RPM
Zman
Shadow Dragon
Not a Sayan
Simply Not Real
Fetzen
Lewascan2
Arty Fox
Lady Absinthia
Submitted for approval:
...just got the bit about the sample post setting. Will update.
EDIT - And updated. Hope this is what you're looking for.
Secret ID: Hector Delacruz
Alias: (The Infamous) El Sasquatcho
Age: 19
Home Location: Gotham
Powers: Heightened Strength, Heightened Durability, Probability Manipulation
Weaknesses: Honorbound - Luchador code demands certain actions and limitations from him, described below.
Equipment: Naught but his rippling biceps and spandexed thighs of justice.
Appearance: El Sasquatcho is a masked Luchador. He is tall, broad, and overly possessed of very masculine body hair, hence his superhero identity. Now prior to his affiliation with the Titans, he is garbed in big black boots, rough carpenter’s jeans, and a closefitting t-shirt (usually black, sometimes a band shirt). Cooler days see him in a leather composite leather jacket. When heroing, he wears his one quality possession: A custom Lucha mask, brown and black, with intricate styling that makes it resemble a dark colored sugar skull. The mask does not impede his ability to breathe nor perceive the world around him, and is like a second skin.
Personality: Hector is a well-meaning, decent kid, whose unfortunate downfall is his arrogance. Raw physical strength (superior to an unmodified human) coupled with his uncanny luck (subconscious probability manipulation) have made him somewhat reckless and overconfident. Hopefully his new mentor can beat some common sense and humility into him.
The relationship Hector has with his persona as is a little complicated. He thinks of himself more as El Sasquatcho than Hector Delacruz, considering his legal name and legal life the half that he only pretends to be when necessary. He respects his family name, giving honor to his ancestors, but does not speak of them much. He is El Sasquatcho, Blood of El Santo, which he will discuss with any who will listen at great length.
Password: Gnarkk
BRIEF Bio: Originally part of a touring Lucha Libre troupe, El Sasquatcho grew up steeped in the culture and traveling lifestyle. This life ended years ago during a tour in Gotham, when an unaffiliated masked Luchador interrupted the performance, he and his group killing many. A young teenager at the time, the shock of the events caused his abilities to express, narrowly allowing his survival. As his entire family was dead or missing, Hector was placed into Gotham City foster care services.
He was a B student in the Gotham public school system, but was unable to finalize his Luchador training proper. What he had learned so far, however, brought him a long way with the wrestling and gymnastics teams, where he quickly became the star performer for both groups. He even had a dalliance as one of the Gotham High Mascots for home games. Go Wildcats.
While trying to keep his skills sharp and his grades up, he never lost his original goal. Hector remains watchful for an opportunity to avenge the deaths of his family and fellow Luchadores. As soon as he became a legal adult, he adopted his persona and became a vigilante, hoping one day to run into the masked stranger that destroyed his world. He has a challenge to issue.
Alias: (The Infamous) El Sasquatcho
Age: 19
Home Location: Gotham
Powers: Heightened Strength, Heightened Durability, Probability Manipulation
Strength – Human maximum and somewhat beyond, he is capable of lifting and moving up to 400 lbs without difficulty. Past this point, effort is required. If straining, to the exclusion of all other activity, he can full body press approximately one ton. His strength allows him to flip over a car by himself, but not throw it.
Durability – El Sasquatcho is physically very durable, due in no small part to his dense body mass. This gives him naturally occurring protection similar to that of a standard flak jacket. It is not accurate to say that he is bulletproof, but he is damage resistant. This does not affect his physical stamina, that while impressive, falls within normal human range.
Probability Manpiulation – Simultaneously his greatest and least reliable power, he is uncannily lucky. If he needs a few bucks to tide him over until payday, he will find a twenty on the ground. While bending over to pick up the money, he will unwittingly dodge a stray bullet from a clash across the park. The stray bullet will warn him of a charging (but strangely silent) rhinoceros demon, who will then slip on a stray banana peel before reaching him. El Sasquatcho is not reliably able to consciously use this power – it appears to manifest during times of stress. Or time of need. Or randomly. Or whenever the GM says it does. Eventually, he may be able to use this power at will, but that is a long way off. Until then, he is just considered to be a lucky, lucky bastard.
Durability – El Sasquatcho is physically very durable, due in no small part to his dense body mass. This gives him naturally occurring protection similar to that of a standard flak jacket. It is not accurate to say that he is bulletproof, but he is damage resistant. This does not affect his physical stamina, that while impressive, falls within normal human range.
Probability Manpiulation – Simultaneously his greatest and least reliable power, he is uncannily lucky. If he needs a few bucks to tide him over until payday, he will find a twenty on the ground. While bending over to pick up the money, he will unwittingly dodge a stray bullet from a clash across the park. The stray bullet will warn him of a charging (but strangely silent) rhinoceros demon, who will then slip on a stray banana peel before reaching him. El Sasquatcho is not reliably able to consciously use this power – it appears to manifest during times of stress. Or time of need. Or randomly. Or whenever the GM says it does. Eventually, he may be able to use this power at will, but that is a long way off. Until then, he is just considered to be a lucky, lucky bastard.
Weaknesses: Honorbound - Luchador code demands certain actions and limitations from him, described below.
Equipment: Naught but his rippling biceps and spandexed thighs of justice.
Appearance: El Sasquatcho is a masked Luchador. He is tall, broad, and overly possessed of very masculine body hair, hence his superhero identity. Now prior to his affiliation with the Titans, he is garbed in big black boots, rough carpenter’s jeans, and a closefitting t-shirt (usually black, sometimes a band shirt). Cooler days see him in a leather composite leather jacket. When heroing, he wears his one quality possession: A custom Lucha mask, brown and black, with intricate styling that makes it resemble a dark colored sugar skull. The mask does not impede his ability to breathe nor perceive the world around him, and is like a second skin.
Personality: Hector is a well-meaning, decent kid, whose unfortunate downfall is his arrogance. Raw physical strength (superior to an unmodified human) coupled with his uncanny luck (subconscious probability manipulation) have made him somewhat reckless and overconfident. Hopefully his new mentor can beat some common sense and humility into him.
The relationship Hector has with his persona as is a little complicated. He thinks of himself more as El Sasquatcho than Hector Delacruz, considering his legal name and legal life the half that he only pretends to be when necessary. He respects his family name, giving honor to his ancestors, but does not speak of them much. He is El Sasquatcho, Blood of El Santo, which he will discuss with any who will listen at great length.
Password: Gnarkk
BRIEF Bio: Originally part of a touring Lucha Libre troupe, El Sasquatcho grew up steeped in the culture and traveling lifestyle. This life ended years ago during a tour in Gotham, when an unaffiliated masked Luchador interrupted the performance, he and his group killing many. A young teenager at the time, the shock of the events caused his abilities to express, narrowly allowing his survival. As his entire family was dead or missing, Hector was placed into Gotham City foster care services.
He was a B student in the Gotham public school system, but was unable to finalize his Luchador training proper. What he had learned so far, however, brought him a long way with the wrestling and gymnastics teams, where he quickly became the star performer for both groups. He even had a dalliance as one of the Gotham High Mascots for home games. Go Wildcats.
While trying to keep his skills sharp and his grades up, he never lost his original goal. Hector remains watchful for an opportunity to avenge the deaths of his family and fellow Luchadores. As soon as he became a legal adult, he adopted his persona and became a vigilante, hoping one day to run into the masked stranger that destroyed his world. He has a challenge to issue.
Constantly refers to himself in the third person, as his hero identity.
El Sasquatcho constructed and maintains his Lucha mask – he’s actually quite good at the craft.
Almost stereotypically, drives a rebuilt El Camino. It’s in good shape; factory standard vehicle.
Speaks Spanish, English, and an odd dialect of Transient Gypsy Spanglish barely recognizable to those who speak either Spanish or English.
El Sasquatcho bowls overhanded.
He sings. He can’t; he shouldn’t. Yet sadly, he does. Mariachi Opera or Mexican Folk Metal, anyone?
Unless stealth is absolutely required, El Sasquatcho insists on screaming challenges or battle cries before engaging in melee. This can be as simple as “LUCHA!!!” or can be much more elaborate.
El Sasquatcho constructed and maintains his Lucha mask – he’s actually quite good at the craft.
Almost stereotypically, drives a rebuilt El Camino. It’s in good shape; factory standard vehicle.
Speaks Spanish, English, and an odd dialect of Transient Gypsy Spanglish barely recognizable to those who speak either Spanish or English.
El Sasquatcho bowls overhanded.
He sings. He can’t; he shouldn’t. Yet sadly, he does. Mariachi Opera or Mexican Folk Metal, anyone?
Unless stealth is absolutely required, El Sasquatcho insists on screaming challenges or battle cries before engaging in melee. This can be as simple as “LUCHA!!!” or can be much more elaborate.
Honor above all other things.
Perform no act that would be seen as dishonorable to your mask, family, or title.
Taking from the weaker is forbidden.
Do not kill without first issuing a challenge.
Killing in cold blood is forbidden.
Perform no act that would be seen as dishonorable to your mask, family, or title.
Taking from the weaker is forbidden.
Do not kill without first issuing a challenge.
Killing in cold blood is forbidden.
The street toughs approached from the shadows around him, obviously thinking him an easy mark. The young man, moderately under the influence of the illegally obtained bottle of Mescal in his left hand, seemed an easy target. Slurring his words slightly, he addressed his would-be attackers.
"No, no. El Sasquatcho does not have time for this; he is needed elsewhere. Run away before El Sasquatcho renders you incapable of doing so voluntarily, sirs."
The advice lay unheeded, tossed to the ground by the collective chuckles of the thugs. They rushed him; two head on and one moving to flank. The intoxicated youth sighed. He really did have somewhere to be, and he didn't want to risk ripping his new Pollo Negro band shirt on the teeth of some prick from the neighborhood.
Shaking his head, he tossed his bottle high into the air, and braced for the oncoming attack.
The attacker coming from the side got to him first, grabbing him by his shoulder and neck. It was a particularly inept choke hold attempt, one easily countered by the stronger, more experienced youth. Manipulating his attacker into an impressive airplane spin, El Sasquatcho hurled him into one of the very surprised assailants at his fore. Body connected solidly with body, a hollow smacking sound issuing from the sudden meeting of torso to torso, briefly interrupting the Mexican opera inexpertly spilling from the hurler.
The alcohol has taken its toll, however, allowing the inertia of the spin and throw to pitch him forward. He slipped and fell into a puddle of dirty water (God he hoped it was water), coincidentally moving him out of the path of a thrown knife from his third adversary. El Sasquatcho rolled to his back, just in time to see the knife-thrower standing above him, another weapon at the ready. He taunted the prone hero, "Got anything else to say, dead bitch?"
El Sasquatcho smiled. "Yeah. Waste of good booze."
"What?" issued the confused reply.
The bottle of Mescal, now almost done with the earthward half of its short journey, turned and tumbled closer to the cranium of the standing street thug, picking up velocity with each twirling nanosecond. The explosion of glass and stinging spirits from their inevitable attempt to share the same space at the same time (directly in opposition to the generally accepted laws pf physics) was quite impressive. Kind of pretty, from El Sasquatcho's perspective on the wet ground.
Threat handled, the young hero turned to one side, giggled profusely, and emptied the contents of his stomach; retching into the apathetic night.
"No, no. El Sasquatcho does not have time for this; he is needed elsewhere. Run away before El Sasquatcho renders you incapable of doing so voluntarily, sirs."
The advice lay unheeded, tossed to the ground by the collective chuckles of the thugs. They rushed him; two head on and one moving to flank. The intoxicated youth sighed. He really did have somewhere to be, and he didn't want to risk ripping his new Pollo Negro band shirt on the teeth of some prick from the neighborhood.
Shaking his head, he tossed his bottle high into the air, and braced for the oncoming attack.
The attacker coming from the side got to him first, grabbing him by his shoulder and neck. It was a particularly inept choke hold attempt, one easily countered by the stronger, more experienced youth. Manipulating his attacker into an impressive airplane spin, El Sasquatcho hurled him into one of the very surprised assailants at his fore. Body connected solidly with body, a hollow smacking sound issuing from the sudden meeting of torso to torso, briefly interrupting the Mexican opera inexpertly spilling from the hurler.
The alcohol has taken its toll, however, allowing the inertia of the spin and throw to pitch him forward. He slipped and fell into a puddle of dirty water (God he hoped it was water), coincidentally moving him out of the path of a thrown knife from his third adversary. El Sasquatcho rolled to his back, just in time to see the knife-thrower standing above him, another weapon at the ready. He taunted the prone hero, "Got anything else to say, dead bitch?"
El Sasquatcho smiled. "Yeah. Waste of good booze."
"What?" issued the confused reply.
The bottle of Mescal, now almost done with the earthward half of its short journey, turned and tumbled closer to the cranium of the standing street thug, picking up velocity with each twirling nanosecond. The explosion of glass and stinging spirits from their inevitable attempt to share the same space at the same time (directly in opposition to the generally accepted laws pf physics) was quite impressive. Kind of pretty, from El Sasquatcho's perspective on the wet ground.
Threat handled, the young hero turned to one side, giggled profusely, and emptied the contents of his stomach; retching into the apathetic night.
Bad night. Very bad night.
The name of El Sasquatcho was not yet spoken of in hushed whispers among the seedy underworld of Gotham City, and yet already he was receiving fan mail.
No, wait. This was better. An invitation from one of the greats: Robin, associate of Senor Batman himself! And he wanted to meet the soon-to-be-famous El Sasquatcho! All of his hard work and street patrols were about to pay off, bigtime.
That was the plan, at least. Bad night.
...the first gunshots rang out long before he could get to the docks. His saving grace, ironically a mundane issue, was traffic. He was delayed by a matter of two minutes - otherwise those shots might have been meant for him. El Sasquatcho managed to arrive just in time to see the broken body of one of his personal heroes drop to the ground, his head rebounding lifelessly and clunking back down again. The poor bastard was only identifiable as Robin because of his uniform; facial features were lost in a jumble of blood and damaged bone.
Something broke inside of El Sasquatcho, a feeling of fear and rage and hopelessness he had only felt once before, years ago. He broke into a run, intent on beating his assailants into so much warm salsa with his bare hands. He bounded into the fight, caring not who saw nor heard him, paying little attention to the others in the fray. Nearing the first person he percieved as an enemy, his voice boomed forth in righteous indignation.
"Sangre de El Santo!"
His fist connected solidly, striking the neck of a man wearing a lightly glowing bodysuit. The man stumbled forward, but kept his footing and looked back at El Sasquatcho.
This could not be. A full hit at that point of impact would have laid out any normal person. He must be dealing with a Meta, like himself. He had not the time to process, as he was very rapidly grabbed from behind by another man, seemingly wearing the same glowing bodysuit as the one in front of him. El Sasquatcho was able to begin the counter relatively easily, until his dance partner forced his full strength upon him.
He was strong, possibly stronger than himself. El Sasquatcho had not expected this. Stupidly, he rushed in, relying on emotion and raw luck to see him to victory. He underestimated his opponents, even after seeing the Boy Wonder go down like a drunken prom date.
Grappling though he was, he caught snatches of sight at his surroundings. Others were there, too, held back by more copies of the man now attacking him. In the center of the dock, another man (different this time) took to abusing the unconscious or dead Robin at his leisure. Making him watch. Making all of them watch.
He was finally able to break free from his attacker's grasp, and picked him high above his head, intending to bring him down upon his knee. The blow failed as yet another copy plowed into his side with truck-stopping force, knocking El Sasquatcho to the ground and driving the air from his lungs. The man in the center paused his savage act for just a moment, looking over to the newcomer and the trouble he caused. The moment froze.
The next thing El Sasquatcho knew, he was semi-conscious and being hurled into the sea. He skipped like a stone twice before nailing a buoy, an arm getting caught in the metal framework. Had it not, he likely would have slipped beneath the waves and drowned before he had a chance to recover.
...Unsure how long he had been out, he made his way back to the dock from where he was thrown. Things were quiet now, except for the wordless sobbing of those present. They stood in a circle around the fallen Hero. El Sasquatcho added his tears to the rest, undramatically slumping to his knees and bowing his head. The grief and shame of those present was palpable.
"Dama Muerte, he is deserving of you..."
It was then the scene darkened, overshadowed by the silhouette of a familiar cape and cowl.
The name of El Sasquatcho was not yet spoken of in hushed whispers among the seedy underworld of Gotham City, and yet already he was receiving fan mail.
No, wait. This was better. An invitation from one of the greats: Robin, associate of Senor Batman himself! And he wanted to meet the soon-to-be-famous El Sasquatcho! All of his hard work and street patrols were about to pay off, bigtime.
That was the plan, at least. Bad night.
...the first gunshots rang out long before he could get to the docks. His saving grace, ironically a mundane issue, was traffic. He was delayed by a matter of two minutes - otherwise those shots might have been meant for him. El Sasquatcho managed to arrive just in time to see the broken body of one of his personal heroes drop to the ground, his head rebounding lifelessly and clunking back down again. The poor bastard was only identifiable as Robin because of his uniform; facial features were lost in a jumble of blood and damaged bone.
Something broke inside of El Sasquatcho, a feeling of fear and rage and hopelessness he had only felt once before, years ago. He broke into a run, intent on beating his assailants into so much warm salsa with his bare hands. He bounded into the fight, caring not who saw nor heard him, paying little attention to the others in the fray. Nearing the first person he percieved as an enemy, his voice boomed forth in righteous indignation.
"Sangre de El Santo!"
His fist connected solidly, striking the neck of a man wearing a lightly glowing bodysuit. The man stumbled forward, but kept his footing and looked back at El Sasquatcho.
This could not be. A full hit at that point of impact would have laid out any normal person. He must be dealing with a Meta, like himself. He had not the time to process, as he was very rapidly grabbed from behind by another man, seemingly wearing the same glowing bodysuit as the one in front of him. El Sasquatcho was able to begin the counter relatively easily, until his dance partner forced his full strength upon him.
He was strong, possibly stronger than himself. El Sasquatcho had not expected this. Stupidly, he rushed in, relying on emotion and raw luck to see him to victory. He underestimated his opponents, even after seeing the Boy Wonder go down like a drunken prom date.
Grappling though he was, he caught snatches of sight at his surroundings. Others were there, too, held back by more copies of the man now attacking him. In the center of the dock, another man (different this time) took to abusing the unconscious or dead Robin at his leisure. Making him watch. Making all of them watch.
He was finally able to break free from his attacker's grasp, and picked him high above his head, intending to bring him down upon his knee. The blow failed as yet another copy plowed into his side with truck-stopping force, knocking El Sasquatcho to the ground and driving the air from his lungs. The man in the center paused his savage act for just a moment, looking over to the newcomer and the trouble he caused. The moment froze.
The next thing El Sasquatcho knew, he was semi-conscious and being hurled into the sea. He skipped like a stone twice before nailing a buoy, an arm getting caught in the metal framework. Had it not, he likely would have slipped beneath the waves and drowned before he had a chance to recover.
...Unsure how long he had been out, he made his way back to the dock from where he was thrown. Things were quiet now, except for the wordless sobbing of those present. They stood in a circle around the fallen Hero. El Sasquatcho added his tears to the rest, undramatically slumping to his knees and bowing his head. The grief and shame of those present was palpable.
"Dama Muerte, he is deserving of you..."
It was then the scene darkened, overshadowed by the silhouette of a familiar cape and cowl.
...just got the bit about the sample post setting. Will update.
EDIT - And updated. Hope this is what you're looking for.