who am i to need you now?
to ask you why, to tell you no
to deserve your love and sympathy
you were never meant to belong to me
your life is not your own
and as you were, you'll be again
to mold like clay, to break like dirt
to tear me up in your sympathy
you were never meant to belong to me
--the smashing pumpkins, "crestfallen"
- NAME: Ophelia Grady
- PICTURE:...ogrady.jpg
PLAYER: Jane
SPECIES: Human
AGE/APPEARS: 20
GENDER: Female
HEIGHT: 6'1''
WEIGHT: approx. 160 lbs.
EYE COLOR: Flat, light green
SKIN COLORATION: Pale, Caucasian
HAIR: In respects to the actual cut, it�s a shaggy side parted affair with rather limp, razor cuts ends. The colour, however, is a bold booster red, with a deeper muddied crimson on the lower layer of hair. A dark streak also cuts across the bright red, often hanging in her eye.
DISTINGUISHING MARKS: Although she really likes the look of tattoos and piercings, the whole idea of someone using a needle on her makes her stomach seize up. The only noticeable scar she might have would be few on her eyelid and surrounding area, though this is typically covered with make up.
OTHER PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: Ophelia is the type of genuinely good looking person who feels the dire need to complicate their appearance at every possible opportunity. She tries to wear make up whenever she has time to apply it and has become rather talented at it, opting for brighter colours like greens and yellows. Her loose movements and rounded features give her a youthful appearance, though this is rather contradicted by her often crooked grin and smooth curves. Speaking of which, while she has a nice softness to her, her form is rather fit and healthy due to her lifestyle, which tends to mark her out among the addicts and such she associates with. She�s had her false eye for over a year now, and is starting to get into rather grim humour about it and has stopped being as self conscious as she first was. It�s not entirely that noticeable, unless you were really looking for it, made to follow the natural movements of her other eye and muscles, with a matching colour. As far as mannerisms go, Ophelia is rather relaxed, in the habit of sliding down into seats rather than actually sitting in them. Her shoulders are a little rounded, possibly because she�s always been on the tall side, and often wears thick soles.
CLOTHING: Ophelia cycles through the same bunch of clothing a lot, mainly because budget demands she make these clothes last. Typically they leave little to the imagination, as she favours form fitting and revealing outfits over anything � short skirts, low necklines, cuts and rips in strategic places, etc, anything that brings out the nicer aspects of her figure. She prefers high boots with a decent amount of straps and complication a lot, though when she�s just out buying milk she�ll stick to battered, but colourful, canvas running shoes. In fact, most of what she owns has a good amount of colour to it, except her long black jacket, which she wears over most things when it�s cooler out. Most of the time though, she detests sleeves in general.
JEWELRY: She had her ears pierced when she was little, and has stretched the holes very slightly so that she uses small plugs instead of normal earrings, due to her aversion to needles and the like. Other than that, the occasional necklace makes its way into her wardrobe � but nothing that would make a steady appearance.
MOTHER: Marion Grady
FATHER: Howard Grady
SIBLINGS: None
OTHER RELATIONS: She�s never really spoken to her mother�s side of the family since she was little, and her father never introduced her to much more than her grandparents, who died.
BACKGROUND: Ophelia was raised as your run of the mill slum brat, her family plugged into a city issued apartment building that wasn�t �quite- as bad as it could�ve been. Her father, a one time member of the Delos Patrol, had been shot twice in the leg while on duty as a somewhat younger man, and after he�d dropped down to working as a security guard for one of the slightly more upscale apartments. She grew up solitary however, being denied any younger siblings after her mother was killed during a convenience store hold up.
As might be surmised when you�ve got a militaristic father and a daughter with a penchant for hard liquor at the age of 13, things did not go very smoothly once the buffer that was Ophelia�s mom was gone. Her shouting matches with her father were often complained about, and since her father often worked during the night and slept in the day, she found ample time to sneak out. She finally left home at the age of 16, abruptly, after a particularly harsh fight involving more than just words. It was a case of her trying to run away before she got ultimately kicked out, or worse. The young girl retreated to a hostel of sorts, one that she�d been told about by more streetwise friends of hers.
Her first night there, which would come to little surprise, she was viciously mugged in the hallway of the hostel she was staying in. The shrieks she made as her attackers attempted to pull her back into her room attracted the attention of another member of the household, who nearly put a bullet into either of their heads. This was Cray, a dark haired twenty year old thief, who took the sixteen year old under his wing... so to speak.
Cray was mad for computers, and was the first one to introduce Ophelia to them as well as the intranet. She took to them like a fish to water, spending much of her time inside just screwing around with the parts that he had in his apartment. During the time that wasn�t spent screwing like weasels, the two often undertook scams and low key cons out on the street to make money. For a little while, Ophelia worked as a waitress in a strip bar, the teenage girl finding it easier to get money from the patrons there than trying to con people out of it on the street.
It was Cray that first brought up the idea of moving the cons onto the intranet. The two preyed upon people in chat rooms, promising them services, companionship, feigning emergencies � anything to get vitals about their credit cards, computers, addresses, security, etc. This new style was getting them more money that anticipated, until one of their sessions was traced to one of the rooms at the hostel they occasionally worked out of, around the time that Ophelia was nineteen.
They were both confronted with three men, three large men, who apparently had some connection to one of the chat room people that the couple had ripped off for a considerable sum of money � not just from credit cards, but also from a large amount of money that Cray had apparently gleaned from the victim in the form of cash, unbeknownst to his young girlfriend. Cray refused to tell the men the whereabouts of the money, even after they worked him over several times. Seeing that the approach of hurting him wasn�t working, they threatened to hurt Ophelia instead. When Cray refused to speak even still, they threatened to cut the girl�s face up. When he called their bluff, they showed him they weren�t kidding. Ophelia�s left eye was sliced open along with her eyelid. The girl completely blacked out and woke bleeding and shrieking, calling the attention of other residents who quickly got her to a hospital. Cray and the other men she never saw again.
As would be predicted, a black depression followed, coupled with violent outbursts and heavy drinking. Due to her ruined left eye, most normal intranet contraptions wouldn�t fit her, and even if she had wanted one for the other eye she wouldn�t have had the money. She got a job at another nude bar after that, as a waitress again, wearing her hair so that it would cover the eye patch. An influx of money followed after a few brief liaisons with customers she met there, who probably weren�t too hung up on the fact that she routinely covered one eye.
She got fired after starting a fight with one of the dancers, and currently gets by selling the occasional bit of drugs and sometimes, just sometimes, by helping people at the clubs she frequents with their computer systems.
PERSONALITY: Ophelia hangs onto her independence like it�s going out of style. She doesn�t keep close friendships, and relationships that go beyond the physical aren�t the type of thing she�s looking for. Her rather caustic streak and pessimistic outlook are sometimes a bit of a jolt to perspective friends. Despite this, she does like getting out of the house. This can be seen in her frequenting of clubs/raves/concerts almost nightly � the other reason for her being that she adores music and dancing. She likes to show off where it�s applicable, and has little to no sense of decency when it comes to entertaining guests and the like (walks around in her underwear, gets changed, leaves the bathroom door open, etc.) , which ties into her fairly exhibitionist like streak. Ophelia also tends to make rash decisions just because they might be fun - it�s rare that she turns down a serious dare. She might not be that powerful, but she has a mouth on her that could make a sailor blush, all nicely accented with her rather noticeable Southern drawl. Her humour is a mixture of sarcastic and oftentime rather grim observations, opting to poke fun at the ghoulish stuff rather than show how much it disturbs her. She�s not a bad actor either, and can keep herself outwardly functioning even when she�s panicking on the inside� well, most of the time.
Anything other than this somewhat standoffish exterior isn�t something that she�ll likely share with most people however. Her main attitude at present is just trying to find a way to make more money, so that she can keep her apartment and keep herself fed.
LIVES AT: A very small apartment within a rather densely populated apartment building, with about one window.
OCCUPATION: Currently unemployed.
PETS: None
WEAPONRY: She doesn�t much like weaponry too much, though after the incident a year ago she did acquire a small handgun that she has yet to fire at anyone else (she�s only practiced with it a few times, sometimes when drunk). Also, as anyone would in the city, she carries pepper spray.
HEALTH PROBLEMS: Well, there�s her lack of depth perception, but other than that she�s in relatively good health.
PHOBIAS: She absolutely hates needles, not even just when they�re being used on her, but seeing anyone else being pierced by one makes her dizzy and nauseous.
SPECIAL SKILLS/POWERS: Talents that Ophelia has would probably be fairly simple ones � if she chose to pursue it at all she�d likely be a fairly decent entertainer. She has a seemingly natural control of her body which results in her good dancing skills, and a pleasing singing voice. Other than that, it would be her knack with computers (though she really hasn�t pursued that too much in awhile).
HOBBIES: Going to clubs, altering clothing, eating health food, sometimes jogging.. it depends on her mood. She has a rather extended attention span, so something seemingly boring can occupy her for quite some time.
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- NAME: Everett Nadir "Eve or Ever" (he hates both equally) Cross
- PICTURE:...eve.jpg
- PLAYER: Lexis
SPECIES: Human (technically Offspring)
AGE/APPEARS: 21
GENDER: Male
HEIGHT: 5'11''
WEIGHT: 165 lbs.
EYE COLOR: Deep brown with flecks of light blue.
SKIN COLORATION: A pale neutral shade
HAIR: Baby fine, appears a very pale pinkish-blonde with medium auburn highlights, but is actually naturally auburn with blonde dyed at the roots. He wears his hair close-cropped in the back and sides, and longer in the front so that it falls over his eyes, jutting out at all angles with gel. Pale orange streaks have also been dyed at random intervals throughout the front layers. Since he brushes it rarely to never it has the appearance of something a small animal has lived in.
DISTINGUISHING MARKS: On each thumb pad are tattoos of pale metallic yellow, "Plastic" on the left thumb, "Angel" on the right. Otherwise, vague scarring in seemingly random pattern on his lower abdomen area and forearms.
OTHER PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: At first glance Everett is usually considered moderately attractive, but in a way of looking at his entire face, and not at any one feature, and that only during repose. Unfortunately for it, his pale skin doesn't know what the sun is and washes out his beneath his mostly pale hair, giving off the slight airs of sickly and even undernourished. Add in the unnerving glare his eyes are so fond of wearing and most of his attractiveness dies right there; when he smirks it goes comatose. Otherwise his face is narrow with high cheekbones, a tall forehead, slightly squared chin, and a thin yet wide mouth. His eyes are large and almost perfectly round, lined with thick, short blonde lashes and straight, thick brows. He cares little for fashion or upkeep, and is rarely without a day or two's worth of stubble. If someone were to brush his hair and lock him in direct sunlight for a week, then he would probably qualify as attractive.
CLOTHING: His wardrobe is nothing impressive, consisting largely of different shades of the same things, usually tight pants with more pockets than you can count, army issue boots, and cheap long-sleeved shirts in shinny colors. He's rarely without a pair of green and tan gloves whose fingers he cut out himself, leaving the edges frayed and worn, and occasionally a green silk bandanna.
JEWELRY: Around his neck he wears a small iron crucifix out of like and not religion, and two wire thin metal loops in each ear at the tops.
MOTHER: Angeline Cross
FATHER: Michael Cross
SIBLINGS: Tenament Cross (sister)
OTHER RELATIONS: None of importance
BACKGROUND: Everett Nadir Cross was born 21 years ago to one L.D.H.O. corporate lawyer (who played at motherhood on the weekends when the whim hit her) and a L.D.H.O. hot shot politician (who failed to play fatherhood -even- on the weekends). They were well off in the wealth department, and for a short time a youthfully ignorant Everett mistook abundant wealth for abundant love. He would quickly grow out of such flawed thought patterns, countering (or perhaps just coping) with dual levels of staunch independence coupled with a distinct effort at projecting airs of distant indifference. The coupling of these two attitudes dominated much of Everett's outward social temperament, leaving the youth estranged from the possibility of forming any long term friendships.
Otherwise, most of Everett's earlier life was largely uneventful, an admittance much to his disliking. How much more exciting it would be if something dramatic or tragic had happened in his childhood. Then maybe he would have something to talk about when people asked him why he is the way he is, as they so often snidely do. Eve was the type of child that wallowed in "monotone normality," as he prefers to call it, for the largest sections of his younger life. He was one that sought out the most violent HVs and then watched them with disturbing levels of concentration, only to wander off to his cubicle of a room later in extended solitude. What he thought was often the topic of irked debate between his younger sister and a pair of only menially interested parents, but their guesses were also misses. No one could ever get inside his head, no matter how much he distantly wanted them to, and chances were in the current setting no one ever would.
Everett's one escaping pastime manifested itself in an aptitude for computers and the black and white alphanumeric codes that breathed such color into them and formed the visual and sensual marvel of the intranet so fond of by Delos citizens. While the rest of his household was complacent with their highly important lives, Everett was locked in his room writing code and routinely taping into various highly restricted areas of the Virtual Intranet. Everett wasn't merely good, he was a coding prodigy in and of himself. Quite the little hacker by the fresh young age of 15, it was only a matter of time and chance dictating the day when Everett would run over the something big he was always longing for. That "something big" finally manifested itself five years later in a heavily encrypted intranet chat session discovered between one rightly livid avatar of Richard Crighton, CEO of Skylark Inc., and a handful of top ranked L.D.H.O. yuppies. He made out the words "Sangiu'matii" and "bastard Veil of Blackdove," and something in between that sounded a whole lot like "upped efforts" in a scheme to sell citizens to a vampyre counsel in the Wastelands. That was followed by a brief discussion on "spliced human/vampyre genetic experimentation and further possibilities." He was, of course, tapping the entire thing to holodisk.
Then his eavesdropping connection was abruptly dropped and Eve balked. The dropped connection meant he had been caught despite all his assured skill, and the young man spent the next several days jittery, looking over his shoulder every few minutes during the rare moments he was not barricaded inside his room like a twitching rat.
Days slowly melted by and nothing. It was only when Eve finally relaxed enough to venture out into the world again (to a favorite public coffee shop of the Upper City) when two fast paced punk individuals latched onto each of his arms and together, dragged the kid into a nearby warehouse. There to a bumbling, trembling Eve, the two calmly introduced themselves by their net handles, "Widow" and "Dosh," respectively a gorgeous purple and black-haired cyberpunk chick and a frighteningly tall grinning gal with a short black spiked do sharp enough to draw blood. The dark complected male "Scatter" and blue-eyed leader "Artemis" would come shortly afterward, appearing from around the corner and much to an already petrified Everett Cross.
In order, Shudres Spinier, Michelle Melshimer, Calvin Zecky, and Nora Drake introduced themselves as a surprisingly organized group of young hackers, friends, each specializing in a different area of computer coding mechanics and all long onto Skylark and its affiliates. No, they weren't going to brutally kill him. This was an invitation to join their organization. Seems he had startled them just as much as they had he after their software detected another UNI watching the Crighton/L.D.H.O. meeting days earlier. And the rest is history. The group meets in secret and monitors and assembles files from the net activity of Skylark and affiliates, terming themselves Plastic Angel, after Nora's impressed discovery of Eve's tattoo.
PERSONALITY: Everett has spent much of his life under the false impression that he could push the world away with a constant stream of apathy, and nearly convinced himself that appearing so would make it true and keep his emotions safe. He was wrong then, and most unfortunately he is wrong still, having not seen the light poking holes through the favored attitude that has kept the world at bay most of his younger life. He displays the sneer that represents the insecure and desperately seeking acceptance. Between rare glimpses of warmth the mind behind Everett Cross is intelligent, occasionally arrogant and a glued-together nervous wreck waiting to happen. He is in fact not the slightest bit shallow, though he garbs himself convincingly in shallow thoughts. He has much possibility at eventually qualifying as a decent human being if he could only get past his self-serving bitterness. His good qualities are for the most part unknown; a waste, because he's capable of many. He is tolerated by his acquaintances because deep down they both need his skill and have developed a disgruntled "attraction" to his strange ways. Currently the group is looking for one or two more members before they decide just what the hell they're going to do with the information they've amassed.
LIVES AT: Technically lives with his parents in their "moderately posh" apartment in the Kale's Square section of the Upper City | often at Nora's 17th floor hole in the wall that passes the an apartment in a part of the Lower City known as the Grates District.
OCCUPATION: Officially part time (if you can believe that) computer security specialist for one of the major companies behind the City's Intranet mainframe. Doubles as an Intranet programmer. | Mainframe hacker member of Plastic Angel | Also small time amateur artist.
PETS: Raphael, a very unusual female white cat
WEAPONRY: Everett is a pyromaniac and knows a bit too much about explosives for normal comfort. Has built a few of his own that might come in handy one day. | Pathetic in a fist fight and more likely to shoot himself in the foot with the pair of twin HPV laser sighted particle projection handguns Dosh once gave him.
HEALTH PROBLEMS: Migraines
PHOBIAS: Fear of enclosed spaces, bit of an insomniac, and possible anti-social and inferiority complexes
SPECIAL SKILLS/POWERS: A smart mouth and mad computer skills. His Offspring alterations come in two forms: a jack cord for direct mainframe computer usage that pulls out of a small flip plate on the underside of his left wrist, and reinforced metal plating around his ribs and forearms. The later was sort of a perverse joke on his part received in his one and only venture to the crude Lower City; got them in what passed for a clinic by LC standards and on what was probably the only wild whim he's ever had in his life. The former was logical and paid for by his parents at a lovely little sterile UC establishment. His parents don't know of the metal implants.
HOBBIES: Surprisingly composing violent poetry that he never writes down and painting. When he isn't stuffed away in his room, he's usually in the Intranet or painting the mildly disturbing abstract scenes he's so fond of these days.
. . .
CNPC: Nora "Artemis" Drake
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- NAME: Matthew Caleb Sheridon (also called "Angel" or "Puerilis")
- PICTURE:...matthew1.jpg
PLAYER: Coy
SPECIES: Vampyre (Subdivision III Low Blood)
AGE/APPEARS: He's 28, but appears to be in his mid-teens, probably one's best guest would be sixteen or seventeen.
GENDER: Male
HEIGHT: 5'7"
WEIGHT: 130 lb.
EYE COLOR: Very vivid emerald green
SKIN COLORATION: Pale Caucasian and smooth
HAIR: Soft pale blonde, worn in a ragged cut just longer than chin length except a rattail that he's managed to grow out to his shoulder blades. Typically he'll tie the tail into a braid and let the rest of his hair hang in his face.
DISTINGUISHING MARKS: Eerily, none.
OTHER PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: Matthew is easy to underestimate, being both smaller than the average Human and naturally wiry, which Vampyrism hasn't helped. His face is boyish with a round, slightly squared-jaw, permanent baby fat fleshing out his cheeks, and large almond eyes. His nose is straight bridged and upturned at the tip in a vaguely elfin style, while his mouth is wide with the corners upturned subtly no matter what his expression, and his eyes are his main source of expression. He hides his face, mostly, under his hair (since he seems incapable of growing facial hair at all) in a mild attempt to look older, but usually comes off looking dumpy. As for the rest of him, he's thin and has a bad slouching problem, but his arms, legs, and torso are fairly well toned. In fewer words, there is a vaguely attractive quality about him, but it really only comes out when he's not paying attention to his appearance. His embarrassment over his apparent age is his major failing.
CLOTHING: Matthew prefers natural dark colors, gray, black, dark green and blue. He wears simple clothing, but a lot of it. Black jeans, dark colored long or short sleeve t-shirts, occasionally turtlenecks, and dark colored sneakers rotate but are almost always topped by a long letterman-style jacket in gray with black sleeves and a cloth interior.
JEWELRY: A ear ring at the top of his left ear in a Celtic design. A small necklace of oblong wooden beads and a longer one with dog tags and a pendant depicting a small platinum feather.
MOTHER: Rebecca Sheridan
FATHER: Daniel Sheridan
SIBLINGS: Jessica Maria Sheridan
OTHER RELATIONS: None
BACKGROUND: Matthew was raised in a fairly wealthy family, living in the upper city. His mother worked in R&D producing HVs while his father was a scientist for Skylark. He was an only child for the first four years of his life until his sister was born. The event was devastating. He'd always been praised for being a smart child, but as he grew older, it became apparent that he was a natural slacker. His parents tried to condition the trait out of him, but when his new, brilliant baby sister was born he was pushed to the periphery. They stopped caring so much about making him be all that he could be because -she- had more potential. He grew up lazy and anti-social. He got C's and B's while Jessica was a straight-A student, in all of the honor classes, and two grades above her age-level.
He became good at acting older than he was, trying to get in with the older kids who often treated him with reluctant acceptance. He loved the attention and the anxiety it caused his parents. In his pre-teens he developed a passion for hanging out at the Upper City PTECs (Public Trade Exchange Circuits, essentially, LDHO's term for a Mall) and interactive HVs. He developed a competitive streak, joined the school wrestling team and spent all his free time playing combat games against his friends and people he met over the intranet. He won a lot of games, developed an attitude problem, and lost a lot of friends.
When he was sixteen, going on seventeen, in his junior year of high school, he met a Dove by the name of Walker Silverman and promptly beat him at a laser-tag game at his usual hangout spot, PTEC2 (CII). When he managed to irritate Walker with his successive gloating, he did the smart thing and ran for his life through much of the Upper city and somehow managing, through wit and agility, to evade the irritated Dove for several hours before he was cornered and drug, bodily, to Walker's apartment. For whatever reason, which Walker has since refused to explain, he Turned Matthew. After the first trading of blood it was simply a matter of explaining to Matthew that they either finish the process or he would die.
The first thing Matthew did upon waking was run away to his family. He explained his rather long (several days) absence by claiming that he'd run away. They decided it was a cry for attention and grounded him for a month. Angry and bitter, he spent the next several days almost entirely in his room, refusing to speak to any of his family. When his gums and teeth started to hurt he ignored it; he'd hit the walls enough times that the pain in his fists were worse in his opinion. Then he developed a migraine that drugs and sleep wouldn't cure so he started to get worried. After a day or two of this he decided he needed to get out of the house before something bad happened. He tried to sneak out while his parents were at work but was caught by Jessica who urged him to come back inside, to not risk their parents grounding him more. He barely heard her as a wash pain in his heart and lungs escalated to a feeling of suffocation.
The next day, cowering in Walker's apartment, he watched a news report on the HV describing the body of a 12 year old girl (whose identity had not been disclosed to the public) was found outside her Upper City apartment. Cause of death had not been released. Walker comforted the stricken boy as best he could. Out of self-loathing Matthew first took to self-mutilation, throwing himself up against the wall with enough force to break bones sometimes, hitting things like mirrors and windows, and occasionally burning himself on whatever was at hand. He went into a downward spiral of neurosis and obsession while Walker tried everything he could think of to help the boy he barely knew. Matthew fed nearly every day, occasionally twice in one day, for months and would go into violent fits whenever Walker suggested he didn't need to eat so often.
It wasn't till well over a year after his Turning that he started to come around and calm down. Walker, who had been entertaining ideas of kicking Matthew out for months, was a little surprised as it happened on its own. He stopped hurting himself except occasionally when he would become extremely upset and started to feed at a normal rate.
At the age of nineteen, Matthew put in for false citizenship papers to cut down the complications with getting a job. He was issued an apartment a block and a half from Walker's but chose to remain living in his Maker's apartment, he converted the issued room into a modest party house. He started spending most of his time at the PTECs again, but avoided his old hang out spots. He got a job as a clerk at an electronics outlet and spent almost all of his free time upstairs at an Intranet Lounge where he made quick friends with the owner, the employees, and many of the regulars. When Walker was available in the evening he would sneak into nightclubs.
A three years ago a huge fight got him fired, but the event conveniently coincided with Walker getting a hefty raise where he worked. Matthew took the opportunity to get what he described as his 'dream job' as a moderator in a dynamic-world game. After a violent fight with one of the other moderators last year, work became tense and threats started being tossed around. He finally quit when people started showing up at his party house, starting fights with his friends. He's been out of work ever since and doesn't really mind it.
PERSONALITY: Matthew can't quite seem to grow up. He's intelligent, but compulsive and a little spoiled. He tends to respond violently, and not a little unpredictably, to stress, though he is prone to blaming himself for anything that goes wrong and is less likely to lash out at others as he is to inflict harm on himself. Otherwise, he is mostly social, dislikes being alone but has trouble with tact on some occasions. He enjoys competitive games out of desire to be superior to others but has a problem with winning and losing gracefully. His recent success or lack of it heavily affects his self-esteem. Despite the other factors involved, Matthew also somehow manages to have a soft side. He has a surprising amount of patience for being as compulsive as he is, and can sit and watch practically nothing for hours on end. He also listens well but when it comes to matters of family he will become agitated as often as not. However, his personality is also highly adaptable, he has distinct opinions and tastes but when he puts his mind too it he can conform the way he expresses himself very effectively to that of the people around him.
LIVES AT: Has an apartment in the Lower City a few blocks from the border with the Upper City. He lives in a different one, a block and a half away.
OCCUPATION: None at the moment.
PETS: None
WEAPONRY: He occasionally carries a small handgun with him when things are tight, but for the most part, he prefers his fists and some of his wrestling moves left over from high school. He likes to carry an intranet head piece with him most of the time, but otherwise, has nothing truly worth mentioning. HEALTH PROBLEMS: Nothing physical.
HEALTH PROBLEMS: Nothing physical.
PHOBIAS: He is violently afraid of succumbing to blood lust.
SPECIAL SKILLS/POWERS: Matthew has fantastic hand-eye coordination. This helps him in a number of ways not limited to games; he would have naturally great aim with gun if he took the chance to figure that out.
HOBBIES: Playing games, throwing parties, refusing to take life seriously, and making enemies.
* * *
CNPC NAME: Walker Chance Silverman
AGE: Appears early 20's
SPECIES: Vampyre (Subdivision II Intermediate)
DESCRIPTION: Walker is about 6' with wider shoulders and an thicker build than the average Vampyre but thinner than the average Human. His hair is a nearly black gray worn, long and usually held in a loose ponytail. He has large hands and a stoic face, with a straight nose, average blue-grey eyes, and a smallish mouth. He is neither very attractive or unattractive.
RELATIONSHIP TO CHARACTER: Matthew's Maker.
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- NAME: August Green
- PLAYER: M. James
SPECIES: Vampyre (Subdivision II Intermediate)
AGE/APPEARS: 107/18 to 20ish
GENDER: Male
HEIGHT: 6'1''
WEIGHT: 162 lbs.
EYE COLOR: White w/ Silver-Blue Streaks
SKIN COLORATION: Pale
HAIR: Medium length, straight white
DISTINGUISHING MARKS: The only real distinguishing mark he has is the telltale tattoo of the Blackdoves.
OTHER PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: August is somewhat little to behold in the context of vampyres of his significance. At 6 feet 1 inches in height, his wiry, depleted frame is a bit above average, and nothing more. Sitting beneath his straight but almost shaggy white hair is a fairly average face with well positioned and proportioned features, obviously excepting his fanged mouth. His cheeks are morbidly hollow and the bones high, contributing to a very noble and sad appearance. And the eyes are quite an oddity as well-two pale, blank orbs sit in extremely large, rounded sockets. These eyes are his most distinguishing feature, melancholy and glazed over-his blank yet expressive windows into the world. Amongst the field of bleached white small flecks of a silver-blue color can be seen if one ever gets the chance to look hard enough. Should one ever lay eyes on his bare body, it would be seen as the same example of evolutionary deformity borne by all of his kind-pasty white skin clings tightly to wound up balls of stringy muscle draped loosely about a seemingly insubstantial frame. His hands, often held in front of him and clasped together, possess wicked looking fingers, long and dexterous and tipped by long, claw like nails, excepting the index fingers and thumbs, which are clipped down. He carries himself at his full height, tall, solid, and stoic like a statue, but his gait and mannerisms aren�t quite as proud as that of some of his kin.
CLOTHING: August is usually seen wearing black slacks and a shirt under a gray trench coat when he�s out in public, however the garments under the coat obviously vary-though they are always similar. His feet are adorned by heavy-duty low top shoes that border on boot status for their bulk and sturdiness. A pair of simple, metal-framed black lens sunglasses usually cover his large eyes in public. In his limited casual living time within the Hypostle, he generally wears the same thing, without the overcoat and in simple leather and wood sandals as opposed to heavy shoes.
JEWELRY: None.
MOTHER: Cecilia Ames
FATHER: Jonas Green
SIBLINGS: None
OTHER RELATIONS: None of significance.
BACKGROUND: August was one of the earliest Intermediates to come into being by birth, the son of two of the first Doves to possess reproductive abilities. Being the son of loyal servants of the Sangiu�matii, he was never too far from their authority, and never would be. To develop and grow within the company of such monsters shaped August into a very severe and refined example of the vampyre psyche-determined, ambitious, and ruthless. "Businesslike since birth." he would often say of his own life. Another catchphrase later sprung from this, whispered jokingly amongst those who knew him: "�and killing since the cradle."
August was fairly well set from the beginning. When he first came into his own amongst the vampyre community, being a Dove by birth was rare, but already something that garnered a bit more respect. His parents were from the beginning very distant, and grew even more so as time wore on-this seemed to be the expected natural order of the matter. August rose to meet his expectations, eagerly setting out on the road to becoming a proficient warrior. He was always a great asset on "cattle" raids, and it was well known as he worked his way to a slight degree of prominence within the Sangiu�matii Intermediates. He constantly strove to better himself in knowledge and strength, his intensity surprising those who were used to his somewhat sedated and complacent social mannerisms. However, his engine needed fuel, and the desire to further the means of his masters and better himself just wasn�t enough to drive him without damaging him. It was in the beginning of his ascent that he first questioned the natural order of things. He often found himself upstaged by his not-so-equals; there were those whose outward arrogance often served to further their intents. He saw that there was much posturing and politics happening amongst his kin, and it often sickened him to see the caliber of a man muddled by words of others. He cringed as every black line drawn down the middle of an issue was smudged into a wide gray stripe by bickering and flattery and other such political devices. A seething, deep hatred began to accrete within him-he associated less and less with those who valued words too much against actions. Verbal skirmish and open rivalries even started up between August and some of those who he perceived as politicians-the fact that these were the more influential of the Doves never helped him.
When things changed with the formation of the Blackdoves and the scrapping of the old ways, August was already somewhat well established, his proficiency far from unknown to those that mattered. His popularity amongst those most similar to him had continued to slide, but the fact that he wasn�t too far down from the High Bloods themselves ensured that he was given a fair draw when it came down to business. It was for this reason that he was on the short list of initial inaugurates into the Blackdoves. His position was simple to put into words-he was to be something of a problem solver, a troubleshooter. When the machine broke down, he and his small but growing number of colleagues were to find the problem and fix it. Late "shipments", opposition to Blackdove activity�these were his enemies, and he slowly came to know them well, learning the intricacies of the city far better than he had known him in the days of smash-and-grab raiding. Once again he was able to get a head-up on his peers, becoming notable even amongst the select Intermediates selected for such service. He was a notable contributor to the force that has made people afraid to even speak its name. However, once again, the fire that continued to burn within him depleted his character. Espionage and trickery was all part of this new game-August was at first unwilling to do anything too backhanded. But he learned of the small and necessary evils he would have to commit. He would restrain himself in dealing with the L.D.H.O. He would make sure that any drastic action he had to take was approved of by his fellows. He would always stay in line. And every time any of these directives contradicted what he truly wanted to do, it took a toll. To contradict oneself is a horrible thing; bouts of self-loathing and a feeling of futility often overcame August. Frustration became his primary emotion whenever business was at hand. Eventually, the pressure became too much-August strangled an L.D.H.O. official and slew 3 Crestfallen informants, blowing an undercover meeting wide open, negating months of progress on the project at hand, and contributing to tension between the L.D.H.O. and the Blackdoves. To please all parties involved, August was suspended from his duties and would return to a far lower position when the sentence was up. His good name-all that he had left for the time being-was in tatters within a month of his return to the Hypostle.
And yet�the job still occupied his life. August had spent a long time keeping things running�and he noticed that it certainly wasn�t getting any easier. In fact, he was quite sure that things were getting worse and more troublesome for the essential operation. Spider�s Dusk was on the tip of everyone�s tongue-rogue vampires and self-righteous humans were wrenches all to eager to throw themselves into the fragile machinery of the Blackdoves� harvesting. He had spent a long time and become much before his incident�but just by running in place. They had kept the process alive, but for some time had failed to notice that things weren�t the same. August began to brood on this, pondering in his spare time on how he and his comrades could strike back, how they could return to the times when it was like driving livestock. He was sure that if something wasn�t done, than the eventual result would be the defeat of the Blackdoves and the collapse of the current way, which could lead to starvation amongst the vampyric masses and all out war with the city. An extremely cynical thought indeed, but in these, his darker hours, it seemed as if anything bad could come to being. These thoughts made August more bitter than ever, eating away at him and consuming his thoughts, driving him to continually prepare and stay sharp�but he does not know for what, exactly. He doesn�t even know why he still cares after what he has lost through his "transgressions". The compulsion to serve his old role remains, even if the satisfaction has faded away. Returning to work will be odd for him-he feels like an obsolete machine, performing an old program that no longer serves a purpose. But could he get it back? What if he could solve his "phantom problem"�what if he could find a way to be proactive and turn the tables? Would it be possible? Would it restore his status? But could he ever care again�? To him, there was only one thing to do: go back, start over, and do it his own way. Maybe the Blackdoves would sanction whatever his quest was, maybe not-it didn�t really matter to him anymore.
PERSONALITY: On his outermost layer he is cool, calm, collected, and stoic-as his life dictates. At his core, a comparison to most of his fellow Intermediate vampyres yields that August is something of an individual. He does feel some of the pull towards power and domination that his kin do, though on a different level-one with a bit less substance but a bit more subtlety. Often quiet and not as prone to drama and emotional highs and lows as some of his brethren, though he has a few times entered incredible rages due to certain circumstances. Cynical and bitter to a fault at times, with a morbid sense of dark destiny regarding his whole existence-often aloof when it comes to a purpose in life, he used to cling to his duties serving the Sangiu�matii, to whom he was fiercely loyal-and still is, somewhat. An exception is made for them from his ruthless nature. He has the common arrogance of the natural born Doves towards those "beneath" him, though it�s more of an inward burning resentment than something to flaunt for him. One thing about him that is considered odd by those who know if it is that he is disgusted by scars and disfigurement, from battle or otherwise-a seemingly out of place qualm within his gritty persona.. Many a time he has undergone minor cosmetic surgery to have them removed from himself, often as soon as possible.
LIVES AT: Hypostyle
OCCUPATION: Member of Veil of Blackdove
PETS: None
WEAPONRY: August is neither too old school nor too cutting edge. His weapons of choice are the "old" style lead projectile guns, and to some extent, knives. Laser weapons have been forsaken for a lack of trust in their reliability that is somewhat based in experience and somewhat in pure speculation. Having had a while to experiment, he has cut his collection down to the things he considers essential, though he will borrow or seek out anything he might find necessary for a certain situation.
Guns:
.308 Bullpup Assault Rifle In his own words: "This is the keystone of the catalog because of its versatility. From single-shot killing to suppression fire and everything in between, this has it covered. It might not be the most outright powerful gun around, it�s not the most accurate, and it throws subtlety to the wind-but I can take this thing with me and know that whatever kind of situation I stumble into, I�ll find it useful."
2 Tactical Design .40 Caliber Semi-Automatic Pistols, 1 Silencer "Pistols are something you have to look at as a specialized tool. They�re not the most deadly thing in your arsenal, but they�re the most discrete-smaller than anything else and silent if you want them to be. And I use .40 cal simply because I find it well balanced and trustworthy. It�s almost always powerful enough, but not TOO big."
2 Short, Double Barreled 12 Gauge Break Action Shotguns "Sawed off or intentionally shortened shotguns are often found in the hands of blowhard cowboys-but that doesn�t mean that they aren�t useful. The all too common hallway or apartment firefight can quickly come to a resolution if these guns can be used right. Take a moment to get a vague sense of where your target is, point, click, and spray. Loud (and messy) as anything, plus with a mule-kick, but utterly satisfying."
Scoped Centerfire Bolt-Action .30-06 "This old relic was first rescued from some careless tech heads and then from the L.D.H.O. warehouse. Took work to get her working in good order, but all worth it. The round, though hard to have made properly, is nearly peerless in force, velocity, and effective range. Unwieldy as hell and slow to reload, this isn�t a battle weapon-this is for those people who earn a big bullet with their name on it. This is the PERSONAL problem solver."
6-inch Stainless Steal Combat Knife "I don�t get to use this much, and I�d like to be able to use it all the time-though that just isn�t possible. You have to be close, and close can get nasty for me, but it�s so eloquent-silent, simple, quick. Everything wetwork should be."
HEALTH PROBLEMS: None
PHOBIAS: Imprisonment/Incapacitation for the remained of his long life and ever being proved inferior (100%, in all ways, without a doubt) to any of his fellow Doves or anyone lower.
SPECIAL SKILLS/POWERS: Psionic skills are fairly strongly manifested in August, due to his race and his age. Fairly functional telekinesis allows him to manipulate average sized objects as well as flip switches and push buttons from a short distance. His telepathy allows him to get a good sense of the emotions of those around him, and occasionally to even affect those thoughts when he can concentrate on a single being.
He also has very well developed combat skills, capable of surviving firefights as well as cleaning up minor situations and hunting down prey. Well-rounded and honed weapons skills as well as a stealthy nature in any setting have been developed in August�s tenure as the Sangiu�s dog. He�s capable but not much on the more subtle nuances of urban survival, such an information gathering and dealing. August is capable of driving an EMC in any normal, non-stressful situation, a vocation he developed due to the large amount of travel he has had to undertake between the Hypostle and Los Delos, as well as within Los Delos. He found it hard to trust someone else to dive, so he took it upon himself to become basically proficient in this.
. . .
CNPC: Marissa Andros
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- NAME: Elysa Morrigan
- PLAYER: Serenity
SPECIES: Vampyre (Subdivision III Low Blood)
AGE/APPEARS: 94/23
GENDER: Female
HEIGHT: 5'9"
WEIGHT: 120 lbs.
EYE COLOR: Pale Blue
SKIN COLORATION: Fair
HAIR: Blonde
DISTINGUISHING MARKS: Elysa has a small tattoo of a dagger entwined with a rose stalk on the back of her left shoulder.
OTHER PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: Elysa is a stunning woman, that would immediately attract the eye of any hot-blooded male. She has shoulder length, blonde hair, which she wears down most of the time. Her piercing blue eyes are often met with a sense of wonderment. At first glance, her petite and slender figure may make her seem unable to be a threat to anyone, but appearances can be deceiving.
CLOTHING: She is very fashionable, and can often be seen sporting tasteful and stylish clothes. Her favourite piece of clothing is a long, leather jacket that an admirer had sent her a few years back. Although the man has since disappeared from her life, the jacket remains. She is pleased with the way she looks, and she dresses to accentuate this, and draw attention to herself. She enjoys clothes that would reveal much, but still leave a little bit to the imagination. Other common styles of wear for her include short skirts and high boots. Her favourite color is black, or dark blue.
JEWELRY: She wears a gold ring on her left hand. It was a gift from her Maker, and she never takes it off. She has pierced ears, so earrings are also quite common. She has received much jewelry from her many suitors over the years, but she does not keep most of them, instead choosing to pawn them off.
MOTHER: Delana Morrigan (maiden name Woodward)
FATHER: Sy Morrigan
SIBLINGS: Claire Morrigan, twin sister, drowned when she was sixteen
OTHER RELATIONS: Elysa tries to distance herself from her family and kin. Although she is not ashamed of them , nor despise them, she feels that other individuals are more interesting and worth her time. Elysa does not have steady friendships, she is unable to put in the effort or dedication. The only person that has made a recurring appearance in her current life is Brad Anderson, Elysa's ex-boyfriend. The two are friends (or as close as one can be considering Elysa's track record) - Brad is still in love with Elysa, and contacts her often.
BACKGROUND: Elysa was raised in typical middle class family. She was never really close to either of her parents, but instead was strangely connected to her twin sister Claire.
Since her early childhood, Elysa has been haunted by visions that would come to her as she slept; visions that slowly formed themselves into reality. It was a secret she told nobody, and a secret she quietly suffered. These visions would come with such shocking regularity, and they were often accompanied by the burning pain shooting through her skull. As she grew older, these psychic powers began to manifest themselves in her waking hours as well - she would be able to hear what people were thinking, but the thoughts would scream through her mind, out of nowhere, without warning. Again, she kept this secret to herself, but these "gifts" would result in her falling ill frequently. She would later lose her visions slowly as she grew older, but her telepathic abilities remained with her continuously, often surfacing at the most inopportune times.
When Claire drowned at the age of sixteen, Elysa was mortified, and withdrew from her the other members of her family. She has never fully recovered from this tragedy, as she is now terrified of going near any body of water, till this day. She has lost contact with most of her family members, if not for the above reason, then for the sake that she felt it was no longer necessary to carry on communication with them.
Elysa then continued with a string of fast, unemotional relationships with a large number of men - using them and then leaving them as she pleased. She was unable to form a deep, emotional attachment to anyone of them, and refused to even want to do so - she thought of it as a sign of weakness, and that independance was equivalent to strength.
As an attractive young woman, it didn't take long for her stunning features to attract the attention of Isaac Misharof, a Dove. He had long been infatuated by her grace and beauty - after first spotting her in a night club which she had maintained a regular job as a performer. His desire for Elysa had escalated to the point where he accosted her in the alley behind her work place, turning her into vampyre on a moment of impulse.
Though Elysa never asked to be a vampyre, she does not regret this turn of fate. Misharof trained her and thought her the finer arts of vampyrism. He was also able to teach her to hone her psychic abilities -through some strange coincidence, Misharof himself was also blessed with the gift of telepathy. Till this day, Elysa believes that perhaps this similarity was what drew him to her in the first place. She is now able to read other people's minds on whim, and with proper concentration and focus, she can control and influence them as she wishes.
Misharof and Elysa eventually developed a romantic relationship which lasted for more than thirty years, a lot longer than Elysa would ever expect - thorughout her young mortal life, she had never been romantically attached to a man for more than six months. The relationship came to a tragic end when Misharof was killed by a vigilante vampyre hunter - a young man with a vendetta after his parents were slaughtered by a crazed vampyre. She killed him seconds after he murdered Misharof.
She has never completely gone into a mourning ritual for Misharof. After his death, she returned to her previous lifestyle, forming many short relationships with a variety of men, none of them long lasting. Some she used just for the sole purpose of feeding, others to fulfill her other desires. Again, she was attached to none.
Elysa had recently found a job at a small nightclub in Lower City, where she works as a singer, performing every night for the mostly drunk patronage. Not too long ago, she was involved in a relationship with a (human) militia officer, Brad Anderson, but she broke it off after she got bored. Brad is still hung up on Elysa, and contacts her frequently - remarkably enough, he is the only person who has a steady contact with Elysa over the past few months. He is the closest person that Elysa can call a friend, but she is reluctant to even do this.
PERSONALITY: Elysa is assertive and confident. She is not afraid to speak her mind, and often enjoys doing so at the expense of others. She has a dry and sharp sense of humor, which surfaces throughout her everyday conversations often. She does not enjoy violence, but she will do what she has to do to defend herself, or someone she loves (as in the case of Misharof). Elysa is aware of how attractive she is, and she enjoys attention - and will often do things to attract this attention. She seems to have the inability to form a real relationship with anybody on any level (the only exceptions being Claire, Brad and Misharof). While she enjoys mixing around, she does not readily welcome others into her life. She is cautious, and afraid of letting others know too much about her.
LIVES AT: A small apartment in Lower City, near the club she works.
OCCUPATION: Currently employed as a singer at one of the nightclubs in Lower City.
PETS: None
WEAPONRY: Elysa does not enjoy using weapons, but she has a Colt .45 that she carries around, just to feel secure. She is quite a capable marksman when forced to, but she will normally avoide using firearms if possible. She studied some martial arts earlier in her life, and prefers this method of offense (if any).
HEALTH PROBLEMS: None
PHOBIAS: She is afraid of water. Her twin sister Claire drowned when she was sixteen, and now she does not like to go anywhere near water.
SPECIAL SKILLS/POWERS: Elysa possesses several psionic powers. When she was a mortal, this gift was subdued, appearing most of the time as dark and unclear visions that swept through her dreams like the plague; or she would have a person's thoughts invade her mind like a crashing train. When she was turned by Misharof, with his help she was able to hone her gift and perfect it. For some unknown reason, Elysa's ability to receive visions of the future have slowly deteriorated throughout the years; she hardly possesses this gift anymore. However, with enough concentration, she is able to read and control a person's mind. Elysa does not possess the power of telekinesis.
HOBBIES: Singing, clubbing
. . .
CNPC: Brad Anderson
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- NAME: Grenadine En'gel
- PLAYER: Lexis
SPECIES: New Child (for all intensive purposes)
AGE/APPEARS: 17
GENDER: Female
HEIGHT: 5'5''
WEIGHT: 140 lbs. (due to cybernetic enhancements)
EYE COLOR: Faded honey with metallic black flecks swirling around the irises
SKIN COLORATION: Pale, grayish
HAIR: Coarse, just barely shoulder length and cut with very jagged ends. Most of its length has been dyed a white platinum, near silver, with small amounts of her natural dull black showing at the roots.
DISTINGUISHING MARKS: Several. Scarring on the forearms, wrists and hands in mildly discolored banding patterns. These, like her other scars, are kept covered at all times. Scarring in longish strips can be found on both the front of her thighs and on the lower legs. A circular, black marking of sorts is located beneath her left eye and may possibly be a tattoo.
OTHER PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: Grenadine is nothing impressive, easily overlooked in a crowd by her initial outward attitude as much as her physical appearance. Her features shroud her nature in lies, a blending of shy, soft and barely peaking curves topped with a face that screams delicate but strained youth. She is thin despite her true weight, a fact that easily conceals the grace and abnormal strength that reside within. Her face is smallish and oval, her button nose barely noticeable above her wide heart shaped mouth. Glittering above all peers her one plainly unsettling feature--two eyes of deep-set honey gold, framed each by multitudes of short black lashes and overshadowed by thin wispy and darkish brows. Both eyes are lined in a deep maroonish crimson with a thinner black outline atop this. Washes of bright rouge streak beneath each eye and deepen the creases of the upper lids, with a similar shade painting her lips in a darkly wet, glossy look.
CLOTHING: Military fatigues, but in the commercial greens sold in stores and not the true stolid black of the Patrol. Her pants are a size too large and drape precisely around her small waist, catching on the peaking tops of the hip bones to reveal her pale stomach. She owns only one shirt, an unadorned gray thing whose sleeves and midriff she has cut off, leaving the material in messy fringes around the cut ends. Over this she wears a matching fatigue long-sleeved shirt as a sort of jacket, often left unbuttoned and open. The arms of this have been slashed open on the upper sides, starting right below the elbow area and running the length of the material so that the sleeves part open and drape around her forearms. Her hands are enclosed in gloves gray and brown in color, with the palms cut out for ventilation and grip. Above these gray cloth strips have been wrapped around her forearms, stopping a quarter of the way before her elbows. She also owns one pair of dark brown leather boots that lace all the way to her knees. Males of all types, at least in general, find Grenadine's thin youngish frame sexually attractive, not in a perverse manner (as she is in fact a young adult), though definitely not out of normal conventions.
JEWELRY: Around her neck she wears a small brown leather necklace that was once a thin belt, now cut in length to fit her neck where it buckles on the side.
MOTHER: Camille
FATHER: Aaron
SIBLINGS: Unknown
OTHER RELATIONS: Unknown
BACKGROUND: Grenadine is in essence lost, and in all manners of speaking. She knows she was born under the name Grenadine and to two human individuals named Camille and Aaron; their faces float through her nightly dreams and walking days, though that is where her recollection stops. She remembers little of her previous family or life for that matter, the vague memories that come to her every so often little more than fragmented shards, frozen slides from scenes whose meaning alludes her memory and offers nothing of insight into her unusual past.
The small scraps of truth she has only recently complied exist more from reading current L.D.H.O. classified records than drawn from actual memory, their paragraphs mere glimpses into lines of tragedy outlined in apathetic black and white print. What Grenadine has surmised is that she was taken nearly a year ago, by some unknown means, and altered to become part of one of the newest generations of Children, generations that supposedly were never created. Of what happened after her alteration she remembers nothing useful, instead plagued with the usual frozen snippets and their empty meanings. She recalls the day she escaped, of the Illegals' bombing raid on the facility she was stationed, and of the fleeting glimpses of the unidentified assailiants' faces as they swarmed the compound. In a moment of clarity she ran, escaping deep into the LC with never a glance backward. The panting, the blind running, the darkened faces flashing by as she dashed through the grim-laden backallies--the events of that long dead night fade, its relevance and clarity deteriorating to sketchy recollections void of any attached emotion.
That night some remnant of survivalist genetic instruction tore free from the grasps of blind panic gripping her mind and surfaced, reasoning that if she were to remain alive and free from the Patrol's grasp that she would have to destroy as much of her outward New Child appearance as possible. She found a machina alteration lab within the Spider's Dusk section of the LC where she traded in her Patrol weaponry to have the black metal ringlets on her arms and hands removed, her eye color permanently lightened, the New Child eye-piece removed and the bones of her abnormally long legs shortened considerably from the Children's standard perfect six feet. Later she would take the name En'gel for a surname after hearing it on the lips of a passerby. Now she wanders the LC, lost and searching.
PERSONALITY: Grenadine is complex and shrouded in enigma as much as in paradox. She is obsessive-compulsive, shy and yet flaunting, slow to anger and yet hounded by fits of wild anxiety and unpredictable instability. The only thing that is certain is that she is highly intelligent and driven, though by what is currently unknown.
LIVES AT: Homeless, wanders LC
OCCUPATION: Alley-walker
PETS: None.
WEAPONRY: A large knife strapped in one boot; also a small AMX 4 laser handgun hidden away in an inner jacket pocket.
HEALTH PROBLEMS: Migraines, insomnia, memory loss
PHOBIAS: Enclosed spaces, crowds, especially loud noises
SPECIAL SKILLS/POWERS: Improved physical and immuno-resistances, upped reflex ability, increased strength and stamina profiles, and various as of yet undiscovered cybernetic enhancements. She truly has no memory of life either before or during the Patrol and as of yet has no idea what she's capable of or even what all enhancements she possesses.
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- NAME: Mirko Svjatoslav
- PLAYER: Cyber Spyder
SPECIES: Offspring
AGE/APPEARS: 42, but with a certain ageless look about him - it would be difficult to pin it any closer than middle age.
GENDER: Male
HEIGHT: 6'7"
WEIGHT: 340 lbs.
EYE COLOR: A particularly dark blue
SKIN COLORATION: Heavily tanned caucasian, and rough, as of someone who has spent a great deal of time in less than idyllic climes.
HAIR: The hair he has covers only about half his head - the right half - and even that is an electronic weave. Though he switches it about on a fairly regular basis, it's most often a shocking white, fluffy and combed back. Still, somewhat uncommon among the inhabitants of the City, it is not confined to his scalp; it curves around to form half of a beard and a full moustache.
DISTINGUISHING MARKS: One thing most definitely not lacking in Mirko is distinguishing marks. A substantial portion of his body is either covered, or replaced, by metal implants. Most disturbing of these is the one in his head; on the left side, a thick slab of metal penetrates deep into his head at approximately eye-level, extending up just past the hairline, down to the level of the ear, and inwards until it hits his nose. More or less where his eye would be is a softly glowing square, but scattered across the rest of the implant are various other ports, minute projections, and openings whose purpose is less than clear. The gross modifications scarcely stop there, though. His right arm, up to the shoulder, is another mechanical construction noticably thicker than the not-unimpressive organic left. It terminates in a thick, grasping claw, only vaguely reminiscent of the human hand, but there are again a variety of hatches on the implant with unclear purposes. Finally, both of his legs from the knee downward are further clanking mechanical monstrosities, although they appear to be more compactly constructed than the rest of his implants - smooth, with but a few hatches, they are approximately the size one would expect his organic legs to be.
OTHER PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: The first impression any sane person looking at Mirko would recieve is that of sheer size. Towering over the great majority in his vicinity, he has the appearance of an ogre among men. Accompanying that great height is his width - a veritable bolus of a man, it is unclear whether the huge alterations were tailored to match his size, or if he simply had to expand himself to adapt to their weight. Despite all this, he does not present as frightening a picture as he might. His face is kind, although hard - blue eyes that seem to bore into a person with attentiveness, topped by thick, bushy eyebrows, aloft as if he were perpetually slightly surprised, and accompanied by a thin-lipped mouth scarcely visible beneath the moustache and half-beard, yet which nonetheless constantly wears a selfless smile. Indeed, the mechanical hemmorage that blatantly sticks out from his face is partly counterbalanced by the humanity that shines from the rest of it. In short, Mirko is the very picture of the Slavic giant.
CLOTHING: Unsurprisingly, standard clothing is rather unaccessible to Mirko. Not being in a position to make use of a custom tailor, he wears whatever he can get his hands on in the proper size - his pride and joy being a salvaged dress suit. Unfortunately, even clothing in the proper size is unusable to him without alteration; thus, every shirt he wears has a great rent cut into the right-hand side, to allow his more gargantuan arm passage.
JEWELRY: Eschewing ornamentation for its own sake, Mirko wears none.
MOTHER: Tanya Svjatoslav
FATHER: Unknown
SIBLINGS: See 'Other Relations'
OTHER RELATIONS: Originating from a small agricultural commune/tribe with communal family relations in the now-verdant Siberia, Mirko has a great many relatives - linked by varying degrees and in varying ways. However, he is cut off from contact with all of them.
BACKGROUND: Far away from Los Delos, across a turbulent ocean, Mirko was born to a young woman, a member of a nameless matriarchal agricultural community that thrived, and in all probability lives still, in the rolling grasslands of Siberia. His childhood was typical, for a member of the group - raised in common with all the other children, taught from an early age the basics of farming and hunting, of history, and of philosophy - the tribal community existed with no technology more advanced than the wheel and the alphabet, a situation caused in equal parts by the inevitable loss from the implosion of civilization and a conscious spurning of the knowledge that had brought mankind to such a state. Mirko never knew his father, though it did not occur to him that he should have until much later in life; records were only kept of the female line, the simplest to trace. But even his mother he knew not nearly as well as the caretakers and teachers who kept watch over the children of the tribe, helping them to explore and learn without restricting them.
Still, despite the uniformity of upbringing, Mirko grew up to be somewhat different. A certain amount of wildness was expected in childhood, but Mirko far surpassed those expectations, and never seemed to grow out of it. He was continually getting into scrapes with others from the age of eight onward, and his unusual size only worsened matters. But his violence seemed only to be symptomatic of a greater disquiet; despite the philosophy of serenity with which all were brought up, he always seemed to be seeking more. When he hit his teens, he would leave the village and disappear into the wilderness for days at a time, coming back leaner but with his lust for experience only slightly appeased; more often than not, he would end up starting a fight over some perceived slight, stopping only when he, or his opponent, was lying bloodied on the ground.
Despite his behavior, he was tolerated in the community; he was, after all, a supremely good worker, and beyond that, there was no precedent for any way of dealing with it. Punishment, in that community, had been long ago replaced by personal responsibility, and it had always worked previously. But when, at age 26, Mirko killed in a fight someone who had jokingly said Mirko only disappeared into the woods to avoid working on the harvest, the nominal leaders of the community knew that something had to be done. They deliberated for a time, and eventually came up with a solution: Mirko could no longer live with the rest of the tribe. Food would be left for him, a distance away from the hide-and-wood buildings of the community, but he would have to make his own shelter, and live apart, so that he could not further endanger others.
He accepted the judgement, after a bit of argumentation, and went off to live alone, continuing to wander off into the unexplored areas of land surrounding the village. Eventually he happened across a lost artifact of a destroyed civilization; specifically, an aircraft hanger from the Fourth World War, containing a dilapidated but theoretically functional supersonic jet, heavily automated and computerized. After spending some weeks cleaning it up, replacing that which he could find replacements for in the storage rooms, and essentially pressing at the limits of his knowledge of the past to put the aircraft back into working order, he was successful - though old and doubtlessly unreliable, it turned on when it was supposed to. He filled it with the last dregs from the mostly-empty fuel reservoir, and after a particularly harrowing start, got it airborne.
Mirko scarcely knew where he was going; he merely flew, on and on, across flatlands, hills, mountains, and eventually water. Though the trip took but hours, it felt like days. It was only when land had disappeared for some time that he realized he must be crossing the great sea to the east. Still he pressed onward, and in time, another land loomed; a sandy wasteland, one which he cruised over for at least an hour before spotting the city and attempting to land.
The crash was horrendous, terrible. He did everything he could to slow down, pushed every button he could find, but even a trained pilot wouldn't have been able to do much to land on sand dunes. In the smoking cockpit, Mirko pushed desperately at the glass bubble with the arm he could still feel, felt his hand slipping away in the slickness of blood. He choked back bile and tried to assess his situation in the now-claustrophobic confines of the pilot's seat, and got as far as seeing the giant shard of metal passing completely through his right side before blacking out.
He was rescued by a small group of people from the lower city who had seen the crash and ventured out into the wastelands to investigate, though he knew nothing of that until a good while later. Had he not arrived in style, he probably would merely have been finished off, his organs harvested - but it was an understandable error to assume that he might have some knowledge of the science with which the aircraft was built, and so he was dragged to a biomechanic - the nearest thing to a doctor in the area - whose solution to the extensive damage to Mirko's body was to cut off all the broken bits and replace them with cold steel. It worked, though if Mirko had been less outstandingly healthy when the accident happened he probably would have died on the table.
Many weeks after regaining consciousness were spent in the workshop of Nalin Meier, recovering from the operation and working at learning the language. Though there were obviously points of similarity, not more than one word in ten was recognizable to him. To start with, numerous people from the group that had dragged him from the burning wreckage had come to visit - as well as various others - but the visits soon trickled to a halt when he became adept enough in the local tongue to explain that he had no idea how the plane worked, or indeed, how much of anything worked. This prompted a shouting match with Nalin, who wanted to get some sort of value back for the alterations she had used up on him. She eventually accepted indentured servitude - off the books, of course, as Mirko didn't officially exist. He was 27 then.
Now, a decade and a half later, Nalin is effectively retired, with Mirko doing all the work; a fast study, he took to cybernetics like a fish to water, and is rather accomplished both at alterations and garden-variety doctoring. Over the years he got a CP chip implanted, extensively modified his augmentations, and built up a fair circle of acquaintances in the Lower City. His relationship with Nalin is one of fast friendship, after passing through a variety of stages; business is going well enough that he can keep both of them fed from just the work he did. Perhaps most importantly, it seems as though the crash partially suppressed his deep-seated sense of dissatisfaction, of always wanting more - for the present, life is interesting enough.
PERSONALITY: Mirko has a personality which can only be described as manic; violently good-natured most of the time, he may enthusiastically greet a perfect stranger, only to threaten them - and even carry through - if they brush him off. Often times quite heedless of consequences, he lives from impulse to impulse - yet he does have a basic moral fiber hidden in his being. Quite extroverted, he spills his life story (heavily embellished) at the drop of a hat, and he has, despite a fairly formidable intelligence, a sense of humor that is extremely basic and earthy. On the whole, he's a charismatic fellow, and makes a staunch and formidable ally to one who knows how to sidestep his fits of rage.
LIVES AT: The same workshop/office in which he works, a rather dingy place below ground level in a Lower City apartment complex.
OCCUPATION: Alteration engineer and doctor.
PETS: None
WEAPONRY: See Skills/Powers/Machina Alterations
HEALTH PROBLEMS: ? While not a health problem per se, the alterations he received are quite old now and weren't of a particularly high quality when new; they need maintanance on a fairly consistent basis, which he is able to give them when not otherwise distracted.
PHOBIAS: Ever since the crash, Mirko has had a fear of heights.
SPECIAL SKILLS/POWERS: Mirko is quite skilled at the installation, upgrading, and removal of cybernetic alterations, as well as being, as is virtually required for the former skill, an adept doctor. He has five alterations himself. The implant in his head contains an electronic 'eye' with perceptions ranging from the high ultraviolet down to radar frequences, a data jack for connection to the intranet, and a variable-sensitivity acoustic sensor. The alteration replacing his right arm has a claw-hand, and various modules that can be automatically extracted and/or activated: various medical equipment, including a syringe, scalpel and medical-grade thread; electronics equipment, such as wirecutters, soldering iron, and screwdriver; a pistol accepting .45-calibre bullets; an extendable 'sword,' really just a fairly thin sheet of metal supporting a monofilament wire; and a flashlight. The leg alterations are purely for movement, and contain no 'special features.' Aside from those, his bones have been reinforced with metal to better bear the weight of his alterations.
HOBBIES: Drinking
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- NAME: Hampton Chelsea-Foster
- PLAYER: Jane
SPECIES: Human
AGE/APPEARS: 26
GENDER: Male
HEIGHT: 6'3''
WEIGHT: 190 lbs.
EYE COLOR: Very clear dark brown, almost black in quality
SKIN COLORATION: Mildly olive skin. Though it�s a little pale now, if he got out into the sunlight more it�d be very gold brown and becoming.
HAIR: Although he does get his hair cut on a more or less regular basis, he doesn�t spend too much time styling or caring for it. Foster has shaggy, straight hair, that reaches an inch or so above his chin. It is straw coloured, and often tucked behind his ears (as it otherwise falls into his face too much).
DISTINGUISHING MARKS: Not really any that would be too visible, although he opted to have his wedding band tattooed onto his finger (something he heavily regrets now), all in black ink, with some very small writing on it. He also has gunshot wounds, though the scars are faint considering the doctors he hired � one faint one on his right upper chest, and one about three inches below his ribcage on the same side.
OTHER PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: One would have a hard time believing Foster grew up in the Lower City. Which, of course, he didn�t. His frame is sturdy, though he really should eat more, and while he doesn�t look like a weightlifter he doesn�t come off as a pushover either. He has a somewhat round face, with a gentle jaw but a strong chin, and dark eyes looking out over an aristocratic nose. All this often looks very tired, causing the young man to look older than he is. Not helping that fact is that he has cultivated a generous amount of scruff, in patches on his chin and his sometimes trimmed sideburns. As for the way he carries himself, Foster walks with a rather thumping gait, but his hand motions are very fluid and careful, used to delicate work in a lab.
CLOTHING: Very simple combinations seem to flatter him the most. T-shirts with loose pants, seeming to always be held up with the same thick black belt, are his main outlet for �casual wear�. Collared shirts, usually in earth or pastel tones, with short sleeves also fit into this category. Other than that he wears suits, though not always suit jackets, especially those of a dark colour with a white tie, all of which he doesn�t like to have ironed. And even then, he sports them only when it�s required of him. Over it all, long, thick, charcoal or chocolate coloured coats.
JEWELRY: None
MOTHER: Una Chelsea
FATHER: Patrick Foster-Dunn (deceased)
SIBLINGS: None
OTHER RELATIONS: Kit Teal, wife (deceased). Indira Foster, his daughter, who is currently three years old.
BACKGROUND: From the moment Hampton was born he was in the spotlight. His parents hailed him as their miracle baby, doctors having told his mother Una that the chances of her having, let alone carrying a child to term, were slim to nil. Considering that his birth was such a tremendous event in their lives, and that due to circumstances beyond their control he was to be their only child, he pretty much got everything he wanted. His mother especially was involved in his life, and she loved throwing massive parties around her son�s birthday, to the extent that it became an annual social event for more than just children.
Helping matters was the fact that his parents were full out rich. His mother was a fashion designer of all things, already from fairly good standing when she married Hampton�s father, a surgeon. Their names were well known throughout all the right circles, which meant that the friends that the young boy made were all the same type of privileged Upper City kids like himself. Armed with these friends he attended whatever upscale schools his parents enrolled him at � where he went didn�t matter much to him. He excelled in his classes, particularly anything having to do with math and science, though others he achieved equally high marks. By the time he was 11 it was abundantly clear that young Hampton was moving at a rate much faster than any of his peers. At times it seemed like every other month he was moving up a grade.
This put him in the unique position for a pre-teen. He was suddenly in the thick of teenage culture, and after a brief period of adjustment, he found that he thrived in it. His quick responses and sense of humour won over any bitter teenage counterparts in a flash, and his base of friends extended yet further. At thirteen he was being invited to all night drinking parties, which he always made his way to. At fourteen he lost his virginity to an eighteen year old girl, in the master bedroom of his friend�s house. At fifteen he was simultaneously a master student by day and was out living it up in the penthouse apartments of his older friends at night. Things more or less continued this way as he started University, progressing even at the startling young age of twenty one when he completed his doctorate in Chemical Biology. The next year he was recruited to work at Skylark labs, finally being moved over to the LDHO Pan South labs, where he still works today.
When Foster (as he prefers to be called) was twenty-two he met a young woman named Kit. Kit was several years older than Foster, but the two hit it off dramatically by getting married three weeks after they met each other. After the honeymoon stage was over, however, Foster was back out going to parties and being seen occasionally with other women, even during Kit�s pregnancy with their daughter Indira. Those who knew Kit knew how badly she was taking her husband�s behaviour, suffering severe mood swings and depression. Foster insisted she go on medication during one of their frequent fights, but the young mother never stayed on a program. Often she would leave Indira at Una�s house, finding the small child too overwhelming to deal with. It was on one of these nights that Foster returned to find his wife in a desperate state � her face was streaked with tears, and she poured her heart out to the tired chemist, telling Foster about how much it hurt her to have him come home so late, or be told that he had been seen with other women. It was then that he noticed the gun she held, and her sniffling voice told him that she couldn�t bear it anymore, and that before she went, she wanted to make sure Foster was coming with her.
Kit�s first shot him in the upper shoulder, and before she could get another clear shot off he scrambled back in the room, trying to pound open his bedside table where he kept his own weapon, for security purposes. As he shouted at Kit to stop, he heard her swallow tears, and another bullet hit him in the side. Blinded by pain, Foster grabbed his gun from the drawer, aimed it clumsily, and pulled the trigger. When he opened his eyes clearly, it was to capture the sight of Kit slumped over, half in his lap, with the top of her head blown off.
It was a dizzy and hysterical Foster who called the Patrol a minute later, then passed out.
After Kit�s death Foster moved his daughter more or less permanently to his mother�s house. He began working more at the lab, his co-workers having heard the story and now giving him a rather wide berth. It was a year or so after this, when he was twenty-four, that he began getting more classified areas at Pan South. Genetic manipulation, continued experiments on various �volunteers�� Foster�s generally detached personality worked well with this type of assignment. It was the New Children that he asked to finally be assigned to. He was the wunderkind of chemistry, manufacturing various neurological chemicals crafted to elicit certain responses in a subject, improve their immune systems, keep their bodies clean and functioning for just the right amount of time.
After the bombing on the Pan South laboratory, something inside of Foster seemed to flip on. He lost his taste for his work. During his course of work he discovered that while he was slowly losing his interest in his fellow human beings, he was gaining a fondness for those he was working on. When they finally attacked Pan South, he was suddenly giddy � though it might not have been the work of New Children in particular, if it had been then that meant that his beliefs on their high intelligence were completely founded. They were organized.
There was only one place he though he could start. He began accessing the public intranet through public hook ups, leaving a trail of code at discussion rooms and other such hubs. These codes, when translated by any normal hacker, would simply turn out to be a series of numbers and letters. But if hacked by a highly intelligent New Child, they would find that the letters and numbers were part of a series that were built into their own genetic code � all they needed to do was supply the last five digits in the sequence. It took him four months of routinely dropping these clues before Foster got a response.
Though he has only fleetingly met any of the New Children he corresponds with (and even then for mere seconds at a time), he continues to leak information to their community, every couple months.
PERSONALITY: The first thing that one will discover about Foster is that he is blunt, crude, and an all around asshole. The reason he�s been able to get away with this for so long is that A, he is brilliant at what he does, and B, he�s rich as all get out. He loathes people in general, and if you�re not the subject of his dislike his comments can be rather amusing. This is tempered with the utter gentleness and honest affection he feels for children (as well as New Children, who he is rather obsessive about). Horribly paranoid, it�s hard to get him to calm down for any extended length of time, but if you can it means you�ve pretty much earned his trust. Despite all his bravado, he really doesn�t have a problem with his ego � he takes criticism well, and when he�s wrong he admits it. The man has long since forgotten his self, donating it to his work instead. Foster loves his daughter, but feels guilty to distraction whenever he sees her, so he usually opts not to.
LIVES AT: An exclusive housing complex in the Upper City
OCCUPATION: Chemist and sometimes a project leader at Pan South Labs.
PETS: None
WEAPONRY: Typically a laser based pistol that he keeps on himself at all times, as well as an intranet eyepiece if he has room for it.
HEALTH PROBLEMS: Only mental. Paranoia, sometimes depression.
PHOBIAS: Many. He is strongly motivated by fear. He is afraid that his daughter will grow up to hate him (or worse, that he will make her become sick like her mother), that his work as gone too far, and a myriad of others.
SPECIAL SKILLS/POWERS: His skill at code breaking and creating is something that comes naturally, having not done a lot of research into the area, so that his deftness at the art isn�t known by a lot of people. He also has uncanny ability to pinpoint what it is that will set a person off, or at least strike the deepest.
HOBBIES: Not too much, outside his work, which might be why he is almost always wound so tightly.
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- NAME: Jinx
- PLAYER: Jinx
SPECIES: Offspring
AGE/APPEARS: He's 25, however his age would visibly be hard to predict. He fights sleep on a regular basis. And even though he has the money, he rarely finds time to eat.
GENDER: Male
HEIGHT: 5'10''
WEIGHT: 120 lbs (His skeletal structure is made up of a light weight, triple bonded, titanium. alloy. And his muscles were replaced by machina of the same type of metal.)
EYE COLOR: When Jinx was still a fetus his mother was confronted by followers of an underground genetics band. They offered her a lump sum of credits if she would allow them to resequence Jinx's DNA, more specifically the DNA pertaining to his eyes. They did not go into detail on the procedure. However the gist of it was they had created an eye that was engineered to go long periods without blinking. It held its liquids more efficiently, and was not agitated by the invisible rays of computer screens (An eye for the 23rd century). The end result being his right eye was to big for his head, probably the result of his mother's extensive drug use. His skull conformed to his eye, as well the rest of his skin did. However now his eyebrow is permanently poised, as if he questions every thing said. The experiment however was a success; he can now go days without blinking, and tiredness does not effect his eye hand coordination. Also a side effect of the mutation resulted in his eye color being bloody red.
SKIN COLORATION: Even as a child his skin complexion has been ghostly white. He has never cared for the outdoors. Its the manifestation of everything he is not.
HAIR: His hair is usually within the confines of his hat, but when he does wear it out, it is severely matted and white. Jinx also does not understand the concept of a comb, thus his hair is quite spiky, and sticks out in a direction of total randomness.
DISTINGUISHING MARKS: At first glance the left side of his face appears to be covered in a series of rings held together only by other rings and sticks. But a historian may recognize it as a primitive computer language formerly known as binary. The seemingly random pattern of 1's and 0's continue off his face and go down his neck and under his shirt.
OTHER PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: From a young age he knew he wasnt quite the same as his peers. While children wanted to touch and play, he was reserved and despized physical exertion. His antisocial tendancies led him to a life of depression, a path which took him to attempted suicide and self mutilation. This was the beginning of a life time of self inflicted injuries (taking pleasure in it only made it worse). However aside from his eye, his most notable trait was gained while he was still in grade school. He had developed a deadly calcium/nutrients deficiency, though this problem was masked when a business used his surgery as a marketing ploy. They coughed up the money for his robotic replacements for some free holovision time.
CLOTHING: Beneath his duster he wears regular clothing, nothing special of mention. But his jacket is fairly unique in the sense that he made it. His right sleeve is a gray and black striped arm from a sweater, which is connected to half of the duster. This particular part of the duster is made of black cotton, and covered in hundreds of leather straps. The left side may be odder in it's own, it's a light gray half a duster ripped at the bottom from being dragged. That also has ruins of an unfamiliar language printed in red. His left sleeve is made of chain mail, which is where your best chance is of seeing his scars through the holes. Also made of chain mail is his left pocket on his duster, designed for carrying his unique holographic knife.
JEWELRY: Jewelry is nothing but an ornament. The jester's hat perched upon his head is made out of leather, half white and half black. Typically jester hats had bells, but instead this hat has little white skulls (Not real). Also for durability, instead of having thread securing the fabrics, he uses a type of wire to hold the two leathers together.
MOTHER: Irrelevant, Deceased
FATHER: Unknown
SIBLINGS: None
OTHER RELATIONS: None of relevance
BACKGROUND: His mother was a fourth generation Prostitute who spent all of her money on drugs, her favorite being "glass"; it would kill her later on. Not the drug itself, but her pull to it. She would walk the streets all day trying to find some one willing to pay for her services. However money was tight what with people being able to get there release over the intranet, and with holograms. So she found a dealer that was a vampyre, and let him take the payment for the drugs in blood. This was her mistake, the vampyre took to much and killed her.
He waited 7 hours for her to come by his school to pick him up, but when she never did, he decided he'd find his way home on his own. Shortly after he was picked up and placed in facility, to help him get on his feet. In his youth he began cracking open holo communicators in order to find out what makes them tick. This got him kicked out fairly quickly, because of his careless destructiveness. He worked as a bag boy all day, and put himself through a up town high school by day. He graduated top of his class, and moved onto college.
University was slow, but he stuck with it and received his training in Holographic Sciences. He went out into the world looking for a job, but finding little work due to his lack of experience. He started making his own way in the world, he opened up his own Holographic arcade. He called it "Jokers Wild", featuring his own line of games. However when he was propositioned by a gentlemen's club to make them dancers, he left his arcade behind to be managed by some middle aged man who seemed responsible enough, and hired and accountant to take care of his bills. Basically enough money was coming in to pay rent, and by nice things. But this club said, "We won't pay you for your services, however, we will get you an apartment in a far nicer neighborhood for free." So now minus his rent he had enough money to live fairly comfortablly and spent his days making dancers and perfecting new dances for the avatars to try, while at night he made games for his arcade. (The holographic dancers are more like a game then an A.I.)
At 24 he had his own business. Life was pretty good for him right now, aside from the fact that he had very little "him" time. One night on the way from the tramway to his night club he was jumped, and beaten quite badly, which is when he decided he needed to learn how to defend himself. He built himself a very dangerous knife hologram, and began carrying it at all times. Every now and then he'd practice with it, and began getting quite proficient with his style of blade.
In addition: To date he's just released a version 2.0 virtual D&D game (For tournaments.) And as of lately hes been commissioned by the city to build an extension to there holographic gardens.
PERSONALITY: Jinx will generally keep to himself, but when he actually loosens up he's not a very polite person. He makes his decisions based on the golden rule, "Do unto others, as they would do unto you. Only do it first". He likes to make bad jokes, and cruel ones at times. Depending on his mood, sometimes he'll just listen and remain silent. For a compulsive he isn't very punctual, and depending on the persons social status, he usually thinks his time is worth more then yours. However he can also be very courteous, almost to the point of being over apologetic. He has a mean temper, and can be quick to reach for his knife if you wrong him.
LIVES AT: A more upscale apartment (UC), not glamorous but nice. Paid for by a gentlemen's club, provided he keeps up their supply of "dancers".
OCCUPATION: Holographic designer
PETS: None
WEAPONRY: He has developed an emotional attachment to his beam sword. It's his lifes achievments compressed into something he can hold in the palm of his hand. The beam is 1.5 meters long. And is powerful enough to cut through most metals. And when it faces a metal it cant cut. He can usually melt through it like a torch.
HEALTH PROBLEMS: He is a compulsive masochist with insomnia and depression, suffering from mood swings. He self mutilates himself in order to make himself happy, and then becomes unhappy with the result. It's a vicious cycle.
PHOBIAS: Even though he is anti-social and despises people, his only fear is of being alone. So in order to counter the effects of both, he surrounds himself with people, and then he sits quietly observing them; this way he can be alone without being alone.
SPECIAL SKILLS/POWERS: His frail body probably wouldn't have faired very well in the world if he didn't have implants. His skeletal structure has been coated in a light weight triple bonded titanium alloy. And his arms have robotic joints designed to give him uncanny speed and dexterity. And in addition he is also quite proficient with his particular design of knife.
HOBBIES: The good thing about a compulsive is that his job can be his hobby, so in his spare time he's a holographic artist, replicating female companions for lonely business men, who are willing to pay top dollar for a damn near perfect replica of the woman of there dreams. He also designs holographic patches for vampyres or other "Offspring", designed to give them the temporary appearance of a normal human.
OTHER: He has also invested quite a bit of money and time into his arcade company, featuring everything from a updated version of holographic rock'em sock'em robots, to a 3d version of the earth game Magick the Gathering and Dungeons and Dragons hosted tournaments.
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- NAME: Arcadian Elmer Townsend, goes by "Elm", a.k.a. "The Weatherman"
- PLAYER: M. James
SPECIES: Offspring
AGE/APPEARS: 32
GENDER: Male
HEIGHT: 5'8�''
WEIGHT: 157 lbs.
EYE COLOR: Very light brown
SKIN COLORATION: Tan where applicable
HAIR: Brown, medium length, matted & scruffy
DISTINGUISHING MARKS: The majority of his body, including his arms, down to his waist is covered by various sorts of flexible armor grafted onto his skin. The plastic/Kevlar patches cover even his face in a mask like array, with metal reinforcements present on his neck along the arteries, as well as on his wrists and over his heart. Below the waist all that is armored are his kneecaps. The dark blue hued protection is made even more distinctive by the fact that numerous glyphs are written all over his person on the armor in contrasting light blue tones.
OTHER PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: The average sized mop of brown hair that is all stuck together atop this man�s head is all that is normal about him. Two eyes that are almost golden yellow in coloration peer out from depressions in the mask that his face has become. Almost all expressiveness has been lost in the plating that covers his face; all emphasis has been drawn to his face and mouth, making his facial expressions seem almost mime like. Three prominent glyphs are painted onto three of the largest plates covering his visage; if you can read them, you�d easily pick out "Thought" and "Silence", in addition to a large eye symbol which isn�t particularly meaningful but done in the same style. Running along the sides of his neck and his throat, additional Plasteel reinforcements have been sparingly and strategically placed; the same goes for the underside of his wrists and the area on the left side of his chest near his heart. His torso is well-covered front and back in the same kind of plating, with glyphic writing to numerous to read. The legs of this odd creature are absent of this plating except for some on the front of his knees which is small enough to avoid limiting mobility but only covers some of the caps. His body looks tortured underneath his makeshift exoskeleton. Depleted is perhaps the word, but not in the usual sense. Elm is very thin, his skin stretched tight against wiry but more than adequate musculature. His frame is essentially utilitarian to the point of being somewhat primordial. One with knowledge of such things would notice that his muscles had developed differently than those of many humans. Elm�s body possesses the antithesis of "gym muscles". If it was useful, it was unusually well developed, and if it wasn�t, than it was nothing more than adequate. A notable exception are his abdominal muscles which are honed a bit beyond the realm of passive strength development for Elm�s own reasons.
CLOTHING: In town, usually faded old cargo pants and a t-shirt (baring an EMC or gun company logo), with an urban camouflage sweatshirt, complete with a hood that he usually has over his head to better conceal his face. Has been known to don a suit for the two or three large deals he�s ever pulled, even though the effect is downright frightening on him. In the wastes, desert camo fatigues with tinted all-weather goggles.
JEWELRY: N/A
MOTHER: Nora Mossberg
FATHER: Agamemnon Theodore Townsend
SIBLINGS: Emile (Deceased)
OTHER RELATIONS: Unknown
BACKGROUND: "Ag" Townsend had a long and meaningless name that he hated; like all vicious cycles, he passed it on to the next generation. Elm was born in a makeshift hospital tent roughly 20 kilometers south of Los Delos in a settlement that people would call Dry Creek until it picked up and scattered to the winds.
Needless to say, it was an odd childhood. Growing up as one of the poor nomads who for some reason damned themselves to wander in the desert was a unique experience, and not one for the faint of heart. The hunter/gatherer was of like required much ingenuity and obscene amounts of toil to work in a desolate environment such as the one that Elm and his family inhabited. Like all children out there, he quickly became used to oppressive heat and little water to ease it, as well as a daunting list of chores upon which his survival depended. Desert survival was a matter of safety in numbers and loyalty amongst the members of one�s "tribe". Ag Townsend was a fairly deplorable man and lacked much work ethic, which meant that he and his family were seldom welcome for long anywhere. Residing in small groups and often switching between them made life all the more challenging for Elm�s family. The boy never made many friends and felt distant from his family.
Elm�s mother died giving birth to a stillborn baby who was to be named Emile when he was twelve. The people of the desert were extremely used to grief and death, but it still hit the remainder of the family hard. The day his wife died was the day that Agamemnon Townsend just seemed to stop caring; it was the day he suggested that his son leave and go along with a larger group of people bound for Whiterock, one of the older and more established shanty towns in the area. With little fanfare but much underlying sorrow, the two separated.
Charity was near impossible to come by-Elm was lucky that he was even able to tag along to Whiterock, seeing as he was nothing more than a food and water constraint. Upon his arrival, it became evident that he must immediately find his feet and make his own way, or perish. He managed to secure himself something of an apprenticeship within the market at a small bazaar selling dated or near ruined weaponry that had been salvaged from the surrounding wastelands. The job entailed repairing the old weapons to the point where they were sturdy enough to survive a demonstration firing for the prospective customer. Right away Elm knew that this was his calling. He had never exhibited any kind of genius, but one would think the opposite after seeing the proficiency he so rapidly attained in the basic mechanics of firearm repair.
After about 4 years of living in Whiterock, Elm was doing fairly well for himself. He was treated almost as an equal by the man who ran the store due to the fact that he had become a very fine repairman indeed. However, Elm�s 16th year saw a life changing experience.
It happened to all of the towns at some time. "It" was that unfortunate deviation in course of an EMC from the Hypostyle that took it within visual range of the settlement. The raid came to the relatively peaceful town like all of Hell unleashed. Five minutes after the whine of engines could be heard, gunshots rang out as the vampyres suppressed the inferior armed resistance put up by Whiterock�s small militia. Fires broke out and began to burn the city down slowly, like a smoldering ashtray. Elm had ran from his bed and taken cover behind a stack of supplies on the edge of town somewhat away from the action. He sat with an old rifle clutched in his hands for about an hour amidst the screaming and smoke. As the raid wound down, Elm thought that he had to do something. He peered over the crates he was behind and saw a few of the beasts standing about 30 yards away discussing something. Elm had earlier discovered that he had no skill whatsoever in firing a gun; it was something sort of inexplicable, like his brain just lacked a natural targeting system. He would probably miss, but he decided to fire upon the vampyres anyway. But before he could raise the rifle, he heard a voice behind him: "How�s it going, soldier?"
As Elm turned, the rifle was yanked easily out of his hands, and by the time he was facing the speaker, the barrel of the gun was in his face. He regarded his soon to be murderer fearfully. It was one of �them-, dressed in the same black BDU and fatigues as the others were, wearing those same black combat goggles. The vampyre smiled sadistically, and asked, "Looks like some long odds, huh?" Elm meekly nodded; "Y-Yes�sir." The vampyre removed his goggles and leaned in close to Elm, giving the boy a look at his two great, sad eyes, streaked with silver and reflecting evil intents. "Than I guess you better be ready next time we come around." The vampyre stood back up, ejecting the single bullet from the rifle�s bolt action and throwing it to the boy as he walked off still holding the gun. The raid team soon departed, having taken about a third of the town�s inhabitants, as well as having killed about a quarter in addition to ravaging most of the infrastructure. Elm took the old beast�s words to heart.
The town dispersed again and Elm spent the next decade and a half in a standard fashion for a nomad. He lived on numerous caravans, expanding his services to the repair of vehicles in order to prove more useful and increase his chances of survival. Elm was now an independent operator, making his own barter on his own wares, fashioning a decent living while sharpening his mechanical skills.
An aspect of wasteland life that would give him trouble was the fact that violence was rampant and necessary. Aside from vampyres, there were all kinds of nasty people and malformed animals about. Elm knew he would never be very proficient with guns, so he instead decided that he must learn to use his body as a weapon. All sorts of knowledge regarding the martial arts was available, surprisingly enough. The teachings which had evolved over thousands of years had not died off in a mere century of chaos. Bastardized versions of many formal arts were practiced among the wastelanders and city dwellers-learning them was just a matter of providing some payment and weathering a few solid ass kickings. Elm learned the proper way to punch a man behind a broken down RV for a good canteen and a black eye; he spent a month at the edge of Los Delos learning a little Tae Kwan Do for an engine overhaul and a fractured rib; a rebuilt nickel-plated revolver, a sprained ankle, a pulled shoulder, and numerous bruises taught him the finer points of free style wrestling in a small camp by a dry riverbed. The list went on, Elm�s dedication driving him to seek out and adapt elements of Muay Thai, Jujitsu, and Savate as well. Elm�s hard work and extensive chances to practice on an array of hostile people resulted in a brutal style in which everything he had learned had been homogenized and adapted to fit together. All of this merged in with the brutal, instinctive fighting that seems natural to the nomads and equipped Elm with a style that was both unique and potent. This custom built hodgepodge method was a very wide spread phenomenon in the waste lands, with many people collecting and assembling martial arts knowledge as they happened upon it, resulting in every combatant having a distinctive style. As always, someone sought proper nomenclature to express the idea, and for a long while an unclassifiable martial art was said to be an element of "New School Kung Fu", inevitably shortened to "NuFu" for conversational purposes. Elm developed and honed his art in the inevitable conflicts that sprung up with bandits, extremely agitated buyers, just plain crazies, other "NuFu" practitioners seeking a duel�and even once or twice the occasional wandering vampyre.
Elm had begun making trips to Los Delos with those who would take him, and it was there that he first learned of the bodily alterations of offspring. Offspring were uncommon in the wastes because machines were more quickly worn out and harder to repair-the same went for machina alterations as far as nomads were concerned. Healers of flesh were common outside the city, but healers of flesh�s mechanical replacements were not. But the idea of grafted body armor fascinated Elm; he saw it as a tremendously valuable tool and wasted no time in acquiring a little on his chest. As soon as Elm had possessed it long enough to know that it was no real inconvenience, it spread across his body like an organic entity, enveloping him and protecting him in a symbiotic relationship. He bartered much of his ware away covering his body and then reinforcing the areas where vampyres liked to feed. However, it undoubtedly proved to be well worth the cost. The stuff provided a somewhat negligible amount of protection against the blunt trauma of hand to hand combat, which it wasn�t meant for. But since he acquired the armor, it had saved him three knife strikes in the abdomen and even slowed one low caliber bullet down enough that it barely penetrated the skin; Elm was able to pull the round out with a knife after subduing and disposing of the drunken man who had fired the round. The most important aspect of the armor ended up being the anti-vampyre elements. Living in the wastes, one learned well how to avoid its deadly inhabitants who had strayed from humanity. But accidents happen, and every nomad encounters a few vampyres in their life time; they just hope that they outnumber the blood suckers when fate screws them. It had happened to Elm four times, and all four times he had been lucky-never more than two low blood vampyres and never fewer than four competent humans. Never the less, Elm was absolutely terrified of being fed on. After the armor, the odds of this occurring dropped dramatically-Elm still remembers the day he was salvaging an EMC wreck and a few Sangiu'matii low blood slaves showed up. They appeared eager from a distance as they disembarked from their vehicle, walking towards him briskly with a spring in their step. However, when they were near and got a look at him, they merely ordered him to drop everything he had obtained from the wreck and leave immediately. It did not make him immune-he was almost killed by a vampyre on a Los Delos visit because of the armor. The Crestfallen had seen Elm�s armor, and knew exactly what the man�s intent was. He took it as an affront to his race-the thought that a human could make himself exempt from the food chain. Unfortunately, the poor creature bared its fangs in the attack, and a few formerly innocent bystanders took Elm�s side.
In recent years Elm had acquired the hobby/trade of blowing glass at a permanent furnace within a town not for from the metropolis of Los Delos. This was a very useful trade in the wastes, where people loved things that were functional but also glimpses of a foreign concept in the tortured lands-beauty. It was this beauty that made it very enjoyable to the lonely and hardened man. Elm would later apply this knowledge to a different purpose in Los Delos-the making of glass pipes that sold for high prices to those who craved any drug that was smoked. His second hobby was the EMC bike that he had been building-it was something of a marvel of engineering, a strewn together heap of parts that performed admirably-a "junkyard flower", Elm called it. All the while he had also been dealing more and more with city dwellers, and made a big decision: he would move into Los Delos.
He moved out all of his wares to an in town fence for an ill-gotten cred card with a decent amount of clink. The cred secured him a small garage equipped for EMC repair, as well as a top-notch gun repair toolkit plus materials to build his own furnace for glass craft. Soon after came an old server computer that Elm made his engineering number cruncher and moved into a case of glass he had made himself.
Elm started with a few contacts in the city that he catered to. Word of mouth got out when people noticed that he made a good product and provided good service with no hassle. From just about the beginning, people called him "The Weather Man" for a reason that only those who are familiar enough with him to have asked know. The name began floating about town along with a generally positive vibe regarding his services, and he got his first regular customers. The number was small, but it was a start; he figured that he was on the way somewhere he wanted to be.
PERSONALITY: At his core, Elm is a tightly wound animal, hardened by years living outside the confines of Los Delos. Vampyre raids and the savagery of nomadic humans has made him just a bit paranoid, fairly pessimistic, and extremely cautious. He�s not aggressive, but quick to feel threatened. When life allows him to be, he is friendly, but somewhat poorly versed in social matters, including etiquette and especially subtlety. Occasionally likeable if a bit aloof, he isn�t outgoing but isn�t averse to meeting new people. Taciturn, but this is due to a conservative attitude towards words, not a lack of things to say. Trust is a matter that only involves his profession; just something that might affect how much your down payment or deposit is-and it�s not easy to earn.
LIVES AT: His garage/workshop (LC).
OCCUPATION: Mechanic, Gun Repairman, Equipment Consultant
PETS: None
WEAPONRY: A home made EMC that has been and always will be a work in progress and Elm�s pride. He keeps it a step ahead of the patrol�s EMCs, a benchmark ensuring that his ride is quite capable.
HEALTH PROBLEMS: None
PHOBIAS: Claustrophobia (especially when compounded by dark), Vampyres (specifically being fed on).
SPECIAL SKILLS/POWERS: Highly skilled in the repair and alteration of both EMC�s and firearms, coupled with extensive knowledge regarding their capacity and use. Capable EMC driver. Very skilled and incredibly savage pugilist. Extensive body coverage of a plastic/Kevlar composite.
HOBBIES: Elm�s work is something he enjoys, and it extends into a hobby as well; some of his projects he thoroughly enjoys building and occasionally using. He has been known to enter the occasional EMC race as well.
OTHER: Owner of a small garage on the edge of the city that also houses his facilities for gun repair and a stone glass blowing furnace.
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- NAME: Paje Dohnathen
- PLAYER: Coy
SPECIES: Offspring
AGE/APPEARS: 12
GENDER: Female
HEIGHT: 4'7"
WEIGHT: 70 lbs.
EYE COLOR: Gray and featureless
SKIN COLORATION: Pale, smooth, some freckles on her arms and a few pale ones on her face.
HAIR: Dark gray, but not the unhealthy coarse, sort of gray that comes with old age, it is a thick soft type of hair that was obviously natural. It was cut without much care, is shorter in back and seems to have at one point been a bowl-cut. Since then, however, it has been simply hacked at to keep in its place. The back is shorter than the vague shape of the 'bowl' and her bangs are lopsided and uneven.
DISTINGUISHING MARKS: None. She has a few minor scars, on her elbows, knees, and hands mostly, from what must have been childhood accidents. None of them has a story.
OTHER PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: Paje is still a child, and it's obvious. Her face is rounder than it will be a few years from now, and her eyes and nose is a little large for her features, and her mouth has none of the distinctiveness of a lady. Her eyebrows are small for her eyes but the right side for her face, but they're almost hidden under her bangs. Her body is thin and wirey, she has no figure and her breasts are just barely beginning to come in. She is a good-looking child, but a bit scruffy and mildly malnourished.
CLOTHING: She doesn't have much in the way of a fashion sense. She doesn't wear much color at all, but sticks to whites and shades of gray. She is most often found in white wife-beaters or t-shirts, and doesn't seem to be bothered by cold weather. Black jeans or hand-me-down slacks are her preferred form of leggings, and she will usually wear a pair of beat up black sneakers underneath. She likes to wear large swathes of bandages around her forearms and ankles, though not because she needs them.
JEWELRY: None
MOTHER: Arricha Dohnathen (deceased)
FATHER: Nehshan Dohnathen (deceased)
SIBLINGS: None
OTHER RELATIONS: One aunt, who Paje is not in contact with.
BACKGROUND: Paje's father worked for a construction company in Los Delos, while her mother was a singer at a bar. When Paje was an infant, while her parents were meeting at her mother's bar to get a little bit of time alone from their incredibly telepathic child, a large EMC crashed into the building and somehow caused a massive explosion that killed everyone within. Paje nearly killed her baby-sitter that night when she felt the deaths of both her parents, who she was strongly tied to, and all of them around her.
Paje was sent to live with her aunt, her father's sister, who had no idea how to take care of an infant that couldn't speak, but could wander clumsily through her mind. The woman had a panic attack one night and tried to kill Paje only to be stopped by her husband who told her that they would put their niece up for adoption.
Paje was passed around from foster family to foster family; no one was able to control her. She grew intrinsically distant from each set of parents, knowing that they could not do anything to her for "discipline" and enjoying her freedom. They each tried dozens of ways to teach her discipline, but in their minds she always found reason to doubt their motives. She hated that they thought that she could be controlled like a pet; if one simply denied her something she liked when she was "bad" she would stop doing that "bad" thing. She would lash out at them with her mind, and train -them- not to treat her like a bad dog. Many couldn't take it, they passed her on to the next person who might give it a try.
However, when she was eight, a representative of Skylark, who offered to take the child off her hands, approached her foster mother. Her "mother" declined, but in her mind Paje found strong doubt, and realized that her freedom was on the edge of a knife. She ran away, mostly out of anger, and ended up robbing a convenience store putting the clerk into a coma in the process. She made it very easy to track her down, but evaded all who tried to chase her down until a small juvenile correctional facility in the Upper City found her and promised that they would keep the militia away. She reluctantly joined them, and regretted it when they put a collar on her that limited her telepathic ability. They were kind though, and kept their promise. She was -not- delivered to Skylark.
However, after a certain point, the facility's council realized that there was nothing -they- could do for her. Their psychiatrists and doctors simply weren't getting through to her. A young ex-militia doctor by the name of Oscheon Jordanson offered to adopt Paje. As a weak Telepath himself, the council decided that he was the best chance they had at inspiring the girl to become more than just a selfish nuisance.
Whether it succeeded or failed is still up for debate. Her telepathic ability was simply too much for him, even with his mild Mind Wall and the Collar, she was still able to dip into his mind without effort. When she fancied herself in love with him, she quickly became irritated at the discovery that (being fifteen years her senior) he had no such thoughts in return. She became frustrated, even tried to instill love for her in his mind, but -that- he managed to repel. What did occur was his discovery of her endeavor, and an attempt on his part to confront her. She became angry, declared that if he was going to treat her like a pet, like all of her other parents had done, she wanted no part of it. Despite his aspiration to appease her, she ran away.
PERSONALITY: Paje doesn't seem to care about much. She has a hard shell against those who would try to pry, but at the same time is very susceptible to the emotions of those around her, mostly because of her empathic abilities. She doesn't like being affected by these emotions and either violently tries to hide it, or turns it negatively on the offender. She dislikes being told what to do, and gets very angry very easily when ordered around. She is extremely intelligent and seems to always know what is the correct thing to say in order to get her way, or at the very least, she knows what not to say. She can anger people very easily, or trick them into trusting her unconditionally. But she's not necessarily a manipulator, she only tries to do the right thing for herself, and isn't really the type to be amused by the sufferings of others.
LIVES AT: Officially she is Osch's charge, and so lives in his apartment, but she hasn't been there in days, and has been specifically avoided it, and him wherever she goes.
OCCUPATION: None
PETS: None
WEAPONRY: Her mind. She isn't trained in any form of combat, though she could improvise if she chose too by simply stealing the knowledge from her opponent's mind, but for the most part, she typically uses this ability to get out of the fight. She has no interest in weaponry.
HEALTH PROBLEMS: None
PHOBIAS: None
SPECIAL SKILLS/POWERS: Paje is an incredibly powerful Telepath. As an infant she was powerful enough, but as she grows older, her ability only increases.
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- NAME: "Seth"
- PLAYER: Will
SPECIES: Offspring
AGE/APPEARS: 50 / 25
GENDER: Male
HEIGHT: 5'11"
WEIGHT: 157 lbs.
EYE COLOR: Red, black outline in both irises.
SKIN COLORATION: Blotchy, pale greenish.
HAIR: His hair is a perpetually well-trimmed black, the product his most minor genetic 'improvements'. There a small side-effect, however, as the tips of his hair tend to turn deep crimson whenever he enters moments of emotional stress or extended physical exertion. It returns to its normal coloration promptly an hour later.
DISTINGUISHING MARKS: He has numerous faded scars around his mouth, cheeks, and jawbone (mostly due to the sloppy consumption of bone and viscera). Aside from that, and the black blotches that form along his skin during times of personal famine, he has no other outward markings.
OTHER PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: Seth's looks are not what the average person would define as attractive. His features are pointed, coming to a symmetrical line that runs the length of his face. His cheeks are sunken and hollow, his eyes are wide and seem unblinking, and he has a constant wide toothy grin spread across his colorless lips. His arms, legs, and torso all retain a look of starved emaciation, making them seem longer and fragile. His lack of any facial hair and his generally youthful (albeit feral) aura sometimes leads to people mistaking him for a child, or a very young looking teenager. This error is often realized as soon as he speaks, his voice being a mature deep monotone with just a pinch of wavering. When he moves, its with a very calculated clumsy gait that is in actuality very graceful. He can often be found sporting a healthy glaze over his eyes, denoting his flagrant habitual drug usage. It is this habit that also gives him a somewhat detached demeanor. Though he neglects washing or even the most rudimentary hygienic duties, he is aided by his genetic alterations providing him internal temperature regulation to replace the need for sweat and leaving him with a constant sterile odor. His breath, however, leaves much to be desired.
CLOTHING: His clothes are often a hodge-podge of articles he scavenged off his victims that even reasonably fit. What clothes he does retain (though by now they are little more than rags) are the light blue patient's uniform he was given during his genesis.
JEWELRY: None
MOTHER: Unknown (Persumably Deceased)
FATHER: Unknown (Persumably Deceased)
SIBLINGS: Sophie Masters (Orphaned Sister)
OTHER RELATIONS: Jacob Masters (Nephew)
BACKGROUND: Eric Masters was once a patriotic, exemplary soldier. He had signed up right after his first college term and then immediately decided to go career after basic training. He had great promise as a future general, perhaps even five stars, but that was never his true goal. His was a true dedication to an idea, to the perpetuation of The Order's will. But, during his tenure he began to uncover the subtle hypocrisy hidden just beneath the surface. Instead of choosing to overlook these acceptable horrors for promises of wealth and glory, like so many of his more opportunistic brethren did, he tried to expose them and correct them in a true spirit of loyalty to what he -thought- The Order stood for.
His biggest target, Skylark Inc., grew quickly tired of him trying to gain access to their records and his constant inquires into classified subject matter. They contacted his superiors at the Delos Patrol Square and told them to issue him a final warning about his curiosity. They did, but found only an irritating resoluteness in their comrade's intentions. Seeing no other choice, his superiors forfeited him over to Skylark Inc. under the auspices of participation in a new intensive training program. In reality, they had only turned him into the resident guinea pig for their renewed gene splicing and manipulation research.
The next six months gave Eric a new definition of pain, torture, suffering, etc. He endured every genetic alteration the scientists currently needed to test. He lost his sanity first, but his humanity followed soon after. When they were finished he had gained a sort of genetic immortality, with a metabolism that would never decrease due to age. He gained several bundles of muscle fibers, thereby increasing his strength and speed tenfold, increased his body's natural healing abilities to the point of true regeneration, and also a natural ability to see in the infrared spectrum when he chose to. These gifts came at a grisly price, however, requiring consumption of nearly 2/3rds his body weight a week in human tissue. To accommodate his newfound appetites the scientists were kind enough to alter his jaw to allow him to dislocate and elongate it at will, strengthen its muscles for better chewing, and add a second row of jagged reinforced teeth that hid just behind his normal set. He was now something more monstrous than any vampyre could hope to be, he was a freakish ravenous cannibal.
Morbidly pleased with their creation, the Skylark scientists now puzzled on a way to make it useful. Their first attempt was to mold him into a genetic super-assassin. They toiled to return mental coherency to his mind, wiping clean his memory and effectively re-educating him from there. For the next few years training went well, and Eric (who they renamed Seth) was very quick to re-learn all the skills of his old life along with a few new ones tailored to his newfound profession. Unfortunately, his hunger for flesh became increasingly difficult to cater to as even Skylark Inc could not perpetually provide meals of human so often without arousing suspicion. It was then that the scientists discovered that if they subjected Seth to several potent narcotics his appetite could be staved for extended periods of time.
This solution worked, though only temporarily, and Seth's training continued. They discovered the error of this treatment when in a sudden insane rage Seth was able to break down the steel door covering his cell and consume entire portions of two men's bodies before finally being put down by stiff tranquilizers. This was the proverbial last straw for Seth. He had become more a liability than an asset to the company, and was slated for destruction. However, instead of the quick merciful approach of a bullet to the head, the scientists decided to turn his execution into a learning experience by seeing how long it would take for true starvation to set in and his body to effectively eat itself from the inside out.
He lasted three hellish weeks before they were certain he was dead. They decided it best to put him in a more controlled environment than the suspended dura-plated steel oval he was chained inside, and sent a team to transport him back to the laboratory. This would be their final mistake concerning Seth, as while inspecting the second row of teeth one of techies cut his finger and allowed a slight droplet of blood to flow down Seth's gullet, it was all he needed to snap his mouth down like a steel trap and take the whole hand. He awoke then, and worked his way from there, killing and then consuming each one of the guards with trained precision. They didn't even realize he had escaped until a day later when they discovered where he'd hid his victims� blood-soaked possessions.
Since that time he has lived as a vagabond on the streets of the Lower City, hiding his activities under the illusion of vicious vampyre attacks, and nursing a steadily increasing drug habit. What little money he makes comes from what he takes off victims. When he has moments of clarity he often considers hunting down those who sent him toward his grisly fate at Skylark, but seeing as the memory wipe left him with only vague impressions of that past, it becomes a fruitless effort. His only living family, his sister and young nephew, were led to be believe he died in the line of duty and have no knowledge of his continued existence, nor he theirs. For now he is 'content' with spending most of his time either high or in search of prey. He finds being in the company of vampyres is much easier for him, because he cannot eat their flesh and thus has no desire for it.
PERSONALITY: Poor Seth has been through a lot, and his mind reflects this battleground of torture, experimentation, and betrayal. When he was Eric Masters he was a kind-hearted, but very dedicated optimist whose only flaw would have to be his extreme gullibility. This gullibility would lead to his mind, along with the rest of his body, being transformed in unspeakable ways. He was first deprived of numerous neuro-chemicals often considered responsible for discerning right and wrong, thus making him a shameless sociopath by default. He finds it very hard to stay moderate with any emotion, experiencing a very severe form manic-depression that causes him to shift moods almost instantaneously. His constant smile has less to do with any sort of morbid pleasure he takes out his hunger than the mere fact that his jaw sets more comfortably in that position with his second row of teeth not set digging into his gums. While his intelligence and wisdom are quite extensive, he retains the emotional maturity of a child, often prone to sudden violent outbursts or bouts of crying without explanation. Naturally, he has no real control over these reactions, and takes great offense to people who so much as point them out.
LIVES AT: He considers all of the Lower City his home, squatting from one derelict shelter to the next with impunity. He has no designated hunting grounds as he knows those can be far too easily tracked. He tends to move from week to week, usually after feeding, but never leaves the confines of the Lower City.
OCCUPATION: None, but he has in the past 'done favors' in exchange for drugs. These usually amount to murder or at the very least intimidation. He's no preference to whom he works for, but prefers payment up front.
PETS: None
WEAPONRY: While trained in their use, Seth doesn't carry guns because he can't afford their maintenance and supplying ammunition. He does keep a very sharp machete with a jagged edge perfect for cutting and slicing, though he considers this more an eating utensil than a conventional weapon. In combat, he often prefers using hand-to-hand an the effectively placed bite or two.
HEALTH PROBLEMS: Because of his genetic alterations, his metabolism has become the equivalent of a nuclear reactor that must be continually cooled or experience a total meltdown. Thus, he must consume at least 2/3rds his body weight (a steady 157 lbs. of muscle) a week or he will begin to agonize from severe hunger pangs which after three weeks will turn into a blind all-consuming rage, and then finally death on the forth week. He need only consume the regular required amount at any time to neutralize this effect.
PHOBIAS: While not necessarily fearless, Seth has been through enough to bulwark his psyche from most conventional phobias.
SPECIAL SKILLS/POWERS: Seth retains commando level military training in hand-to-hand combat, infiltration, use of weapons, etc. He rarely relies on it though, as his opponents within the Lower City are often hardly worth the effort. He has increased strength and agility from the increased frequency and density of muscle fibers in his body. His improved healing factor is the product of his sped up metabolism, which also prevents aging. By concentrating he can also shift his eyes from the normal spectrum to the infrared, denoting their odd coloration. All and all he has most of the abilities of a New Child, but with a more biological bent. This is no coincidence, as he was one of the prototypes for a proposed New Child revision.
HOBBIES: Drugs, though if he found a steady supply of flesh without the hassles of hunting he might have time to pick up other things.
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- NAME: Melki Tint
- PLAYER: Mike
SPECIES: New Child
AGE/APPEARS: 23
GENDER: Female
HEIGHT: 6', or 6' 3" in black military boots
WEIGHT: 135 lbs.
EYE COLOR: Once black metallic eyes, her glassy gaze now had a gold shine from mercury poisoning.
SKIN COLORATION: Her skin neither looked healthy nor flush. It hung on her body an ashen white but relatively clear in complexion.
HAIR: Melki's hair was dark auburn and stringy, streaked green, falling down to her slim shoulders. It laid limp and often in a careless just-out-of-bed fashion.
DISTINGUISHING MARKS: Melki's body was shaped and toned, fashioned from rigorous yogic practice and martial arts training. Starting from the head down this is what a casual observer would glean: Her right eye had an odd patch, like "tan lines" circling it, which she had amplified by neat swirls in an ancient Henna dye pattern. Her nose was straight, her lips full and bow shaped, flashing dark over white teeth. Melki had rounded curves of the hips and breasts yet she hid these "assets" under baggy clothing; the reason was not obvious, but the left side of her thorax had been ripped and scarred and so she hid it. Her hands and feet, when viewable, were adorned with black rings of implants, and her fingernails were a flat metallic black, each of which she had painted with cryptic Tarot symbols. Melki also had a tattoo of a flying dragon carrying a scepter on the nape of her neck and a sunburst around one nipple. There was a drooping tattoo of a mask on one palm, and another of a mask laughing on the other palm.
OTHER PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: Melki came across by body language and posture as one who was trained to take any situation and become the Problem Solver, yet her shifting eyes and lackluster attitude also spoke of deteriorating self-will. Those that knew her by "aquaintance" often nicknamed her "Zombie" without knowing how true the addage could be.
CLOTHING: Melki often dressed in: black army pants; black Patrol boots with DayGlo strings tied round them; a tee-shirt and loose long-sleeved grey "mad scientist" uniform top; a black overcoat or flak jacket; matching black backpack with a cute skeleton keychain jangling; and multiple plastic draw-ties wrapped around her wrists for easy use. Her ambience and appearance would rarely shift, but maintained a casual "preparedness" that left passerby wary.
JEWELRY: Melki's ears were adorned with dangling black rings and jewelry, almost completely obscuring the implants behind them. She also had multiple tattoos (see above).
MOTHER: Madame Tilsaud (Tzigany) Tint (deceased)
FATHER: Patrick Tint (presumably deceased)
SIBLINGS: None
OTHER RELATIONS: None
BACKGROUND: Melki Tint grew up not knowing her father, because he left her mother in the dead of night one time when Melki was only two years old. Her mother never told her anything of what kind of man he was, except his name which Melki later found through checks did not match any ID in Los Delos City. She still wondered about him into her adulthood.
Melki learned the Tzigany, or Gypsy Folk, from her mother, who spoke many languages and would read people's fortune for added credits or protection or drugs. Melki followed in her mother's methods and became an excellent "seer" as well -- her spirit seemingly in contact with a "greater one". Her teen years involved convoluted addiction to Glass (a drug) and worship of spirits embodying animals. This bizarre nature eventually was wiped away the day her mother died, although Melki inherited her mother's Tarot deck and a large party of her misery.
Melki straightened up and became a devoted scholar and martial artist. Her new better discipline and her naturally lean body and dexterity won her the attention of the military. She joined the military and drove herself further into a whole other world, striving to lose herself. In the most unprecedented of ways, she succeeded.
After "becoming" Homo sapien proximus Melki enjoyed zoning out and moving like an automaton. She had forgotten her past and become the zombie she always had desired to be. Now the desire itself was gone as she catalyzed into a new Melki, one #Y809. Unfortunately her targets solely became vampyres, not out of any hatred or desire to destroy -- but on the order of an official. Some of Melki's old friends in Patrol leaned out and captured her in a trap. They were Doves. Melki was taken out to a spot in the Wilderness and buried up to her head in dirt and starved and tormented and teased near death by vampyres of all castes as well as Doves -- all in retribution for her occupation. Her waking nightmares were of the tattoo of two black swooping doves, and the vultures and animals of the desert picked at her and destroyed what little was left of her mind.
The ordeal was thought to be over and Melki was left for dead, nearly drained of blood by vampyres and steel blades over and over again. Her tortured "corpse" was hauled out of the dirt by a pack of coyotes that intended to maul her. However, her senses awakened and she crawled back to civilization. She did not recall how she made it out of the Wilderness, although she knew she did not do it alone. The graceful embrace of friends helped her.
When Melki came to months later she discovered she had saviors. A small gang of scholarly youths -- all of them latent psychics with severe psychoses -- had nursed her to mortality. The band, calling themselves The Scy Slashers, lived in a shell of a building once an Ivy League school, now a crumbling brick menace covered in ivy. The band devoted their days to scientific experiments and "uncovering" conspiracies, but at night their leader delved into social terrorism on a small scale.
Melki stayed with them, trying to recover her sanity and her humanity -- while aiding them whenever and however she could. It was there that straight exposure to a vast number of scientific study chemicals poisoned her body and mind a little more. The mercury was intentional however, to hide her flat metallic eyes by changing their color. She stayed the Slashers' zombie until she had a falling out with the leader and went astray again. At present she lived on her own, her own master, harboring many scars psychologically and resenting the world and the military that made her what she had become.
PERSONALITY: Melki, even before her transformation, was a "zombie personality" as coined by therapists in the early 21st Century: she was shy, introverted, exhibiting emotional disassociation, and instead of passive-aggressive she would turn self-destructive. She kept a blank stare and a robotic talk that made her immune to the world. The only signs of humanity about her was her quirky offbeat sense of dress, style, and humor. Abnormally in contrast to this "dry" diagnosis she was empathic and could tell a lot about others . . . almost as though she could read minds although she could not.
Melki also had an eclectic share of delusional psychoses that her one-time friends in the Scy Slashers had attributed to her torment in the Wilderness. She believed she was a seer, and in a way a religious messiah of sorts, kept alive through sheer perversity of some overall Spirit to lead others. She also heard voices coming from her own head or from inanimate objects. Melki believed her super-strength and stamina were "powers" given to her by her Spirit if she ate sweets -- usually chocolate, cappuccino, or Twinkies. This delusion often weakened her when she did not get these sweets.
Melki also had an unusual affinity with animals that may have been real, although she attributed it to her kinship with the animals that pecked and ate her while she lay dying in the Wilderness. She also believed that the coyotes had pulled her free there as a sign of her "belonging" to them and that on certain nights or at certain moments she could transform herself into a coyote. At times she did this she would often tear at her clothes and run wild on all fours, disregarding human nature and scavenging food
Her personality exhibited a clash, of which is obvious: she was a zombie with an impic harlequin trying to get out. This dualism caused its own bizarre conflicts that she dealt with every day.
LIVES AT: An abandoned apartment in Lower City, going by the identity Sherri after an orphan of the state she found dead in an alley one night after leaving the Scy Slashers for good. The new "Sherri" burned her fingerprints off and told those who asked it was a hobby-related accident. Melki believed she had a reasonable similarity in appearance to the real Sherri to get by with it.
OCCUPATION: Melki adopted Sherri's IntraNet connections to run an online bookstore and coffee shop, a tad run-down looking but full of unusual paraphenilia. She also went by day to Sherri's old job as a clerk in a holo sales-shop, where she kept a low profile.
PETS: Melki had no pets but talked to any animal she encountered as though spirit-mates, even rats and spiders. She would often collect gothic toys and dolls and talk to them when she thought she heard voices in her head.
WEAPONRY: Melki never went out without her black backpack. In it she kept a tub of dried beef-strips, a flashlight and extra pack of batteries, a battered holo-projector pad, a steak knife, and extra ammunition. On her thigh she carried a .45 calibre Colt Anaconda and in her boot she often kept a throwing dagger. She also was wont of taping a small .35 special to her chest if she expected trouble or was going out for the night. Each boot was magnetic and steel-toed for leaping and jumping greater distances and kicking guys in the balls.
Melki also kept plastic draw-ties wrapped around each wrist under her shift. One draw-tie would invariably be used to pull back her hair into a ponytail. The others she used as defense weapons in their own right: she used a combination of martial arts styles -- judo, tae kwon do, jinjitsu, kung fu (the meanings and terms had been lost before her teachers had even learnt them and the moves had melded into almost one powerful street style now) -- and the plastic draw-ties were used to bind the wrists and ankles of her adversaries and sometimes to garrote them. And she never knew when a tie would become handy in other ways either.
HEALTH PROBLEMS: Melki had aquired from her transformation into #Y809: the ability to "sniff out" vampyre brood; increased senses almost to a sharpened danger sense; increased stamina and muscle control; increased speed, dexterity, and strength, which coupled with her custom black magnetic steel-toe boots give her an amazing jump and kick ability; increased healing and durability.
Melki had acquired from her transformation into herself (at present): an insatiable delusion of her connection to the Spirit; an unnatural affinity to small creatures and animals bordering on the quasi-telepathic; the ability to foretell cryptic details about the near future when using her mother's old deck of Tarot cards (although she cannot remember her mother anymore for some reason she can still recall and draw forth the Tzigany Fate-mastery); an almost empathic ability to tell what other people are feeling or when they are telling the truth or not. Lastly, Melki had noticed but not quite figured out why, vampyres gave her a berth and humans and offsprings tended to ignore her, to where she could almost become "invisible" in crowds. Melki's thoughts were so chaotic and absorbed that telepaths could not "read" her either.
NOTE: Sometimes Melki's voices she heard would actually give her cryptic omens of the near future the same as her reading the Tarot would, although she could never tell when to trust them . . .
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- NAME: Omael
- PLAYER: B. Wawrow
SPECIES: New Child
AGE/APPEARS: 29
GENDER: Male
HEIGHT: 6'
WEIGHT: 190 lbs.
EYE COLOR: Dark red pupil and black iris
SKIN COLORATION: Dark
HAIR: Dark red
DISTINGUISHING MARKS: Black metallic fingernails and thumb claw / oddly formed skin folds on the back
OTHER PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: Omael looks as though a gifted sculptor had just set down his chisle after carving a classical hero from a huge block of flawless jet. His visage is exotic and strange. His eyes are an impenetrable black. Further, his teeth and fingernails are metallic black, contrasting against his skin only in their texture.
CLOTHING: Heavy utilitarian fabrics in neutral colours. grey shirts, black combat pants, etc.
JEWELRY: None
MOTHER: Unknown
FATHER: Unknown
SIBLINGS: All New Children
OTHER RELATIONS: None
BACKGROUND: Omael has no clear memories of his life before becoming one of the New Children. Omael has memories of memories of vague images. He remembers an old lady reading to him about the angels and telling him their names. Athanatos, Arel, Mumiah and Metatron. He remembers Omael specfically. The angel Omael helped the animals to multiply and helped the doctors and wise men. The name of the old lady and his own name are long forgotten. The name Omael remembers is B441. That was the name they gave him at the camp.
His earliest real memories are of the camp. He remembers training, sleeping and eating with his brothers and sisters. He remembers the pain. Pain from the pills, the beatings, the surgeries and the disciplinary electrocutions. He remembers his own pain and the pain of all the other New Children.
Omael was eventually assigned to a research facility within the camp. He became an assistant to the same people that once trained him, tested him and administered discipline. He was always present when New Children were being tested or when they were being used to test new drugs, equipment or methods. He had seen many New Children mutilated, tortured and killed in the name of improvement of the breed. Seeing that the New Children were not improving through these means, Omael began to consider how the New Children could be improved.
Everything changed when the new drug was being tested. Suddenly, real changes were taking place. The new drug was causing dramatic changes in the New Children. They were mutating violently. The scientists were becoming very excited about this new project but the New Children were not surviving the process. So, with a big bag full of project documentation and vials of the new drug, Omael climbed into a delivery truck and was gone.
Not long after that, the New Children from Circle Star found him. They told him that B441 was his slave name so he chose Omael as the only name that ever meant anything. The Circle Star people were very excited to have Omael look over some encoded messages they found in a virtual bookstore. Using his stolen lab notes as a key, he has unlocked the coded messages and begun his research in earnest.
PERSONALITY: Omael is not a normal person, even for a New Child. He is very focused on his research and believes it is the only chance for the salvation of the New Children. He has always lived in isolation with work and training dictating the conditions of his life. It is very important to him to find other New Children that might need his help.
LIVES AT: Basement laboratory in a warehouse owned by Circle Star in the Lower City
OCCUPATION: Alchemist
PETS: 148 laboratory rats
WEAPONRY: Claws, shotgun, dartgun w/ various drug/toxin loads
HEALTH PROBLEMS: Colorblind, addiction to various experimental pharmaceuticals
PHOBIAS: None
SPECIAL SKILLS/POWERS: Heightened scenting ability; chemical sensitive vision; increased strength, speed, resilience; flight?; claws; mental affinity with other New Children; knowledge of New Children genetics & biochemistry
HOBBIES: Pharmacology, genetic manipulation, politics and other mad scientist type hobbies
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- NAME: Rafe
- PLAYER: Craig
SPECIES: New Child
AGE/APPEARS: 21
GENDER: Male
HEIGHT: 6ft
WEIGHT: 140lbs
EYE COLOR: Jet black with no discernible difference between iris or pupil
SKIN COLORATION: Pale caucasian
HAIR: Long, brown and snarled up with knots
DISTINGUISHING MARKS: Rafe posesses a six inch crescent-shaped scar between his third and fourth rib, along with a tattoo of a Hydra on his left bicep. Below the Hydra are the words 'Unity Through Strength' His fingers are long and clawlike -wickedly sharp
OTHER PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: Painfully thin, most of Rafe is a sinewy tissue of muscle and bone. A sharp-featured face looks at the world through black eyes as a sardonic mouth curls almost contemptuously into a fixed and seemingly vacant grin. Face smudged with dirt and grime, his fingernails are cracked and broken, while his mangy beard looks as if it could be host to any number of small creatures. His voice is dry and cracked, just like his lips that seem to have been gnawed on by his teeth. His canines seem to have been filed to points, but somehow, given the state of the rest of him, they are curiously white and strong...
CLOTHING: The tattered remnants of a combat jumpsuit serve as the base for Rafe's wardrobe. Fingerless leather gloves do their best to hide the implants on his hands and fingers while a beaten up raincoat covers him in a shapeless mass and scuffed boots are laced up with string to serve once again as footwear.
JEWELRY: None
MOTHER: Chantal Lockett
FATHER: Christopher Lockett
SIBLINGS: None
OTHER RELATIONS: Unknown
BACKGROUND: The man born as Raphael Lockett no longer exists. The Patrol Unit Commander has been shattered under the hammer of progress. All that remain to him are fragments and visions of a life no longer his own. But the truth? Ah. The truth. Raised by his father Christopher, Raphael was an extremely bright boy who excelled in school. As a Citizen, Christopher could provide reasonably well for his child - doting on the boy due to his wife's untimely demise.
As a result, Raphael finished his education with a strong sense of his own superiority - and some would say a great deal of arrogance. Passing through the Academy's doors, he joined the Patrol as a Field Soldier. Quickly, he gained a reputation as an efficient soldier, earning him the attention of the brass - though his penchant for cold-blooded force whenever required did not escape notice.
His first exposure to the vampyre menace filled Raphael with terror and shook him up badly. Here was something that was faster, stronger and tougher than him or his friends. He began to feel small and vulnerable even as he watched the cretures struggle against Patrol firepower. Yet if there was one thing Raphael Lockett hated, it was feeling powerless. After their opponents had been exterminated, the patrolman took hold of his fear and refined it into a cold blade of determination and hate.
From then on, he faced the vampyres unafraid, a brutally destructive creation of human arrogance and fear. Soon he rose to command his own unit, a group of individuals that gained the nickname 'The Hydra'. Their jackbooted feet and casual violence became almost legendary in the Old District, silent and grim figures who unleashed fury upon Illegals and those who harboured them. Skirmishes between The Hydra and any Offspring or vampyres they encountered weere always bloodbaths. Surrender was never accepted and capture rarely occurred. Of course, such crusaders often fell in battle, but somehow, Raphael survived. As others joined as replacements, UC Lockett became harder and colder, less of a man and more of a machine.
The change was noticed by certain individuals who began to regard the Hydra as a set of loose cannons. Little is known of the unit's destruction other than that their orders to enter Spider's Dusk and retrieve a Offspring were suicidal and obviously a trap. Suffice to say, the Hydra were destroyed. Three days later, a Patrol unit reported finding a set of Patrol identification and armour in an abandoned building during a routine sweep. They matched those given to Unit Commander Lockett.
What had happened?
The truth is that Raphael survived the mission. Dragging himself from Spider's Dusk, badly wounded and on the verge of death after his betrayal at the hands of his superiors, he was found by a group of individuals searching for subjects for illegal experimentation. Drifting in and out of consciousness, he was transferred to a research facility on Deep Blue. His new captors were amazed at Raphael's strength of will, but rather than helping him back to full health, they began to use him as a test subject.
Under the guise of healing, Raphael's body was genetically modified to a specific design. The destuction of identity was aided by the serious head injury that Raphael suffered during his escape. It was not difficult for the scientists to modify his behaviour patterns into the walking zombie of a New Child through drugs and behavioural modification. Confusion and memory loss left him a pliable subject whose mind became a whirling mass that clung to the souless following of orders as it tried to make sense of it all.
Raphael's exposure to the vampyre virus during the final battle of the Hydra should have turned him into a ghoul - but somehow he survived. This New Child was an an unbeliveable opportunity - a possible way to -improve- the design of New Children. Infecting him with the virus once again, his Makers hoped to usher in a new dawn. If only they had fully understand what the virus did to neurochemistry. A painful transfiguration began, causing cracks in the brainwashing as alien desires sought to reconfigure him. Raphael was soon torn apart by the warring forces in his mind. For a while, the New Child was nothing more than an anmal that howled in agony. But slowly, as the changes in his physiology began to stabilise, a new personality built itself out of the shards of confusion, cruelty and New Child discipline. Rafe was born - and his frustration began to build from day one.
An indeterminate time later, rumours began to circulate of a series of murders in the Upper City - scientists, or so the buzz went. Nothing ever came of it however, and soon it was just more grist to the interminable rumourmill of Los Delos. It couldn't happen they said - the Patrol would be hunting such a murderer, yet nothing was ever done. So why bother worrying?
Why worry indeed? Rafe did not worry as he was born in the fires of rage and anguish, a shattered wreck with vampyre blood pulsing through his veins. His experimental genetic structure was seemingly hostile to the virus. Yet as the science of mankind and the alien virus battled within his body, there was one terrible casualty - the New Child's mind broke. Programming and instinct jabbed jagged edges into his soul, slicing away the security of existence.
Enraged beyond belief, Rafe broke free of his restraints and slaughtered the scientists responsible for his creation, hunting them down to the last. Far from being immune from the virus however, Rafe was changing still further. His oral process shifted, reshaping his jaw and giving him the pointed teeth that mark him out while turning his fingers into thin, clawlike structures.
Maddened by the almost constant pain of the virus' attack on his body, he fled into the lower city, living on the streets. Something else had changed however - in his fevered brain Rafe believed himself to be a vampyre. Caught between his old hate and his hunger to understand what he has become, he has taken to attempting to drink vampyre blood in order to gain answers. So far he has not succeeded...
PERSONALITY: Rafe is insane. The inhuman calm of a New Child is punctuated by explosive rages and fits of melancholia, as well as the hallucinations and fits of the insane. Some vestige of humanity may remain, but he finds it increasingly difficult to rise from his chaotic mind to the clarity of thought Raphael once knew. He hates vampyres, but some portion of the New Child programming still remains and drives him to seek them out. He has become a predator who shadows other predators, a warped jackal who seeks knowledge through witnessing the life of the vampyre. He hates the Patrol more however - a part of him knows Raphael was set up, and wants revenge. Revenge and the knowledge of who and what he is.
LIVES AT: Anywhere he can find. A nomadic homeless man.
OCCUPATION: Derelict
PETS: None
WEAPONRY: Claws and a flicknife.
HEALTH PROBLEMS: Constant pain due to the vampirism virus in his veins trying to Turn him and failing. Hallucinations. Schizophrenia the whole lot.
PHOBIAS: Medical equipment
SPECIAL SKILLS/POWERS: Cybernetic implants as per New Children, increased agility, enhanced senses and knowledge of the back alleys of the LC, seeming immunity to Turning.
HOBBIES: Talking to himself.
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- NAME: Elisha Black
- PLAYER: Andrew
SPECIES: Offspring
AGE/APPEARS: 42/25
GENDER: Male
HEIGHT: 6' 2"
WEIGHT: 190lbs
EYE COLOR: Left, Blue; Right, green
SKIN COLORATION: Naturally tan
HAIR: Jet black to the shoulder blades. Usually pulled up in a ponytail with a strand down over his left eye. It is naturally straight and always well-kept, despite the amount of time he spends outdoors.
DISTINGUISHING MARKS: Tattoo at the base of his neck, a white rose. There is a line of silver from the outer edge of his left eye back into his hairline, the mark of surgery some years back. No other scars.
OTHER PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: Upon first glance Elisha appears to be of average built. Upon closer inspection, however Elisha has the build of a male gymnast from centuries before. He is almost shockingly attractive despite the scar across the side of his face. He has a strong jaw which is never seen with more than six-seven hours worth of stubble (i.e. none). His eyes are piercing and genuine, easily hiding true intentions.
CLOTHING: He usually wears a turtleneck, with or without sleeves, and slacks which are then covered by a long leather trenchcoat. Inside his jacket are several hidden pockets that are only accessible using certain movements.
JEWELRY: A simple single silver stud in his left ear.
MOTHER: Angelica Black (unknown)
FATHER: Remus Black (deceased)
SIBLINGS: Sister, Jessica Black (unknown)
OTHER RELATIONS: Amelia James (friend)
BACKGROUND: Forty-two years ago, Elisha Black was born to Angelica Black, a mundane woman who managed a grocery store and her daughter Jessica Black. The birth had gone smoothly for the baby, but not so much so for the mother. Due to some complications during his delivery, Angelica's ability to have children was disabled. Remus, who had died a few months prior in a fire-fight while walking home from a corner store, left the family of three with life insurance pay and very little else.
Sixteen years Elisha grew up with his sister and excelled in his classes provided by the government, skipping a grade at one point. His mother pulled him aside that night: "Don't stand out, try to be as... dumb as the other kids. Don't draw attention to yourself." Soon after, his quarterly reports read straight Bs. He regularly worked alongside his mother as a bag-boy to bring in extra money for bills and such. He had a few friends but he felt that they didn't understand him, could never understand him. While they spoke about their latest venture into the intranet he was coming up with technological ideas, specifically dealing with artificial intelligence. Much to the chagrin of his sister who was hooked on the intranet.
Soon after he finished school Elisha was able to get an internship at an electronics corporation. There, he learned what he needed to know about electronics and machinery enough to start working as a handyman in his building. Soon after his 18th birthday while preparing to set off on his own his mother and sister vanished from their home with no forced entry or signs of struggle.
For 8 months Elisha wandered the streets asking people for information regarding his mother and sister, always carrying a picture of each of them. He did odd tasks in restaurants or stores for only two weeks at a time, preferring to move on in his search. At the end of the eight months Elisha had made his way to the richer side of town, sent there by a lead through ten people who spotted a vehicle leave his home.
While searching, he met Amelia, a well-off woman who regularly went out to all-night rich parties. She took an immediate liking to him and invited him to a few parties, only a few of which he attended and while there he didn't really get into it. A month into this one of Amelia's closes friends disappeared while at one of these parties. Elisha was called to calm the hysterical woman down. When he arrived, the investigation was underway.
The details were shady but Amelia had left the man in the room for a moment to retrieve something, when she returned he was gone. His car was still here and no one at the party saw him leave through any of the doors. Elisha immediately took to this mystery, his mind whirring, comparing the similarities between his family's disappearance and this man's disappearance. Thus starting his independent investigations.
At 22 he started investigating smaller mysteries for a price equal to the amount of information he was given (less info=more expensive). He was able to find several lost children, credit thieves and the like but his main mission was to find his mother and sister. He felt that they were alive somewhere.
While investigating the disappearance of a woman from her home Elisha was attacked from behind and dragged into a vehicle.
Several years later he found himself naked on the side of a street, unable to remember where he was or what had happened to him. He staggered to Amelia's who, luckily, had not moved in those years. A surprised and relieved Amelia took Elisha in and brought him back to health. Ten years had passed and it showed on Amelia but Elisha still looked 25.
Soon after, Amelia opened "Fallen Angel" out of which Elisha could base his operations of investigations.
PERSONALITY: Mostly calm save for situations where he feels overwhelmed or confused. He will lash out at the nearest person regardless of his own situation or relation to said person. Those who have met him a few times know him as a genuine person, caring and generous. However, those who have known him long enough (not many) understand that he is as ruthless as hell ever produced. Not necessarily evil or sadistic but he is extremely motivated both socially and in career situations.
LIVES AT: Above Fallen Angel, slums
OCCUPATION: Co-Owner of Nightclub: Fallen Angel/ Independent Investigator
PETS: None
WEAPONRY: Vibri-Sword attatched to his hip. The blade is oval and reflective as to deflect beams; one end of the blade comes to a microscopic tip, the other is blunted. It is 2ft in length when not extended (no blade) and 6ft when fully so. He also carries two traditional projectile weapons at each thigh.
HEALTH PROBLEMS: Increased requirement of food intake due to the energy requirements of the nanites. Sometimes suffers from migraines
PHOBIAS: Arachnophobia, fear of spiders. Fear of small spaces.
SPECIAL SKILLS/POWERS: Elisha is extremely intelligent, having a photographic (natural), audio (mechanical) and kinetic (natural) memory he finds it easy to absorb information. The silver slash on the left side of his face house nanites that aid in physical repair and sensory enhancement. Due to biological experimentation and nanite-induced evolution, Elisha's skeletal, neural and muscular systems have been enhanced. Elisha has an uncanny ability to sense his surroundings spatially using acute hearing akin to echo location.
HOBBIES: Drawing Cards, Solitaire
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- NAME: Everett Nadir "Eve or Ever" (he hates both equally) Cross
>>added Rafe + Elisha bios
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