Thanks, I've almost finished it but I need to get some sleep, tomorrow I will have my character sheet and you can get a good look at it.
The Twisted Earth - Post apocalyptic RP - Interest thread. ( looking for more players )
- Thread starter Dectomax
- Start date
Recommended Videos
Hey man, I love the premise for your story and I'm really keen to whip up a character sheet if there's still time. No worries if I'm too late though.
Here we go, let me know if anything needs changing 
Name: Sammin Bael
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Type: Resurrector
Mutant Y/N: N
Appearance: Sammin is 6'5", 280 pounds of hulking muscle. He is burly in every possible sense of the word, with long, curly black hair, a rough full beard and a heavily carpeted body. He has dark brown eyes, looming shoulders and a neck like a bull. His skin has been tanned dark brown by the arid desert sun, and while Sammin is brutishly muscled, his body lacks any major definition, lending itself more towards a weightlifters frame.
Gear (Weapons/misc): A long bladed hunting knife, an ice-axe and a large javelin which Sammin uses as a staff. One end of the javelin is wrapped in a duct-tape and leather hand-grip while the other is kept reasonably sharp. In keeping with his profession, Sammin carries a number of small tools in his backpack - hammer, screwdrivers, hand drill, cordage, pliers, saw etc. He also has a basic set of survival items - water skin, flint and animal-skin blanket.
Clothing/Armour: A light-weight, maroon hiking jacket with a deep hood, old, fingerless woollen gloves, faded black cargo pants, a t-shirt and modified steel-capped boots - by which I mean, the boots are reinforced with leather straps in an almost "roman sandal" like attempt to increase their durability and prevent the soles from ripping off on long journeys. Sammin also has an old police flak-jacket which he wears underneath his jacket and an extremely large backpack in which he carries all of his tools.
Profession: Travelling mechanic/blacksmith
Bio/History: Sammin grew up in a small settlement of resurrectors devoted not only to the study and re-discovery of ancient technology but also to the burgeoning growth of this knowledge in surrounding areas. This settlement has a long-standing reputation for sending trained individuals out into the wastes with the intent of spreading knowledge and helping inform other groups of how they can better utilize ancient technology. In particular, Sammin's village specializes in the revitalisation of mechanical engineering and blacksmithing arts. Sammin began studying under one of the village craft masters from a young age, first as a glorified pack-horse and general labourer, before eventually becoming an apprentice blacksmith and mechanic. His prodigious stamina and strength make him perfect for such work just as his patience and independent nature have made him an ideal candidate for roaming the wastes. Sammin is a relatively quiet man, preferring to immerse himself in the physical challenge of his work or wander between settlements rather than socialise or chase after women. He is slow to anger but coldly confident in combat, a skill in which he has been forced to invest with his size making him a measuring-post for others abilities. Sammin has of recent months, taken to wandering further and further afield, trading his skills for shelter and income when necessary.
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Type: Resurrector
Mutant Y/N: N
Appearance: Sammin is 6'5", 280 pounds of hulking muscle. He is burly in every possible sense of the word, with long, curly black hair, a rough full beard and a heavily carpeted body. He has dark brown eyes, looming shoulders and a neck like a bull. His skin has been tanned dark brown by the arid desert sun, and while Sammin is brutishly muscled, his body lacks any major definition, lending itself more towards a weightlifters frame.
Gear (Weapons/misc): A long bladed hunting knife, an ice-axe and a large javelin which Sammin uses as a staff. One end of the javelin is wrapped in a duct-tape and leather hand-grip while the other is kept reasonably sharp. In keeping with his profession, Sammin carries a number of small tools in his backpack - hammer, screwdrivers, hand drill, cordage, pliers, saw etc. He also has a basic set of survival items - water skin, flint and animal-skin blanket.
Clothing/Armour: A light-weight, maroon hiking jacket with a deep hood, old, fingerless woollen gloves, faded black cargo pants, a t-shirt and modified steel-capped boots - by which I mean, the boots are reinforced with leather straps in an almost "roman sandal" like attempt to increase their durability and prevent the soles from ripping off on long journeys. Sammin also has an old police flak-jacket which he wears underneath his jacket and an extremely large backpack in which he carries all of his tools.
Profession: Travelling mechanic/blacksmith
Bio/History: Sammin grew up in a small settlement of resurrectors devoted not only to the study and re-discovery of ancient technology but also to the burgeoning growth of this knowledge in surrounding areas. This settlement has a long-standing reputation for sending trained individuals out into the wastes with the intent of spreading knowledge and helping inform other groups of how they can better utilize ancient technology. In particular, Sammin's village specializes in the revitalisation of mechanical engineering and blacksmithing arts. Sammin began studying under one of the village craft masters from a young age, first as a glorified pack-horse and general labourer, before eventually becoming an apprentice blacksmith and mechanic. His prodigious stamina and strength make him perfect for such work just as his patience and independent nature have made him an ideal candidate for roaming the wastes. Sammin is a relatively quiet man, preferring to immerse himself in the physical challenge of his work or wander between settlements rather than socialise or chase after women. He is slow to anger but coldly confident in combat, a skill in which he has been forced to invest with his size making him a measuring-post for others abilities. Sammin has of recent months, taken to wandering further and further afield, trading his skills for shelter and income when necessary.
I love this sheet. If you could PM details of the wanderers and maybe just the culture of your characters tribe, I'll make sure to write up a personal encounter at some point in the story for you.Jimrollson said:Here we go, let me know if anything needs changing
Name: Sammin Bael
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Type: Resurrector
Mutant Y/N: N
Appearance: Sammin is 6'5", 280 pounds of hulking muscle. He is burly in every possible sense of the word, with long, curly black hair, a rough full beard and a heavily carpeted body. He has dark brown eyes, looming shoulders and a neck like a bull. His skin has been tanned dark brown by the arid desert sun, and while Sammin is brutishly muscled, his body lacks any major definition, lending itself more towards a weightlifters frame.
Gear (Weapons/misc): A long bladed hunting knife, an ice-axe and a large javelin which Sammin uses as a staff. One end of the javelin is wrapped in a duct-tape and leather hand-grip while the other is kept reasonably sharp. In keeping with his profession, Sammin carries a number of small tools in his backpack - hammer, screwdrivers, hand drill, cordage, pliers, saw etc. He also has a basic set of survival items - water skin, flint and animal-skin blanket.
Clothing/Armour: A light-weight, maroon hiking jacket with a deep hood, old, fingerless woollen gloves, faded black cargo pants, a t-shirt and modified steel-capped boots - by which I mean, the boots are reinforced with leather straps in an almost "roman sandal" like attempt to increase their durability and prevent the soles from ripping off on long journeys. Sammin also has an old police flak-jacket which he wears underneath his jacket and an extremely large backpack in which he carries all of his tools.
Profession: Travelling mechanic/blacksmith
Bio/History: Sammin grew up in a small settlement of resurrectors devoted not only to the study and re-discovery of ancient technology but also to the burgeoning growth of this knowledge in surrounding areas. This settlement has a long-standing reputation for sending trained individuals out into the wastes with the intent of spreading knowledge and helping inform other groups of how they can better utilize ancient technology. In particular, Sammin's village specializes in the revitalisation of mechanical engineering and blacksmithing arts. Sammin began studying under one of the village craft masters from a young age, first as a glorified pack-horse and general labourer, before eventually becoming an apprentice blacksmith and mechanic. His prodigious stamina and strength make him perfect for such work just as his patience and independent nature have made him an ideal candidate for roaming the wastes. Sammin is a relatively quiet man, preferring to immerse himself in the physical challenge of his work or wander between settlements rather than socialise or chase after women. He is slow to anger but coldly confident in combat, a skill in which he has been forced to invest with his size making him a measuring-post for others abilities. Sammin has of recent months, taken to wandering further and further afield, trading his skills for shelter and income when necessary.
So yes, your sheet is accepted. You'll have to wait for a bit to actually join as there's no window for you to enter yet, the scenario we're in has already introduced another character and there's no plausible way to get you in yet. If I can get them to post slightly quicker, you shouldn't be waiting too long!
Is there still room for another character?? Sounds pretty interesting, and now that I've got my dissertation out of the way I have free time.
I'd also like to work with Dectomax on another RP, as his other one has just got unjder way (one which I am incredibly excited to get into).
If there is room, let me know and I'll post a character sheet when I get back in an hour or so.
I'd also like to work with Dectomax on another RP, as his other one has just got unjder way (one which I am incredibly excited to get into).
If there is room, let me know and I'll post a character sheet when I get back in an hour or so.
i can still join this, right?
EDIT: this is my first RP, like, ever, so if this is too little/too much info, feedback is always taken!
Name: 'Drake'
Age: Late 20s
Gender: Male
Type: Advanced
Mutant Y/N: Y
Mutations (If applicable): Due to advances in biochemical engineering in his society, Drake has several unique Characteristics which can most easily be described as mutations. foremost among these is an incredibly unusual metabolic system, which primarily manifests itself as a resistance to most toxins and venoms. unfortunately, for much the same reasons, most medicinal items also have a greatly reduced effect. Additionally to this, Drake has, for as-yet unknown reasons, very little need for sleep - roughly 1.5 hours in every 24, though if this sleep is missed, drake becomes virtually unable to function until rested. Finally of Drakes 'mutations' is an impant in his left eye, complete with uplink to his home town's databanks, which allows him to see data for most known entities he encounters. this is, however, very visible, giving drake a metal-encased left eye and facial scarring, unsettling most people he meets.
Appearance: Drake is a tall, pale-skinned individual with thick-but-short black hair, although this hair is rapidly becoming grey. Though of very slim build, Drake has distinct muscles in his limbs, though little in his torso. Drake's face is somewhat gaunt, lending him an air of an age well above his own. His left eye is metallic and scarred, as noted above, though his right eye is a deep greeny blue. He carries himself with the gait and attitude of a well-respected man, though he has a pronounced limp in his left leg.
Gear (Weapons/misc): Drake carries a .308 caliber Hunting Rifle with a night-sight scope, and a modified furniture, constructed from carbon fibre, and an advanced metallic compound, making the weapon both light and durable. As a sidearm, Drake carries a .357 revolver with an extended barrel, and a set of speed-reloaders. On top of these firearms, he also carries a razor-sharp 7.5" blade, with a serrated back for CQC use. on top of weapoanary, Drake also carries a full navigation kit, including map, compass, and a watch; and various tools and effects, along with plentiful ammo for his firearms.
Clothing/Armour: Drake wears a once-sharp black suit with a starched white shirt and a cravat and pocket square in deep crimson. Though obviously the clothing of a well-dressed man, the suit is dirty and damaged in places from the stress of post-apocalyptic life. Under the suit, Drake also wears a well-concealed kevlar vest, which is pitted with scars from past fights. on his left wrist, Drake wears a rather chunky silver watch, complimented by the silver skull pendant around his neck. to combat his limp, drake walks with a trademark walking cane - mahogany body with a silver skull as a handle. concealed within this cane is a double of Drake's favourite spirit.
Profession: Whilst still in his hometown of Avar, which is hidden deep within the Mountains of Misery, Drake was a member of the governmental organisation, a semi-totalitarian police state. whilst officially undisclosed, rumours frequently fly around that Drake was a high-ranking member of the ASS - Avar Secret Service - rumours which drake neither confirms nor denies. Nowadays, Drake wanders the world in self-imposed exile, looking for adventure and riches, and knowing that some day, he will return to Avar.
Bio/History: Born to the Vice-Chancellor as a result of an extra-marital affair, Drake was raised in a life of privelige in the ever-expanding city-state of Avar. This life has afforded him a wealth of knowledge of the arts of subterfuge and deception, and an inherent ability to blend into even the most uniform of crowds to avoid detection. After finishing High school, Drake enrolled immediately in the Avar government - the only job of choice for any Avarian of good standing - and climbed high into the ranks of an as-yet undisclosed wing of the government. As part of this job, Drake was offered opportunities to enhance his body's natural ability by submitting himself to various experimental procedures, discovered by unprecedented advances in Biochemistry. After an incident known only to himself, Drake gained his now-signature limp, and ceased using his real name and adopted the pseudonym 'Drake', in honour of his public father - the now-ex-chancellor of Avar. Following this, Drake has wandered the wastes of this post-apocalyptic world, looking for challenges, and forming no lasting allegiences - until now....
Age: Late 20s
Gender: Male
Type: Advanced
Mutant Y/N: Y
Mutations (If applicable): Due to advances in biochemical engineering in his society, Drake has several unique Characteristics which can most easily be described as mutations. foremost among these is an incredibly unusual metabolic system, which primarily manifests itself as a resistance to most toxins and venoms. unfortunately, for much the same reasons, most medicinal items also have a greatly reduced effect. Additionally to this, Drake has, for as-yet unknown reasons, very little need for sleep - roughly 1.5 hours in every 24, though if this sleep is missed, drake becomes virtually unable to function until rested. Finally of Drakes 'mutations' is an impant in his left eye, complete with uplink to his home town's databanks, which allows him to see data for most known entities he encounters. this is, however, very visible, giving drake a metal-encased left eye and facial scarring, unsettling most people he meets.
Appearance: Drake is a tall, pale-skinned individual with thick-but-short black hair, although this hair is rapidly becoming grey. Though of very slim build, Drake has distinct muscles in his limbs, though little in his torso. Drake's face is somewhat gaunt, lending him an air of an age well above his own. His left eye is metallic and scarred, as noted above, though his right eye is a deep greeny blue. He carries himself with the gait and attitude of a well-respected man, though he has a pronounced limp in his left leg.
Gear (Weapons/misc): Drake carries a .308 caliber Hunting Rifle with a night-sight scope, and a modified furniture, constructed from carbon fibre, and an advanced metallic compound, making the weapon both light and durable. As a sidearm, Drake carries a .357 revolver with an extended barrel, and a set of speed-reloaders. On top of these firearms, he also carries a razor-sharp 7.5" blade, with a serrated back for CQC use. on top of weapoanary, Drake also carries a full navigation kit, including map, compass, and a watch; and various tools and effects, along with plentiful ammo for his firearms.
Clothing/Armour: Drake wears a once-sharp black suit with a starched white shirt and a cravat and pocket square in deep crimson. Though obviously the clothing of a well-dressed man, the suit is dirty and damaged in places from the stress of post-apocalyptic life. Under the suit, Drake also wears a well-concealed kevlar vest, which is pitted with scars from past fights. on his left wrist, Drake wears a rather chunky silver watch, complimented by the silver skull pendant around his neck. to combat his limp, drake walks with a trademark walking cane - mahogany body with a silver skull as a handle. concealed within this cane is a double of Drake's favourite spirit.
Profession: Whilst still in his hometown of Avar, which is hidden deep within the Mountains of Misery, Drake was a member of the governmental organisation, a semi-totalitarian police state. whilst officially undisclosed, rumours frequently fly around that Drake was a high-ranking member of the ASS - Avar Secret Service - rumours which drake neither confirms nor denies. Nowadays, Drake wanders the world in self-imposed exile, looking for adventure and riches, and knowing that some day, he will return to Avar.
Bio/History: Born to the Vice-Chancellor as a result of an extra-marital affair, Drake was raised in a life of privelige in the ever-expanding city-state of Avar. This life has afforded him a wealth of knowledge of the arts of subterfuge and deception, and an inherent ability to blend into even the most uniform of crowds to avoid detection. After finishing High school, Drake enrolled immediately in the Avar government - the only job of choice for any Avarian of good standing - and climbed high into the ranks of an as-yet undisclosed wing of the government. As part of this job, Drake was offered opportunities to enhance his body's natural ability by submitting himself to various experimental procedures, discovered by unprecedented advances in Biochemistry. After an incident known only to himself, Drake gained his now-signature limp, and ceased using his real name and adopted the pseudonym 'Drake', in honour of his public father - the now-ex-chancellor of Avar. Following this, Drake has wandered the wastes of this post-apocalyptic world, looking for challenges, and forming no lasting allegiences - until now....
EDIT: this is my first RP, like, ever, so if this is too little/too much info, feedback is always taken!
That's cool,c_westerman13 said:
Advanced societies, that have been untouched by the war, would be close knit, small communities. Cities would not have escaped the devastation. Especially around that area. Try to make it more of a small community. Other than that, it's looking good!
Also, the misery mountains are a very nasty place. Cannibals, mutants and gangs roam the barren, rocky wasteland around that area! So be sure to include something about how you're group had stayed unfound.
EDIT: It's good, in-depth and very descriptive. What every character sheet should be like!
I was trying (albeit not very effectively) to imply that the city had grown since the devastaion occured.Dectomax said:
Avarian history: The now-City-State of Avar was, as the bombs fell, little more than a hamlet, 12 houses clustered around a small grass field. since the devastation subsided, the 12 Avarian families have bred, and advanced their technology, and bred some more. this, combined with an occasional immigrant and the technology to make multiple births both more feasible and more frequent, has led to a relative population explosion. with no contact with the outside world, except for what occasional immigrants supply, the Avarians mined deep into the material-rich mountains of misery, leading to a large and prosperous, self-governed community. but even then, Avar continued to grow. The incredible scientific discoveries in Avar, made possible by a combination of isolationism and lack of regulation, have meant that what the Avarians can't mine or grow, they can synthesise a replacement for. The downside to the isolationism is that the Avarian currency - the Vara, is unaccepted as tender in any other civilisation. as a result of this, and avarian who does travel must take goods, or skills, in order to trade with, or in order to gain currency to trade with. that said, as a mostly communal society, albeit a harshly governed one, most avarians have much more goods than the have money.
The scientific advancement most important to Avarian life is probably the ability to perfectly synthesise sunlight, allowing a town of less than 1/2km*1/2km house a little over 3500 people very comfortably, by expanding into the ground below rather than outwards. as Avar is nestled within the crook of the mountains of misery, very few travellers will ever find it, and most that do will see only a village, and generally ignore it. nonetheless, rumours are beginning to circulate of a large city in the mountains, where 'the skies are made of diamonds'.
The scientific advancement most important to Avarian life is probably the ability to perfectly synthesise sunlight, allowing a town of less than 1/2km*1/2km house a little over 3500 people very comfortably, by expanding into the ground below rather than outwards. as Avar is nestled within the crook of the mountains of misery, very few travellers will ever find it, and most that do will see only a village, and generally ignore it. nonetheless, rumours are beginning to circulate of a large city in the mountains, where 'the skies are made of diamonds'.
any better?
Yes, that is much better - How you explained they mined makes more sense than a cityscape - The worlds based on actual America, so cities are stuck in reality ( Unless ramshack trader/gang compunds are found ).c_westerman13 said:
But yes, that's much better.
As stated above, there's a slight wait to join - Seeing as how I can't place any more characters in the current location - unless you want to think of some ideas and PM me. On another point - Pm the other guys in this thread, maybe you could join as a group? Discuss it with each other and I'm open to any ideas you have!
Name: Blake Rheinhart
Age: 37
Gender: Male
Type: Ex-Resurrector
Mutant: Yes
Mutations: Unknown to Blake is his ability to heal wounds at an alarming rate. Broken bones only take a week to heal which often causes Blake to assume some sort of sprain; as such, he believes that he's never broken a bone in his considerably dangerous life. Smaller wounds such as gunshots and cuts take only an hour or two to completely heal. Although Blake is not invincible, he has proven to be an incredibly hard man to kill...making sure there's nothing left of him is the only way to ensure he won't come back
The only physical indicator of Blake's mutation is his exceedingly pale skin that never tans. The only discernable drawback to the mutation is that Blake occasionally suffers from episodes of uncontrollable rage that can last anwhere from a few minutes to a whole day. The episodes always end with Blake on his knees, shivering and coughing up blood. He believes that these incidents are a symptom of some sort of disease he has carried most of his life...which in a way, is true.
Appearance: A somewhat short and slight man, Blake stands at 5'6 and at first glance appears to be physically weak. However, his small stature belies a formidable strength. Aside from his strikingly pale skin, Blake has a newly acquired scar - a gift from his "friends" - that runs along the top-left side of his bald head. Conspicuously grotesque, the puckered scar is a testament to Blake's healing abilities, despite leaving a permament ravine running along his head.
Gear (Weapons/misc): Blake has been left with his trusty crossbow with a full quiver of 30 lightweight bolts. Mounted on the crossbow is a makeshift scope fashioned from one half of a pair of binoculars that he found long ago. Recently broken, Blake has repaired the crossbow as best he can with no tools, but it's effectiveness won't be the same until he can find a village to buy the necessary materials. Alongside his crossbow, Blake has been known to employ a rusty hunting knife for close-quarters-combat and - on special occasions - torture.
He also once owned an old Beretta 9mm, but that was stolen. He looks forward to finding the same weapon - or something like it - again some day.
Clothing/Armour: Blake is attired in sturdy walking boots and brown cargo trousers, with lightweight - albeit very battered - combat armour covering his torso. He wears a short, black coat over the top of the armour, usually zipped up to hide his protection. An old scarf and a pair of dusty goggles hang around his neck.
Profession: Used to be a Mutant Hunter, Mercenary, Expert Scout and Raider. Is currently a simple survivor, like many others...
Bio/History: Blake grew up in a Resurrector community, learning how to fix and use the remaining tech of the Ancients and learning how to survive in the hostile environments of The Twisted Earth. At the age of 15, Blake was trained to use a crossbow that his father had fixed up, learning to shoot small pests like the mutant rats that often targeted the food stores. Unfortunately, some unknown illness occasionally affected him, causing extreme rages and painful vomiting of blood that could last for a whole day. Never seeming to prove a major issue, the community leaders deemed Blake's illness as non-fatal and allowed him to continue his life as normal in the village. At 18 Blake was going on daily scouting parties, making sure that no larger mutants were coming into close proximity of his beloved community; he enjoyed watching as the bolts felled creature after creature, relishing in their cries of agony. Killing something so obviously inferior to him was a personal pleasure of Blake's.
At the age of 21, a group of mercenaries stopped by at the village and asked the community leaders if they were harbouring any "mutant heathens". Blake knew their were no mutants in their village, the community was lucky to have escaped such misfortune as mutated humans were known to be problematic and troublesome; Blake had heard stories of whole families being torn apart by the simple birth of a mutant. The community leaders replied that no mutants lived in the village and proceeded to ask why the mercenaries wished to know.
"All our hardships," began a grisled-looking mercenary, "are because of those devil-formed heathens!" Blake stood, transfixed, as the story unfolded: The mutants were not a product of the war-ravaged land and areas of intense radiation, it was the mutants who caused the misfortune of our world. Fighting amongst themselves and destroying whole cities during their petty disagreements, the Good Man had punished the whole of mankind for the arrogance and sins of the twisted devil-forms. "Only until all mutants have been eradicated," concluded the old mercenary, "can the Good Man bring himself to improve our world, this Twisted Earth."
Taken in by the man's convictions, Blake immediately agreed to fight for their cause, much to his entire community's dismay. Refusing to listen to his father's reasoning, Blake gathered his belongings and left with the band without looking back.
As the years went by, Blake quickly rose through the ranks of the mutant hunting gang and gained the approval of the grisly-looking mercenary, Grant. In Grant, Blake had found a new father and held him in such high esteem that he was blind to the brutality of the gang's actions; they destroyed whole villages that failed to co-operate or were found to be hiding mutants, they murdered and tortured women and children with no regards for morality. In the Good Man's name, Blake believed he and his mercenary gang were working towards the salvation of mankind.
At the age of 27, Blake became the leader of the mutant hunters after Grant's death. For 10 years he held his station, diligently travelling the blasted land in search of mutants to slaughter and mutant-lovers to torture. However, the illness that had gripped him as a young teen was becoming worse; his rages would often result in attacks towards his comrades and cause him to question the loyatly of others. One such incident saw him return to his own village with a group of heavily armed men, under the belief that they had been harbouring mutants even whilst he was growing up. He had the entire community killed. Deep inside his own rage, Blake never recognised the cries of his family as he cut their throats...
As a result of this unprovoked attack on a non-mutant community, many of the mercenaries decided to overthrow Blake's leadership. A short, but bloody skirmish was fought whereby all of Blake's followers were killed and he was seemingly fatally wounded by a mighty blow to the head from the new leader - Rico Hortz. Leaving Blake to die, Rico lead the remaining mercenaries away in search of more mutant-killing salvation.
A day after being left for dead, Blake awoke to find his head throbbing and his closest friends dead. Crawling to a nearby body of water, Blake perceived the grotesque, blood-stained and half-healed scar running along his head, and the actions of his mutinous gang came rushing back. Furious, disorientated and hurting, Blake vowed to take revenge.
Having camped by the water and fed on his dead comrades until his head wound had fully healed, Blake fixed his broken crossbow as best he could and made plans to get to the nearest village to find supplies and ask questions.
"Rico," he murmurs to himself on the night before his departure, "you're a fucking dead man."
Age: 37
Gender: Male
Type: Ex-Resurrector
Mutant: Yes
Mutations: Unknown to Blake is his ability to heal wounds at an alarming rate. Broken bones only take a week to heal which often causes Blake to assume some sort of sprain; as such, he believes that he's never broken a bone in his considerably dangerous life. Smaller wounds such as gunshots and cuts take only an hour or two to completely heal. Although Blake is not invincible, he has proven to be an incredibly hard man to kill...making sure there's nothing left of him is the only way to ensure he won't come back
The only physical indicator of Blake's mutation is his exceedingly pale skin that never tans. The only discernable drawback to the mutation is that Blake occasionally suffers from episodes of uncontrollable rage that can last anwhere from a few minutes to a whole day. The episodes always end with Blake on his knees, shivering and coughing up blood. He believes that these incidents are a symptom of some sort of disease he has carried most of his life...which in a way, is true.
Appearance: A somewhat short and slight man, Blake stands at 5'6 and at first glance appears to be physically weak. However, his small stature belies a formidable strength. Aside from his strikingly pale skin, Blake has a newly acquired scar - a gift from his "friends" - that runs along the top-left side of his bald head. Conspicuously grotesque, the puckered scar is a testament to Blake's healing abilities, despite leaving a permament ravine running along his head.
Gear (Weapons/misc): Blake has been left with his trusty crossbow with a full quiver of 30 lightweight bolts. Mounted on the crossbow is a makeshift scope fashioned from one half of a pair of binoculars that he found long ago. Recently broken, Blake has repaired the crossbow as best he can with no tools, but it's effectiveness won't be the same until he can find a village to buy the necessary materials. Alongside his crossbow, Blake has been known to employ a rusty hunting knife for close-quarters-combat and - on special occasions - torture.
He also once owned an old Beretta 9mm, but that was stolen. He looks forward to finding the same weapon - or something like it - again some day.
Clothing/Armour: Blake is attired in sturdy walking boots and brown cargo trousers, with lightweight - albeit very battered - combat armour covering his torso. He wears a short, black coat over the top of the armour, usually zipped up to hide his protection. An old scarf and a pair of dusty goggles hang around his neck.
Profession: Used to be a Mutant Hunter, Mercenary, Expert Scout and Raider. Is currently a simple survivor, like many others...
Bio/History: Blake grew up in a Resurrector community, learning how to fix and use the remaining tech of the Ancients and learning how to survive in the hostile environments of The Twisted Earth. At the age of 15, Blake was trained to use a crossbow that his father had fixed up, learning to shoot small pests like the mutant rats that often targeted the food stores. Unfortunately, some unknown illness occasionally affected him, causing extreme rages and painful vomiting of blood that could last for a whole day. Never seeming to prove a major issue, the community leaders deemed Blake's illness as non-fatal and allowed him to continue his life as normal in the village. At 18 Blake was going on daily scouting parties, making sure that no larger mutants were coming into close proximity of his beloved community; he enjoyed watching as the bolts felled creature after creature, relishing in their cries of agony. Killing something so obviously inferior to him was a personal pleasure of Blake's.
At the age of 21, a group of mercenaries stopped by at the village and asked the community leaders if they were harbouring any "mutant heathens". Blake knew their were no mutants in their village, the community was lucky to have escaped such misfortune as mutated humans were known to be problematic and troublesome; Blake had heard stories of whole families being torn apart by the simple birth of a mutant. The community leaders replied that no mutants lived in the village and proceeded to ask why the mercenaries wished to know.
"All our hardships," began a grisled-looking mercenary, "are because of those devil-formed heathens!" Blake stood, transfixed, as the story unfolded: The mutants were not a product of the war-ravaged land and areas of intense radiation, it was the mutants who caused the misfortune of our world. Fighting amongst themselves and destroying whole cities during their petty disagreements, the Good Man had punished the whole of mankind for the arrogance and sins of the twisted devil-forms. "Only until all mutants have been eradicated," concluded the old mercenary, "can the Good Man bring himself to improve our world, this Twisted Earth."
Taken in by the man's convictions, Blake immediately agreed to fight for their cause, much to his entire community's dismay. Refusing to listen to his father's reasoning, Blake gathered his belongings and left with the band without looking back.
As the years went by, Blake quickly rose through the ranks of the mutant hunting gang and gained the approval of the grisly-looking mercenary, Grant. In Grant, Blake had found a new father and held him in such high esteem that he was blind to the brutality of the gang's actions; they destroyed whole villages that failed to co-operate or were found to be hiding mutants, they murdered and tortured women and children with no regards for morality. In the Good Man's name, Blake believed he and his mercenary gang were working towards the salvation of mankind.
At the age of 27, Blake became the leader of the mutant hunters after Grant's death. For 10 years he held his station, diligently travelling the blasted land in search of mutants to slaughter and mutant-lovers to torture. However, the illness that had gripped him as a young teen was becoming worse; his rages would often result in attacks towards his comrades and cause him to question the loyatly of others. One such incident saw him return to his own village with a group of heavily armed men, under the belief that they had been harbouring mutants even whilst he was growing up. He had the entire community killed. Deep inside his own rage, Blake never recognised the cries of his family as he cut their throats...
As a result of this unprovoked attack on a non-mutant community, many of the mercenaries decided to overthrow Blake's leadership. A short, but bloody skirmish was fought whereby all of Blake's followers were killed and he was seemingly fatally wounded by a mighty blow to the head from the new leader - Rico Hortz. Leaving Blake to die, Rico lead the remaining mercenaries away in search of more mutant-killing salvation.
A day after being left for dead, Blake awoke to find his head throbbing and his closest friends dead. Crawling to a nearby body of water, Blake perceived the grotesque, blood-stained and half-healed scar running along his head, and the actions of his mutinous gang came rushing back. Furious, disorientated and hurting, Blake vowed to take revenge.
Having camped by the water and fed on his dead comrades until his head wound had fully healed, Blake fixed his broken crossbow as best he could and made plans to get to the nearest village to find supplies and ask questions.
"Rico," he murmurs to himself on the night before his departure, "you're a fucking dead man."
Lol. Sorry the bio's so long.
That's perfect, everything I need to need to progress his character and also sounds like an interesting character, especially with the members of the group being mutants.Tips_of_Fingers said:
Look above to see about when you can enter - PM me ideas if you wish and we'll see how we can integrate your character!
Not to mention the fact that he himself is a mutant without knowing it lol. Ok, I might PM westerman and see what he thinks about some ideas i have and then I'll confer with you.Dectomax said:
{Name: Dorian Grimm / Dr. 'Patchworks'
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Type: Advanced
Mutant Y/N: Yes
Mutations (If applicable): The community from which Dorian was raised was relatively absent of mutations, Of course there was the odd sensory increase or pigmentation disorder. But nothing compared to the degree of genetic variation that afflicted Dorian. Dorian was born with a strange defect where his body would create calcium deposits underneath his skin. These eventually formed into a sturdy bone-like structure just below the epidermis. Dorian found great use in this hidden armour as it presented him with increased durability and because of the extra weight it provided, helped increase his muscle development. However as Dorian began to reach puberty he started to notice a drawback to his wonder mutation. Dorian's Skin was not growing at the same rate as his muscle and bone. During his development he underwent the painful process of having his skin split and tear as well as has having to constantly re-graft new skin to his own. By the time he reached his 20's the painful process has left his nerve endings in shambles and pain was nothing more than a not-so-fond memory. The bone protection offers a form of organic armour that protects his vital organs and muscles from the harm or various blades and blunt weapons. However like actual bones, when it comes to obstacles like bullets it does very little help.
Appearance: Dorian is a man of Muscular but lean build. He stands at a towering 1.95 metres. His hair is dark, unkempt and rests just aloft his shoulders. His face is angular and windowed with two steely blue eyes. His skin the pale colour of an introvert and absolutely covered in the stitches of his make shift repairs, a testament to his will to live. His face, perhaps once belonging to a handsome man, bares various scars. Two stretch from the edges of his lips halfway up his cheeks like a macabre smile, across the bridge of his nose and two vertically from his forehead, over the eyelids and to the bottom his his jaw.
Gear (Weapons/misc):
~ Doctors Bag (Aesthetic, Bandages, Needle & thread, antibiotics, Immune-boosters, scalpels and various other compact medical tools.
~ M1 Grand Rifle.
~ 3 clips of ammo.
~ Food & water (both in small supply).
~ 2 Bear traps
~ 1 Stick of dynamite
Clothing/Armour: A dirt and bloodstained lab coat with the inner lining adorned with extra pockets sewed in. A long sleeved shirt of jet black and trousers of the same colour. The pants much like the coat has been remodelled with patchwork pockets all over. All appear to be a size too large and appear baggy on Dorian. His footwear is that of large charcoal boots secured by a myriad of laces. Finally, disguising his face, a gas mask of shining black and silver buckles
Profession: Field Doctor, Engineer and Scientist.
Bio/History: The society Dorian grew up in was an Advanced community called "the lingering", his mother had unfortunately died siring him and because of the degree of his mutations the father had opted to remain incognito. At a young age the prospective children of Dorian?s community, the so called ?Gifted?, are subjected to a cognitive test that deciphers what function of the society they would excel at. Some are placed in metalwork and focus on the creation of replica components for machinery of the Ancients; others are assigned to the precise engineering?s of chemical and mechanical sciences and others are to go one to be the medical prodigies that ensure the communities survival. When Dorian?s test results were returned the markers were shocked. It stated that he was perfectly capable of excelling in any of the esteemed careers. In situations like this the path for the child would be decided by the parent figure or guardian but seeing how Dorian was lacking in this department the choice fell squarely on him. Surprisingly even at an early age Dorian was adamant in his decision to pursue the plethora of opportunities placed before him.
Dorian spent the rest of his childhood in various classes struggling with the balance between Engineering, Medicine and Mechanics. Due to his set persona as the ?most mutated? he was often seen as an outcast. However Dorian viewed this as an asset. It meant that he was removed from the world around him and had more time to spend on his studies.
Dorian up until his 13th birthday displayed an equal level of intrigue in all is studies; however, it was on this day his body began to feel the negative onsets of his mutation. That was the day his chest split open, he had learnt that his body was growing at disproportionate levels, his bone muscle and organs were excellent But his skin was stunted and refused to grow. After that brief run with death it was almost unanimous that his likely hood of surviving the adolescence period of his life was extremely low. It was with this information that Dorian knew that medicine was his saving grace; he knew he wanted to survive.
Throughout puberty against all that the doctors had said. Dorian continued his education at an astounding level but it was one of his studies that truly stood out in particular, Medical Science. In this subject he explored so thoroughly that by the age of 16 he was out performing the designated doctors. He maintained his life with his knowledge of the human body along with is access to them. To make up for his condition he would use the skin of cadavers to replace the sections of his own body that had torn or simply began to fall away. The process was excruciation but necessary to go on.
By 21 Dorian had completed his education and was already surpassing the veteran medical physicians. The community however, due to the extreme lengths of body manipulation and introverted attitude, had begun to truly fear him; they had christened him the twisted ?Dr. Patchworks". For the next 2 years Dorian had found himself restricted to the labs hidden away from the world, his time spent creating medication, sorting the dead and deducing the reasoning?s behind their demise. As Dorian continued his work he began to notice small patterns in the inventory. Medical supplies, nothing truly substantial had begun disappearing. To him it was nothing more than a puzzle to deduce, he could never have comprehended what was about to occur.
After another year of working for the community Dorian concluded that the fear that the population once held had festered into contempt. He heard the names they called him. The stories they would use to scare their children. He had even been approached by the council to remain out of the public eye. But none of this struck Dorian to heart; after all, he had been alone his whole life. What was really worrying the good Doctor Patchworks was the increase in mutant?s he found he working on. The mutations were of course slight but noticeable. These mutants were often brought in with stories of how they had befallen some terrible accident and died in a fall. Dorian knew better, he was no medical lackey he could tell a fall wouldn?t have made bones break in that matter, he could tell that the bruises were made after their death and after some extensive research, He could tell both what had killed them and what his stolen medical supplies were being used for.
With all his evidence he felt it only logical to approach the council and present his concerns of a serial killer within their small commune. However things did not turn out how he had planned Council had decided that they were to reveal their little plot. ?Human Cleansing? one said another decided to avoid all euphemisms and go with ?Mutant Extermination?. The advanced community that Dorian had once held above the stories of the wandering tribes and the lost degenerates had now just crumbled. They said they had been planning a coup? for well over a year now. They believed that if humanity were to thrive, then it should thrive as humanity not some twisted abomination. Normally Dorian would have been able to appreciate the Irony were he not in a situation of peril. Dorian had assumed that this information would cause the Council to come to a singular conclusion. Eliminate the witnesses. However they revealed a fate far worse than the death he had for so long prevented. They told him that a doctor was an expensive tool commodity and that to certain slaver tribes he would earn the community. Looking back on it now Dorian knew he should have resisted, escaped, done something! Dorian was imprisoned, and forced to sit idle while the eradication of his people continued around him outside his cell walls only left to wait for his own fate to meet him.
Eventually they came for him. A slaver tribe by the name of ?The Omens? had been contacted and told of a precious Doctor, one of their bests, was up for sale. They came to collect their doctor, however the idiocy of Dorian?s community lead them to believe that?s all they would take. Dorian remembers three things of his retrieval, the first being the Screams of the butchers that had placed him in his little cage, the blood and bodies that dirtied their once ideal village and finally face of the man that dragged him to his knees and threw him in the Iron maiden like cage they had specifically for their spoils of war.
The next few years of Dorians life as a slave for 'The Omens' was shrouded mostly in mystery but from what could be gathered it was something akin to Hell. Dorian speaks very little of his life as the Doctor for fiends and even less so about his escape. but he did mention one small tid-bit of information. "It involved a scalpel, a monster and lots of explosives."
Dorian now wanders the wastelands as an enigma. He once asked the comman questions of a broken man, "Who am I?, Why am I here?, Why me?" But this twisted world had shattered him and put him back together so many times he'd simply stopped querying. He had came to the conclusion to survive. He'd survived his birth, He had survived his upbringing, He had survived his disease, he had survived his betrayal and he had survived his hell. The least he can do is keep on doing what he was good at, healing, fixing and surviving.
}
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Type: Advanced
Mutant Y/N: Yes
Mutations (If applicable): The community from which Dorian was raised was relatively absent of mutations, Of course there was the odd sensory increase or pigmentation disorder. But nothing compared to the degree of genetic variation that afflicted Dorian. Dorian was born with a strange defect where his body would create calcium deposits underneath his skin. These eventually formed into a sturdy bone-like structure just below the epidermis. Dorian found great use in this hidden armour as it presented him with increased durability and because of the extra weight it provided, helped increase his muscle development. However as Dorian began to reach puberty he started to notice a drawback to his wonder mutation. Dorian's Skin was not growing at the same rate as his muscle and bone. During his development he underwent the painful process of having his skin split and tear as well as has having to constantly re-graft new skin to his own. By the time he reached his 20's the painful process has left his nerve endings in shambles and pain was nothing more than a not-so-fond memory. The bone protection offers a form of organic armour that protects his vital organs and muscles from the harm or various blades and blunt weapons. However like actual bones, when it comes to obstacles like bullets it does very little help.
Appearance: Dorian is a man of Muscular but lean build. He stands at a towering 1.95 metres. His hair is dark, unkempt and rests just aloft his shoulders. His face is angular and windowed with two steely blue eyes. His skin the pale colour of an introvert and absolutely covered in the stitches of his make shift repairs, a testament to his will to live. His face, perhaps once belonging to a handsome man, bares various scars. Two stretch from the edges of his lips halfway up his cheeks like a macabre smile, across the bridge of his nose and two vertically from his forehead, over the eyelids and to the bottom his his jaw.
Gear (Weapons/misc):
~ Doctors Bag (Aesthetic, Bandages, Needle & thread, antibiotics, Immune-boosters, scalpels and various other compact medical tools.
~ M1 Grand Rifle.
~ 3 clips of ammo.
~ Food & water (both in small supply).
~ 2 Bear traps
~ 1 Stick of dynamite
Clothing/Armour: A dirt and bloodstained lab coat with the inner lining adorned with extra pockets sewed in. A long sleeved shirt of jet black and trousers of the same colour. The pants much like the coat has been remodelled with patchwork pockets all over. All appear to be a size too large and appear baggy on Dorian. His footwear is that of large charcoal boots secured by a myriad of laces. Finally, disguising his face, a gas mask of shining black and silver buckles
Profession: Field Doctor, Engineer and Scientist.
Bio/History: The society Dorian grew up in was an Advanced community called "the lingering", his mother had unfortunately died siring him and because of the degree of his mutations the father had opted to remain incognito. At a young age the prospective children of Dorian?s community, the so called ?Gifted?, are subjected to a cognitive test that deciphers what function of the society they would excel at. Some are placed in metalwork and focus on the creation of replica components for machinery of the Ancients; others are assigned to the precise engineering?s of chemical and mechanical sciences and others are to go one to be the medical prodigies that ensure the communities survival. When Dorian?s test results were returned the markers were shocked. It stated that he was perfectly capable of excelling in any of the esteemed careers. In situations like this the path for the child would be decided by the parent figure or guardian but seeing how Dorian was lacking in this department the choice fell squarely on him. Surprisingly even at an early age Dorian was adamant in his decision to pursue the plethora of opportunities placed before him.
Dorian spent the rest of his childhood in various classes struggling with the balance between Engineering, Medicine and Mechanics. Due to his set persona as the ?most mutated? he was often seen as an outcast. However Dorian viewed this as an asset. It meant that he was removed from the world around him and had more time to spend on his studies.
Dorian up until his 13th birthday displayed an equal level of intrigue in all is studies; however, it was on this day his body began to feel the negative onsets of his mutation. That was the day his chest split open, he had learnt that his body was growing at disproportionate levels, his bone muscle and organs were excellent But his skin was stunted and refused to grow. After that brief run with death it was almost unanimous that his likely hood of surviving the adolescence period of his life was extremely low. It was with this information that Dorian knew that medicine was his saving grace; he knew he wanted to survive.
Throughout puberty against all that the doctors had said. Dorian continued his education at an astounding level but it was one of his studies that truly stood out in particular, Medical Science. In this subject he explored so thoroughly that by the age of 16 he was out performing the designated doctors. He maintained his life with his knowledge of the human body along with is access to them. To make up for his condition he would use the skin of cadavers to replace the sections of his own body that had torn or simply began to fall away. The process was excruciation but necessary to go on.
By 21 Dorian had completed his education and was already surpassing the veteran medical physicians. The community however, due to the extreme lengths of body manipulation and introverted attitude, had begun to truly fear him; they had christened him the twisted ?Dr. Patchworks". For the next 2 years Dorian had found himself restricted to the labs hidden away from the world, his time spent creating medication, sorting the dead and deducing the reasoning?s behind their demise. As Dorian continued his work he began to notice small patterns in the inventory. Medical supplies, nothing truly substantial had begun disappearing. To him it was nothing more than a puzzle to deduce, he could never have comprehended what was about to occur.
After another year of working for the community Dorian concluded that the fear that the population once held had festered into contempt. He heard the names they called him. The stories they would use to scare their children. He had even been approached by the council to remain out of the public eye. But none of this struck Dorian to heart; after all, he had been alone his whole life. What was really worrying the good Doctor Patchworks was the increase in mutant?s he found he working on. The mutations were of course slight but noticeable. These mutants were often brought in with stories of how they had befallen some terrible accident and died in a fall. Dorian knew better, he was no medical lackey he could tell a fall wouldn?t have made bones break in that matter, he could tell that the bruises were made after their death and after some extensive research, He could tell both what had killed them and what his stolen medical supplies were being used for.
With all his evidence he felt it only logical to approach the council and present his concerns of a serial killer within their small commune. However things did not turn out how he had planned Council had decided that they were to reveal their little plot. ?Human Cleansing? one said another decided to avoid all euphemisms and go with ?Mutant Extermination?. The advanced community that Dorian had once held above the stories of the wandering tribes and the lost degenerates had now just crumbled. They said they had been planning a coup? for well over a year now. They believed that if humanity were to thrive, then it should thrive as humanity not some twisted abomination. Normally Dorian would have been able to appreciate the Irony were he not in a situation of peril. Dorian had assumed that this information would cause the Council to come to a singular conclusion. Eliminate the witnesses. However they revealed a fate far worse than the death he had for so long prevented. They told him that a doctor was an expensive tool commodity and that to certain slaver tribes he would earn the community. Looking back on it now Dorian knew he should have resisted, escaped, done something! Dorian was imprisoned, and forced to sit idle while the eradication of his people continued around him outside his cell walls only left to wait for his own fate to meet him.
Eventually they came for him. A slaver tribe by the name of ?The Omens? had been contacted and told of a precious Doctor, one of their bests, was up for sale. They came to collect their doctor, however the idiocy of Dorian?s community lead them to believe that?s all they would take. Dorian remembers three things of his retrieval, the first being the Screams of the butchers that had placed him in his little cage, the blood and bodies that dirtied their once ideal village and finally face of the man that dragged him to his knees and threw him in the Iron maiden like cage they had specifically for their spoils of war.
The next few years of Dorians life as a slave for 'The Omens' was shrouded mostly in mystery but from what could be gathered it was something akin to Hell. Dorian speaks very little of his life as the Doctor for fiends and even less so about his escape. but he did mention one small tid-bit of information. "It involved a scalpel, a monster and lots of explosives."
Dorian now wanders the wastelands as an enigma. He once asked the comman questions of a broken man, "Who am I?, Why am I here?, Why me?" But this twisted world had shattered him and put him back together so many times he'd simply stopped querying. He had came to the conclusion to survive. He'd survived his birth, He had survived his upbringing, He had survived his disease, he had survived his betrayal and he had survived his hell. The least he can do is keep on doing what he was good at, healing, fixing and surviving.
}
First attempt so some feedback would be lovely
Yup, that's cool - Very nice back story and sounds like an interesting character! As stated before, PM the other guys in the thread and you can discuss how to join the story. ( We can't get you in just yet as the situation doesn't allow for a person to join )tobi the good boy said:
So, keep checking the thread and when you're able to join, I'll let you know!
OK, so After being invited to the group I got to reading what you guys have so far. I was wondering if I could tweak my mutation a little before I jump in. I got my scale of mutation wrong I thought it was supposed to be, Crippling but can be mildly helpful ... not, ignite your enemies on touch.Dectomax said:
P.s. Igniting your enemies on touch is pretty damn bad ass
I really like this. And I especially like the inclusion of a "mutant extermination" in your bio; it means that our characters can have a lot of friction...tobi the good boy said:
Nice job...