Post by Rory Kincaid on Jul 7, 2009 14:31:04 GMT -5
Name: Rory Kincaid
Age: 32
Apparent Age: 27
Gender: Male
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Blue
Appearance: A habitual chain smoker, Rory always has a pack of Camel cigarette's in one of his many pockets. Leather jacket draped across his spare frame and a tight T-shirt, jeans and romper stomper boots complete the wardrobe. Some days he feels like mixing it up a bit and tossing in a Hawaiian shirt, but those are days where one should avoid him. He feels happy those days, and that generally means bad things for other people. Tousled and shaggy brown hair constantly falls into his eyes and he is generally unshaven.
Celebrity Appearance: Norman Reedus
Code Name: N/A
Powers: Some have made the mistake of labeling Rory a techno-path. This is somewhat misguided, although it is close to the truth. Rory has the uncanny ability to utilize an object to it's fullest potential. The most direct usage of this ability is exhibited when Rory pulls out a weapon. As soon as his skin makes contact with that weapon, Rory effectively becomes a master at it's uses. Thus far, he is an expert marksman in a variety of firearms, from various pistols to sub-machine guns. He is dying to try out a sniper rifle, but hasn't had the opportunity to place his hands on one yet. Along with the guns, he is also proficient with various blades, most notably small knives and short swords. To date, this is all that he has had need of, although he will undoubtedly find more weapons to master.
When this power is applied to other, non martial pursuits, Rory exhibits the same aptitude, which has led others to assume technopathy. When using a computer, he instinctively knows how to utilize all of it's resources. He does not, however, force the computer past its normal uses. However, a chair will always be a chair to Rory, for it has limited potential.
The downside to this power is if Rory is deprived of his weapons, he is next to useless. His mental defenses are relatively weak and physically, he is no more than average. However, with dagger or pistol in hand, he is lethal. When fighting hand to hand, he moves like a dervish.
Due to the nature of his power, Rory has been able to pass for a long time as human.
Background: Rory has very little background, at least so far as he knows. He woke up two years ago, his head stuck to his floor with his own blood. He has precious little memory of the time preceding his awakening, although he knows his name (thankfully his wallet lay near-by) and that he is of Scottish origin (recognized the accent). Two months after his awakening, he received orders from an anonymous source. He was to assassinate a certain politician. Doing so was actually quite easy for Rory, as muscle memory took over. He instinctively found the optimal spot to quietly and efficiently assassinate the politician, using a pistol he'd found in his apartment. More so, he found that he enjoyed doing this.
The next year found Rory traveling, unaware of his mutation, working for whomever contacted him. Always aware of the blankness of his past, he never asked questions of those who hired him. Instead, he went on, accepting contracts and fulfilling them brutally and efficiently. Eventually, on a job, he was partnered with a mutant. He'd heard of them, of course, but didn't really give a good rip about them one way or another. All the crisis of the last couple years didn't really mean much to him one way or another. He'd always survive.
The woman he was partnered with had a certain knack for identifying mutants. She alerted Rory to his genetic status and suggested a veritable slew of options for him to pursue. This was, of course, approached in a post-coital, post-murder, hazy, blissful state. Rory smoked, thought and then agreed. He spent some time finding various mutant support groups and attending, but always left frustrated. So many of the mutants were weak. Unwilling to play the cards that they'd been dealt or whining over how unfair the world was to them. In his opinion, it was either deal or die. He'd rather deal.
This last month found him seeking out the Brotherhood, admiring them for their willingness to fight for their rights and place in the world. He has, however, also kept his contacts in the underworld and will occasionally leave to go on a job.
Anything else you'd like to add: Rory will always get his task accomplished. Stubborn, resourceful and intelligent, he often thinks of solutions to problems that no one has thought of before. He is, however, a loner. Not overly given to allowing people to be close, he builds shields made of charm of wit, always deflecting someone's attempts at getting to know him better. If he wants to know you, he will get to know you.
Sample RP: In advance, I apologize for this. It's quite long, but it's a plot that I did for another site that has unfortunately crashed and burned, a la Challenger shuttle.
A light shone in the wastelands, a small pinpoint of illumination that pierced the murk. A small, ragtag family sat around a firepit, eating rations and speaking in hushed tones. All wore gas masks, and constantly cast alert, searching glances over each other's shoulders; these were the wastelands, the badlands, after all. Marauder territory, but even worse, the desolation contained the Neo-mutants. Cast-off's from any and all society and polite company alike, they roamed the surface world without fear of nuclear retribution – after all, what more could the poison in the air do to their ravaged bodies?
The leader of this small, fearful group looked deep into the hearts of his family. There he found terror, and resignation. It was time to tell the histories, a tradition dating back to the beginnings of this holocaust as a way to pass the nightmarish nights. Historical records had been lost, but this, this kept history alive so that one day, in happier days, their stories would once again be written.
“Gather round children, it is time.” Every masked face turned at the muffled voice, all noise silenced to better hear. All remained attentive, however, on the world outside their firelight.
“Long ago, when I was young, the world looked much different. Great cities scraped the skies, reaching for the clouds. The mutant race was young, in those days, although it is still young now. The human race was in it's prime and was threatened by the power wielded by our people. Then, we had schools for you youngsters, a place for you to learn and grow, instead of listening to your old man's ramblings.” At this point, an appreciative chuckle rose from the small ones, quick and sweet.
The speaker's mask shifted, as if he smiled underneath it, before continuing. “The human's tried everything to push the mutants down, and heroes rose to defend our race. But as with anything good, evil must arise as well. The heroes of our people were met with those of us who would assert dominance over the human's, whom they referred to as “flat-scan's”. Epic battles were waged, between our people – much as it is now – and also between the human's. Eventually, it looked like the human's were going to win. They forced us into holes and guarded living facilities. Everywhere we went, we were regarded with suspicion and fear. Resentment rose, and like minded beings banded together to fight back. It was inevitable that war should break out, and yet no one except the most cynical could have foretold where our actions would take us. Well, except for the prescient, but they weren't telling anyone.
“Forces fought, and eventually converged in the capital of the human race: Washington D.C. There, our fates were sealed. The battle raged for weeks, with many dead on each side. Enmities between mutants were forgotten for the time, so great was the force assembled against us by the human's. A fire manipulator was present, one of great power. To this date, no one knows her name and that is truly an irrelevant detail. At the peak of the battle, she unleashed all of her power. So great was the force, that it halted the fight in it's tracks. Many thousands died, human and mutant alike. In fact, her power was so great that none on the human side believed that the explosion was the result of mutant ability. The human's assumed it was a foreign attack, taking advantage of the chaos created by the battle. This idiocy, apparently only believed by the leader of the country, led to a nuclear attack.
“For five years, the human's fought amongst themselves, using their most devastating weapons on each other. Mutant's involved themselves, either directly in combat, or in efforts to diminish the repercussions of the dire explosives. It worked, and this is what we were left with. Many places were saved through mutant efforts, but many more were lost. Even then, our people worked to mitigate the fallout, energy absorbers even giving up their lives to save the land. In the end though, it was too much. Too much destruction.”
The narrator paused at this point, looked down and sighed deeply.
“Eventually, the truth leaked out. No one knows why it happened, although theories abound, from the truly ridiculous to the logical. Some believe that alien's were controlling the human's actions, and eventually the human's broke free of their bondage. Truly, an idiotic idea. But the truth of the reason's for the chaos of the previous five years is still hidden. In the desperate struggle to stay alive with death raining down from the heaven's, historical records were not kept up. All we can do is surmise, and I doubt we shall ever know the complete truth of why the war stopped. But, stop it did, and the human's turned their sites on us. They seemed to know that it was a mutant who'd caused the explosion five year's past, and blamed the decimation of Washington D.C. on our entire race. War broke out once again. Fortunately, mutant kind rallied and drove humanity back. For fifteen years we fought. For fifteen years, I fought. More land was destroyed in this fighting, and many lives lost on both sides. Eventually though, we pushed the humans back, into the cradle of life. Africa, their last stronghold. We hold the entire world now, although that isn't worth much. Much of the world's forest's are lost to us, South America is entirely gone. Much of Europe is destroyed, along with Russia and avaricious mutant's, self-styled warlords have divided up what used to be known as North America. The war still rages in the Middle East, and shows no signs of stopping. Although, in a fit of unity and co-operation, we built ourselves a city. One that we shall never visit, since it is much divided, and situated between each of the warlord's territories. All that can be found in Heaven is death, and I pray that you will never have to go there.”
He stops and looks around furtively. “This next bit, you've never heard, but I was told in the last settlement we visited that there is apparently an insurgent human group somewhere here, probably out east.”
The children gasped, looking around as if the feared humans may burst from the surrounding darkness at any moment. Their father chuckled.
“I'm sure they have bigger problems than some family of traveler's. Now, story time is over, it is time for you to rest. We meet with the Saviours tomorrow, they will transport us to one of their Haven's.”
The children lay down, bundling up with gas masks still on. The narrator turns to the other adult, saying, “sleep now Mother, I shall keep first watch.”
Soon, he sat alone by the fire, gazing out into the blackness with only his thoughts to keep him company.
Affiliate: Brotherhood
Age: 32
Apparent Age: 27
Gender: Male
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Blue
Appearance: A habitual chain smoker, Rory always has a pack of Camel cigarette's in one of his many pockets. Leather jacket draped across his spare frame and a tight T-shirt, jeans and romper stomper boots complete the wardrobe. Some days he feels like mixing it up a bit and tossing in a Hawaiian shirt, but those are days where one should avoid him. He feels happy those days, and that generally means bad things for other people. Tousled and shaggy brown hair constantly falls into his eyes and he is generally unshaven.
Celebrity Appearance: Norman Reedus
Code Name: N/A
Powers: Some have made the mistake of labeling Rory a techno-path. This is somewhat misguided, although it is close to the truth. Rory has the uncanny ability to utilize an object to it's fullest potential. The most direct usage of this ability is exhibited when Rory pulls out a weapon. As soon as his skin makes contact with that weapon, Rory effectively becomes a master at it's uses. Thus far, he is an expert marksman in a variety of firearms, from various pistols to sub-machine guns. He is dying to try out a sniper rifle, but hasn't had the opportunity to place his hands on one yet. Along with the guns, he is also proficient with various blades, most notably small knives and short swords. To date, this is all that he has had need of, although he will undoubtedly find more weapons to master.
When this power is applied to other, non martial pursuits, Rory exhibits the same aptitude, which has led others to assume technopathy. When using a computer, he instinctively knows how to utilize all of it's resources. He does not, however, force the computer past its normal uses. However, a chair will always be a chair to Rory, for it has limited potential.
The downside to this power is if Rory is deprived of his weapons, he is next to useless. His mental defenses are relatively weak and physically, he is no more than average. However, with dagger or pistol in hand, he is lethal. When fighting hand to hand, he moves like a dervish.
Due to the nature of his power, Rory has been able to pass for a long time as human.
Background: Rory has very little background, at least so far as he knows. He woke up two years ago, his head stuck to his floor with his own blood. He has precious little memory of the time preceding his awakening, although he knows his name (thankfully his wallet lay near-by) and that he is of Scottish origin (recognized the accent). Two months after his awakening, he received orders from an anonymous source. He was to assassinate a certain politician. Doing so was actually quite easy for Rory, as muscle memory took over. He instinctively found the optimal spot to quietly and efficiently assassinate the politician, using a pistol he'd found in his apartment. More so, he found that he enjoyed doing this.
The next year found Rory traveling, unaware of his mutation, working for whomever contacted him. Always aware of the blankness of his past, he never asked questions of those who hired him. Instead, he went on, accepting contracts and fulfilling them brutally and efficiently. Eventually, on a job, he was partnered with a mutant. He'd heard of them, of course, but didn't really give a good rip about them one way or another. All the crisis of the last couple years didn't really mean much to him one way or another. He'd always survive.
The woman he was partnered with had a certain knack for identifying mutants. She alerted Rory to his genetic status and suggested a veritable slew of options for him to pursue. This was, of course, approached in a post-coital, post-murder, hazy, blissful state. Rory smoked, thought and then agreed. He spent some time finding various mutant support groups and attending, but always left frustrated. So many of the mutants were weak. Unwilling to play the cards that they'd been dealt or whining over how unfair the world was to them. In his opinion, it was either deal or die. He'd rather deal.
This last month found him seeking out the Brotherhood, admiring them for their willingness to fight for their rights and place in the world. He has, however, also kept his contacts in the underworld and will occasionally leave to go on a job.
Anything else you'd like to add: Rory will always get his task accomplished. Stubborn, resourceful and intelligent, he often thinks of solutions to problems that no one has thought of before. He is, however, a loner. Not overly given to allowing people to be close, he builds shields made of charm of wit, always deflecting someone's attempts at getting to know him better. If he wants to know you, he will get to know you.
Sample RP: In advance, I apologize for this. It's quite long, but it's a plot that I did for another site that has unfortunately crashed and burned, a la Challenger shuttle.
A light shone in the wastelands, a small pinpoint of illumination that pierced the murk. A small, ragtag family sat around a firepit, eating rations and speaking in hushed tones. All wore gas masks, and constantly cast alert, searching glances over each other's shoulders; these were the wastelands, the badlands, after all. Marauder territory, but even worse, the desolation contained the Neo-mutants. Cast-off's from any and all society and polite company alike, they roamed the surface world without fear of nuclear retribution – after all, what more could the poison in the air do to their ravaged bodies?
The leader of this small, fearful group looked deep into the hearts of his family. There he found terror, and resignation. It was time to tell the histories, a tradition dating back to the beginnings of this holocaust as a way to pass the nightmarish nights. Historical records had been lost, but this, this kept history alive so that one day, in happier days, their stories would once again be written.
“Gather round children, it is time.” Every masked face turned at the muffled voice, all noise silenced to better hear. All remained attentive, however, on the world outside their firelight.
“Long ago, when I was young, the world looked much different. Great cities scraped the skies, reaching for the clouds. The mutant race was young, in those days, although it is still young now. The human race was in it's prime and was threatened by the power wielded by our people. Then, we had schools for you youngsters, a place for you to learn and grow, instead of listening to your old man's ramblings.” At this point, an appreciative chuckle rose from the small ones, quick and sweet.
The speaker's mask shifted, as if he smiled underneath it, before continuing. “The human's tried everything to push the mutants down, and heroes rose to defend our race. But as with anything good, evil must arise as well. The heroes of our people were met with those of us who would assert dominance over the human's, whom they referred to as “flat-scan's”. Epic battles were waged, between our people – much as it is now – and also between the human's. Eventually, it looked like the human's were going to win. They forced us into holes and guarded living facilities. Everywhere we went, we were regarded with suspicion and fear. Resentment rose, and like minded beings banded together to fight back. It was inevitable that war should break out, and yet no one except the most cynical could have foretold where our actions would take us. Well, except for the prescient, but they weren't telling anyone.
“Forces fought, and eventually converged in the capital of the human race: Washington D.C. There, our fates were sealed. The battle raged for weeks, with many dead on each side. Enmities between mutants were forgotten for the time, so great was the force assembled against us by the human's. A fire manipulator was present, one of great power. To this date, no one knows her name and that is truly an irrelevant detail. At the peak of the battle, she unleashed all of her power. So great was the force, that it halted the fight in it's tracks. Many thousands died, human and mutant alike. In fact, her power was so great that none on the human side believed that the explosion was the result of mutant ability. The human's assumed it was a foreign attack, taking advantage of the chaos created by the battle. This idiocy, apparently only believed by the leader of the country, led to a nuclear attack.
“For five years, the human's fought amongst themselves, using their most devastating weapons on each other. Mutant's involved themselves, either directly in combat, or in efforts to diminish the repercussions of the dire explosives. It worked, and this is what we were left with. Many places were saved through mutant efforts, but many more were lost. Even then, our people worked to mitigate the fallout, energy absorbers even giving up their lives to save the land. In the end though, it was too much. Too much destruction.”
The narrator paused at this point, looked down and sighed deeply.
“Eventually, the truth leaked out. No one knows why it happened, although theories abound, from the truly ridiculous to the logical. Some believe that alien's were controlling the human's actions, and eventually the human's broke free of their bondage. Truly, an idiotic idea. But the truth of the reason's for the chaos of the previous five years is still hidden. In the desperate struggle to stay alive with death raining down from the heaven's, historical records were not kept up. All we can do is surmise, and I doubt we shall ever know the complete truth of why the war stopped. But, stop it did, and the human's turned their sites on us. They seemed to know that it was a mutant who'd caused the explosion five year's past, and blamed the decimation of Washington D.C. on our entire race. War broke out once again. Fortunately, mutant kind rallied and drove humanity back. For fifteen years we fought. For fifteen years, I fought. More land was destroyed in this fighting, and many lives lost on both sides. Eventually though, we pushed the humans back, into the cradle of life. Africa, their last stronghold. We hold the entire world now, although that isn't worth much. Much of the world's forest's are lost to us, South America is entirely gone. Much of Europe is destroyed, along with Russia and avaricious mutant's, self-styled warlords have divided up what used to be known as North America. The war still rages in the Middle East, and shows no signs of stopping. Although, in a fit of unity and co-operation, we built ourselves a city. One that we shall never visit, since it is much divided, and situated between each of the warlord's territories. All that can be found in Heaven is death, and I pray that you will never have to go there.”
He stops and looks around furtively. “This next bit, you've never heard, but I was told in the last settlement we visited that there is apparently an insurgent human group somewhere here, probably out east.”
The children gasped, looking around as if the feared humans may burst from the surrounding darkness at any moment. Their father chuckled.
“I'm sure they have bigger problems than some family of traveler's. Now, story time is over, it is time for you to rest. We meet with the Saviours tomorrow, they will transport us to one of their Haven's.”
The children lay down, bundling up with gas masks still on. The narrator turns to the other adult, saying, “sleep now Mother, I shall keep first watch.”
Soon, he sat alone by the fire, gazing out into the blackness with only his thoughts to keep him company.
Affiliate: Brotherhood
