Post by richardhead on May 15, 2011 19:06:00 GMT 1
RICHARD HEAD
[/color]of the villains. [/color]
[/center]CLASSIFIED INFORMATION[/color]
"And your name is... oh, dear." -Nuala. [/color]
»»FULL NAME:[/b] Richard Head
»»AGE:[/b] Born 1867, New Zealand (Longetivity)
»»OCCUPATION:[/b] Serial Killer
»»FACTION:[/b] Plot Character
»»SPECIES : [/b] Werepanther
»»ALIGNMENT:[/b] Evil
»»ABILITY: [/b] Echolocation & Sound Manipulation
- - -Strength: Can locate objects by reflected sound waves; or make sounds disappear, or alter them to his desire.
- - -Drawbacks: Some creatures, and humans with higher intuition and insight are immune to the effects.
THE DETAILS[/color]
"Give it up nasty, we can see you." -Hellboy. [/color]
»»EYE COLOR:[/b] Dark
»»HAIR COLOR:[/b] Brown
»»HEIGHT:[/b] 6'0
»»PLAY BY:[/b] Mathias Lauridsen
»»APPEARANCE: [/b]
Born during the victorian era in New Zealand, Richard appears to be 16 years old, his longetivity and youth preserved by his werepanther gene. Appearing as any other normal teenage boy, he clads himself in lose garments, t-shirts and jeans. He still possesses his old overcoat, which he wears regularly, and carries a cane which most passerby pass off as a fashion statement to times long past.
Standing at about 6 feet tall, Richard has dark features that set him apart from many, along with exceptional looks. Based upon looks alone, no one would ever guess about his darker nature.
»»PERSONALITY: [/b]
To Richard, there are few things worth fighting for, worth dying for. Even fewer worth killing for. In Richard Head's mind, there is only one thing that suits all three of those, the one thing he is willing to end for. Females. To Richard Head, this one word that encompasses speaks about the fairer gender is sacred.
To him, the fairer gender is a precious comoddity, the thing that makes all men valuable. It would be fair to say that he worships women to the point of a deity, even though he has learned early on not to show his fire to them. As such, as with most men like him who have something or someone to fight for, die for and kill for, Richard takes great pleasure in defending that which he finds holy and sacred beyond even religious deities.
To him his purpose is simple enough to understand. Defend females with force from anything that threatens them. He will defend them with heavy force if possible. Not if nessesary, if possible.
On the same coin, but upon the opposite side, he finds the males of the human race to be weak, senseless creatures, worthless and pathetic in all of their supposed greatness. After one of his acts of what he saw as a needed thing, he was asked why. He spoke his reasoning to the woman, knowing full well he viewed himself with the same distinction he saw other men. He was weak. He was as worthless and pathetic as the worst of the others. And yet, he knew his time hadn't come to end just yet, his goal was not yet in sight. What that goal was, was to find his own end. The one thing that he could do to justify all the violence and hate he himself had perpetrated upon mankind.
THE BACKGROUND[/color]
"I'm not a baby, I'm a tumor." -Tumor. [/color]
»»FAMILY TREE:[/b] Orphaned. Family died of the plague.
»»IDOLS:[/b] Himself.
»»HISTORY: [/b]
Born in 1867, New Zealand, Richard (born Minague) stole away aboard a ship headed for the United States at the young age of 16. Upset by the loss of his family, the boy had decided to make a run to the light at the end of the tunnel: New York City, the city of dreams, in the year 1883. Boarding the large ocean carrier, he spent his days and nights in the servants quarters disguised as low-rank ship crew. Working for his feed, and keeping a low profile.
A few weeks later aboard the ship, he was caught stealing a meal from the kitchen by a chef and was turned in to the captain. As punishment for his actions, he was beat severely in front of all the passengers and crew. After his public humiliation had been executed the boy was sent to the brig, where he spent the rest of his journey plotting his revenge against the ship crew.
Taking pity on him, was a young maiden who worked in the kitchen cabin above, by the name of Emily Henge. Having spent many hours of the voyage with her, Richard learned of her background and related to her, falling madly in love with her. She too had been orphaned because of the plague that swept over the country, and she too was a stole away aboard the ship. Meeting with him had proven to be risky, and a few days before their arrival to their new life, the girl had been discovered, beaten and murdered by the captain of the ship.
Shaken with fury, Richard began plotting the captains demise more carefully, at a quickened rate. At the end of the voyage, he broke free of his binds and confinement, gruesomely taking his revenge on the passengers, and the crew. Once certain that every breathing person was on board was deceased, he took his slow and well planned revenge. Hanging the captain from the ceiling of the brig, Richard ran every kitchen knife through him carving young Emily's name into his flesh. Waiting until nightfall, Richard climbed to exit the ship, stumbling across the last survivor. A ship cat. Shaggy and black, the cat hissed and bit him, frightened by his sudden movements.
Having arrived in New York, Richard was asked his name. He answered 'Richard Head' as the man gave him his new ID upon his arrival. Assuming his new alias, the word 'Head' had taken a symbolic meaning for young Richard. From this day forth he would be the head of his own life, his own experiences, and his own revenge. It was approximately a month later when Richard realized that the cat which had bit him had been a carrier of the werepanther gene. As the full moon dawned, Richards form changed uncontrollably beneath a blood red moon.
THE PLAYER[/color]
"I can't smile without you...." -Abe & Hellboy. [/color]
»»YOUR NAME:[/b] Chris
»»GENDER:[/b] Male
»»AGE:[/b] 24
»»TITLE:[/b] The Head of the Crew
»»POST SAMPLE:[/b]
It had been a while since one Kahndra Negahl had visited the markets themselves, and here she was, groaning slightly under her breath as she picked her way through the market grounds, occasionally allowing a flash of blade to clear the way of wanna-be muggers. Even so, she was wary to stay near the edible goods of the market stalls since her task of her journy through it was a supply run for the diner at which she worked.
Her tall, relativly lanky frame was hidden underneath a cloak that was tattered and worn through in spots at the lowest hem, though by no means was it completly old and worn. Even here in the troll markets, her kind's presense was not unknown, but still rather rare, and while she wanted to keep herself relativly hidden while out and about, it was not because of her slight fear the large crowds that had not yet made itself scarce, it was because of her relative wealth in body marking metals that she hid herself.
Either way, as her waddling gate led her through the throngs of people strolling through the market place, she noticed some others in cloaks moving the same way, and knew them to be those whom she had modeled her movements after, even though hers was not entirely false. Her gate was not due to physical deformity, but rather to oddly shaped leg structure, at least to other being's eyes.
Her legs were shaped with backwards knees and long flexable feet that ended in unusually dexterous toes. It was because of this that she was marked as a rarity in the markets, for as far as she knew, she was the first of her people to come across the ocean and into the Americas. So she walked hunched over, her hidden height coming to around 5 feet on average.
With a shiver as the toe of her right foot suddenly became wet with drainage runoff from the city above, she muffled a curse of her homeland, looked down and stepped over the foot wide stream with obvious aversion to the somewhat clear liquid. Making sure to occasionally stop and chat with the various venders selling their wares and goods, she made out her list of goods to purchase, and paid for them with the money the diner's owner had given to her for this errand.
With her shopping list almost filled in, and her basket full nearly to the brim of food, she turned from the vender with a somewhat hidden smile upon her lips and a wave of a softly fuzzy hand, she bumped into another cloaked figure. With a slightly muffled apology and a quick clutching at her basket of goods looked up into the starkly white face of a young woman, a line etched accross her face like paint and from the stories she had heard gossiped among the peoples of the markets, knew more or less without a doubt who this might be.
"My apologies miss, I did not see you there. Please forgive any flattened toes."
She spoke with an amused tone, knowing from personal experience that most people wearing cloaks were hiding either themselves or something on their person, and as the humans said, nine times out of ten they were either dangerous enough to keep their own, or important enough not to mess with save by the extremly moronic.
Her tall, relativly lanky frame was hidden underneath a cloak that was tattered and worn through in spots at the lowest hem, though by no means was it completly old and worn. Even here in the troll markets, her kind's presense was not unknown, but still rather rare, and while she wanted to keep herself relativly hidden while out and about, it was not because of her slight fear the large crowds that had not yet made itself scarce, it was because of her relative wealth in body marking metals that she hid herself.
Either way, as her waddling gate led her through the throngs of people strolling through the market place, she noticed some others in cloaks moving the same way, and knew them to be those whom she had modeled her movements after, even though hers was not entirely false. Her gate was not due to physical deformity, but rather to oddly shaped leg structure, at least to other being's eyes.
Her legs were shaped with backwards knees and long flexable feet that ended in unusually dexterous toes. It was because of this that she was marked as a rarity in the markets, for as far as she knew, she was the first of her people to come across the ocean and into the Americas. So she walked hunched over, her hidden height coming to around 5 feet on average.
With a shiver as the toe of her right foot suddenly became wet with drainage runoff from the city above, she muffled a curse of her homeland, looked down and stepped over the foot wide stream with obvious aversion to the somewhat clear liquid. Making sure to occasionally stop and chat with the various venders selling their wares and goods, she made out her list of goods to purchase, and paid for them with the money the diner's owner had given to her for this errand.
With her shopping list almost filled in, and her basket full nearly to the brim of food, she turned from the vender with a somewhat hidden smile upon her lips and a wave of a softly fuzzy hand, she bumped into another cloaked figure. With a slightly muffled apology and a quick clutching at her basket of goods looked up into the starkly white face of a young woman, a line etched accross her face like paint and from the stories she had heard gossiped among the peoples of the markets, knew more or less without a doubt who this might be.
"My apologies miss, I did not see you there. Please forgive any flattened toes."
She spoke with an amused tone, knowing from personal experience that most people wearing cloaks were hiding either themselves or something on their person, and as the humans said, nine times out of ten they were either dangerous enough to keep their own, or important enough not to mess with save by the extremly moronic.
