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Crowley's Characters
02.13.04, 05:45:10
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Post #1 (permalink) |
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Name: Edgar “Wolf” Crowe
Age Thirty
Height: 6’5 Feet
Weight: 75 Kilograms
Gender: Male
Race: Edarian
Class: Warrior King of Edar
Facial Appearance: A bald head, cold, claret eyes, and a dark brown goatee. This is the face of Wolf; a face feared and respected everywhere. Small scars run down the sides of his face, with a prominent gash laced across his left eye, in diagonal motion starting from the right of his forehead all the way down to the left cheek.
On special occasions, he wears the crown of Edar, but is usually found without it, for Wolf hates broadening the gap between him and his people. The crown itself is impressed with ten rubies that circle around the golden crown, which itself lacks the spikes popular with crowns, making it more like a golden circlet.
In battle, Wolf makes it known to his enemies that no cheap hits to his head will be taken, namely by placing a zishagge upon his skull. This helmet is a favourite with him simply because it not only protects the top of his head, but all the area along the backside of his neck as well. Although he is highly ranked, the zishagge he uses does not possess the nose guard the officer’s zishagge usually does. The zishagge, while providing more than adequate protection, also allows for his enemy a final glimpse of the entirety of his face before they die.
Body Armour: Though he should, Edgar never wears the aristocratic regal garments of the Edar court, which consist of a feminine robe lined with cotton. Instead, on civil occasions, he simply wears a grubby, yet comfortable, cotton shirt with its short sleeves and button-up middle. When he wears this shirt, he sports, along with it, a simple, auburn, buffalo hide set of trousers.
His battle gear however, is anything but minimal. A glossy, steel, pointed gorget is the first item visible as a man viewing Wolf scrolls from head downward, followed by silver tinted, seven-piece spaulders, protecting their designated area, the shoulders, which continues from where the gorget leaves off.
To sidetrack to the arms means the mentioning of a pair of polished steel bracers which protect a fair portion of the area between Wolf’s elbow and wrist, but it just falls short of the hand itself because from there hourglass finger gauntlets protect the hands.
Turning back to the main frame of Edgar’s body however, reveals that it is no less armoured than the mere arms of the fellow. A coat of plates intricately winded together to form a vest protects the main frame of Edgar, surrounding both the back and front, and coloured like to the other pieces of protective covering mentioned already. Though it doesn’t seem much compared to plate armour, it can take a fair share of blows from the meanest of weapons, even war hammers, without catastrophe. Note that the armour above is only layered atop the cotton shirt usually worn by Wolf.
The following, which proceed down from his waist, is layered atop a grubby pair of black, cotton pants. First of all there is the belt from which the blackened wood sheath of Wolf’s sword hangs. The antique decorated scabbard hangs on the right side of the belt and reaches for forty-one inches, an inch longer than the actual sword span. Following this is a pair of articulated leg harnesses, straddling a good area of Wolf’s thighs down to an area only a centimetre below the knee. From there, a second piece of leg armour continues, namely a pair of plain steel greaves, not made for finery, but fortification. As these end at his ankles, one last piece of equipment is needed. Round-toe sabatons, to be exact, and these metal shoes are his choice of footwear whether in battle, or not. All this together creates both a silver vision of magnificence, or one of ominous dread, depending on whose side you’re on.
Weapon: A forty inch katana-like sword, made up of a thirty two inch blade, leaving the hilt the remaining eight inches.
The wooden grip is wrapped in cord wrap, which provides more hold for Wolf, ensuring he never looses his hold of it, and features antique hilt styling. As the blade as a whole is, the hilt is made for a two-handed stance when holding it.
The well-tempered, shiny, carbon blade is more than capable of slicing through bone, with a design that is beyond aerodynamic, and that has both a sharp side and a blunt one, depending on what exactly Edgar plans to do to his enemy, such as knock out and then slice, or just sliver straight.
A noticeable trait of this weapon is that it isn’t just straight; and is actually curved on both handle and blade. The hilt bends outwards from the wielder’s body and straightens as it gets closer to the blade, whilst the blade bends inwards, towards the user, in the middle, only slightly though, and straightens itself out as it reaches the tip.
This may seem eccentric, but it creates an amazing sense of equilibrium within the sword as a whole, and provides first-rate poise in skirmish.
Maraz Di Silo: Maraz Di Silo is a sword stance developed and practiced by Wolf. It involves the use of two hands, a curved sword such as the one he possesses, and a scabbard. It incorporates the sword style of the old Edar army, with their big strong weapons, with the former Limahari style of sword, a light weight composite sword capable of slicing fast. The concept of Maraz Di Silo is that one should never let an attack go wasted, not wasting an ounce of energy on an attack that has less then a 70 percent chance of working. When it comes to defence, the sword may only be used if the incoming blow could kill, but if not, the attack must be taken or dodged without help of the blade. To take the strike, and gain power from the pain, that is Maraz Di Silo. To use the blade only too attack, giving it only one defining purpose, that too is Maraz Di Silo. This indeed takes an unheeded amount of patience, and only the most regimented and heroic of soldiers can replicate a serviceable variety of Maraz Di Silo. Currently, all knights of Edar are trained in the art of Maraz Di Silo. Although the knights only make up for two hundred men, these men are the most trained in all the lands, and are able to take down much larger numbers of enemies than the normal trooper.
Prologue- A Brief History: Edgar Crowe was born in the region of Edar, and was the son of a powerful aristocrat father, and a strikingly beautiful, yet horrid, mother. With his father never around to care for him, and his mother blatantly abusing him in the most ghastly of ways, he grew up alone, not knowing the meaning of love at all. Although his father was never around, the man sent the best of tutors to teach Edgar what he needed to be acquainted with, but all quit their job when they were met with more than just dislike on Edgar’s part. He seemed a rabid animal, unable to be tamed, and with his mother constantly lashing him when nobody was looking, he only grew fiercer and fiercer. When his father heard news of his son’s madness, he locked him away in a secluded chateau, far away so that news of the boy would not spread very far. Despite this somewhat uncaring act, Edgar’s dad loved his son, and did deliver food every so often, disguising his visits to the estate as inspections of his property. But this did nothing for Edgar, now called Wolf by his ***** mother, due to his untamed, loner attitude.
By the age of ten, Wolf had not learnt to speak a single syllable, and didn’t have anybody visiting his secluded abode at all, for his father had been killed in a peasant revolution, simply for being rich. Yet Edgar didn’t know this, and only thought more that nobody cared for him. The lack of food available started Edgar going out in the night, and practically stealing chickens and eating them uncooked. This carried on for a fair period of time, but eventually farmers became worried about a man beast roaming around the place, and started guarding their livestock even harsher than before, setting out bear traps and the like. But the son of Crowe didn’t know this, and fell deep into a pitfall trap, in which he was discovered the very next day by the community.
It had now been years since they had last seen Edgar, and not one soul recognized him, and so the villagers took him in, and because Wolf had been crippled, he could not fight back when they cared for him. It was in this time period that Edgar grew to love the people around him, who seemed devoted to caring for him, and slowly, but surely, he began to sew small threads of trust. In four years, these threads had become garments, and over that time he had learnt to verbalize the simplest of terms and read the most straightforward of books. But he was becoming a man, and though puberty had kicked in two years prior, he was only now realizing what stimulated him. There was a particular village girl, slightly younger than him, who had the finest of bosoms, and the prettiest of faces. It was she who had personally cared for Edgar in his wounds, and it was she who’s company he had enjoyed the most. It was almost agonizing how she came to visit, and talk to him, but yet never reach across and grace him with her lips.
But it was one night; now Edgar aged sixteen that she came to visit him, after they had both done their duties around the village, that Edgar made his move. Overcome by his impulses, he raped her face with his kisses, and tried making a move on her clothes. She violently struck back, sending Wolf’s face into a state of stinging pain. This altogether too familiar feeling of his childhood sent him whirling into a maddened frenzy, and he violently bit into her neck, ripping into it with his canine teeth. Her screams filled the entire village, and it was only too soon that the hamlet dwellers rushed into Edgar’s room, to find the beauty of the town lying dead in a puddle of blood, with Wolf standing over her, blood staining his mouth and clothes, howling tears.
Edgar Crowe was thrown out soon after, banished from ever returning. In build he seemed a giant compared to most other people he met, and he was constantly being awed by those he passed by. He wandered many weeks, often hungry for days, until he finally collapsed in a state of under nourishment. When he awoke, he was in the main headquarters of the Royal Edarian Army. He was quickly brought water and food, and both he took down fast without thought. As soon as he had gotten this task done, he was dragged unwillingly by the guards towards the royal throne room. He was brought to kneel down to the king, and to swear a pledge of allegiance, something Edgar refused to do multiple times until finally he hadn’t the energy to say no any longer. It was his stature that had interested everybody, and the gear that was passed to him was specially adjusted to fit his physique.
In the beginning of his career, it seemed he would not make the warrior all hoped him to be. He failed to respond to instructions, he often threatened those who dared wield their weapons against him, and was, in general, on a horizon far beyond everybody else. But as training progressed, Edgar seemed to start enjoying what he did, to the point where he actually started studying on the arts of war to the point of strategy. Soon, his higher officers could do nothing but applaud the diligence, to which Wolf practiced and studied, but were at heart, fearful that he take over their jobs. It was, conveniently enough, a time of war, and Edgar’s officers quickly sent him away to the battlefield, hoping him to be killed in battle.
At age eighteen, Wolf stormed the battlefield for the first time, against a group of barbarian tribes that were trying to invade the Edarian territories. The particular assemblage to which Wolf was assigned to defend the Edarian border with was outnumbered at least two to one. The outlook of this battle looked grim, for the captain of Wolf’s team was an utter coward, as was the superior commander. When the advantage of the battle could have been gained, they stayed in their little wooden outpost, refusing to move, despite Wolf’s desperate pleas. And so, when the barbarians attacked, the while battalion of troops was slaughtered, save Wolf. Edgar managed to fight off the invaders, repelling each one, taking on the next, until they retreated. With his first battle one, and no friends to help him should the raiders return, he marched on back to Edar.
Awarded for valour in battle, Edgar was given a position in the Royal Knight regiment, knighted by the king who he had so denied only years ago. Life continued this way for a while, Wolf now a respected member of Edar, known for being wise beyond his years, and yet astonishingly well-built. It seemed life, at twenty, was finally coming together for the wild child. He gained a wife of unsurpassed beauty and benevolence, named Laura, and became affluent beyond anything his father had accomplished.
But his former superior officers had not forgotten him, and were now envious of him. After months of planning, they sent an assassin to kill off his wife, planning to make it look like an attack from the savages to the north that had been the enemy in Wolf’s first mêlée. When Wolf found her dead, there seemed no longer a reason for living, but to defend his ruler. And so he began to fall into a deep trance over his work, spending days in the imperial library, and when not there, practicing his sword work over at the training grounds. But the envious bureaucrats had not finished their work with Wolf, but waited four years, not to make it too palpable, before breaking down the last barrier of Wolf’s mentality. During this time he had fought in more wars than anybody else, and had become a figure of excellence in everybody’s eyes, an idol of their time. A statue of him was erected in the royal courtyard, he had poems written about him by the bards of the court, but Edgar didn’t pay heed, but continued his pledge of allegiance to only the king, and nothing else in life.
Then the day came when the officers pulled their trick. They placed counterfeit documents in Wolf’s manor, claiming a plan to eliminate the king. The one man Edgar had vowed to protect was now against him, leaving him with nothing. Quicker than the bereavement of the village girl at Wolf’s hands, everything in his life shattered. His residence was taken from him, his wealth was given back to the king, and he was stripped off all honours. But because Wolf had served the country royally, he wasn’t executed, but instead exiled. Edgar knew who was behind it, but there was nothing he could do, and so he left the fatherland, a former champion, now a desperado, not even worthy of being spat on.
It was too his former rival’s lands to which he fled, for it was the only place left for him. When he got there, he was attacked. When he didn’t hold his sword against them, the brought him to his knees, and chained him, then brought him to their tribal warlord, the man who ruled all the barbarian tribes. He wasn’t accepted easily however, for this was a man who had slaughtered many of their men. But when Edgar explained what had happened, the chieftain overlooked it, knowing Wolf to be a true fighter, one who gloried in combat, and who served loyally.
The way of life was simple here, lacking the city life that Edgar had come to know, but there was something there that hadn’t been in Edar. These people had shamans, men who knew magic, something Edar didn’t have. It was under these very people that Wolf studied, for he could learn nothing more of weapons. He was an adept practitioner, and in no time he learnt how to concentrate his libido into a deviant force as strong as Wolf’s brute force. But although he tried living a life of peace with the people, known as the Limahari, he was blown out from a life of peace. Only after a few years, and Wolf being twenty eight, the Edarian Royal Corps stormed into the Limahari land, in full force, massacring every man, woman, and child they came into contact with. And Edgar was helpless, not able to be of assistance the people that had accepted him with open arms; he fled, for the very first time.
For a year he remained in isolation, in a small cave located at the border of Edar and the former Limahari kingdom, practicing his new skills, along with the old, contemplating on a way he could get back on his former allies, and not die in the process. Something was maturing him other than magic; it was something that he had lacked before, a sense of morals, but not holiness.
By thirty, he had devised a means of bringing his material form, not just his spiritual, into a different area of space, after much means of meditation. He could now open mystical doorway which, when he passed through, brought him to where he envisioned himself to wanting to be. He could envision people, and immediately the doorway would locate them, and bring him to an enclosure near towards the individual he wished to be with.
It was with this skill that he travelled to the very royal throne, which was unguarded, save the outside which was the only known way into the throne room. With nobody to save him, the king was helpless, and Wolf slaughtered him in the most disturbing way, by ripping open his eyes with his hands, and then forcing them into the man’s mouth, forcing him to swallow them. Then, when sure it had been accomplished, Wolf slit open his former emperor’s throat, leaving him for dead. He then pictured his former commanding officers, and brought himself towards them, cutting their heads off with little care for their pleas. And now, he had done what he had set out to do, he wasn’t quite sure what to do next. But it came to him in an onslaught of thoughts, not quite his own, that he should care for this realm and extend it, and it was this that brought him to become sovereign. It is under his iron fist now, that Edar is ruled. The former allegations were dropped, and he was once more revered. With his hands on approach to battle, and his general acumen, Edgar “Wolf” Crowe is the glory of the empire. What still lays in store for Edgar Crowe? Continued Brilliance? Downfall? It will all be seen as his story unfolds.
Chapter One- The Dawn of New War: It had been only nine months since his flight to power, and already Edar was in a better state than it had ever been. Edgar had taken it upon himself to instate his former mentor Zadar, of the Limahari tribe, as a member of the Royal Court. It had all seemed to be going well for the new king, until he had foolishly attempted a try at the conquest of Silophile. The country had been renowned for their advances in science. And Thomas had told him science was the way of the future. Wolf had known science once; Laura had taught him simple things about it. Eager to know more, as if to continue his wife’s wishes, he set out at once to bring the neighbouring county under his rule. In his haste, he had only taken the imperial knights. He had done rashly, on emotions, and not thoughts. He hadn’t consulted with Zadar, as he usually would have done.
The results were horrid. The Silophile army had employed the use of new weapons, called guns. Such things were known of by Wolf, but he had only known of the flintlock, which he deemed inferior to even a common bow. The ones employed by the Silophile army spat out bullets without stopping, and the barrels on these guns seemed to never stop. The bullets went at such speeds that they pierced the armour of Edgar’s comrades, and soon only half of his army remained. With no chance to prevail, he turned back towards Edar, humiliated.
The response from his people, his councillors, it was all negative. He had expected it, but he thought it would have been clouded over had they won. But they hadn’t, and so the feelings were harsh. A hundred men had been lost; give or take, and that meant a lot of grieving parents. Wolf had given a speech shortly afterwards, commemorating the dead soldiers for their valour, but it hadn’t meant anything to the ears of the people.
A month later, King Crowe was ready to move out against Silophile, this time planning to bring the entire army. No defenders to the realm, because no other enemies remained around. He had prayed, out of advice given by Thomas, and it had been while he was praying, thinking to be more honest, that he had suddenly been transported to the peak of a mountain, an arena of sorts in fact. And it was there he faced Naraku, a samurai of great skill. Their methods of fight varied greatly, but both were men of honour, and so the fight was as admirable. But it was Edgar who laid the death blow to Naraku, sending him down the mountain to his demise. |
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100% Creamy Goodness
Last edited by Maldar the Incompetent : 02.28.04 at 07:56:57.
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Name/Screen Name: Alexander / Kal’Thu-Zar
Age/Virtual Age: 16 / 25
Height/Virtual Height (Weight): 5’11 / 6’5
Weight/Virtual Weight (Kg): 46 / 70
Gender: Male
Race/Virtual Race: English / Exarian
Class/Virtual Class: Geek Hacker / Cult Leader
Profile of Alexander
Facial Appearance: Alexander is your typical nerd in terms of looks; he’s got the Lennon glasses, the geeky ruffled hair style, and the bad dental care, not to mention the breath. But to be fair, he’s an alright looking guy, he’s got the hazel eyes, dark brown hair, and can actually look pretty decent if he doesn’t open his mouth. But most feel the gay ass hat he wears on backwards has oddball written all over it. Alex would differ that it in fact says “I Hack Passwords for a Good Day”.
Clothing: Following the nerd look, Alexander typically wears long sleeve shirts, of which the sleeves and the main shirt itself actually differ in colours, usually just black and white, because Alex has the colour co-ordination of a slug. But because he’s a teen infatuated with the idea of looking cool for the ladies, he dons baggy cargo trousers even if it’s at home. Not much can be said for his clothing, apart from his choice in footwear. Usually this consists of those funky sandals with straps to keep the sandal from falling off, and is branded with the almighty Nike logo.
Personality: Shuffle your feet, scratch your head, mumble incoherently, and you’ve got a shy guy, as well as what Alexander acts like in public. These are his primary actions when talking to ladies, or for that fact, anybody, but yes, mostly women. He’s a shy type of guy, in an offish cute way, and will probably for the duration of his life never be any good at sports. This differs, of course, from his persona online, which is charismatic and courageous. He is the perfect example of the fact that what you see online is not what you get offline.
Abilities: Alex is a damn great artist, both on a 2D canvas as well as one of a 3D nature. Not only this, but he can write tight programming scripts like a bomb, though cracking through such things is more his forte. He is what some would call a renaissance man, excellent at whatever he puts his mind too, except of course, anything involving great strains of physical labour.
Weapons: Alex needs but one weapon offline, and that is his mighty computer to get him online.
History: Alexander was born in 1987, right before the 90’s, which was a good time for electronics. By five he was already being taught how to use computers by his father, rolling through MS-DOS like a hurricane. At nine, he was given his own PC, and he had, in a couple of days, updated all the codes so the operating system would run both faster, and better. Then there came the internet, with which Alex used to crack through almost every porn site available to man, except those weird she-male and gay sites. But it was when he was fifteen that he got into trouble with the law, by hacking through not only the CIA database, but also by retrieving the launch codes for the nuclear missiles armed all over America. Instead of being punished, however, homeland security decided they would use him to their advantage, and gave him a house, a computer, and a prototype VR kit with which to work. After designing his character, Alexander plugged himself into The Mainframe, what the men in black suits called a game with effects on the real world. This was the beginning of a wild adventure. But every so often, he is asked by mission intelligence to kill off other characters, for reasons unknown to Alexander.
Profile for Kal’Thu-Zar
Facial Appearance: Kal’Thu-Zar is in general modelled after Alexander, but because the model of Alex was made by himself, tons of features have been vamped up to make him look like the guy he’s always wanted to be. The hazel eyes remain, and the hair is merely shortened to a length fashionable in the army. But then, the rest of his face is pure fiction. The glasses are forgone, and a ring of pure gold is strung through the virtual Alex’s eyebrow. Not only this, but his teeth are pure white in the virtual world, an astonishing feat indeed. As well as this, a mean goatee is added around Alex’s mouth, something he could never have hoped looking good with in reality.
Body Details: Despite the obvious changes to his looks in The Mainframe, his body remains slightly the same, only buffed up a tad bit. Alex remains a skinny being, just buffed up with hard muscles he could only dream of having in reality. But be not mistaken in thinking these are the kinds of muscle that stick out strangely, these are the kind that simply plate the skin and are like another layer of protection. Worthy of mention is that unlike some game characters, Kal’Thu-Zar is not made up of dirty polygons, but has the overall complexion of a real man.
Body Armour: With the body, obvious changes could be made to the clothing used by Alex, but for some reason or another, Alexander hates conventional body armour such as breastplates and full suits of armour. Instead he goes for the monk look by donning a brown robe around his body; which covers all sign of other clothing. The robes run down from the neck to the ankles, and the sleeves cut shortly above his elbow, leaving the extensity of his arm uncovered. Though no signs of clothing are visible, doubtless there is another layer beneath the robe, but like all game characters, Kal’Thu-Zar doesn’t feel the need to show these off. As all good monk robes should, Kal’Thu-Zar’s has a hood which can be worn so that his face is shadowed in darkness, giving him that wonderful sinister appeal.
Weapon: Out of all the weapons that Alexander could have programmed fro his character, he just had to choose to use a wooden bat. As strange a weapon as this may seem it is as hard as nails, as some would say. Many an unreal skull has been cracked by its frame; even the toughest of dragons have fallen to its might. Where it is kept underneath Kal’Thu-Zar’s garments is unknown, but this is just one of those things Alex believes is customary for a game character to do, and even so it is much more believable of a guy hiding a baseball bat in his clothing than a whole sword, right? The bat is fairly long, reaching a good five feet, and is sturdy in stature. Nothing is outstanding about it except the faded blood stains that are engraved upon it.
Abilities: Kal’Thu-Zar, almighty cult leader, is scripted with powers beyond our universal understandings. He can influence the elements of fire and wind to a reasonable scale, but is utterly powerless over water, thus leaving earth which he doesn’t like touching at all.
History: Kal’Thu-Zar’s real history really doesn’t matter all that much, because it involves mostly firm scripting, and long term character modelling. He was merely a lifeless shell in The Mainframe until Alexander plugged in. Then Kal’Thu-Zar sprung to life, and Alex controlled him well, giving him a life Alex would have loved to have in reality. The position of cult leader gave him a following that would die for him, and also gave him endless conversation possibilities. |
Last edited by Maldar the Incompetent : 02.16.04 at 18:36:05.
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Name: Pe-Tako
Age: Thirty-Five
Height: Five Feet
Weight: Forty kg
Gender: Male
Race: Genetically Mutated Penguin
Nationality: French
Class: Deranged Nutcase
Head: Pe-Tako’s face looks like your average penguin, you know the deal, a black and white coloured with an orange beak. So if he was waddling around amongst other penguins, you would never know he was an evil plotting psychopath. Well, apart from the ****ING EVIL EYEPATCH! And don’t forget the black Capone hat! And last but not least, watch out for that damned stumpy goatee that runs around his beak! Well, I guess he isn’t that normal looking after all. The eye that isn’t covered by a black piece of cloth isn’t even his own, and is, in fact, a robotic eye which can run in infra-red, night vision, and even sonar mode.
Body: Why wear a suit when you got a body that was made to look like clothes a Mafia man would wear, eh? Pe-Tako goes it naked aside from the two steel arm guards that cover his human like arms, and these pieces of armour run from shoulder to finger, and are basically what you would get if you merged a shoulder pad, elbow guard, and gauntlet all together. Nothing covers his legs, well enough, because he’s as agile as a bumblebee on coffee. The only other equipment Pe-Tako has is the two sheathes that lie on his back.
Weapons: Pe-Tako is a crazy ***** penguin, and his weapons are a clear representation of this. Two swords, each three feet long, are the penguin’s favourite weapons. Each has an ebony shaft, and the blades are made of diamonds. Though these seem like child weapons, in Pe-Tako’s hands, they cut like they’re as smooth as ice.
History: One day, a group of Batman fans, who were coincidentally scientists, decided that although The Penguin was one of the scariest villains walking the TV world, they wanted something similar in the real world. Enter Pe-Tako, a formerly happy enough kind of penguin, content to eat fish for a living and ****. But the blasted scientists captured poor Pe-Tako, and drugged him (which he liked), and probed him (which he did not like). They put the blood of humans in him, cut his poor penguin flaps off, and made him grow human arms, which although are black and white and match his body right enough, look really freaky. No I mean super freaky!
But this wasn’t the end, oh no, they just HAD to play with his brain too. They put in endless data on serial killers, cult leaders, and other bizarre **** (like German porn) there as well. Not content with these abnormalities, they also gave him the ability to be multilingual, and so he can speak not only penguin, but English (with a French accent) and German (which made the German porn all so much worse). And so by the time they were done with Pe-Tako, he was scarred beyond all healing that those damned humans could provide. And so began Pe-Tako’s thirst for blood.
He returned to the penguin tribes, after finishing off all the scientists, hoping to find a home there, but because he was now some freakish mutant, nobody wanted him. So he killed them all and sold them for penguin pie, the bastards. Realizing he was alone, he crafted his blades in the deep dark icy forges which lay beneath Antarctica, and began a mission. To hunt down every **** who had it better then him. But he has friends, like Boris the walrus, and Real the seal. |
Last edited by Maldar the Incompetent : 02.23.04 at 02:40:34.
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Name: Boris
Age: Twenty Seven
Length: 10 feet
Weight: 900 Kilograms
Gender:Male
Race: Freak Walrus
Nationality: Russian
Class: Communist
Head: “Look at those two tusks mate, their ivory tint glaring against the cinnamon-brown skinned walrus named Boris.”
“Yes, they’re sharp buggers, those tusks are.”
"They’re pretty damn long too, three feet each!"
“Cor! But what’s that on his head eh?”
“ My God! It’s a damn Soviet Communist hat! Look at that fluff mate!”
“That’s pure Communist wool that is!”
“Well, apart from that, this guy looks rather alri- Wait… Holy **** man! He’s got no pupils!”
“He’s bliiiiiiiind! Look at those eyes man!”
“They’re pure white they are, how does he see?!”
Body: “Errrr, why’s that Walrus wearing a bear-skin coat, Bob?”
“I don’t know Jim.”
“Looks the pure Soviet he does, eh Bob?”
“Yeh, Jim, he does.”
Weapon: “But Bob, what’s that thing with the handle that’s sticking out of the back of that coat?
“Jim, I think it’s a ****ing AK-47!”
“Oh **** Bob, those blind eyes are looking at us real scary they are!”
“I think he wants to- AHHHHHHHHH”
*Gunfire and screams*
What wasn’t mentioned in this brief dialogue is that Boris’ tusks make ****ing ace weapons as well. Bob and Jim only realized this as they lay dying on the ground, being gutted by those tusks.
History: Boris, like Pe-Tako, used to be normal, until the day the evil labs stole him from his natural habitat, and started playing with him, sinisterly. These were the essentially the same science guys who made Pe-Tako, and sick bastard they were. These guys had a Communist fetish, and because Boris and Walrus kind of rhymed, they created the Communist Walrus. And they did it while listening to “I Am The Walrus”, the sick ****s. So they gave him everything he’d need to be a good Commie, the coat, the gun, the damned hat, and tons of information on Communism. They also gave him a voice, programmed Russian of course. But after a humiliating incident, where Boris killed some scientists out of rage, they took away his eyesight, hoping to have more control over him. Of course, this did provide trouble for Boris, but being the super walrus he was, he soon found that his smell was super keen, and he could figure out where an enemy was using his odour vision. But before he got his revenge on the scientists, the penguin named Pe-Tako did it for him, giving him a way to freedom. But Boris, unlike Pe-Tako, didn’t know where to go, and so, after a few months, he ran into Pe-Tako, and later, Real, and these three formed the Animal Trinity. |
Last edited by Maldar the Incompetent : 02.23.04 at 02:48:40.
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- Updates Made to Wolf
- Place reserved for new character, Sinema |
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Name: Edmund Sage
Age: Unknown
Height: Seven Foot Three
Weight: Twenty Kilograms
Gender: Male
Race: Human Corpse
Profession: Corrupted Saint
Facial Appearance: Edmund used to be a jubilant looking fellow, plump face, the rush of blood in his cheeks, kind of Friar Tuck like. It all changed after his disloyalty to his ways, as if his mental charter deceived his body as well. It started losing the fat, and soon, it was a face where the bones were as distinct as the blood shoot eyes. After time, it only grew worse, and his face started distorting to the point where it looked as if the skin was being forcefully stretched around his face, and had changed colour from a bronzed white to a cadaver brown, and the bloodshot of his eyes took over and turned them into orbs of wholesome burgundy. His hair itself fell out, and he is now as bald as a Buddhist monk, without eyebrows or facial hair even.
Because of his displeasure with his face, he wraps it up in bandages, like those of a mummy, leaving only his dead eyes and crisp mouth to show. One would think this would feel hot, but his body heat is like that of a corpse, cold, because his betrayal cost him his soul. Strange enough, Sage doesn’t mind people looking at his strangely covered face, and so he usually keeps it clear of accessories.
Body Frame: As is his face, Edmund’s body looks as if it has no fat whatsoever. The bones practically stick out at the elbows and knees, and his ribcage practically has itself imprinted on the skin. Sickly and ghastly as this is, it still has the strength it had back in the day when Sage was a virile young man, and so the phrase “Don’t judge a book by its cover” comes in here quite well.
Instead of looking the archetypal fallen one with gloomy robes and all, Sage has delicate flavour in his clothes. Over his undergarments, which include a simple cotton shirt and a pair of long trousers of unknown material, he drapes a toga of the finest material, and its colour is white, almost suggesting cleanliness, but as Edmund knows, his corruption is absolutely contradictory to this. Instead of the normal toga which’s sleeves barely reach the elbow; Sage’s toga goes right up to the wrist, only leaving the bony hands for all to see. On the bottom half of his body, it reaches down right to the ground, leaving none to see where the feet of Edmund are pointing. At the waist, a simple leather belt of no real fancy ties the toga to the body so it doesn’t look just like a dress.
As if he mistakes himself for a Roman senator of old, he wraps a cloth of red around his right shoulder which goes down to the left hand side and comes back over to the right, creating a diagonal of scarlet overlapping the white. This cloth itself is lined with gold threads, and has the insignia “E.S” imprinted in more gold smack dab in the middle of it.
Weapons: Part weapon, part walking device, Edmund Sage’s staff is one to watch out for. Generally it resides in the palm of Edmund, helping him stumble along, or at least pretend to stumble along. In the few battles Edmund has been in, the rod has proved a precious tool. Its iron cast, and its general length of six feet is what makes it such a grand tool, and there is nothing special within it, although it can be used to channel elementals through it, such as fire which makes the staff of burning heat to all that touches it but Edmund.
Other than this, Sage keeps a small scalpel knife underneath his toga, and keeps it for those ‘emergencies’.
Magic: If you can visualize what being killed by God is like, and what it does for one’s condition, you can only half understand the power of magic that Edmund Sage has. Prior to his death, he had been a saint, one with the ability to heal by touch alone, and was regarded highly, but at time grew on, dark influences started touching him, and soon, his touch would unknowingly infected people with ills such as mental disorders and coughs and colds, but this interested the man called Sage all the more. Soon he began to embrace these arts and learn more about them, soon bringing souls back from the dead just to pick fun of them.
And of course, God didn’t like Edmund, one of the few chosen people who could perform miracles, doing this, and so he struck the guy dead, or so He thought, with a bolt of magical lightning. Instead of killing Sage, it only made him more powerful, and God had no better thing to do, and so got His many minions to lock Edmund in a coffin alive. The years spent in that coffin gave the corrupted saint time to enhance his techniques without being disturbed, and after a few millennia, he had the power not only to escape his imprisonment (which he could have done from the very start if he had wanted), but to control things of unearthly nature. The extents of such power are undefined, mainly because Edmund has never really had to use it.
History: Born the son of a poor family, Edmund Sage indefinitely knew the troubles of the poor, and had no problem relating with the unfortunate. As he aged, powers within him started showing up, and at age six, he healed a cat that was on the verge of death, restoring its vitality to that of a kitten.
This miracle was what made the Brotherhood of Man take him in, and put the position of saint on him. He lived among them for a period of ten years, and after that, he was sent wandering the country, performing miracles and increasing the belief of God. But doubtless, he grew sick of this, feeling himself used, and one day while healing a poor woman, whose child was still unborn, he felt a burst of anger and instead of healing this woman’s simple cough, he killed the child inside her, but this he didn’t find out until after a few weeks.
Soon, these bouts of anger started controlling him more and more often, and people started dying as a result. Fearing for their reputation, the Brotherhood of Man kicked Edmund out, and left him for dead on the streets. It was then that Edmund started taking a real interest in Black Arts, and those who asked for his help started growing deformities like extra limbs in the wrong places, and even loose limbs at times. Taking on his new practice, his body did as well, and Edmund grew to look decrepit.
God could only take so much, and struck Sage down one night with a bolt of lightning. This killed the man’s living soul, yes it did, but by this time, another soul had developed unknowingly, and that one didn’t die. Instead, it resurrected the body of Edmund Sage, and like a master of puppets, made it its slave, and though that soul is Edmund Sage, one can not say it is the original Edmund Sage. Helpless against this new entity that resided inside Edmund, God sent the angels to imprison Sage in a coffin which was to never be opened.
For years upon years, centuries upon centuries, and millennia upon millennia, Edmund lived with his eyes wide open, speaking to himself, thinking of ways to take his revenge. He grew in power despite never doing anything except talk, and by the time a team of archaeologists found the coffin which held him, the language of his time had been lost, so the inscriptions upon the coffin about not opening it could not be read. And so they released Sage into the world again, and the man they had rescued repaid them by sending them straight to hell, after drinking their blood for no other reason but to watch them suffer in pain.
So Edmund Sage walks the Earth today, waiting for the opportunity to give God back his present. |
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