Lightning Fast — Roleplayer Guild

Basics


Name: Cyrus
Age: 22
Appeared Age: Varies, usually around the same as his actual age.
Height: 5’10
Weight: Varies
Eye Color: White irises with grey sclera (Sclera like these: http://i294.photobucket.com/albums/mm101/JawlyRogers/Theatrical%20Contact%20Lenses/Custom%20Contact%20Lenses/greysclera.jpg)
Hair Color: Brown
Physical Disabilities: N/A
Physical Identifiers:White irises with light grey sclera; cannot be normally changed.
Usually wears blue costume contacts

Appearance:
In his natural form, Cyrus’ skin takes on an unsettlingly pale tone, and his body is far too skinny for someone of his height and build. In this form, his eyes’ sclera are a lightish grey. This would be difficult to notice, if not for the undeniable contrast created by his irises: they are completely white, and in his default form, he lacks some human features entirely, such as defined lips. Everything looks as though it's part of a "blank slate" of sorts. Fortunately, only his eyes are unchangeable, and he conceals those with costume contact lenses.

When in private, he generally maintains appearance before he gained his powers: that of a 5’10 male with brown hair, albeit with a few... “adjustments” to make himself seem more attractive. When performing alongside Archie, he mimics his brother’s appearance entirely so that they can pass as twins and fulfill one of their prized gimmicks.

In public, those who don’t know Cyrus very well will find it unusual to see him wear the same face twice. He changes his appearance as often as someone else might change their clothes... however sparse spare clothes may be in Dust.

Background

Residence: Nomadic
Profession: Street performer and actor
Aligned Faction: Independent
Relatives: Cyrus has two half-siblings, both by different fathers. His older half-sister Essie is rumoured to be a concubine to the king himself, whereas his younger half-brother Archibald (usually called “Archie” or “the Bladed Devil”) He has not seen his sister since they were kidnapped, and his mother, Mary the Magnificent, has been dead for many years.

Age: 20
Appeared Age: Late-20s (as a result of his facial hair)
Height: 5’10
Weight: 165 lbs
Eye Color: Blue
Hair Color: Brown
Physical Disabilities: N/A 
Physical Identifiers:Usually in costume, a red renaissance-era shirt with a red belt
Long, straight hair done up in a ponytail
Thick, brown goatee and mustache
Light facial scarring, as well as larger scars along the chest and and shoulders.
Highly muscular and ruggedly good-looking

Appearance: 
Archie was always the better looking of the two prior to Cyrus’ acquisition of shapeshifting powers, though is far more subtle about it than his boisterous and loud older brother. His every movement is calculated, cautious and graceful, harkening back to his background as a dancer and experienced swordsman.

Whereas Cyrus has a tendency to fall back upon his immortal powers to compensate for his shortcomings, Archie has honed his various skills to perfection. He knows precisely what he is great at (swordplay, dancing, acrobatics and mustache management), what he is average at (cooking and swimming) and what he is desperately terrible at (glassworking, Horseshoes, and biochemical engineering). Far more cautious than his brother, he has no misconceptions about his own mortality. Further unlike his brother, he finds comfort in the philosophy of the Northern Aqueons, and uses the teachings of the new-age religion as a means to better his mind and body. Though he holds honour in high regard, he is not necessarily bound by the same restrictions due to his being cut off from more zealous practitioners of the faith.


Though not Cyrus’ family persay, Archie’s biological father Rico is the closest thing to a paternal figure that any of the three children have ever had. He is old enough to be Archie’s grandfather and lives in Serenity. Unlike the other two children’s fathers, however, Rico was a repeat customer, and even spent some of his off-time traveling around with his Mary.

Cyrus was born a freeman, the son of a performance artist and contortionist going by the stagename Mary the Magnificent. She traveled alongside a caravan, a “circus” of sorts, entertaining and occasionally even “entertaining” various patrons as they went from town to town as wandering street performers. This special “entertaining” resulted in a daughter and two sons, all from different fathers. There was the eldest and only girl, Essie, the middle child, Cyrus, and the youngest, Archibald. These three grew up with more than a healthy dose of idealism, learning about human nature from plays and books which portrayed the world in black and white, a never-ending struggle of good against evil. They were raised among unusual and wonderful people: thespians, singers, and even exotic dancers and prostitutes. None were quite so skilled as Mary, however, who seemed to master every craft she tried. Once they were old enough, Mary began to train them in the arts as well, praising it as a selfless and kind way to bring joy to a selfish and unkind world.

Essie was a petite girl who took after her mother, and eventually began learning the same nigh-unbelievable contortion tricks. Cyrus, on the other hand, was more of a straight-up showman, with a booming voice and incredible stage-presence. All of Mary’s children had charisma, but Cyrus simply oozed it, and was able to win over a crowd with words alone. This translated into unmatched acting and comedic skill. Archie, on the other hand, was a man of action. He spoke few words, but everything he said was backed by action. He was obscenely swift on his feet; a perfect physical specimen whose acrobatics were a phenomenal sight to behold, and who could wield a fencing blade as well as he could dance.

As often is in Dust, their lives took a turn for the worst as a result of a completely random event which they couldn’t control. Traveling through Forsaken territory was generally dangerous, but they had taken a trip to Forbes once before to trade wares and entertain in the capital city. However, after entertaining (and “entertaining”) a group of three legionnaires, they found themselves unsatisfied by her performance and demanding a refund, despite not having paid a dime. In their rage, they killed her and sold her three children to be slaves in Forbes for easy profit. Such is life among the Forsaken.

Essie was sixteen when the trio were captured, her body blossoming into womanhood. Supposedly, she was sold to the king himself, who had been captivated by her beauty. Cyrus and Archie, on the other hand, were both sold to a cruel slave fighter named Luther. They were beaten daily, deprived of food and water to “strengthen their resolve”, and were forced into the fighting arenas at fourteen and twelve years old respectively, and though Archie showed considerable skill early on, Cyrus was placed up against a much more experienced opponent in his first fight. Each blow from his opponent’s club found its mark, shattering the bones in Cyrus’ arms and kneecaps. He should have accepted death then and there, but instead, he did the unthinkable. He begged for mercy, in front of a crowd of Forsaken soldiers screaming for blood. He was dragged from the arena, back to Luther’s slave pen, where he was subject to the worst torment of his life as punishment for weakness, an experience he now refers to as “Nine Hours of Hell”.

Using the ropes tied to Cyrus’ hands and feet, Luther dragged him into some sort of underground dungeon and strapped him into iron manacles to bind him to the wall. It was obvious that Luther sought to torture him to death, even going so far as to promise that Cyrus’ last words would be proclaiming Luther to be his one and true master. First came the whippings, which, though brutal, were no more painful than their usual “punishments”. And so, knowing that his death would come one way or the other, Cyrus began to mock Luther, even as he was bound to the wall behind him by ropes and chains. And so, Luther moved onto stage two of his torture plan, using his knife to pry chunks of flesh off of Cyrus’ body. Even Cyrus’ screams of agony were insults, all directed towards the “fat, greedy fuck” who stood before him. Even as Luther took the knife to Cyrus’ fingers, his manhood, and eventually his face, the slave still laughed, until Luther cut the tongue from his mouth, filling it with blood. Luther held a mirror up to Cyrus’ face as he began to cleave off his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, until no flesh remained. He should have died long before this brutal process was complete, yet somehow, he remained in the world of the living. When the flesh had been completely stripped from his face, and Cyrus was staring at what was left of his face and body in a mirror that was placed cruelly across the room from him, his life began to flash before his eyes: all the parts he’d played, all the people he’d influenced and who had influenced him along the way... he regretted how short it truly was, in those brief moments of clarity between the unending pain. That was, until a voice spoke to him from deep within. Its message was faint, but clear, and steadily grew in volume and power...

“You will live, my child,” A smooth, sultry voice echoed from somewhere in the deepest, darkest part of his mind.

At first, he attempted to argue with this voice, even as he felt the pain began to subside as he drifted into a strange, dreamlike state. “No, my sweet angel of death, I am clearly dying...”

”’Angel of death’?” The voice asked, seeming rather shocked, ”Well I must say, I’m actually quite flattered... You do want to live though, yes?”

“Yeah, that’d be nice...” Perhaps if he lived, he could free himself and his siblings from the chains that bound them and start a new troupe. He had always dreamed of grandeur and glory, which he couldn’t attain if he was dead.

“You will play many parts, Cyrus,” his sweet angel of death said, “But so many others have played a corpse before you. Now open your eyes, Cyrus... and rise anew.”

“You’re a real drama queen, eh?”

“Look whose talking,” this angel no longer sounded like an angel; more like an angry, chastising mother. ”Now motherfucking RISE! Like a phoenix... or a loaf of bread in an oven or some shit.”

And so, Cyrus awoke once more, still gazing at himself in the mirror. He had died... or had he? As he looked in the mirror, he noticed his face and other various bits had begun to regenerate, albeit in a sickeningly pale shade. His visage, a mess of bone and muscle moments ago, was intact, though it lacked the distinct features he once had, instead resembling what a potter’s rendition of a human head might look like: grey, without defined lips or eyebrows. His eyes were grey where they should have been white, and white where they should have been black and brown. He glanced at his chains, still clinging onto his limp form, then ahead at Luther, cleaning Cyrus’ blood off of the flaying knife.

Luther, shocked at the creature which had replaced his slave, continued flaying regardless, determined to end Cyrus once and for all, but Cyrus’ flesh grew back as quick as Luther could remove it. Though initially frustrated, Luther soon made a game of the whole ordeal. At first, he attempted to brand Cyrus using a sharp cattle prod, and was amused when he discovered that brandings would simply disappear overtime. The worst of Luther’s torture was not done with a knife, however, but with boiling oil and fire. He wished silently to himself several times that he would simply die, but no such relief came. Each day, when Cyrus’ injuries healed, the torture would begin again. It was through this repeated and brutal torture that Cyrus learned to hide his pain, yet his will was never truly broken as was Luther’s intent. It wasn’t until Luther threatened to flay Archie that Cyrus began to follow any sort of orders.

When Cyrus and Archie both learned to fight, but they did so as a pair. Though perhaps not any more capable than any other tag-team, their talents of showmanship made them extremely popular among the people stands. The roar of the crowd certainly bolstered the brothers’ morale, and allowed them to pull ahead of their competition in a few pinch situations. In those pits, they learned to fight, though Cyrus was always better at attracting the crowd’s attention, and Archie was a far better fighter.

Eventually, Luther had the idea to use Cyrus and Archie for a different sort of entertainment, taking advantage of their past training. The brothers (as well as several other slaves) were forced to entertain the chieftains and the Forsaken masses in a venue similar to the arena in an art form that combined theatre and blood sport. Because some parts demanded that a character be killed or brutalized in some way and the Forsaken had a seemingly unquenchable desire for bloodlust, it was highly expensive and usually unprofitable to put on one of these shows, regardless of how much prestige it would bring the slaves’ owner. However, Cyrus’ ability to regenerate into a new character each time he was “killed” gave the people the blood they wanted without costing Luther more than was necessary. Sometimes several times a day, Cyrus would fake his own death across dozens of painful scenes: so many times, in fact, that he began to think of it as a joke. Overtime, Cyrus began to enjoy being in front of a crowd more than he hated the pain, though perhaps not as much as he hated Luther.

That is, until the day they won their freedom...
Cyrus and Archie sat at a bar, surrounded by men and women of various backgrounds and professions, passionately telling the story of how he and his brother Archie escaped from the clutches of the forsaken. Though he omitted any parts alluding to his immortality, his tale was true, albeit dramatized. The bartender was listening closely to his spiel, clearly inspired by their outgoing charisma. Archie was just finishing up another part of the story of their capture and eventual escape.

“... And at this point, Cyrus and I were ready to put our plan into action. We’d talked it over with some of Luther’s other slaves, and since this was the only time we were allowed weapons, we knew it had to be during one of our performances.”

====

The clash of sword-upon-sword echoed throughout the round as Archie’s , colosseum-like arena as the massive crowd cheered for blood. The Scottish Play, MacBeth, was about to reach its climax, wherein MacDuff, played by Archie the Bladed Devil, would slay MacBeth, played by Cyrus, and restore Prince Malcolm to the throne. The arena was packed full, as was usually the case for particularly bloody plays. Considering that this was a piece written by the world’s most famous English sadist, William Shakespeare, this was sure to please. The climax was always the most popular part, as could be expected: the crowd cheered as MacDuff advanced, with the Tyrant King MacBeth edging closer and closer to the wall of the arena in desperation.

Cyrus screamed one of his final lines, about how no man of woman born could slay him. Archie replied cockily by stating that his mother had been given a C-section, as opposed to him technically being born. Cyrus hid a smirk from the audience, knowing full well this was the time for their plan to spring into action. It wasn’t much of a “plan”, per say, but Luther was watching the performance from above the very same wall that Cyrus was backed up against, with a large shield in hand. He gave a small nod, prompting Archie to charge forward, sword raised. At the top of his lungs, the heroic Lord MacDuff screamed: “DEATH TO THE TYRANT KING!”

As Archie came closer to his half-brother, Cyrus braced his shield, angling it up slightly. And, in a single motion, Archie jumped up into said shield, using it to vault up to the stands. He soared through the air as a smirk spread across his face, thrusting forward with his blade and winking as the point of his rapier went through the soft flesh on Luther’s neck. A single prick from the bladed devil’s long, thin sword to pierce Luther’s throat. The sound of him choking on his own blood was one of the sweetest sounds that either of the brothers had ever heard. In the end, though, the people were satisfied: they’d received their fill of blood, even if it wasn’t Cyrus’. Thunderous applause filled the arena regardless, as the announcer praised the duo as free men once again.

Having slain their master without drawing the ire of the anarchic Forsaken public, they were able to reclaim their mother’s possessions from Luther’s estate, and regain their freedom.


Since escaping the Forsaken three years ago, Archie and Cyrus have travelled around Dust, performing on the streets of various towns for scrap metal, clothes, bullets, and whatever passersby have to offer two starving (but incredibly talented) artists.


Gear

Weapons:Blunted Training Shortsword: For practicing gladiatorial and stage-combat.
Butterfly Knife: For stabbing things.
Spiked Bat: A crude aluminum baseball bat with nails welded to it. Good for bashing stuff.

Armour: Cyrus generally foregoes armour completely in favour of his natural regenerative abilities and to remain agile.
Ammunition:Dirty Rounds: 37 9mm rounds, for currency only.
High Grade Rounds: N/A
Heavy Ammunition: N/A

Backpack A:Water Bottle
Pen and notepad

Miscellaneous:Scripts and Sheet Music: Considering his background in the performing arts, it’s no surprise that Cyrus has smuggled away as many works of literature and songs as he could. He keeps most of these papers hidden inside his straw mattress. One of his favourites is MacBeth.
The Maryson Brothers’ Trailer: Mary the Magnificent’s trailer was sold to Luther alongside her sons, as well as all of her various outfits and costumes. Though many have been lost or sold, some clothes still remain intact. The trailer also contains a large, stage-like mat, several boxes of assorted props and makeup, and enough space for two people to comfortably sleep. It has been repainted so that it bares the words “Maryson Brothers Co.” in large, gaudy letters like one might see at an old-world circus.
Old Pickup Truck: Like Mary’s trailer, this was sold to Luther alongside the brothers themselves. It has a faded, red coat of paint, and clearly has not been washed in a good while. Though a little bit beat up, it works fine so long as it has sufficient fuel.


Immortalis Information

Manifested Phenomena: Himself
Unique Abilities:”It’s Just a Flesh Wound!”: Cyrus can regenerate wounds of varying severity and even reattach lost limbs. However, more serious wounds can still be exhausting for him to heal, and generally take longer.
A Man of Many Faces: Cyrus can alter his appearance and voice within the constraints of normal human physiology. Facial and skin pigment changes are by far the easiest for him, though he can make himself taller, bulkier, older, younger, or even change into a woman, albeit with significant physical effort.

Strengths:That Which Doesn’t Kill Me Makes Me Stronger: As a result of enduring years of physical and mental abuse, Cyrus has an astonishingly high threshold for pain. He doesn’t feel - or at least pretends not to feel - injuries that would make even some greater men groan in agony.
Triple Threat: After years of performing in both gladiatorial arenas and theatres, as well as his mother’s training, Cyrus can dance, sing, but most of all, he can act. This helps to make his transformations far more convincing, and even gives his fighting style a bit of humorous performance flair.
A Savvy Rogue: Cunning and quick-witted, there is no situation that Cyrus can’t talk his way out of, and few people he can’t win over with honeyed words alone. His experience running what’s left of his mother’s business has only served to improve these abilities.
A Circus Monkey: Cyrus has impressive agility and jumping skill, which have only improved since acquiring Immortal powers.

Weaknesses:Cocky to A Fault: Cyrus has a tendency to overestimate the extent of his own abilities, has trouble keeping snide comments to himself, and occasionally forgets that others aren’t quite as hardy as he is. This callousness gets him into trouble, and though he himself is resistant to most forms of punishment, he occasionally lacks the foresight to see how his actions could harm others, directly or otherwise.
Why bother? I’ve got superpowers!: Quite simply put, Cyrus is a little bit lazy, and tends to over-rely on his powers to compensate for his unrefined skills in other areas, even in melee fights. Because the effectiveness and ease of use of his own regenerative and shapeshifting capabilities are based partly on his physical endurance, this hinders him more than he realizes. After excessive use of these abilities overtime, he will simply become too exhausted to fight if he takes enough bodily damage.
A Lover, Not a Fighter: There’s a reason Cyrus prefers to talk his way out of fights: outside of the melee-only world of the arena, Cyrus has very little combat experience, and is more likely to rely on his powers to get him through safely than any real skill. He can barely even hold a gun properly, let alone aim it.
Some Wounds Don’t Heal: The psychological turmoil that Cyrus has been through still haunts him, but he hides his emotions from everyone around him, instead choosing to cope by treating his own existence as a joke of sorts. This usually manifests in the form of self-deprecating humour that can sometimes come across as unreasonably cruel, macabre or awkward.
Don’t Let Me Burn: Though Cyrus learned to love the knife and use it to his advantage, Cyrus never stopped fearing Luther’s second favourite torture method: fire. Though he’s unlikely to turn and run if he sees a flame, he’ll try noticeably to stay as far away as possible from anything larger than a candle. Furthermore, severe burn wounds (especially wounds that have been cauterized) take Cyrus longer to heal: whether this is due to a physical limitation of his powers or a psychological limitation is still up for debate.
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