SuperTacticalDerp — Roleplayer Guild

Name:  William Dagger

Alias: "The Last Detective"

Age: Forty-five years old

Appearance: William Dagger is a six-foot talk caucasian male. Small, almost unnoticeable scars make up most of his completion. Has black colored hair, and stays moderately groomed and well shaven. Wears his father's old grey GCPD Detective Uniform with a grey fedora, giving him an almost film noir appearance.

Abilities/Skills: 

- High Level of intelligence and Investigation Skill: Growing up, William was always a bright child and was home-schooled by his mother and father. Always inquisitive, William had a knack for problem solving and investigation. Studied available texts on criminal psychology from the local library, but had trouble in more advanced subjects involving deep levels of science or mathematics.
- Tactician: William is always ready for a fight, prepping for any and all situations and lays coming up with back-up plans and finding escape routes. Many would find his compulsion a mental sickness, but to those who have lied close to him find that he is your go-to guy.
- Expert Combatant: Having trained under regulatory SWAT protocol and basic military training since the age of nine, William is a deadly hand to hand fighter and capable gunslinger, even to some metahumans.

Backstory: William Dagger was born in a small town in Virginia, five years after the events leading to the eventual takeover of the United States by several super-villains. His father, a former detective and SWAT officer in Gotham City, joined the Army as a commanding officer at Fort Brutus just outside of the small country town years before. When everything came to an end, Fort Brutus placed marshal law over the small town and closed it off from the outside for sometime. 

William's childhood was cut short at the age of nine when the gang known as "The Jokerz" began terrorizing the citizens still living near the fort. Young William was trained to protect himself and others, and found that he was mystified with the ideals of being a detective like Batman, The Question, and at one time his father. To protect and serve, but able to really make a difference and hopefully find the true source of evil and destroy it at it's core.

At the age of twenty, after years of painstaking training and coming into his own, William's mother was killed by The Jokerz. The manic gang had planted Joker Gas bombs all over town, and set them off just for the giggles. William's father was gunned down by even more Jokerz years later, who raided Fort Brutus by night and slaughter every soldier. Now with no one to protect the town, most people tried to caravan out towards Tower's Fall hoping to find some kind of safe haven there.

William took his father's old uniform and two of his revolvers and struck out on his own, looking for the Jokerz who had slayed his family. For twenty years, William couldn't find a single lead until a small desperate excursion to Joker Land finally gave him the information he needed. Leaving several bodies in his wake, "The Last Detective" was captured by several Deathtroopers and sent to Pandemonium. But luckily, that was exactly what he wanted.

Sample Post: Twelve Jokerz laid in a pool of their own blood, either dead, nearly dead, or laughing through their last breaths. One Joker still remained, the runt of the liter. William could remember his face, seeing him back near Fort Brutus with blood splattered all over his purple overalls and white face-paint all those years ago.

"You won't make me talk man!," the jittery bastard shouted. "I ain't ever gun' never talk to you man! I swear!"

"Works for me," William replied as he lifted his revolver over the clown's knee and fired. The bullet ripped through the Joker's leg instantly, unleashing a pained laugh from the psychopath. Blood red tears dripped down his eyes as he just kept on laughing. It seemed almost as natural as breathing for the lunatic.

"M...Mr. J says, 'sticks and stones may break my bones, but bullets can always be pulled out!'," the Joker continued as he bellowed an even harder laugh. William hated this person,...no, this thing.

"Why did you do it," he questioned as he paced around the downed clown, spinning the chamber of his revolver. He didn't care what The Jokerz motives were. He knew why and how and when, but he just wanted to hear it from this bastard. He wanted the facts. Not just some hearsay bull there just to make him feel some sort of closure. He wanted it straight from the source.

"Mr. J also likes to talk about how snitches will get their intestines ripped out of their asses, so no. Nononononononononononono!"

William grunted and looked out from the small shack this group of gang members had been using for a base and noticed the spotlight of a military helicopter. No, paramilitary. Deathtroopers.

"Well lookie look!," the clown shouted in joy, "looks like I ain't haven't to answer not nothin'."

"Sounds about right," William replied as he slammed the chamber back into his revolver. One shot left.

"This is what is about to happen amigo. You are going to die! End of story! A masterpiece if I do say so myself!!"

"No."

The Joker stopped dead silent, even it's incisive laughter stopping in it's tracks. He looked up to William, who now had his revolver dead against the clown's temple. William Dagger knew what came next. He would end this pathetic bastard's evil existence, walk outside, and surrender. If he was lucky he would be sent to the work camps down in Mexico, or what was left of it. He would need an alias, in case he had family in other parts of the country who were still alive and unharmed for now. He'd been working on one for a while, but one name just came perfectly in mind. 

The Last Detective.

Notes: Coffee and Angry Orchard Hard-Cider. Never at the same time though.

Oryx did his best to heal as much of his charred marrow and snapped the arrow lodged in his back. The head and shaft of the arrow popped out of his rib cage and landed against the wooden floor. The arrowhead was of strange design, made to pierce through armor and cut into meat and do as much damage as it could. A truely sinister thing.

The Vanguard was completely confused. He had gifts given to him by gods themselves, and he was useless in releasing Celeste. This was a power far darker then even the Necromancer's rituals. This was not good at all. Nothing about any of this was good.

Oryx rushed over by the door and grabbed his sword, gripping it tightly as he continued to rework his own form. Black scorch marks cover his old bones, but he would live.

"Time is of the essence friends," Oryx proclaimed. "It looks like we must once against fight side by side. If we see any Undead out there, I swear I'm leaving. Immediately."

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