Crisis au Core

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Crisis au Core

Post by CrisisCore on Mon Jan 02, 2017 6:51 am

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Name: - Crisis au Core the Harbinger of Pandemonium

House: - Pandemonium

Gender: - Male

Age: - 20

Alignment: - Chaotic Neutral

Ethnicity: - Caucasian

Physical Characteristics: - Crisis  stands at 5’9”, weighing in at about 127 lbs. He’s got long, messy black hair that he never does anything with and a red scarf securely around his neck. He has one real human eye that’s yellow while the other one is robotic and glows a nice, soft blue. His entire left arm is strictly robotic as well as his right hand. Accidents from war as it were. The scar across his face and the one on his chest that leads down to the opposite hip are proof enough of that battle. Due to the robotic parts, he doesn’t like to wear anything that covers his chest. He does however wear mostly black pants, sometime with chains or ornate skulls hanging off of them.

Mental Characteristics: - Extremely violent when provoked. Otherwise seemingly calm. Is his Fenrir’s harbinger so he is deathly loyal. Nothing will break that bond and he would sooner die than betray his Lord.

Talents: - Having robotic limbs, he’s had to adjust to learning how to use them. His talents aren’t as good as they used to be so he’s having to literally relearn how to do everything.

Home: - Close to where Fenrir sleeps

Job: - Harbinger of Fenrir

Animal Form: - Dire Wolf

Bio: - Crisis wasn’t always this fucked up, but years of fighting for survival does things to a man. His parents weren’t shamed nor were they slaves, but they were barely just scraping by. Raising a child in those kinds of conditions isn’t healthy. He grew up doing things that he would never be proud of just to make it out of his child years. As he started growing into his pree teen years, those skills that he picked up living on the streets spared him of having to repeat certain youthful events. He was more fight oriented as he grew into a fully fledged teenager. Probably why he was picked up by a mentor of sorts.

This man taught him the proper way to live on the streets. No more selling himself or fighting other people. No, he learned much more valuable skills. His techniques for fighting got better, his focus sharpened. He was a Champion of privately run cage fights where older men often put young boys and girls like himself into battle royales, winner takes all style fights. He made friends, he made enemies. He killed them all regardless. All that mattered was hearing the words, “That’s a good boy, Crisis.” That’s all that mattered, all he cared about.

Until the fog came.

It was during another battle royale. It was the final match for the night; ten boys and ten girls duking it out for their right to live. The Calamity didn’t care what was going on. Didn’t matter who it hurt just as long as there were people dying. It swooped in and made sure everyone got gobbled up. The bare knuckles brawl turned into fangs and claws and there was far more bloodshed than usual. But did that matter to Crisis? No, this was still just another fight for survival.

He felt like he couldn’t go on any longer. There were just too many ravenous animals starting to surround him. He was clutching at his chest with one arm, the other clutching at his face. He knew his eye was missing. That much was painfully obvious. He’d killed the bloody bird that had torn it out. He felt something well up from deep inside of him, something that needed to be let out. He’d been suppressing it this entire time, but if it helped him win this fight . . . God, if it helped him win this fight he would be forever thankful. So he gave in, he let himself be consumed.

A wolf larger than some that had surrounded him appeared his his place. It lashed out tooth and nail against its attackers until it couldn’t fight any longer as it had lost his entire right arm, part of its chest and back, and its left paw. He collapsed, shifting back into himself and just laid there. He’d won. He had finally won. He could die at peace. However, fate decided he had a better use for his life and someone in Pandemonium found him. Be they scavengers or otherwise, he never really found out. He was passed out when they took him. Whoever they took him to, they must have seen some kind of potential in him because he woke up several days later under a surgeon’s blade.

The struggle to put him back under was a long one, but they did managed to subdue him. They strapped him down tighter, pumped more and more sedative into him, made sure he was sufficiently knocked out before cutting him up some more before they did him the ultimate service. Why the Maker of Discord deemed him worthy enough for this was a mystery. Perhaps the one who paid for the procedure put him up to it. Who was really to say? What he gained from it was his lost appendages back. He didn’t understand. Who or why had anything been this kind to him? And what was more, what did this mean for him now? There were four people in the room with him. He recognized none of them.

He was inspected by three of the people. He learned that the one staring into this eye to see if it worked was someone named Joseph, something about wanting to inspect the eye to make sure it fit right and everything was in working order. The second he learned was named Bezyle and he was in charge of the other parts, the hand and the arm with the chest attachments. He was trying to make sure each and every part bent and moved and worked like it should. The third was someone named Sebastian, he was a pack leader from Pandemonium. Probably the one responsible for finding him and bringing him here, under orders from a higher power, of course. The fourth . . . Bezyle explained to him that one of the benefits of his procedure granted him a slave attendant. He had been trained to do basically whatever Crisis wanted him to do, and he was at least moderately knowledgeable at repairing the parts installed into his body.

Just because these new installations hadn’t killed him immediately after surgery didn’t mean they wouldn’t later on. They kept the boy for observation, monitoring him and tweaking what was needed; they not only brutalized him to check the capabilities of these new limbs, but they made sure to test him in every possible way to ensure they worked and served their intended purposes. He was in agony the whole time. Screaming. Crying. Flailing. WIshing he would just die so the torment would end. He didn’t know how long he was there. Days. Weeks. Months. His concept of time was skewed too horribly for him to even be sure. But eventually . . . But eventually they finally released him. Dressed him up to their best of their abilities given his appendages and what he himself would allow and put a pretty bow on his chest. Called up Sebastian and said that the World Eater’s present was ready. Needed to pick him up and deliver him. And that’s just what Sebastian did.

And thus the Harbinger of Pandemonium was born.

Feat: -  Call of the Wild - Whenever he howls, he can summon up to five wolves to his location. It doesn’t matter if he’s locked underground or in the middle of the ocean. At least one wolf will always appear. Depending on the length of the howl and the pitch of it will determine how many he summons. These summoned underlings do everything he tells them regardless of what it is. When he is finished with them, he can howl again to dismiss them from his service and they will go back to wherever it is they came from.

This developed sometime after his release. He was with his slave on the edge of a forest, trying to build a fire. He was still trying to figure out what he could and couldn’t do on his own. Honestly, it wasn’t the slaves fault for trying to help him. He had slapped him hard across the face, knocking the poor man out. But that’s when they became surrounded by what he could only describe as the sorriest lot of men he had ever seen. He could have easily taken them out under any other circumstance, but the slap had sort of taken a lot out of him. His body was still trying to compensate a little bit for its new appendages.

But something in his gut told him to howl. He wasn’t sure what, it was just his first instinct. They started laughing. However, the garbled sounds of blood spilling out of an open mouth was what followed. Four purest of black wolves, led by an even purer white wolf, came to the aid of the one who called them. Something happened. It was almost like they had pledged their allegiance to him right there. As a matter of fact, they seemed to bow to him before turning and leaving. That might come in handy . . .

Character Goal: - To bring forth the news of his Fenrir to the rest of the pack; to prepare for the end.
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Garl, the Harbinger's Slave Attendant

Post by CrisisCore on Mon Jan 02, 2017 10:34 am

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House: - Discord/Pandemonium

Gender: - Male

Age: - 23

Alignment: - True Neutral

Ethnicity: - Mixed

Physical Characteristics: - Stands 5'7", weighs 135 lbs. Short silver-ish hair, light blue eyes. Scars. Clothes. 

Mental Characteristics: - Obediant. Loyal. Loving. Quiet. Adores praise. Hates shouting. Want to help.

Animal Form: - American Wirehair Cat

Feat: - Numbing Spit; Garl has a natural immunity in his mouth to his own saliva. Why? Because the spit he produces is actually a numbing agent similar to morphine. As gross as it was and as hard as it was to get used to the idea, whenever Crisis gets into too much pain, he has Garl lick/spit on his aches and pains to get them to go away.
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Re: Crisis au Core

Post by Staff on Sat Jan 14, 2017 2:12 pm

Good morning Crisis au Core and Garl! After a lot of going back and forth through files, I am pleased to announce that you are all ready for the roleplay world! Please, when you are ready, feel free to roleplay! Safe travels in Lumos!

-Marcyllene
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