Sterile walls coated a prison cell discreetly fashioned with modern implements. A sleek surface covered floor and walls alike, painting them a sterile silver, which complemented the flat bed accenting a distinct cleanliness. One would be justified in considering the young mutant’s confinement a containment chamber, rather than more conventional venues of arrest. Dim lights were enough to conjure forth a faint, if noticeable glow emanating from pale, white skin, a frame which contrasted itself with black features, notably the large, raven eyes reminiscent of an alien’s visage.
A long, slender tail gently swayed from one side to the other, a curious gaze lingering upon a window which in turn offered view of the beholder himself, a mirror staring back at the pale, sylph-like being. A mirror masking the presence of others, privately scrutinizing their captive, warranting him the esteemed title of ‘science experiment’. A keen eye would perhaps have been able to notice the bandaid upon his arm, attempting to hide the small, black circle which had formed beneath its soft, cotton square.
Dressed in the scarce contribution of shorts and a tank top, the mutant did not appear to display signs of distress. Rather, a presentation of apathy made itself clearly known upon his inhuman features, clawed feet slowly padding against a cold floor as he approached the window, each step clicking with those taloned digits meeting the hardness beneath. ”Are you afraid of me?” Came a question, his words draped in a tune matching the boy’s appearance, a ghostly, phantasmal sound to dot his mellow voice.
There was a pause that wrapped itself around this one-sided conversation, a halt which eventually found itself dispelled once the mirrored surface staring into the cell faded to allow for a proper exchange. “I am terrified of you,” a response trickled through the protective glass, a voice fittingly belonging to a well-presented woman dressed in what could have been expected from a scientist. A white coat hiding the proper, black suit beneath. “And intrigued by you,” she continued. “My name is Dr. Aideen O'donnell, it is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Mr. Rivers,” the tall, orange-haired woman finished, her Irish accent bleeding through the introduction. ”Connor,” a correction, ”I don’t think my parents want me to be a ‘Rivers’.” His words appeared to follow the same solemn, monotone, and mellow song throughout the boy’s verbal expression.
“Family can be a tricky thing,” the scientist continued, a small smirk managing its way to her red lips, as green eyes met the large, black orbs staring back at her. “I am sorry for delaying, before finally meeting you, Connor.”
Again, a short pause lingered as the boy’s gaze shifted towards his caged surroundings. ”Do you usually talk to your experiments?” A calm question slipped past Connor’s sharp teeth, his head tilted ever so slightly, ”every time that door opens..,” the boy’s claw rose to point at the metallic surface sliding aside when a path to his cell was allowed, ”you put me to sleep with.., gas, I think.”
“As I said, Connor,” Dr. O’donnell spoke, “you are quite terrifying,” she continued. “However, to answer your question,” the woman’s eyes narrowed, “yes, how can I come to understand you, if I do not converse with you?”
”It’s a nice change, I guess,” the somber creature offered, his brow raised at the sentiment, ”I’ve never talked this much.” Considering his next statement, Connor eventually proceeded, his slender, clawed hand gently placed upon the glass separating doctor from experiment. ”Can I ask you a question, before it’s your turn?”
A curious smile bridged itself across Aideen’s features. She was enjoying this conversation with a boy previously expected to be little more than a savage. To her knowledge, Connor had been locked in a basement throughout the course of his life. A television and books provided him with the outside world, and one ought then to ask, who had taught him the art of reading? The answer that Connor was self-taught found itself in a combination of educational channels and a desire to understand. A mutant quite literally born in darkness, clawing his way towards the light with little more than effective curiosity. “Of course. What would you like to know?”
”Why do I scare you?” His question surfaced quickly, not mere moments following Aideen’s response.
“That isn’t obvious?” The woman asked, before earning a shake of Connor’s head.
”My parents picked ‘Demon’, or ‘Devil’,” the mutant explained. ”I imagine you have a more detailed description.”
“You are quite a well-spoken boy, aren’t you?” The doctor chuckled. “You are neither a Devil, nor a Demon, Connor,” she began. “However, mutants are more dangerous than both. You actually exist.” Crossing her arms, Dr. Aideen O’donnell continued, “your very being is death, Connor. Everything from your blood, to the powers you wield are a biohazard of the highest order.” The woman’s explanation did not seem to phase the boy, but rather, his expression confessed to a desire for more. “But, if Demons did exist, I think you’d be a rather good candidate.”
”Demons do exist, Dr. O’donnell,” the teenager finally spoke. It was then that a phantasmal force began to manifest itself around his clawed hand, the energy soon extending to the confines of his room, as if a ghostly wind encircling the teen, and yet remaining sealed within his cell as to not touch the doctor. ”And we’re face to face with evil, every day.” Connor’s hand slid down from the glass and followed the motions of his Necrotic Force, reminiscent of fingers through a breeze. ”What do you have to be afraid of? What is it.., Dr. O’donnell.., that true evil fears?”
Name: Alexander Davidson Alias: Alexander The Great; Ruler of Alexandria, Mutant Savior Species: Mutant Age: 65 Gender: Male Personality Traits: Charismatic, Modest, Benevolent, Headstrong, Contemplative
Powers: Super-Conductive Electromagnetism
General Information: Rumors suggest that Alexander is surprisingly older than he claims to be. Some claim that he has at least been around since the first world war, others even before then. The man himself has confirmed or denied neither to this day.
Although having been the Ruler of New Alexandria for some time, he doesn’t have all the answers and at times defers to his counsel when facing difficult conditions.
Despite common belief, he doesn’t actually hate humans entirely but harbors quite a grudge due to the life he’s led. He recognizes there are shades of grey, and has allowed his citizens to bring their human families within Alexandria’s walls. Though, they are watched closely.
General Information: Makai is the head of the First Echelon, and represents them in the Counsel of Alexandria. To many in the Ops, he represents a fatherly figure to many of the members of the team. Partially because he's more often than not aware of what they are doing anyway due to his abilities. In which case, he becomes the listening ear without judgement. He played a key role in the battle for Alexandria's founding and is something of a retired war vet. Something else to mention, perhaps the most minimal, he's been blind his whole life.
Personality 💀 Reserved, quiet, withdrawn, and insecure, Connor is anything but a party-centric individual. 💀 Due to his circumstances, it is perhaps understandable that Connor maintains the 'silent and withdrawn' archetype but tends to express himself whenever he feels the need, albeit with reservation. 💀 Connor would claim that he has developed a notable deal of empathy towards other mutants, which is expressed throughout his everyday behavior. 💀 This is elevated by his equal level of dislike for humans, which has festered since an early childhood.
💀 Calm, collected, and clearly mellow, Connor is a polite young man. 💀 However, it can sometimes be difficult to deduce if Connor is being sincere, or if he is attempting to dispel a social situation. 💀 He is a passive individual, someone who tends to remain in the background, and thus makes himself scarce frequently. 💀 When engaged with groups, which is a rare occurrence, he quickly fades beneath other, louder voices.
💀 Those close to Connor can admit to a caring individual who walks the extra mile for the ones he considers cherished friends and family. 💀 Indeed, he reacts swiftly in response to desired aid, and clearly attempts to be an effective addition to any team, but struggles with more than one inner demon. 💀 Despite his silence, Connor adores philosophy, and surprisingly enough, even debates, where he can often be found reading various books on the subject.
💀 It may be all too expected of someone with Connor’s profile, but he tends to avoid conflict with other mutants. 💀 He does not seek to aggravate others and believes that a decent if reserved social approach can save him a lot of unwarranted complications. 💀 Equally so, Connor is difficult to provoke. 💀 Those who would seek to taunt the young man generally find themselves disappointed in his lack of a reaction.
💀 There is another side to Connor that deserves mention, the so-called ‘Demonic’ mutant. 💀 Where Connor is a loving individual towards those he holds close, there is a hatred which expresses itself within. 💀 Connor was born into a fanatically religious community that branded him a devil, and treated him accordingly. 💀 This has, in turn, warranted an unending disgust towards humans, but it is a hatred hidden beneath the melancholy state Connor is otherwise presenting. 💀 Indeed, he would gladly punish those who seek to harm his lord, or worse yet, his people. 💀 It would be a lie to claim that this insecure young man views humans and mutants through the same lens, and his opinion of the latter is quite low. 💀 Connor sees humans as sub-par, a previous stage in evolution, and in regards to himself, a different species altogether. 💀 This has, in turn, placed Connor in a position where he is struggling with the paradox of hubris and insecurity.
Sexuality 💀 Homosexual.
Height 💀 Five feet, four inches.
Weight 💀 A hundred pounds.
Notable Features 💀 Connor's grey, stone-colored skin is difficult to miss. 💀 Beneath that messy mop of raven-black hair rests two pointy, sharp ears. 💀 It's impossible to dismiss Connor's phantasmal voice. 💀 His ivory teeth and obsidian claws are both notable highlights. 💀 Finally, those inhumanly large, jet-black eyes. 💀 Additionally, he possesses a slender, pointy tail swaying behind him.
Hair 💀 He has a black mess of somewhat long hair. 💀 It often covers his eyes.
Eyes 💀 Connor’s orbs are jet-black, and rather unnerving. 💀 It may be very difficult to deduce where Connor is looking, considering how he has no pupils.
Voice 💀 It is ghostly, but somewhat high-pitched. 💀 Connor does not have a normal voice, but rather sounds like, as many would say, a ‘poltergeist’.
Appearance 💀 The first thing that would come to mind when viewing this boy is his blatantly grey, pale skin. 💀 One would be forgiven for mistaking him a gargoyle from afar, considering his complexion. 💀 In competition for first impressions are his fingers, and if one was to see him barefoot, his toes, as well.
💀 Sharp, black, talon-like claws make themselves known at the end of each digit, replacing what one would expect to see on a human. 💀 Due to the nature of his digits, each one akin to a spike, Connor lacks pads and has no fingerprints. 💀 With the consistency of bone, Connor's black claws transition to pale skin, beyond his knuckles. 💀 These features may all very well afford Connor a rather diabolical appearance, along with the long, slender tail he possesses.
💀 Additionally, the boy appears to lack pupils, and rather, has two raven-black orbs. 💀 It is very clear that Connor's eyes are inhumanly large, which has at times warranted the nickname 'Alien'. 💀 Of course, Connor's oddities do not end with his fingers, nor his eyes, as a quick smile would expose shark-like teeth, sharp and pointed. 💀 Additionally, the boy's gray tongue and mouth speak volumes, and so do his elongated, pointy ears.
💀 This is then further elevated when the teenager speaks, where he sounds like a poltergeist. 💀 A ghostly tune is strung around every word, and it is quite common to be unnerved by a conversation with the boy.
💀 Despite all of this, something which would disarm any, and every level of intimidation, is his scrawny nature. 💀 Connor couldn't possibly weigh more than a hundred pounds, and his body is very blatantly underweight. 💀 If he happens to wear a short-sleeved shirt upon one's initial meeting, the teen's lack of muscles and slender limbs would further remove any threat assessment one might have had.
💀 Connor does not appear to have any blemishes on his body, or even hair, for that matter. 💀 It's an incredibly unnatural touch, but something which works well with the oddity one at this point may have established. 💀 He is most often seen in hoodies that tend to be too large, which is an easily accomplished feat. 💀 His claws are generally hidden beneath the sleeve, and much like his petite appearance, hide the strength beneath. 💀 On sunny days, his hood is pulled into place, where it protects him from the unforgiving sunlight. 💀 Baggy cargo-pants are comfortable on his slender legs, but one could reason that another option is vacant. 💀 As is a commodity, Connor feels most at home in converse shoes..
💀 Connor tends to wear darker colors. 💀 He is most often seen in a black unzipped hoodie, beneath which he wears a red t-shirt. 💀 Olive cargo-pants cover his legs, along with a pair of black and white, typical converse shoes on his feet.
Languages 💀 English.
Biography 💀 Connor was born into a rural community in the American countryside. 💀 He was, by every stretch, a normal boy with a less than desirable upbringing. 💀 Though the stereotype of heavily religious households on the outskirts leave much to be desired, Connor would argue that his ‘neck of the woods’ fell into the preconceived notion. 💀 It would not be a stretch to brand both mother and father religious extremists, wielding the Bible in more than a single destructive motion. 💀 A fundamental worldview stretched itself across Connor’s community, a small rural town obfuscated from the rest of America by little more than its remote location.
💀 One might be able to draw the conclusion that a mutant of Connor’s variation, a heavily mutated individual in both appearance and ability, met persecution in an environment like this, and the assumption rings true. 💀 Connor spent a majority of his young life hidden away by his parents, locked within the confines of their basement like a beast kept from the world. 💀 This string of events drew him incredibly distrusting towards not only his parents, but humans in general, those who feared him so. 💀 ‘Demon’, ‘Monster’, ‘Devil Spawn’, all titles Connor was awarded long into his teenage years.
💀 Within the darkness of a dank cellar, chained like an abomination, Connor’s existence had been kept a secret. 💀 Captivity was the life he had known since birth, that soft glimmer of a Demon’s pale, grey skin humming through the faded light of his prison cell. 💀 One ought to ask why Connor did not attempt an escape, why he did not wield his powers that came ever so naturally to him. 💀 The answer found itself in fear of the unknown. 💀 Connor was not malevolent as his parents would have you believe, but rather, a scared boy simply looking forward to his next meal. 💀 Despite wielding power, mental barriers are by far enough to prevent them from furthering malicious intent. 💀 It is additionally worthy of note that Connor had been afforded a television, books, and even a harp to keep him docile.
💀 Words travel, and they travel far, especially within a small community where everyone knows their neighbour. 💀 Whether it was a slip-up in conversation, or if Connor’s existence was revealed in another manner, perhaps even through the powers of a mutant seeking their people, a secret living beneath the Rivers house had come to light. 💀 Connor was found within his dark abode, sitting upon an old mattress with claws tenderly tracing a path across the strings of a harp. 💀 It was Alexander’s people who had come to learn of this Demon’s existence, and extended a merciful hand towards a boy who had only ever seen the world through the surface of a television screen. 💀 Loyalty to a savior, though Connor’s adaptation to a world he was now part of remained a slow process, this insecure teenager’s growing love for his new nation and its leader grew stronger with every day.
💀 Much like the conjuring of ice and fire, Connor is able to concentrate his ability into a dangerous force of green, necrotic energy. 💀 This spectral ability destroys organic matter upon contact, viciously eating away at its victim.
💀 It would appear that due to Connor’s virus biology, his frame is immune to the strife of biological degeneration where his cells would otherwise split and degenerate. 💀 This has halted Connor’s aging process entirely, unbeknownst to him.
💀 Upon using his powers, Connor can infect a dead brain with his spectral virus, taking control of a corpse. 💀 This newly reanimated puppet can perform simple tasks and follows mentally projected instructions given by its master. 💀 If the brain stem is damaged, these husks promptly die, and cannot be animated again.
Necrotic Curse ❌ Though Connor’s powers render him immune to biological degeneration, they constantly sap his mortal frame of energy which renders him perpetually tired, fatigued, and weak. ❌ This also prevents Connor from gaining weight or building muscle as his powers would drain him of both. ❌ In effect, this leaves the teen fragile, and unfit for physical endeavors.
Necrotic Skin ❌ The sun is not kind to Connor. ❌ In fact, if exposed to it, his eyes will start hurting, and he will feel a similar pain in his pale skin. ❌ Due to this, the mutant must be fully covered if he goes outside during the day. ❌ Additionally, Connor finds it difficult to concentrate when fully exposed to sunlight, making it very hard for him to use his powers.
Thralls ❌ Just like the mutant himself, his puppets are weak to the sun. ❌ Unless the puppets are fully covered, the sun will melt them, due to Connor’s current level of power. ❌ Any exposed skin hit by sunlight will immediately burn off. ❌ Due to this, Connor can only use this ability indoors, in the shade, or after sunset.
Shunned ❌ Not a direct weakness of his powers, but rather a social stigma. ❌ Those who do not view this mutant with hatred, would view him with fear, perhaps even amongst other mutants.
Unhallowed ❌ Connor’s powers are completely and entirely ineffective against non-organic matter. ❌ Equally so, Connor' Necrotic Force cannot penetrate specific non-organic substances, like armor. ❌ Instead, Connor is forced to find an opening that he can exploit.
Purity ❌ He is unsure why, but Connor cannot touch silver, without the substance burning his skin.
Dead or Alive ❌ Abilities that would otherwise heal, actually damage Connor. ❌ On the flip-side, abilities found in Necrotic Energy appear to heal this teenager. ❌ Connor cannot heal himself with his powers.
Toxic Blood ❌ Connor's blood is completely black and incredibly toxic. ❌ His blood has the same effect as his Necrotic Force but only if it enters another's body through an orifice or wound. ❌ By extension, this means that Connor cannot get blood transfusions, as his blood is not compatible with anyone else's. ❌ Neither can Connor give blood, under any circumstances, due to its Necrotic nature. ❌ Others can use Connor's blood as a dangerous weapon.
Virus ❌ Connor's powers are an actual, biological part of his body. ❌ In other words, his biology is, in fact, a virus. ❌ Due to this, his sensitivity to the sun, aversion to silver, his appearance, and his toxic blood are all connected to his powers. ❌ You cannot affect one without affecting the other.
Power Details 💀 Connor’s Necrotic power does not damage tissue, it kills it. 💀 Because his ability causes organic material to wither and die, the area affected cannot be regenerated, unless the power in question can create new cells, rather than regenerating old ones. 💀 Because of this, an area touched by Connor’s ability requires amputation. 💀 A powered individual who can regenerate would need to amputate the body part struck, and regenerate a new one. 💀 Equally so, Connor's powers ignore biological resilience such as super durability or alien physiology.
❌ While Connor’s virus destroys organic matter indiscriminately, it has no means of defending against non-energy based attacks. ❌ Bullets, projectiles, and other physical threats can easily neutralize him from a distance. ❌ Connor is directly countered by inorganic threats, such as robots.
Fighting Style 💀 Connor is a ranged combatant and can cause a lot of damage on both concentrated targets and larger areas. 💀 The Necrotic Force he commands has proven to be quite flexible in how Connor wields it, from beams to clouds, to persistent areas of effect.
❌ He is not a martial artist or an acrobat by any stretch of the imagination. ❌ Connor cannot dodge a blow any quicker than a kid his size and age would be able to. ❌ As such, he prefers to maintain his distance. ❌ Additionally, Connor’s powers do not discriminate between friend and foe, which requires him to be tactical. ❌ One might also add that Connor cannot use weapons. ❌ He doesn't have the skills required for firearms or the strength required for melee weapons. ❌ Finally, he does not have any defensive measures against projectiles, and has to rely on teammates or cover for help.
Power Grid Intelligence 🟩🟩⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛
Energy Projection 🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩
Fighting Skills 🟩🟩⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛
Combat Skills 💀 Connor has no combat skills, and is entirely reliant on his powers.
Daily Skills 💀 Connor seems to be very good at playing the harp and lyre. 💀 He is impressively self-taught.
You okay with a mutant (meta) who is neither a villain nor a hero? Someone on the start of an anti-hero path, as a gang-member and a bit of a hoodlum? A character with powers but no actual, formal experience.
In summary - an inexperienced mutant living in a bad neighborhood, and does some bad shit for reasons they believe are right.
Or would you rather we play more battle-hardened and experienced soldier-type characters?
Change. It was the bulk of what had transpired following Azhar’s involvement in the destruction of a mobster family known as the ‘Guglianos’. Whether a positive or negative shift, Azhar was quite unsure, but a twist in the narrative it truly remained. A bright smile had made way for a far more mellow expression, and a talkative young man had paused ceaseless chatter. He recalled the countless conversations held between himself and the ruling bodies of HERO, which in turn allowed for a spiritual journey to follow. Fifty-seven people killed, or rather, erased. What remained was fabric, each individual article of clothing scrubbed clean of DNA. ‘As if they had never existed’, was a sentence Azhar had been afforded during the many interactions now drilled into his pale skull. Perhaps most shocking of all was Azhar’s lack of a new bracelet, despite the old trinket’s destruction. Additionally, he was assigned rather specific assignments, all of which were less than public in their execution.
One would be forgiven in response to confusion, but the development of this specific mutant’s career maintained a single path. He could not escape who he was, and denying his nature was a child’s naive dream. No, for Azhar, other doors had opened. Of course, the change came hand in hand with his growing control where a man by the handle of ‘Morocco’ taught the deathly creature how to conduct himself. Had the story been written by a more lighthearted author, perhaps Azhar would have surpassed his inner desires, his biological programming. However, such was not the case, as reality dictated.
Rather, for the dark mutant now enjoying a glass of whiskey in a street-side bar, the outcome found itself split down the middle. He did, indeed, manage to profess control over himself, but that desire to extend a deathly touch would forever remain. Azhar was a virus, an entity with one sole purpose, which was to spread. Such was the nature of any creation such as himself, be it a mindless infection or an inhuman being neither homosapien nor ‘gifted’.
What then, was one to do? Coldwater was a waste of Azhar’s abilities and the grayscale world they all lived in demanded more than the golden hand of heroism. Nothing quite as grand as Division X, Zee was prescribed a more singular group, one that consisted of himself, an Angel of Death, if the dramatic statement once ascribed to him held any value.
It would be fair to consider Azhar an Operative, rather than a Hero. He most certainly wouldn’t classify himself as the latter, nor did he find any interest in the concept. Not anymore. Indeed, the boy still remembered thoughts as presented where he claimed a position of fame, a stage where he could prove that Monsters were Heroes, as well. He was proven wrong. Despite his best efforts, Azhar was unable to deny his biology, what he truly was, and that was assuredly not a Hero.
His friends, despite their collateral shortcomings, claimed such a title with flamboyant zeal. As for Azhar, he was done pretending. Morocco had taught the boy much, a wise and experienced man with an ability to tame the Devil. Zee was thankful for the opportunity, something which saved his life, in all fairness. Something which had been gifted by Samson, a young Hero by far surpassing his age with wisdom and foresight. Despite a blatant difference in personality, Azhar could see how Morocco and Samson confessed to a relationship akin to father and son.
Clicking his claws against the glass between those taloned fingers, Azhar’s attention rose to the bartender as she spoke, thoughts occasionally drifting to a party his companions were currently attending. Blake had extended an invitation to the Devil as well, and where Zee would have jumped at the opportunity a select few months earlier, this changed individual now occupying a bar in Brookside found little interest in such gatherings.
Yes, change, it was indeed a heavy word which encapsulated the passing of these months. From Hero to Operative, from bright to mellow, and most notably, from denial to acceptance. Azhar had embraced the darkness within, the emboldened yearning and horrific joy erupting from destruction. He had embraced it, and in its wake he had abandoned futile attempts at another outlook. If HERO had a less reputable section of secret assignments drenched in moral ambiguity, Azhar was unquestionably there, wielding powers previously sealed, in secrecy.
“I’ll be honest,” began the bartender, her attention lingering on the young man before her. One could likely note his age, nineteen, and that drinking in an establishment such as this required an additional two years before the law looked favorably upon the act, but Brookside merely laughed at the notion. If you had the money, you had the right. “I never thought I’d be serving whiskey to a Demon.”
"Just don’t seal a deal with me, and you’ll be fine," Zee commented, his sharp teeth revealed where the boy managed a small grin.
“I dunno’,” she offered, followed by a shrug of her shoulders, “lotsa’ folk around here would be more than willing to sell their souls.”
With that tail slowly swaying from one end to the other, Azhar tilted his head, a grin persisting. It would be a lie to claim that he didn’t find comfort in a rundown establishment such as this, one of many in Brookside. All of the layers had been peeled away, leaving nothing but the raw truth meeting an onlooker’s gaze. "I’ll keep that in mind," Zee sipped his drink, gently swirling the golden-brown liquid within.
“So, got a name there, Lucifer?” Came a question dotting their friendly conversation. Indeed, Azhar had abandoned the Heroic name he once bore, for it belonged to someone else entirely, someone who in the passing of a mere few months had faded. A boy who enjoyed singing, a young man who sought to stand beneath the sun despite its unforgiving rays, a fond if naive memory which it now embodied.
"Lucifer works," Azhar agreed, before he proceeded to lean against the counter, "or Zee. Lucifer’s a bit too dramatic for this place, isn’t it?" Despite the overhaul this specific Devil had suffered, his flair for the dramatic had lingered to some extent. No, he scarcely stepped onto stages anymore, and didn’t sing like he had before. However, the theatrical young man residing within was not going anywhere, and only found himself developing further through a mellow, withdrawn position. Perhaps that was what gave rise to his new handle, but whatever had gifted him the title, Azrael would forever translate into ‘The Angel of Death’, which Azhar had now fully accepted.
[i]Hey, thanks for swinging by, and stuff.
Relevant information as follows.[/i]
🍄 High Casual to Advanced.
🍄 Superhero RPs.
🍄 Superhuman RPs.
🍄 Mutant RPs.
🍄 I have been RPing for about 12 years.
🍄 Meeting new people.
🍄 Making characters.
🍄 Age, (27).
🍄 Country, (Sweden).
🍄 Gender, (Male).
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;"><span class="bb-i">Hey, thanks for swinging by, and stuff. <br><br>Relevant information as follows.</span> <br><br><span class="bb-b"><font color="#9e0b0f">Time zone</font></span><br>🍄 GMT+1.<br><br><font color="#9e0b0f"><span class="bb-b">Preferred RPs</span></font><br>🍄 High Casual to Advanced.<br>🍄 Superhero RPs.<br>🍄 Superhuman RPs.<br>🍄 Mutant RPs.<br><br><font color="#9e0b0f"><span class="bb-b">Contact</span></font><br>🍄 PMs.<br><br><font color="#9e0b0f"><span class="bb-b">RP Experience</span></font><br>🍄 I have been RPing for about 12 years.<br><br><span class="bb-b"><font color="#9e0b0f">Interests</font></span><br>🍄 Writing.<br>🍄 Meeting new people.<br>🍄 Making characters.<br><br><span class="bb-b"><font color="#9e0b0f">Personal Shit</font></span><br>🍄 Age, (27).<br>🍄 Country, (Sweden).<br>🍄 Gender, (Male).</div>