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Fantasy OSV [The Characters]

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OppositeInverse

OppositeInverse

The Origin of The End.



ORIGINAL SUPERVERSE

CS FRAME

Appearance: (Real pic/face, or Realistic face claim only )

Name:
Age:
Gender:
Height:
Weight:
Sexuality:
Physical Extras::

Personality Goods:
Personality Bads:

Dislikes:
Fears:

Hobbies and Skills:

True Power: (your preferred power here + MY random generated power here) = To be determined.

Background: (Character bio & History)


How often can you post?
How much content do you put in said posts?

Provide a Writing Sample here:

1. The main one. Respect RPN and its rules.

2. Any questions or intrigue about the plot or story come to me! I love hearing ideas even if we don't incorporate them.

3. OOC will be friendly and respectful. IC be extra and add flair all you'd like BUT...

4. BE REASONABLE. Realistically adapt and grow into abilities and make logical choices. You can control weather? Know that you will not begin with master powers or creating storms at will. Go into a very secure Army base tossing fireballs alone? Your IC has ended lol.

5. I do not mind if you guys subplot romance. Just keep it PG-13.

6. Try to have UNIQUE characters. For some reason people love military trained or martial arts based characters. As much interest as this RP go to I can tell you now EVERYONE WILL NOT MAKE IT. If you want to make a combat character go ahead just flesh them out. I will not begin approval process until I see and feel good about your CS sheet. Only those that are approved will get an ability. If you do not make the cut, or if you don't even want to have a powered character speak to me about a support role and I'll see what I can do.

7. If you didn't know from the InCheck, the process for selecting abilities will be the combination of your preferred power added with a random power from me. Ex. (Mind control + Enhanced Hearing = Widespread Telepathy which is hearing minds over vast distances)
If you don't like you power you'll just have to find a way to cope. Side note: I will NOT change true power no matter how weak or overpowered it is. Once it's yours, it's yours.

8. If you cannot post due to IRL or other reasons please post in consideration of everyone else. I'm interpreting this RP to go relatively fast pace wise not too speedy, so if you need assistance ask and you shall receive! And...

9. If you do fall too far behind or get in a hole you cant climb out of that doesn't mean you're done for. Unless you're intentionally a jerk or going against the tide of the plot, you can get back up to pace.

10. If you band together, or fight amongst each other IC, coordinate with each other as I will be overseeing those situations with a final outcome, but stay true to character and abilities. Don't force it just because you wanna "be great"

11. HAVE FUNNNNNNNN!!!!!

12. Now, if you read, accept, and understand all rules: At the end of your CS, write a sentence mentioning a favorite comic book character in a fashion that would be true to your character.

*Only those whose CS' have been finalized and accepted will be added into the OOC. *


 



ORIGINAL SUPERVERSE NPC Characters​


Wanda Holly Yates - Mother to Kasey Yates and widow of Chemical Engineer Shawn Yates. She works as an officer for the Center for Disease Control (CDC) as a chief consultant and department facilitator.

Shawn Knowle Yates - Father to Kasey Yates and was a well-known Chemical Engineer and provided many contributions and advances in his field for safety and technology. He was shot and killed in his Fulcrum City home in 2016 to an armed robbery.

Dr. Miranda Hawthorne - A Renown doctor at Fulcrum City Medical Center.
​


 
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​


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"Do I even need to say it? Wonder Woman is the most powerful DC fighter period. And she does in all in compassion and love, not war! If you can make Batman surrender and knock Superman unconscious... I mean... c'mon..."

​

 
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JOHN HAVERSON
​



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"Call me old fashioned, but it's hard to look past Wonder Woman."
​

 
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Appearance
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General Name: Blake Rodgers
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Height: 6'0"
Weight: 174 lbs
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Physical Extras:: Has an average body but a well developed back and shoulder from constant archery


Personality Goods:
  • Patient
  • Collected
  • Confident
  • Assertive
Bads:
  • Arrogant
  • Brash
  • Petty
  • Impulsive

Dislikes:
  • Time-wasters
  • Criminals
  • Simpletons

Fears:
  • Not being good enough
  • Failing in the things that he tries to do
  • Not living up to the standards of his father

Hobbies and Skills:
  • Archery
  • Hunting
  • Basketball

Powers
True Power: (Quantity manipulation + MY random generated power here) = To be determined.

History
Hometown: New York, New York

Blake was born to two lawyers, thus most of his childhood was spent more with the nanny than with his actual parents. Not that it was a dull childhood, rather it was a great one. As the only kid, he got everything he ever wanted so long as he excelled in school as his father would constantly tell him that he wanted him to be a lawyer like them. And even though his parents could more than afford to take him to a private school, he went to a public one since his father believed that private school only taught their students everything could be bought with money instead of hard work.

As he grew older, he started getting more and more into sports, specifically archery and soccer, and even made to the school’s soccer team as a midfielder in his Junior year until the day he graduated. College afterwards was average, and while he was studying law, his life came to a halt as his time was increasingly devoted to studying and trying to stay on top of his classes. Eventually he graduated law school, and even though his mother wanted him to become a defense lawyer, his eyes was on becoming the DA of New York, thus he became a prosecutor.

The money at first was slow to come, where he had to rely on his parents’ money, but as his name got around, he managed to open his own office and things were going great for him for a while. He was then contacted to be a prosecutor for a high profile case involving a serial killer, and since the DA was going to be present, it was his chance to finally impress them and get into their office.

After a long grueling trial, the case went to his favour and the serial killer was put behind bars for life. A few days later, he got an email from the ADA telling him that he had a meeting with them the following week.

On his way back to his family’s home to tell his parents of the good news, he was jumped by two men and in the struggle underneath powerlines, a transformer exploded sending all of them to the ground where he got injected with something strange.

He woke up a few days later in the hospital feeling strange in so many ways.


Sir Jorah Thayne crested a hill and rode near the soft edge, stopping a little ways before the slope as two riders raced towards him. Behind him were two squads of infantry, their plate rustling loudly in the dark. The rest back at their camp.

The world had become a mess. His world at least. He thought wars and armed conflicts were far behind him. In his youth, he would have seen war as glorious, a method among many to raise his rank within court, and although it did do that, he no longer romanticized the concept. He'd seen far too much, had enough nightmares to last a lifetime and drive anyone else insane. And yet, there he was again, mounted and armoured in the middle of another fucking war.

What was the point, he wondered as he watched the riders approach. What use did the killing of countless hundreds serve the lords and ladies of court? Would not dialogue serve a better purpose. Or even better, why not have those very lords and ladies fight each other so the rest of them didn't have to get mixed in with their bullshite. If only. They'd probably kill each other and woulnd't that be fucking amazing.

He spit to the side.

The riders crested the hill and came to a stop before him. "Sir," one of them nodded, "there's an encampment down the valley near the woods. We couldn't mark out any banners."

"Their numbers?"

"A good size from what we could tell," the other scout said. "But poorly armed and armoured."

Jorah nodded and looked over to his left. Some distance from the hill on their flank were fifty riders carrying the black and white banners of House Sway. Turning to the infantrymen, he said, "take a rest here for a moment until I return," then to the scouts, "go back to the camp and rest up."

"Aye, sir," they said, then rode off.

After a moment, Jorah turned his horse round and rode down the slope to the cavalry, stopping before Sir Theron Dayne. A large man, heavily built and looking even bigger under the heavy plate he was wearing, his sallet resting on his saddle's pommel, as he turned his stubbled face toward him. "Sir Jorah," Sir Theron said in a throaty, somewhat-scratched voice.

"Sir Theron," he greeted, "There's an encampment ahead. Their affiliation unknown. You will charge ahead into their camp and my infantrymen will follow behind and pick off the stragglers."

"What's their defences look like?"

"My scouts report they were poorly armed, I can only imagine their defences are the same. Regardless, caution is advised."

"I'd be far more comfortable with the archers taking the lead on this."

"As would I, but they're a prickly lot, aren't they just? You have your orders, Sir."

"Aye, I'll see it done."

He nodded and turned his horse round once more and rode to the top of the hill, cursing himself all the while.

8888​

Despite all of his ambitions and all the dreams he had, there was gaping hole in his chest. Luther never thought he'd actually feel that way about the deaths of his brother and father, but as the realization slowly set in, the gaping hole only grew larger. He was sitting in his solar, a large circular room, the walls lined with tall shelves stacked and filled with books and parchments, the table before him littered with much the same. His father's scent was all over the place and just being here reminded him of his childhood, how he used to run in here with his older brother, laughing and screeching while their father looked on at them with mild amusement.

A good man, his father. Harsh, but fair, and mostly kind. It was a shame he hadn't picked him to be his heir, and although he knew he deserved it, his older brother was the first born and the title belonged to him. Alas, it was a further shame he had to get rid of them both, and their deaths weighed heavily on him. Of all his planning, that was the part he least expected. The guilt. The way their memory compressed his chest, as if a horse suddenly decided to sit on him, the way he would walk and a random bust would make him remember a joke his brother told him and tears would suddenly blind his vision, threatening to crumble him into a weeping mess.

It was a strange feeling having them removed from his life when he at one point thought they would always be with him. It was emptying, their memories haunting him every time he walked down the halls of Blackreath Estate, threatening to pull that gaping hole in his chest ever wider and engulf him in misery. He wouldn't allow it however. He had filled the hole the best way he knew how: to occupy himself wholly in making their lands better, to become better than his father and give his future generation a life they would be proud of. He doubted he could ever reach the throne, too much work for a single man, but he would pave the way.

What he could do however was try to become a High Lord instead of some bannerman. Have his future children run the land, perhaps marry one of his future kids to the royal family - after the coup was successful of course - and thus lay down the foundations for his future generation to lay claim on that throne.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts, and a moment later a man entered. Slim and scrawny with a mess of grey of hair and loose wrinkled skin around powerfully blue eyes. "My lord," he said with a surprisingly deep, strong voice, "your presence is requested in the War Room."

"Very well," he said as he stood, his height good six feet, no less, no more. Dark hair tumbling down to his shoulders and green eyes peering from underneath moderately thick eyebrows. "Tell them I'll be down shortly."

"Very good, my lord."

He walked out of the solar and started making his way through the wide halls, the walls on either side of him boasting plaques and plinths of older lords in their family, paintings of beautiful landscapes and tapestries of old wars in the kingdom. Soon, he entered the antechamber to his rooms, a large place filled with sofas and a high ceiling covered in a painting depicting winged soldiers fighting off a legion of heavily armed knights. Blue and red Vases stood at the corners and on one wall was a massive hearth crackling with fire.

Turning to his left he entered a large closet, half as big as the antechamber, and walked through the stacks of hanging coats, breeches, and shirts until he finally picked one out. Soon, he walked out wearing a red high collard, double buttoned fitted coat that went down to his knees, the collar and cuffs embroidered in gold with two golden knots on his shoulders.

He then walked down the halls, his boots clicking against the stone tiled floors, down a set of stairs and into another large room, plain save for a bust of his grandfather in one corner and a large round table in the centre with a map drawn onto its surface. Around the table stood all five of his council members, most of them standing straight as entered.

"My lord," the Master-of-War said, "The Chesire family has been sacked, the members killed and their lands, I presume even now, are being raided however small it is."

"An opportunity presents itself," Luther said.

"I doubt it, my lord," his Lord Steward said, "The Chesire family had small, neigh on insignificant land. Whatever opportunity you may think their lands possess, I assure you it is not worth the effort."

"If a member of their family survives, I can offer my protection, garner their support however weak they are and have on my side an ally."

"A weak one," the Lord Steward said, "what support would such an ally give?"

"Regardless," the Master-of-War interjected, "the reports say the family his been killed, their manse sacked and looted. No one survived."

Luther ran a hand through his hair as he looked down at the map, his eyes distant as he thought for a moment. "Where are our armies currently?"

"Sirs Jorah and Theron are nearby from our last reports, verging on these woods here. They mean to intercept a baggage train crossing the High Road here," he pointed on the map. "Sir Merron is holding Fort Joss and preparing for a siege."

"Sirs Jorah and Theron are to take the spoils of that baggage train to Fort Joss, I assume?" He asked.

"Indeed, my lord."

"Have Sir Theron take care of the transport. Once the baggage train has been acquired instruct Sir Jorah to march for Chesire lands, rid it of bandits, and hold it until further instructions."

"Is that wise, my lord?" the Lord Steward asked.

"It's as you said, Lord Tristan," Luther said to the Lord Steward, "it's a small insignificant plot of land. I doubt anyone would bother wasting their men trying to recapture it."

"I agree," the Master-at-Arms said, "although I would much rather have Sir Theron aiding at Fort Joss."

"As would I, but this will further his loyalty, and boost morale for the other commanders. If they capture a piece of land, they'll start thinking it'll belong to them. They'll fight far more ferociously if a title is their reward."
 

“I’ve always been a fan of vixen. I mean possessing the traits of different animals sounds pretty cool right?”​


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❦


Name:
Angelina Selene Monáe

Age:
28

Gender:
Female

Height:
5’8

Weight:
136lbs

Sexuality:
Demisexual

Physical Extras:
Angelina has a lithe body with a decent amount of strength.

❦

​

Personality Goods:
Charismatic || Observant || Strong-willed || Open-minded

Personality Bads:
Bull-headed || Impatient || Manipulative || Competitive

Likes:
Tea || Felines || Snow days || Late night walks || Yoga || Jogging || Mystery Novels || Riddles || Winning

Dislikes:
Coffee || Dogs || Romcoms || Immaturity || Sour things


❦

​

Fears:
Losing herself || Large bodies of water

Hobbies and Skills:
Yoga || Reading before bed || Flower pressing || Acting || Reading others

True Power: Decomposition Manipulation + Toxikinetic Polearm manipulation = Death-Force Constructs

❦


Background: Angelina comes from a middle class family of three. Her parents weren’t extremely wealthy yet that had enough for their little trio to be comfortable. Angelina was enrolled in a private school where she was considered one of the popular girls. She made good grades for the most parts and was a favorite of her teachers. Before long she was graduating from high-school as the class valedictorian.

Her transition into the real world was startling to say the least. While her parents didn’t spoil her she was a little naive at the time. College was very different from high-school and she struggled in the beginning. She eventually got the hang of it and was able to become a successful botanist.



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Code by JayeTheKat JayeTheKat ​




I can post daily or every other day if something’s wrong. I can usually do multiple times a day typically 5-6 depending on if the ic is flowing or not.

Tatiana looked at herself in the mirror on her bedroom wall. There were clothes scattered around the room randomly, articles of clothing that she had tossed aside when trying to find the right thing to wear. In order for her to be on time she would have to start getting ready hour early. She was picky when it came to what she wore, she had to look perfect for the party. Eventually she settled on a cute outfit that she hadn't worn before. It wasn't surprising that she had clothes with the tags still on them. Her closet was large and she had a lot of clothes. Her parents had been popping in every so often to remind her about being safe and behaving responsibly. Tatiana smiled fondly at them and just nodded each time. She knew that they were only looking out for her. When she heard the phone go off she walked over to her bed where it lay. Upon seeing just who texted her Tatiana slid her phone open to reply. "Yeah, thanks. Don't keep me waiting Richie!" After replying she closed her phone and grabbed her clutch. She had all the party essentials inside lipstick, her phone, and mace for if someone decided to get crazy and try to kidnap her or something worse.
 
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Ashton Ryte​




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"Oh I use to read comic books all the time! I mean, my town was kinda small so there wasnt really anything else to do. But if I had to pick a favorite it'd have to be Spiderman! I mean, he was just a nerd who made a difference."

 
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Name: Dr Oliver AuerAge: 26
Gender: Male
Height: 6'1"
Weight: 143 lbs.Sexuality: Sapiosexual, DemiromanticPhysical Extras: Physically Healthy, but underdeveloped muscle and constitution. Somewhat unfit.
Personality Goods:
  • Attentive - Things, sounds, people, places - Oliver makes an effort and takes the time to not only be aware of whatever situation he finds himself in but also to reflect upon it and form meaningful and well-reasoned opinions.
  • Empathetic - Oliver can very easily empathise with those around him, sharing in their grief and joy equally.
  • Generous - He has a tendency to share his time and resources with those whom he believes to be in need of it. Even if what he has might be limited.
  • Gentle - He has a deep affection for those who have had life deal a hard hand. He will be extra careful and comforting to those who suffer or have suffered during their lives. His mannerisms and tone of voice are innately comforting and authentic to those who he tries to help.
Personality Bads:
  • Secretive - The things in his life which do not touch, or according to him concern, those around him are his alone. He does not share private information often, and very rarely will even his closest friends know things most would consider simple. He values his privacy to a rather unusual level.
  • Arrogant - He tends to think that most people are not that informed about the world, often assuming that while they mean well, they are most likely not capable of taking care of themselves on any significant level. He might insist on helping people who really do not need his help, simply because he assumes they would be incapable of doing it themselves.
  • Frugal - While he is not impoverished, he spends very little of his resources on things like food, clothes or shelter. He tries to live with minimal excess so that if someone in an emergency situation should one day need something like money or resources, he would be able to provide for them. As such, he will more often than not deny himself comforts and other pleasures in an attempt to be 'responsible'.
Dislikes:
  • Noise - Oliver prefers quiet in his life. He thinks best when there is an air of calm around him. He will sometimes play some Furniture Music in the background but for the most part, he likes his life filled with an easy silence.
  • Conflict - People, places or ideas fighting for no reason beyond the need for conflict frustrates him, and he will avoid it if possible. He does understand that sometimes violence is the only way. But only if it truly is the only way.
  • Spontaneity - He likes his days planned out. He likes to know what will happen so that he can plan around it, and set his expectations. Deviations, while sometimes impossible to avoid, offer little more than the disruption of an established and well thought out pattern.
  • Disorder - Things have a place. They are to be kept here unless the situation requires their removal. Upon completion, they are to be replaced. This allows for future use or reuse. Deviating from this brings no benefit to anyone. So, when you finish using it - Put it back.
Fears:
  • Pain - He has very rarely in his life experienced pain. The idea is foreign to him. He is not interested in exploring it further.
  • Illness - Illness undermines your ability to be self-sufficient. It undermines your ability to be of use to others. It undermines your ability to think clearly. It is a failure within a working system. It requires a quick and efficient solution.
  • Death - While he does not believe in any gods or devils - death poses a level of finality. Beyond which we are stripped of our agency in the world. We become a natural resource once more. All that we are is lost. We can no longer define the world as we see fit. Dying before absolutely necessary means giving up the one thing that makes us special. Life. Life, and the endless spectrum of possibility it affords us. It is not something to let go of lightly.

Hobbies and Skills: Classical Piano, Reading, Writing, Painting, Drawing, Cooking, Dancing (Waltzing), and Playing Chess.
True Power: ( Persuasion (Click Link) + Creation (Random) = Vocal Creation
Background:
Oliver was born in Austria and moved with his two parents to America before the age of two. He had a very relaxed childhood in a middle-class home. His mother and father worked hard, as a music lecturer and Tailor respectively, and provided for him. Being a naturally empathetic child he understood their concerns over money and resources before even they noticed, and from a young age acted with great care when using his things - so as to not break them. He also began saving from a young age, surprising his parents on his fourteenth birthday, when he presented enough money for the entrance exams and the first semester at the University his mother had been teaching at. She was very happy to inform him that, since she taught there, he could attend for free. This naturally had him overjoyed. Not sure what to do with his funds, his father suggested that he donate some of it. Before long he started volunteering at a local homeless shelter, donating much of his time and money. By the age of seventeen he was sure that he wanted to go into Psychology - and by the age of 21, he was applying for postgraduate studies.
During his training, he was known for his careful and approachable bedside manner. He would get people to talk with him who would do so with no one else. He got even the gruffest, most introverted, antisocial patients to open up, share and over time - begin to heal in the face of their trauma-ridden pasts. This drew the attention of many of his professors and other advisors who directed him towards trauma counselling and stress management, a field which he then chose to specialize in. This is where he attained his PhD and is what he has been doing since. He has a small office in a business park where he helps a few people with high-pressure jobs in the mornings, before travelling to various prisons, medical facilities and other places of interest to meet patients whom he had been referred to.

One morning, upon leaving his house, he was robbed by a young Eastern-European man. They spoke for a while before Oliver offered to rent one of his rooms to the young man. It was a rather weird situation, but he thought it better than to have the cops come get him, or worse - being knifed out of fear of going to prison. Oliver plans to take some time to really think hard on his life choices, while also trying to figure out why the things he keeps saying are coming true.



I can reply daily. Weekends are not that consistent, but I will most likely be able to make it. I prefer to write at least three paragraphs - reacting to what was said before, then mulling it over, theorising and such - before then offering at least one thing for someone else to jump off from.
Oroforma stood at the edge of an empty stretch of space. Somewhere out there, the great creator was. Forging on a scale so immense it dwarfed all other acts of gods and mortals alike. The sheer scale and complexity nearly overwhelmed even the put together sentience that was Oroforma. It was a sight to behold. A gift to see. Even as the first light started to shimmer among the vast clouds of gas and rock - Oroforma felt a spark of envy. Why would he not? It was easy to rationalise. He was an artist. An historian. And even now, with all his plans and ideas he was in awe of a creation beyond him. A creation that inspires life. There could be no greater art than this. As the light started forming into more stars,Oroforma started moving away - careful not to get caught in the fires of creation. This was not his role though. He was a creator god. Not THE creator god. His job was to observe this feat and record it - marking it as a part of history. Slowly his form shifted from that of a young man, floating alone in space. In turn, a vast tower manifested in his stead. Tall beyond reason, it seemingly stretched along the boundaries of reality. No foundations, and no top. It loomed for a moment before the complex stonework started shifting - expanding up and out - the tower becoming larger along all parameters. A new piece of stone - as unique as any of the ones that made up the rest of the tower - suddenly appeared, dark, with little detail or markings. Slowly as the galaxy started settling in the distance, so too did stars appear on the tablet - marking history as it was formed. A brilliant mosaic with white glass stars and a fire made of gold spread across the onyx stone. The tower settled again. And then vanished.

I am not sure... perhaps Xavier? I can't help but think that, despite his good work, he really could be doing more. I would love to get into people's heads though. Imagine what we could learn? Imagine what we could come to understand, given such an intriguing perspective...

 
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Name: Alex Pearson
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Height: 5.9 (1.8m)
Weight: 153 lbs
Sexuality: Hetero
Physical Extras:: Fit and lanky, lots of scarring to the back of the left leg.

Personality Goods
-Cool headed
-Professional
-Brave
-Goal oriented
Personality Bads
-Doesn't accept his own limits
-Stubborn
-impatient

Dislikes: Failure and obstacles. When trying to achieve a goal even the smallest detour or obstacle can Frustrate Alex.

Fears: Fear of violence. Alex doesn't handle confrontation well and tends to avoid it if possible. He would run into a burning building for a stranger but he completely shuts down if he thinks someone might be trying actively hurt him.

Hobbies and Skills: Search and rescue/First aid. Alex is trained in rescue operations and equipment for a variety of situations and environments.

True Power: (Force field Projection + MY random generated power here) = To be determined.

Background: (Character bio & History)
 
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Komissarov "Komi" Isaak Nikolayevich
​



Age: 22
Gender: Male
Height: 5'11"
Weight: 159 lb
Sexuality: Homosexual
Physical Extras: Is quite muscular and works out a lot but not a fitness freak or anything of the sort. Has a high level of endurance and is quite a good runner.


Personality Goods:
  • Confidence - Komissarov is quite audacious in the way he carries himself, always with a sly and somewhat mischievous smile that exudes confidence and a self assured attitude, even when not. This helped him immeasurably in his early days of petty crime.
  • Loyalty - Even though he can be best described as an asshole, he is not a complete asshole. He can display a remarkable sense of loyalty to the so called "little man" and has gotten into many fights with figures in the criminal world over minor disputes. He has a deep and strong connection to those he see's getting hurt or bullied for no reason. Even if he is not entirely exempt himself.
  • Ambitious - He displays a large amount of ambition, eager to climb up every pole he finds to prove he can better than all the rest. To prove to himself he is more than a simple pickpocket. He will persevere through thick and thin for these rare opportunities.

Personality Bads:
  • Rebellious - Has an intense dislike of any form of authority and will often go out of his way, even if it's a bad idea, to do the opposite of what a figure of said authority might state. Not particularly smart, but even he knows that. This is also true of matters concerning the law. If he feels it's necessary, the law takes a back foot.
  • Stubborn - Once his mind is set on an idea, it is hard to get him to think or do otherwise from that course of action. The main reason for that attitude is simple distrust of those around him as opposed to his own mind.
  • Lack of self-care - Kommisarov doesn't care about his own self preservation and will often do things considered dangerous or stupid. This is from a simple brazen arrogance but also an internal monologue of self hatred. Putting on a facade of being more capable than he is because he simply doesn't care for his own state. This attitude has led him into many lost fights and given him many scars.
  • Emotional struggle - Komi can be quite detached and struggles to register his own emotions in a sensible way without getting angered or self absorbed. He bottles up his past and the life he has led to an unhealthy level.
Dislikes:
  • Know it all's - If there is one thing he dislikes more than anything else, it's those that think they know everything. Those who will try and rub their knowledge in your face or try and apply it to his own situation and feelings.
  • Authority and order - The idea of authority has always been foreign to Komi. It is worthless and unhelpful. Why should he listen to someone wearing a uniform or give others the moral high ground when the said authority and order failed him so badly? Their word is worth less than a school janitors in his mind.
  • Falseness - Honesty gets you somewhere with Komi, even if he doesn't like what is being said, he can respect that it's honest. Those that parade around with a false smile and empty words don't get the same respect. They will just be ignored or told to go bother someone else.

Fears:
  • The past - The one thing he fears more than anything else is his own past. He has it under lock and key and often refuses to discuss it with anyone at all. He prefers the status-quo no matter how damaging.
  • Being forgotten - He wants to make something of himself in the world, to rise above what he is and has been. To be simply forgotten by the world just as he was ignored from the moment he was born would be a life unfulfilled.
  • Repeated history - No matter the things he does or the way he acts he never wants to come across as yet another pawn for more powerful men. Even the mere suggestion of it is insulting. Even if it closer to reality than he would ever admit.

Hobbies and Skills: Pick-pocketing, agility, street boxing, surprising intelligence, playing the guitar, speaks Russian and English

True Power: (Teleportation + Prehensile Muscles) = Organic Teleportation

Komissarov was born in the city of Moskva, the capital of the Russian Federation, to a high ranking member of the Solntsevskaya Organized Crime Group and an unknown mother he never learnt the name of. His early life was filled with pain and misery, his father being a man best described as "evil incarnate", a nickname from those he worked with. The little time he actually spent with his father was not a pleasant experience and most of the time he was brought up in the gutters of the city by those that worked for the crime family. He developed key skills from them and became an adept petty thief, pick-pocketing unsuspecting victims and disappearing faster than the authorities could catch him. It was not an easy life and without his skills for the illegal he would of went without basic food and drink, something that still happened regardless.

Things increased in intensity when around his 16th birthday a gang war began within the city. Being the son of an important figure naturally made him a target, along with his father. Thus his father began to take true notice of him, bringing him closer. It would not last long. His father became another body in the endless cycle of street warfare and was gunned down in front of Komissarov. Only managing to escape himself due to the skills he had learnt on the streets of the city. With his fathers death the leaders of the various families came together and the war was ended over a glass of vodka and warm smiles. As if nothing had changed. This deeply infuriated him, how could they simply continue on as normal? By what right could they brush it under a carpet and pretend it didn't exist? Where were the leaders of the organization? Where were the police? Nowhere. They were all above his petty concerns and now he was left alone, more so than before. Those that had raised him in absence of his father now ignored him or treated him as lesser. So he spent the next few years in true poverty, barely scraping by at all and constantly getting in trouble with the law.

Finally, the signs of yet another gang war began to show themselves and he received a visit. He was useful and it was too dangerous to remain in the city. He was to be sent to New York where he would work in the families operations there, whether he liked it or not. He could hardly refuse and so did as he was told. But upon arrival, he gave the family the slip. He would not be their pawn, he would make something of himself in this foreign city. So, he faded into the darkness once more. When no one came after him, he just assumed the petty conflict back in Moskva had claimed the lives of enough high ranking idiots that he was simply forgotten. This initial forgetfulness faded with time and once things had calmed down in Moskva, the family turned their eyes towards him. He was forced to go on the run as quickly as he possibly could. He didn't have any direction, but eventually came to Fulcrum City. It didn't take him long to fall into a routine, if you could call it that, until one day his money from New York simply disappeared. He had spent it all. He quickly fell into old habits, joined an underground boxing ring to earn some cash on the side and tried to rob a man he thought looked decently well off. To say the conversation didn't go the way he expected was an understatement. Instead of being arrested or having to flee, he was offered a room to rent. Something he accepted with a sense of confusion. He needed a place to relax, a place to feel somewhat safe and a place in which to work out a funny phenomenon that had recently come about...

Posting daily will not be a problem for me, no matter it being weekdays or weekends. My life is a fairly open book and I have a free schedule. 3 paragraphs is always the golden number when in doubt, but it can of course change depending on what it is establishing or in response to. No matter what, however, 2 paragraphs would always be the minimum even for a simple reply in conversation. Just personal preference.

Comic Book Character: "Quicksilver, of course. Who wouldn't want to be that fast? There are so many applications for those abilities..."

Lotho Antaryron
Former First Sword to the Sealord of Braavos​

The day was bright and warm as Lotho awoke in his private quarters, the Black Pearl crashing soundly against the waves as it slid gently into Blackwater Bay. He arose to the sound of distant bells and men working the ship, no doubt it was simply the Sept calling the citizens to prayer, an odd religion for an odd land. He wasted no time getting prepared and washed his face with a simple splash of cold water to alert his senses and got dressed into clothes he had already set out the previous night. They were simple but noticeably noble, no simple peasant could afford such coloured leather with streaks of purple and no peasant had such a weapon at their side as he did. A sleek and thin blade, made to kill a man before he even realises he has been attacked and made by the finest blacksmiths that Braavos had to offer. All in all he would make an odd sight in the Westerosi city.

As he exited his cabin and stepped out onto the deck a terrible smell hit him, he knew it was the city and had expected it but this was quite something else. It made even a Dothraki horde seem hygienic. Still he pushed through it and walked up to the Captain who regarded him with a nod “We shall settle her in any minute now, I expect the guards will stop and inspect the ship. There is a war on after all.” Lotho simply nodded at the man as he stated the obvious, he knew there would be complications in his task now war had consumed the land. In fact he wasn’t quite certain his hiring was still wanted, Prince Jaehearys was dead and his supposed charge was now claiming to be Queen. It didn't stop him from coming anyway, even if he was rejected he wanted to explore this land as he had done in the east.

Looking at the port before them he realised his ship was the largest by far, if he wanted a conspicuous entrance it was not going to be a possibility. When the ship connected with land the gangplank was lowered where at least half a dozen men in gold cloaks waited to receive them. At they're head was a rather presumptuous and plump bureaucrat who stepped onto the gangplank only to be greeted with a symphony of drawn swords, he quickly recoiled in horror before another man, the head of the group of guards Lotho presumed, stepped forward. “On the orders of her Grace, Queen Elaena Targaryen we are here to inspect your ship for smuggled goods and other such contraband. We ask that you comply or turn around and leave the port.” Up until this point he had remained in the background but now he staggered forward to see the man clearly. He saw that his right hand had recently been damaged so he couldn't hold a sword comfortably if they had to fight, his expression was one of a nervous nature, all he really had to do was push and this farce would be over.

“Tell me, my friend. What would your Queen say when she learns that you delayed and rummaged through the ship of the brother of the Sealord of Braavos? A man she sent for herself? I don't think she would appreciate it one bit and neither would I. I suggest you simply turn away and go about your business so there are no further complications.” It was a gamble, Elaena probably had no idea who he was but the guard seemed gullible enough. The man regarded Lotho and buckled under the man’s confidence. “My deepest apologies, my Lord. I will see to it you are cleared immediately.” He said before meekly looking down and ordering his contingent to come with him via hand gesture. One didn't listen however, he was a young boy of maybe 20 years who no doubt wanted to prove himself “But! We can't just ignore our orders! If you won't do your job then I will.” The boy screeched before marching up the gangplank. Lotho rolled his eyes at the boy and blocked his path “You should go to your Captain, boy. You don't want this fight.” Naturally the boy wanted the fight and he went with a rather sloppy punch which didn't even require effort to dodge. Lotho spun the guard around after grabbing him with his right hand and ripped his helmet off, throwing it into the bay. Then he put the boy into a choke hold which quickly knocked him out. Lotho threw him down onto the dock where rather frightened guards rushed and removed the boy, carrying him off somewhere.

Lotho regarded the ships Captain once more “Please get my things to the Red Keep, I wish to explore this city by myself and find something to eat. If anything is damaged or stolen, especially the eggs, I will personally send you overboard myself.” The Captain bowed to him as he made his way off the ship and began wandering. Westeros was off to a good start.
 
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[div class=openbutton]Kanika Singh
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[div class=textbox]NAME:
Kanika Singh

AGE:
26

GENDER:
Female

HEIGHT:
5'5"

WEIGHT:
122

PHYSICAL EXTRAS:
CWn7uMi.jpg

PERSONALITY:
Kanika is kind and generous, hard working and focused. In many ways, the professional bedside manner that doctor's cultivate has always come naturally to her. The sheer pace of her education has left some chips in her pleasant demeanor, though, and she can be easily stressed as well as often exhausted. Kanika doesn't have much of an emotional battery left anymore and it doesn't take much to drain her until stubbornness and commitment are the only things that keep her going. She likes people but is cautious of relationships, seeing them as threats to the medical school schedule which utterly consumed her life.

DISLIKES:
Time drains.
Particularly loud music.
Disorganization (she's naturally a bit unkempt but her upbringing and school pressures have forced her to be diligent).

FEARS:
Failing to be a doctor.
Mediocrity, of never amounting to much of anything.
Being alone.

HOBBIES AND SKILLS:
Enjoys history and art, is generally well educated.
Rather good at polo and horseback riding.
Quite good with a violin, though she hasn't touched it in four years.

TRUE POWER: Duplication +

BACKSTORY:
Kanika was born in London, to Bangladesh immigrants who'd made a fortune in shipping companies and wanted their daughter to grow up with every opportunity. And she did. Early social connections meant she grew up knowing the ins and outs of the upper classes, the rich and the educated. While she didn't look like most of her peers, Kanika's excellence in school put her in a position to study at Oxford, eventually earning a degree in Biology with a view to becoming a doctor.

Given the vastly greater funding of medical research in the United States, Kanika moved to Massachusetts and enrolled in medical school at Harvard. She spent the last four years striving to keep up with her peers and...not failing, exactly, but coming in with the lower half of her cohort. Family pressure, sacrificing all hopes of a social life and many sleepless nights allowed her to successfully graduate. While she doesn't have top marks, Kanika's final scoring came out rather respectable and she's now considering where to do her residency.

If only she were Supergirl. That lady always seems to be able to juggle more than one life while still being successful...

LINK TO RPING/WRITING SAMPLE: A post from a few days ago.
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code by Ri.a
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tumblr_o3k5clOKbf1swwx3co6_250.png

Name: Bernadette "Brenna" Cooper
Age: 15
Gender: Female
Height: 5' 3"
Weight: 110 lbs
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Physical Extras: Brenna usually has several small cuts and bruises, the results of the fights gets in. Her nose is crooked from getting broken multiple times.


Personality Goods
Protective: Nothing angers Brenna more than people getting hurt when they don't deserve it, especially at the hands of other people. She'll fight tooth and nail for anyone she sees in trouble with no regard of consequences to herself.
Intuitive: Brenna has a knack for reading body language and other social cues. She can usually tell if something is wrong in a situation, even if she can't quite identify what. Her instincts have saved her neck several time over.
Pragmatic: Brenna tells it like it is, both good and bad, whether you want her to or not. She refuses to ignore the bad in a situation, but she doesn't blow it out of proportion either. She often comes across as blunt, but her bluntness keeps emotions from influencing her decisions.

Personality Bads
Violent: Brenna always sticks up for the little guy. However, she usually does so by beating up whoever's picking on them. Fighting is a first resort, not the last.
Rebellious: Brenna has a strong disdain for "the system" and bristles under any sort of authority. This frequently gets her in trouble, both at home and school and with the police.
Boisterous: Subtle is not a word in Brenna's vocabulary. She is loud and chaotic and completely unapologetic. She sticks out like a sore thumb, acting as a liability in any situation where blending in is important.


Dislikes: Injustice, bullies, her full name, authority figures, drugs, school, the system

Fears
Lonliness: Brenna's never been able to make lasting friendships; every time she warms up to someone, she winds up being sent to a new foster home in a new town. Ever since she was separated from her brothers, she's been afraid that she'll never be able to have a meaningful relationship with anyone.
Inferiority: Brenna's self-worth is wrapped up in being able to protect herself in others. Her ego is shattered when she's not the toughest person in the room.
:

Hobbies and Skills: Street fighting, good instincts, basketball, intimidation, drawing
Power: Animal Shapeshifting + (Randomly generated power) = (true power)

History:
Brenna was born in a rough neighborhood in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Her parents were either drunk or stoned most of the time, so she quickly learned to take care of herself. And when her brothers were born, Archie when she was three and Jule when she was five, Brenna found herself needing to protect them as well. So she learned to fight. The more she fought, the better she got at it, until it became common knowledge to not mess with the Cooper kids.

Then, when Brenna was eight, everything fell apart. It started when her father died of a drug overdose. When the police came to investigate, they found her mother's drugs. Mrs. Cooper was arrested, and Brenna and her brothers were shunted into foster care.

At first, everything seemed like it would be alright. The siblings' new parents weren't perfect, but it was better than where they'd come from, and they still had each other. But Brenna's temper got the better of her; after one too many suspensions from school, her foster parents told the system they didn't want her anymore. No other houses in the state were willing to take all three of them, so Archie and Jule had to stay behind while Brenna was sent to a new foster home across the state. Eventually the cycle repeated itself. For seven years Brenna bounced from foster home to foster home, few of them nice, never staying more than six months in any before being sent somewhere else. Her newest home is Fulcrum city, though she's technically not allowed to cross state lines.

How Often Can You Post?: It's been a while since I've RP'd, but back then I averaged every 2-3 days. I already that's too slow for here, though, so I'll do my best to kick it up a notch to one every day or two.
How Much Content Per post?: Like I said, it's been a while, so I'm not entirely sure. Probably 2-4 paragraphs per post, maybe more given time and material to work with.

Writing Sample
Markath stretched out onto the rock and spread his wings, letting the sun's rays seep through his scales and into his bones. Winter had been long this year, longer than he had expected. The consequence of being so far north. Markath chuckled to himself. They had warned him.

Overhead, dark shapes flitted across the sky. Younger dragons, used to the cold and full of energy. Markath's smile faded somewhat. During the hibernation, he'd forgotten why he'd come. He stood, stretched, and lumbered into his cave to retrieve the tablet.

Markath carried the tablet out into the sun and set it down, careful not to bash it against the rock he'd been lying on. He'd translated most of the text already: a dwarven record describing the last of the treasures saved from the final Elven invasion, among them five dragon eggs. He'd determined that the eggs were likely dormant, unable to hatch until exposed to dragonfire, and that they were somewhere in the north. Where, though, he hadn't figured out. Those runes were unfamiliar to him. The half-drowned sailor who'd given Markath the tablet hadn't been able to explain, having died of infection shortly after his vessel sank.

Markath waited a few more minutes, sunning himself until he'd gotten his strength back. Then, with a great flap of his wings, he took to the air. He circled his cave a few time, gaining altitude, before turning west. And ancient dragon named Valgrun lived nearby. If anyone what the rest of the tablet said, it would be him.

Below, Markath saw the lair the others had described before winter: a mossy cluster of rocks near the edge of a cliff, smelling of earth and vegetation and rotting plants. And stretched out in front of it was a massive dragon, scales snow-white, still absorbing the sun's heat. Valgrun. Markath angled himself towards the ledge, roaring to make his presence know. He landed with a heavy thud and bowed to the dragon. "Hail, Valgrun. I am Markath, of the southern coast."

Valrgun stood and returned the gesture. "Y Hail, Marjath. You are the one with the tablet, then. Show me."

Markath laid the tablet on the rock, facing Valgrun. The elder worm stepped forward, leaning closer until the tip of his snout almost touched the stone. "Ah, yes, the last stand of the dwarves. Almost ten years ago, was it not? And they managed to save the eggs, how admirable." Valgrun squinted at the tablet. "You are on the right track. But the exact location, the final piece of the puzzle. That is a difficult part to translate."

Valgrun stopped short. He squinted more, then leaned closer until he was pressing his nose against the tablet. His tail began to twitch and his claws to tap. Markath could sense. . . fear.

Markath stapped forward. "Is something wrong?" Valgrun looked up. Worry creased his face, and the fear smell became stronger.

"It would seem the dwarves hid their treasures within the Crypt of Braugthus."

"Wolverine, obviously. He don't take nothin' off nobody. Besides, he has those killer claws."
 
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Appearance: 1538193741114.png

Name: Hathom Long

Age: 43

Gender: Male

Height: 6'3

Weight: 212 lbs

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Physical Extras:: Burn scarring scattered over the body. Some are newer than others.

Personality Goods:
Hathom has a very straight forward and honest attitude with everything he does (or at least tries to). He always looks people in the eyes when he speaks does his best to convey what's on his mind. This may make him seem stubborn and transparent and describing as such isn't exactly wrong. He has the habit of always saying how feels and what he believes is right and while he welcomes outside opinions, it generally doesn't change his stance on things. He's a loyal companion and very kind hearted, albeit rough around the edges. The boxer is stalwart and headstrong, not afraid to fight for his beliefs or stand up to what he perceives as injustice. He also is not afraid to use violence when words fail.


Personality Bads: As previously stated, the man is stubborn and quicker to violence than most. As honest as he is, this does not make him kind. He has led a harsh life and its mark is visible in his day-to-day interactions with others. For all intents and purposes, Hathom is not a "hero". He is a anti-hero at best and a downright villain at worst.

Dislikes: Injustice, Pity, Shallow people, Stuck up people, Prejudice, Self-righteous I'm uncultured.

Fears: Dying alone, Solitude, Becoming crippled. (He is becoming insecure about his age. )

Hobbies and Skills: Practicing his lifelong craft of boxing. Learning other languages (he currently knows 6 due to moving about for matches).

True Power: Pyrokinesis/Pyromancy/Fire abilities/ whatever you want to call it. + randomized power

Background:
Fighting was basically all that Hathom ever knew. From a broken, abusive home to the slums in Venezuela , Hathom has always had to fight to get what he wanted. Whether that desire was to put food on the table, protect his broken family, or simply to survive until tomorrow. Even as a child, Hathom was quickly recognized as one of the brawlers in the neighborhood you didn't mess with. His straightforward personality caused people to gravitate to him and follow him out of respect for his ideals.


It didn't take long for his talent to be recognized by recruiters and sure enough, Hathom soon found himself making his way to the United States, needing to learn English, and learning to do what he has been doing as a professional now.


Years pass and Hathom is now a professional in the boxing world and has already started making a name for himself as, "The man that can't be knocked out." Many fighters put this to the test and many found out the hard way that Hathom was a man that could be knocked down but not out. Any fights he lost were never due to a cold knock out but TKOs due to be knocked down multiple times. As his skill rose, so did his fame and knowledge of his field.

This streak of fame continued until a day arrived in which the game was rigged against him. The match was set in Berlin and it was a very small turnout. Unbeknownst to Hathom, the guards were giving people a hard time with their tickets and only "certain people" had tickets with no issues. The fight started off normal but it quickly became apparent that Hathom's opponent was fighting dirty. Illegal blows, kicking, holding, below the belt hits, and the ref chose to ignore them all. The aging boxer (Hathom) saw what was going on and his hot-headed nature decided to play ball. Fighting without restrictions and as dirty as dung was Hathom's roots. It was all he knew for a time. The difference as that now he was trained professional.

The boxing match quickly devolved into an all out brawl. Knees, elbows, eye gouging, hair pulling, biting, and joint locks. Hathom pulled out all the stops and it wasn't until a vicious elbow from the Hispanic man that damn nearly killed his German opponent was that the cameras that were experiencing "technical difficulties" suddenly came back to life to capture that moment. Along with the string of curses and blows that befell the German's unconscious body.

Needless to say, Hathom was ostracized, shunned, and stripped of everything he ever came to love from the sport. Any interviews he had where he tried to explain himself was twisted in a way that made him sound malevolent or unapologetic. Someone with a lot of power and influence destroyed Hathom's life and he is fully determined to find out who.

Or at least he was....

Age has started to catch up with the older athlete. He isn't as fast as he used to be and the brutal punishment of his body throughout grand majority of his life had taken its toll on him. His burning rage dulled to mere cinders as time went on. It wasn't until something put a bit of fire in his heart that he started to pursue the bastard that ruined his life with renewed vigor.



The slight twitch of a leaf as the cold, mountain breeze moved through the frozen forest. Petals blooming in the cold, as if defying the natural order of when to flourish. Snow falling every so gently, layering the kingdom in a fresh blanket of white. This is what the most would see. Only a master would be able to see that occasionally, only for an instance, the breeze was not natural. Only something beyond natural would be able to see it. The occasional soundless blurr among the back drop of white snow. Only one of the gods would be able to notice the being shrouded in the color of ice and snow that moved across the landscape. Soundless, with footsteps so light, no tracks could be found within the snow. ​

If one stood in the beings way, they would feel a slight breeze pass the by. The hairs on their body would stand on end after moment. As if the cold breath of death kissed their shoulder, beckoning. ​

The man, the assassin known as Ryusuuji came to a silent halt just before the royal castle of Arashi. The kingdom of Lightning. He was atop of a tree, camoflauged within the snow and ice. While inaudible, white lightning crackled around his frame, almost invisible to the naked eye. The only thing that stood out were the crimson eyes that pierced the veil of snow and frozen leaves from within the tree. King Hitoshi and Queen Nyoko stood side by side as they gazed out upon the snowy landscape. The parents that birthed the killer perched in the trees. Ryusuuji forsook everything for his family. He gave up his honor, his title, the love of his family, his humanity, even his name, to become the eternal hidden blade of Arashi. He would never be recognized for it. No one would praise him. No one would know. He would be the ghost of the ice and snow for all of time and he would want it no other way. ​

In his own way, he showed his honor, devotion, and love for his family and kingdom by showing none at all.​

Such was the burden and blessing of The ghost of snow. Arashi's Hidden Blade. The Forgotten Prince.​

Ryusuuji leapt from the tree without disturbing it in the slightest, landing just behind the King and Queen. He had allowed his landing to make the slightest of sounds, so as to alert his parents of his presence. The sound of a blanket gently scraping the wooden floor announced his arrival. He silently took a knee before the royal pair, softly uttering his greeting​
 

marvelous-snow-winter-girl-woman-fur-model-spring-pics-for-blonde-hair-green-eyes-ideas-and-styles.jpg


Name:
Kristina Karuss
Age:
17
Gender:
Female

Height:
"So they wanted to recruit me to play basketball. I looked towards them and went, You know I am blind right?"
5'11"

Weight:
139

Sexuality:
Bi-Sexual

Physical Extras:
Blind!
Her other senses are quite good. Hearing being the best.

Personality Goods:
Inquisitive
Innovative
Polite
Intuitive
Careful

Personality Bads:
Fearless/Fearful (You'll see.)
Vengeful
Nosey
Sorta lazy (Outside of her own daily life.)
Wrathful at times, can have quite the temper.
Can be alittle greedy

Dislikes:
Dogs
Most birds
Heat/The Sun
High pitched noises
Smelly people
Bullies

Fears:
Nothing she can see will ever scare her.
(Shes blind. Opposite will understand this.)

Hobbies and Skills:
Fantastic Marco Polo player
Good at finding things in the dark
Can walk in a straight line with her eyes closed
Can read braille and speak in several styles/languages (English German and Norwegian.)
Great sense of balance/Orientation (She knows which way is up almost always.)
Can play the Violin through sound. While not able to read music she can replicate it splendidly

True Power: Quark Manipulation + Daytime Walking = Light Empowerment

Background:
Born and raised for a good portion of her life in the Bavarian alps it wasn't until her freshman year of high school that she found herself in the united states. Being blind and also being different led to a very interesting first year of school in America for Kristina. Adjusting to the difference in language as well as Braille wasn't hard but initially overwhelming. Missing almost a month of school that first year due to anxiety and bullying she managed to rebound her sophomore. Though not able to participate in much she was able to get into the schools music program.

It was here that she began to finally flourish. Passing through sophomore year she maintained near perfect grades, focusing on music and school rather than a strong social life. Keeping mostly to herself she started her junior year off with a rather large bang. Scoring a scholarship through a music competition she seemed to turn her focus more towards music rather than pursuing a degree in the sciences.

"Uhm... Captain American is cool? You know, I cant read comics or even watch the movies. So, Captain America is cool, cool?"

How often can you post?
Often to a few times a week depending on work and when I get off.
How much content do you put in said posts?
Quite abit to absurd
Provide a Writing Sample here: You read them all the time.

​
 
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