dans Les Tenebres. After sharing each other's stories, the member asked if Victor would like to join. Victor took this as a sign from God himself and immediately took to his new calling and holy duty. After leaving the church in safe hands, Victor left on his bloody pilgrimage.

Personality: The Christian Warrior Saint is an eccentric man. He has no quarrels in hiding his beliefs, that of his God and the beliefs of himself. He's open to listening to other's problems and likes giving emotional support whenever he cans. He often preaches holy prayers in battle to inspire himself and in hopes to inspire those around him. Victor also holds a church service every Sunday within the order and runs his own chaplaincy for those who wish to come to him.

Halo - The Hyperion Incursion.

Terry slowly stirred awake to the buzzing sound of his alarm as he woke up for another day on the UNSC Aurora. As usual, the Bear started his routine with some morning exercises including push-ups, sit ups and lunges. Terry set his alarm an hour earlier than most to fit this time in. It was an effective wake-up call for him, and anything that was physical always seem to put Terry in the right frame of mind to start the day right. After that, it was time for a nice shower and suit up in the standard issue MJOLNIR undersuit that every Spartan wore when not on the battlefield. Next call of business: breakfast. A hearty one at that. A nice protein shake in a disposable carton and a big bowl of oatmeal with berries and bananas mixed in. Terry shook up his shake before helping himself to a spoonful of porridge, overhearing murmurs of some sort of Supercarrier was in proverbial town. If that meant anything, that meant more ONI.

Terry took the time to properly look around for the first time this morning. Sure enough, there was a huge surplus of the regular amount of people operating on the Aurora at this time. It was time like this that took him back to events like Reach, and the Ark. Where the whole of UNSC was being forced to pool together resources to fight back huge threats. Although, if it was something like that then at least the Spartans would've known already. After wolfing down his porridge and guzzling his shake, Terry was about to take his tray onto the trolley when an ONI agent came up to him with a datapad. "New orders, Bear. Get to the docking bay ASAP." The stranger said. Terry quickly scanned over the information before turning back and nodding. "Roger that."

Secret missions, huh? Being all quiet and hush-hush wasn't exactly Terry's style, especially on the battlefield, but if these were direct orders from ONI then it had to be at least somewhat important. Whatever this team was, seems like ONI had thought through who and what they would need to get the job done. Fine by him. Terry exited the mess-hall and made his way to the armoury to get suit up in his PATHFINDER GEN 2 armour. While you'd expect Terry to boast some more bulkier armour, the PATHFINDER is unprecedented in dangerous terrains and environments, combining both mobility and survivability. It was amazing the amount of progress the UNSC had made since Reach. Terry was new blood in terms of being a Spartan at that point. Now everything was sleek and could take a punch. It's a good reason to learn how to adapt when they can't just send as many rounds as possible to the enemies like Terry prefers. Oh well. His stealth scores have been improving in the simulations. Once he got suited and booted, Terry quickly made his way to Bay A1-33 where he was checked by two more ONI before being given clearance. With his hand nestled in his arm, the Bear grinned at the line of Spartans waiting.

"I'm Terry. People call me Bear." He greeted.