Krayzikk — Roleplayer Guild

Within one of the larger, more open rooms of the airship, where many of the passengers seemed to have chosen to congregate, a single prospective student stood off to the side near the entrance, eyeing the crowds nervously. Most people present were conversing with people they either knew or heard of, since the majority had embarked upon the trip with members of their graduating class alongside them. Technically, Alistair had as well; except he was only vaguely familiar with the people from his own school, and many of those he knew resented him for making a fool of their friend in the exams. Which really wasn't fair, if anything, Alistair was the one who had looked like a fool, having his own weapon jam in the middle of a match.

But he digressed. Almost instinctively, he drew his coat tighter around him, like it would somehow help with his indecision. Should he try and say hello? Greet people? Make a conversation? But they all traveled in packs, there didn't seem to be any that weren't in a group, and trying to introduce himself to a group was social suicide... And how much did they know? Had his former classmates said awful things, thus ruining his first impression?

...

Alistair, you're overthinking this. He chided himself silently. None of them are that vindictive. Probably. Besides, you're going to Beacon! You made it! You should be excited, you've worked for this for years, and you made it.

And he did feel excited, more than could possibly be imagined. He had boarded the ship gleefully, practically bouncing aboard, coat tails flapping about with a similarly manic joy. But quite quickly, he had run out of things to do by himself. His books were all in his luggage, as were the tools to do maintenance on Hell and Heaven, and he'd run out of weapons to try and guess the function of.

Which left him with time to think, which in turn led to anxiety over every minor detail, and led even further down the path to his current indecision. This wasn't helping him. Steeling his nerve, he took a few steps forward, plunging into the veritable sea of social norms and interaction, searching for someone to introduce himself to that looked like they wouldn't reject him on si-

Bad train of thought. Needed to lose that, it really, really wasn't helping.

Well, I'm eager to play, if you'll have me here. =P

Cookies.

Name/Nickname: Alistair Thorne

Race: Human

Gender: Male

Age: 17

Weapons/Equipment/Armor:

-Hell and Heaven-
Adaptable Dual Weapon System (ADWS)

Truth be told, Hell and Heaven are Alistair’s pride and joy. Hell is his left hand weapon, a relatively slim, black, rectangular box in its storage mode, it quickly unfolds when activated into an under-slung, rapid-fire rifle with a vicious-looking spearhead at its tip. Designed to be a versatile weapon, it can effectively be used to block strikes or stab outwards, often coupled to great effect with the gun function by using a melee attack to soften his opponent up, before opening fire with the rifle.

Heaven is clearly influenced by the Achiever, being a hand-and-a-half sword in its unfolded form. In this configuration, it has no special capabilities. It is, however, capable of folding back so the blade runs along is forearm to allow him to block with it, and opening up a single shotgun barrel on his wrist, capable of firing a different blast depending on what type of Dust is loaded into it.

Both weapons, however, have a serious flaw; They were created with whatever parts Alistair could obtain, and thus, require near daily maintenance to keep them working. Additionally, they are far more prone to malfunction.

Twilight Coat
Support and Last Resort System (SLRS)

The Twilight Coat is, to be honest, largely what the name implies. A battered long coat that extends to a bit above his knees, tightly form-hugging until his waist, where the tails flare out to allow for unhindered motion. The small of his back is outfitted with a small series of Dust-powered boosters, enabling him to surge forwards at great speeds. His right elbow is outfitted with a similar booster to enhance the power of any punches he might pull. His left elbow, however, is slightly different; the interior of the coat’s forearm is outfitted with a single streamlined slot for a shotgun shell-sized Dust canister. The canister fuels an output system built into a glove on his hand, allowing for a Dust-enhanced punch, the effect depending on the type used. However, this system is highly inefficient; one canister, one punch. And for someone who doesn’t have much Dust to begin with, it is a desperation weapon.

Semblance: Aside from standard defense, Alistair can’t do much with his aura yet. He is capable of blunt force attacks achieved simply by hurling energy forward, but doing so isn’t very precise, and the effect is highly variable. Under duress or desperation said blasts tend to be stronger, but he can’t truly replicate the effect well yet. He doesn’t know what his Semblance is.

Hobbies: Reading, to an extreme degree, with a particular fascination towards engineering, history, and all things Hunters. He also has come to consider his weapon maintenance and engineering this, though truthfully, he considers it almost an art form, rather than just a necessity.

Bio: Some students at Beacon have illustrious pasts. Maybe they’re the child of a stellar Huntsman or Huntswoman, maybe they’re the child of a major CEO, maybe they’re a child prodigy. Or maybe they’ve had a truly horrid tale, one of woe from beginning to present.

Alistair didn’t have either of those. He was most certainly a clever child, eager to learn, and he was always fascinated by those who protected the world from the Grimm. But alas, despite his lofty interests, he was the son of a Dust miner and a local teacher. Calling them poor wouldn't be much of a stretch, they lived largely from month to month, with just a little money left over at the end of each pay cycle, enough to feed his almost insatiable appetite for books. Aside from this hunger for knowledge, he was a fairly normal child for much of the first half of his life; he had friends, he went to school, he played, he got into trouble. All the things a kid should do. But one day he and his friends wandered a bit too far, to places they knew they weren’t supposed to go, and were attacked by a local Grimm. Though he would later discover that the beast wasn’t very menacing, in fact it was almost something of a joke amongst those studying at Beacon, to the eight year old, it was terrifying, and it would have been more than enough to take them all had a student home for vacation not intervened. Though his friends had forgotten the incident mere months later, it stuck with Alistair, and he soon realized what he wanted more than anything; to be a Huntsman.

There was one problem; his family didn’t have nearly enough influence to make it happen. Though the fees were not a crippling issue, his lack of access to equipment and resources was. The standards to attend Beacon were high, after all, and the competition to attend was particularly fierce in his hometown. Dust mines tended to breed people who got very rich off of them, and thus, could afford to get the best equipment. His parents were very honest, perhaps brutally so, about his chances, but he was determined.

And lo and behold, his determination paid off. Though it took the better part of six months of interviews, and begging, and pleading, he found a shop that was willing to sell him parts for cheap, and a Dust shop that was willing to give him a deal in exchange for help around the business. The parts weren’t high quality, and tended to be about six or seven product cycles behind what was current, and on some occasions, were flat-out damaged. But they were what he could afford. After months of effort, dozens of misfires and malfunctions, he managed to piece together his first weapon; a long sword that looked like it was built from junkyard scrap, outfitted with Dust-powered boosters and coupled with a protective arm guard. He dubbed it, quite affectionately, the Achiever.

With the Achiever in hand, he scraped through the admissions process by the skin of his teeth, a poorly-equipped son of a miner compared to peers that were outfitted with top of the line models. By all counts, he shouldn’t have made it. In his very first sparring match his opponent kept beating him down, but ultimately, he claimed the victory simply because he lasted long enough for his opponent to run out of Dust for their equipment.

That was the process for much of his early education. He would go through each day exhausted and bruised, all but falling asleep in class after staying up late to try and improve his equipment. And finally the day came; the admissions test for Beacon. His combat scores were far lower than he’d hoped, largely because his modified gear failed partway through the testing. That would have killed his prospects right then and there, but his written exam scores saved him.

And so he has entered Beacon, outfitted with equipment he painstakingly fashioned out of what he could get, passing the entrance exams by an unbelievably narrow margin.

Personality: Alistair is a bit hard to describe, really. He’s a friendly person, but he’s also acutely aware that at Beacon he is far out of his depth, and it makes him nervous. Slightly shy, he hasn’t been very good at making friends lately because all of his time has been invested into staying apace with his peers. He’s doggedly nice, and it’s truly hard to make him angry. But his most notable personality trait is his determination. He’d never complain, not once, but he managed to get into Beacon almost through determination alone. When he sets his sights on a goal, he won’t stop until he reaches it.

Appearance: Slightly taller than normal with an athletic build, Alistair would probably be considered handsome, if he ever bothered to properly clean up. His dark brown hair is always untidy, and since he only gets it cut when it becomes a nuisance (Which is, as he is very particular about it, when it begins to obstruct his vision), his hair can get fairly long before being trimmed, further adding to the untidiness. He wears the Beacon uniform unmodified, though he does keep a pair of small spectacles in his breast pocket. Said glasses are actually slight magnifying lenses, used for when he needs to do detail work on his equipment. His eyes are a highly variable hazel,.

(Picture to be edited in if I find one)

Post Sample: [hider=Sample] “Oh, this is bad.”

Alistair said, the understatement flowing outwards just as he ducked underneath a blow swung at his head. His opponent, a tall, burly student with a battleaxe, didn’t seem to have noticed his, ahem, technical difficulties, yet, but he no doubt would. He jumped back to evade a downward blow, watching as the weapon left a long gash in the dirt. Frantically, Alistair tried to fire the weapon in his left hand, only to be disappointed once again by the equally frantic sound of metal smashing against metal in an unmistakable jam.

“Oh, Hell, Hell, why do you do this now?” He muttered, the expletive in actuality referring to the recalcitrant device rather than the curse it likely sounded. Though both would have been accurate; having now jammed, Hell was essentially a glorified club. Cursing for real this time, he folded it and tucked it back into its holster, gripping his remaining weapon with both hands. His opponent grinned, seeming to realize that there was a problem.

“What’s wrong, miner-boy? Your junkyard gun fail?”

At that, Alistair scowled, boosters on his back firing in time with the one on his arm, shooting him forward and giving power to the vicious downward diagonal slash. But if he expected that to be successful, he was sorely disappointed; his foe interposed his axe’s shaft between the blade and himself, blocking the attack. Alistair was growing desperate now; a few more hits, and his aura would be low enough that the referee would call the match, and the victory would go to his opponent. Much longer, and the timer would run out, resulting in the same. And if either of those events occurred, his chance at Beacon was finished. His test scores wouldn’t be able to compensate for such an embarrassing performance. Winning was out of the question; maybe if his weapons were both functional, but now? Not happening.

Which left…

Could he force a tie? Technically it was possible, if both of their auras hit the right point at the same time, or so close that no one could tell the difference, it really didn’t matter which, then the referee would be forced to call a tie. Suddenly he twisted his sword, locking it with the axe blade, preventing either from withdrawing their weapon. His opponent’s smirk turned into a confused grimace, as he futilely tried to push forward and overwhelm his opponent through sheer force. In response, Alistair triggered the booster on his elbow again, countering his opponent’s increased leverage while removing his left hand, and reaching into his pocket, pulling out… A canister of red dust.

“Kaboom.” He quipped cheerfully, hurling the canister at his opponent’s chest, where it proceeded to ignite on contact, enveloping both combatants in a veritable firestorm for several moments, obscuring both from view. The referee rushed forward, but when the smoke cleared… Both fighters were on the ground, Alistair distinctly more singed than his opponent, complete with a few minor burns, but both had depleted their defensive auras to the point where the referee was forced to call it.

And due to the firestorm’s proximity to the axe-wielder, both had reached the point at roughly the same time, forcing a draw.[/hide]

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