Post by Arius Trocar on Nov 10, 2007 21:04:32 GMT -5
Is this a cannon character? No
Character name: Arius Trocar
Character alias: The Living Gargoyle. Satan’s right hand. The murder machine.
Gender: Male.
Side: Neutral, with strong ties to The Brotherhood.
Actual age: Fifty.
Age you look: Nineteen, normally.
First off, I want to make it clear that his power’s maturity may seem excessive, but the guy has been around for fifty years. I also hope that the amount of effort I put into making this character will by proxy represent just how much work I will put into this character in Mutant World. That said…I’ll just post what it is I need for this character to work, and hope that you okay it, thanks.
Mutant power: Earth Manipulation: This power has been focused with decades of fierce meditation and lots of hard work to enable him to control his power on a molecular level, through this he has developed four main ways of using his powers…
Firstly he can scatter and remake his genetic makeup by turning himself into his living stone form and carving pieces off to make his appearance younger or integrate pieces of his environment to give him hand held non projectile weapons such as knives, swords, batons or heck, even a shiv. He has been known to adapt a pair of wings from nearby stone objects and frequently does these days. Once the form of choice has been selected he, very much like sandman, can manipulate the colour of the earth he ‘wears’ to appear more or less human. He wears his mutantdom like a badge proudly sitting on his lapel. He is renown for shifting into a living gargoyle form right before he approaches a target, getting his jollies from the predator/prey scenario, but more on that later.
Secondly, he has the ability to scatter every atom in his body into a sand form and control it as it floats on the wind to it’s destination. This is not a favored form of travel, preferring the use of stone wings, as it requires a trance like concentration to pull himself back together.
When entering battles he has been known to cast sand or rocks into the air if it was the difference between winning and losing. He has a control that some refer to as terrakinesis, like telekinesis he supposes but limited to the earth elements.
Lastly, he has the ability to make himself into a living stone state, not dissimilar from Iceman’s ability. He has full maneuverability and a little extra strength, but the stone form drastically slows him down. It is impenetrable, but alas, not unbreakable.
Appearance: Please excuse the size, I’m a dunce when it comes to artwork.
Human Form:
Gargoyle Form:
Personality:
His personality couldn’t be more simple. But I am going to take some time to go into it.
If you looked up assassin in the dictionary you would find a picture of him and you wouldn’t even need to read the explaining words because you would see it in his eyes.
If you looked up his picture in a picture thingy, there would be several words sprawled along the side of it; I’ll go through a few for you. Bastard, murderer, soulless being, hell spawn, betrayer, masochist, hunter, predator and hell spawn – quick PS for you here, I put this down twice because you don’t have a picture of his face and as such can’t see the evidence for yourself, those simple words could be repeated infinity squared and it still wouldn’t prepare you for what you saw when you look into his gaze…merciless bastard that he is.
He has love for nobody in this world but two people; his father and his son – and that’s been put up for debate plenty of times. Whatever passes in America for social services have tried on multiple occasions to take both parties from Arius…none have lived to tell the tale.
He has no mercy. His person is void of pity. You wouldn’t want to meet him on a sunny packed boulevard ne’er mind a cold lonely alley at night.
Avoid at all costs.
History
Ah, where better to get into the roots of a sociopathic murderer than at the very beginning – childhood, duh – when he was but a pebble in his father’s pants…okay, not really but you do get the point.
Unlike most mass murderers and assassins it was a trade that Arius was born into. There were certain expectations for the only son of the High Clansman in Transylvania’s much rumoured, often disputed, Assassin’s Guild. From toddling age he was raised with an iron fist learning the fair, but non existant mind *nudge nudge*, art of slaying a man in several situations. It was not a trade that you scorn even a suspected guild member’s living to his face. Do it to his back and you could end up even worse for wear, as a knife could often end up in yours.
By the age of seven he understood the most intricate workings of the body and could stab you in the heart from fifteen feet away. Don’t you pull your face! I bet you couldn’t do that even now! And you call yourself an assassin! What’s that? You don’t? Oh, well – the kid kicked arse is what I am trying to say…a regular protégé with a love for the work.
At the age of eight he carried out his first contract. Stories would be told of the day Arius Trocar slayed the mighty beast. Well, perhaps not so much a mighty beast as a family cow – but still big news for a little guy, I can tell you. His spends were upped to double what they were before…but then again, what is double of bugger all, he was later asked by his loving father. To which his son answered with a grunt before being reminded for at least the thousandth time that when he started a real days killing, he would be bringing in his own coin.
Life carried on in much the same fashion for the next four years. A solid arc of training, killing small fluffies and getting jollies from killing said small fluffies – his father looked on in pride. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that the kid was bugshit crazy…but he would definitely grow up to be the best assassin the world had ever seen.
At the age of twelve something happened to make the deadly crazy kid a little more deadly. He grew into his mutant powers, gasp shock horror his father, still the strong man in his son’s eyes, not so much in everyone els’s, mind you…had him practicing and learning to manipulate said powers for the next four years. It certainly was no kids idea of heaven I can tells ya…well any normal kids idea of heaven, I feel I should amend.
Sixteen and the student protégé became a full fledged Assassin and the streets of Transylvania had never seemed so bare. Food pretty much everywhere was scarce so people didn’t complain too much when there was one less mouth to feed, or in one particular case of mixed up contracts… a whole family! His reputation grew and grew, eventually putting the Assassin’s Guild of Transylvania on the cusp of fame. This was the last straw for the Guild and the crazy boy that was, was sent to the United States of America by his father, to continue his business where it wouldn’t put his family at risk.
Now Arius was never one for affection, so if his father had tried to move him to somewhere that business was slow, or I dunno…somewhere like FRANCE, then his dad wouldn’t still be breathing today. But as it stood, Arius had heard the stories of America and all of the opportunities that the land offered and he grasped the chance with both dusty hands.
Thirty years and thousands of gallons of – other people’s – blood later, he had built one of the most renowned (in the criminal underworld, you must understand) businesses in the entirety of America, the North, Central and South parts…Trocar & Family.
Now it may seem like a huge, HUGE chunk of his life has been missed in this biography but YOU try getting someone into his life long enough for a couple more paragraphs of juicy details without you wearing a smile, across your jawline, bigger than the Cheshire cat!
Besides, one can only assume that Arius’ life goes as follows. Hack, gush, stab, chop, crush, occasionally turn into stone, squash splat, have a kid, get married, get divorced, slaughter the ex wife and the ex mistress, all in a days work.
Right?
I knew it, everyone wants the little irrelevant parts of his life, the kid, the marriage, well, I shall give you what little information some unfortunate soul managed to keep out of his horrid gaze.
Well his son, at our best estimate would now be aged at around nineteen years of age.
His wife would have been thirty five, had she still been living.
His mistress would have been seventeen, had SHE still been living.
I think there is very little need to say anything more about the man demon that is Arius Trocar.
RP sample:
“Where is your proof?” Arius said, slamming his fists down onto the table. The interrogation room was rife with the stink of prostitutes and low life dealers; a horrid mixture of cheap perfume, cigarettes and body odor.
Exactly what made this whole getting arrested situation worse would be the fact that he had now been arrested for close to twenty four hours, twenty three of these he had been sat facing the repugnant young detective and his hyperactive female partner with the invitingly large breasts that peeped at him from the two sizes too small shirt when she leaned into him over the table on the odd occasion.
“Mr. Smith we have been tailing you for close to three months! We’ve lost track of you countless times in dead end alleys and sleazy bars who-” he lost track of what the fat boy was saying when the detective leaned forwards again. There they were again all big and…jubbly. Oh he sighed inwardly how he would love to lean forward and take a rather bite out of one of them – they were magnificent. “-and you know we have been given the right to check you under the Mutant Registration Act.”
That did the trick. Like an icy cold shower.
“Preposterous!” he roared. Slamming his fists down once again into the table, he heard a creak as the wood tried to give. “Is being an athletic 19 year old a crime in America, this great land of freedom and, and Liberty? Just because a vastly obese detective can’t keep up with me you think I am a mutant? Or maybe it’s your lovely partner who couldn’t keep up with me…which is hardly surprising when her speed is measured not in kilometers per hour but black eyes per minute?”
The brunette officer with the large jubblies stood up quickly, making the chair slide out from beneath her and fall over, she reached for the gun that had been set on the table. Her partner gun blocked her and quickly shuffled her out of the room.
“What were you thinking letting him get inside your head?” Arius heard from the other side of the door. “I know, I wanna blow the fucker’s brains out too, but we just can’t allow him that space. Look, the Mutant testers will be here in about ten minutes. We’ll send the guy back to his cell – Gilbertson, get the asshole out of interrogation and back in his cell – now we can go have a cup of coffee and relax before we get a little bit of evidence that will hold up against this guy.”
Arius looked at the handcuffs that were behind his back, they were now held open in front of him.
“It looks like Mr. Smith is going to be making a dramatic exit.” He said as he crumbled to dust and cast his atoms through the small crack in the only window’s glass.
+++
A few hours later, a certain sweaty obese detective was arriving home after the worse forty eight hours of his life. The bright morning sun had built up a thick sheen of his forearm which he lazily wiped away with the back of one hand before reaching for his apartment keys.
A soft crunch on the gravel made his skin crawl for the briefest of seconds, he put it down to being the neighbor’s cat coming in after an eventful night on the prowl.
“Ah, Detective.” If his skin was crawling before, now it was positively running away from him. He recognized the musical lilt in that voice, hell he had spent almost twenty four hours with the 19 year old douche bag, Mr. Smith.
He reached for his gun, and with a swift move that belied his rotund size he turned to face the escaped prisoner. “Mr. Smith I am arresting you for escaping police custody and on suspicion of thirty nine counts of murder in the first degree! Get on the ground you mutie sonofabitch!”
KERRR-RACK~!
“My! My! Detective, you have the wrong man! There is no Mr. Smith here.” He said as he swatted the bullet from the air matter-of-factly and changed back from his living stone form. “My name is Arius Trocar. Also known as Gargoyle.” He giggled to himself, the funniest joke in the world apparently. He continued walking towards the detective who had a suspect darkening of the trousers. The officer’s gaze dropped to Gargoyle’s fingers as he shaped the gravel around him into his own anatomy, his own fingers grew and sharpened into something not unlike claws.
“AsIwalkthroughthevalleyoftheshadowofdeathIwillfearnoevil…”
His psychotic, howling laughter was like static in the air, it made the very air move away from it, not wanting to be near such depravity any more than a human would want to.
“Yes, pray for me…for today I shall be called – YOUR EXECUTIONER!”
So…much…blood.
Character name: Arius Trocar
Character alias: The Living Gargoyle. Satan’s right hand. The murder machine.
Gender: Male.
Side: Neutral, with strong ties to The Brotherhood.
Actual age: Fifty.
Age you look: Nineteen, normally.
First off, I want to make it clear that his power’s maturity may seem excessive, but the guy has been around for fifty years. I also hope that the amount of effort I put into making this character will by proxy represent just how much work I will put into this character in Mutant World. That said…I’ll just post what it is I need for this character to work, and hope that you okay it, thanks.
Mutant power: Earth Manipulation: This power has been focused with decades of fierce meditation and lots of hard work to enable him to control his power on a molecular level, through this he has developed four main ways of using his powers…
Firstly he can scatter and remake his genetic makeup by turning himself into his living stone form and carving pieces off to make his appearance younger or integrate pieces of his environment to give him hand held non projectile weapons such as knives, swords, batons or heck, even a shiv. He has been known to adapt a pair of wings from nearby stone objects and frequently does these days. Once the form of choice has been selected he, very much like sandman, can manipulate the colour of the earth he ‘wears’ to appear more or less human. He wears his mutantdom like a badge proudly sitting on his lapel. He is renown for shifting into a living gargoyle form right before he approaches a target, getting his jollies from the predator/prey scenario, but more on that later.
Secondly, he has the ability to scatter every atom in his body into a sand form and control it as it floats on the wind to it’s destination. This is not a favored form of travel, preferring the use of stone wings, as it requires a trance like concentration to pull himself back together.
When entering battles he has been known to cast sand or rocks into the air if it was the difference between winning and losing. He has a control that some refer to as terrakinesis, like telekinesis he supposes but limited to the earth elements.
Lastly, he has the ability to make himself into a living stone state, not dissimilar from Iceman’s ability. He has full maneuverability and a little extra strength, but the stone form drastically slows him down. It is impenetrable, but alas, not unbreakable.
Appearance: Please excuse the size, I’m a dunce when it comes to artwork.
Human Form:
Gargoyle Form:
Personality:
His personality couldn’t be more simple. But I am going to take some time to go into it.
If you looked up assassin in the dictionary you would find a picture of him and you wouldn’t even need to read the explaining words because you would see it in his eyes.
If you looked up his picture in a picture thingy, there would be several words sprawled along the side of it; I’ll go through a few for you. Bastard, murderer, soulless being, hell spawn, betrayer, masochist, hunter, predator and hell spawn – quick PS for you here, I put this down twice because you don’t have a picture of his face and as such can’t see the evidence for yourself, those simple words could be repeated infinity squared and it still wouldn’t prepare you for what you saw when you look into his gaze…merciless bastard that he is.
He has love for nobody in this world but two people; his father and his son – and that’s been put up for debate plenty of times. Whatever passes in America for social services have tried on multiple occasions to take both parties from Arius…none have lived to tell the tale.
He has no mercy. His person is void of pity. You wouldn’t want to meet him on a sunny packed boulevard ne’er mind a cold lonely alley at night.
Avoid at all costs.
History
Ah, where better to get into the roots of a sociopathic murderer than at the very beginning – childhood, duh – when he was but a pebble in his father’s pants…okay, not really but you do get the point.
Unlike most mass murderers and assassins it was a trade that Arius was born into. There were certain expectations for the only son of the High Clansman in Transylvania’s much rumoured, often disputed, Assassin’s Guild. From toddling age he was raised with an iron fist learning the fair, but non existant mind *nudge nudge*, art of slaying a man in several situations. It was not a trade that you scorn even a suspected guild member’s living to his face. Do it to his back and you could end up even worse for wear, as a knife could often end up in yours.
By the age of seven he understood the most intricate workings of the body and could stab you in the heart from fifteen feet away. Don’t you pull your face! I bet you couldn’t do that even now! And you call yourself an assassin! What’s that? You don’t? Oh, well – the kid kicked arse is what I am trying to say…a regular protégé with a love for the work.
At the age of eight he carried out his first contract. Stories would be told of the day Arius Trocar slayed the mighty beast. Well, perhaps not so much a mighty beast as a family cow – but still big news for a little guy, I can tell you. His spends were upped to double what they were before…but then again, what is double of bugger all, he was later asked by his loving father. To which his son answered with a grunt before being reminded for at least the thousandth time that when he started a real days killing, he would be bringing in his own coin.
Life carried on in much the same fashion for the next four years. A solid arc of training, killing small fluffies and getting jollies from killing said small fluffies – his father looked on in pride. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that the kid was bugshit crazy…but he would definitely grow up to be the best assassin the world had ever seen.
At the age of twelve something happened to make the deadly crazy kid a little more deadly. He grew into his mutant powers, gasp shock horror his father, still the strong man in his son’s eyes, not so much in everyone els’s, mind you…had him practicing and learning to manipulate said powers for the next four years. It certainly was no kids idea of heaven I can tells ya…well any normal kids idea of heaven, I feel I should amend.
Sixteen and the student protégé became a full fledged Assassin and the streets of Transylvania had never seemed so bare. Food pretty much everywhere was scarce so people didn’t complain too much when there was one less mouth to feed, or in one particular case of mixed up contracts… a whole family! His reputation grew and grew, eventually putting the Assassin’s Guild of Transylvania on the cusp of fame. This was the last straw for the Guild and the crazy boy that was, was sent to the United States of America by his father, to continue his business where it wouldn’t put his family at risk.
Now Arius was never one for affection, so if his father had tried to move him to somewhere that business was slow, or I dunno…somewhere like FRANCE, then his dad wouldn’t still be breathing today. But as it stood, Arius had heard the stories of America and all of the opportunities that the land offered and he grasped the chance with both dusty hands.
Thirty years and thousands of gallons of – other people’s – blood later, he had built one of the most renowned (in the criminal underworld, you must understand) businesses in the entirety of America, the North, Central and South parts…Trocar & Family.
Now it may seem like a huge, HUGE chunk of his life has been missed in this biography but YOU try getting someone into his life long enough for a couple more paragraphs of juicy details without you wearing a smile, across your jawline, bigger than the Cheshire cat!
Besides, one can only assume that Arius’ life goes as follows. Hack, gush, stab, chop, crush, occasionally turn into stone, squash splat, have a kid, get married, get divorced, slaughter the ex wife and the ex mistress, all in a days work.
Right?
I knew it, everyone wants the little irrelevant parts of his life, the kid, the marriage, well, I shall give you what little information some unfortunate soul managed to keep out of his horrid gaze.
Well his son, at our best estimate would now be aged at around nineteen years of age.
His wife would have been thirty five, had she still been living.
His mistress would have been seventeen, had SHE still been living.
I think there is very little need to say anything more about the man demon that is Arius Trocar.
RP sample:
“Where is your proof?” Arius said, slamming his fists down onto the table. The interrogation room was rife with the stink of prostitutes and low life dealers; a horrid mixture of cheap perfume, cigarettes and body odor.
Exactly what made this whole getting arrested situation worse would be the fact that he had now been arrested for close to twenty four hours, twenty three of these he had been sat facing the repugnant young detective and his hyperactive female partner with the invitingly large breasts that peeped at him from the two sizes too small shirt when she leaned into him over the table on the odd occasion.
“Mr. Smith we have been tailing you for close to three months! We’ve lost track of you countless times in dead end alleys and sleazy bars who-” he lost track of what the fat boy was saying when the detective leaned forwards again. There they were again all big and…jubbly. Oh he sighed inwardly how he would love to lean forward and take a rather bite out of one of them – they were magnificent. “-and you know we have been given the right to check you under the Mutant Registration Act.”
That did the trick. Like an icy cold shower.
“Preposterous!” he roared. Slamming his fists down once again into the table, he heard a creak as the wood tried to give. “Is being an athletic 19 year old a crime in America, this great land of freedom and, and Liberty? Just because a vastly obese detective can’t keep up with me you think I am a mutant? Or maybe it’s your lovely partner who couldn’t keep up with me…which is hardly surprising when her speed is measured not in kilometers per hour but black eyes per minute?”
The brunette officer with the large jubblies stood up quickly, making the chair slide out from beneath her and fall over, she reached for the gun that had been set on the table. Her partner gun blocked her and quickly shuffled her out of the room.
“What were you thinking letting him get inside your head?” Arius heard from the other side of the door. “I know, I wanna blow the fucker’s brains out too, but we just can’t allow him that space. Look, the Mutant testers will be here in about ten minutes. We’ll send the guy back to his cell – Gilbertson, get the asshole out of interrogation and back in his cell – now we can go have a cup of coffee and relax before we get a little bit of evidence that will hold up against this guy.”
Arius looked at the handcuffs that were behind his back, they were now held open in front of him.
“It looks like Mr. Smith is going to be making a dramatic exit.” He said as he crumbled to dust and cast his atoms through the small crack in the only window’s glass.
+++
A few hours later, a certain sweaty obese detective was arriving home after the worse forty eight hours of his life. The bright morning sun had built up a thick sheen of his forearm which he lazily wiped away with the back of one hand before reaching for his apartment keys.
A soft crunch on the gravel made his skin crawl for the briefest of seconds, he put it down to being the neighbor’s cat coming in after an eventful night on the prowl.
“Ah, Detective.” If his skin was crawling before, now it was positively running away from him. He recognized the musical lilt in that voice, hell he had spent almost twenty four hours with the 19 year old douche bag, Mr. Smith.
He reached for his gun, and with a swift move that belied his rotund size he turned to face the escaped prisoner. “Mr. Smith I am arresting you for escaping police custody and on suspicion of thirty nine counts of murder in the first degree! Get on the ground you mutie sonofabitch!”
KERRR-RACK~!
“My! My! Detective, you have the wrong man! There is no Mr. Smith here.” He said as he swatted the bullet from the air matter-of-factly and changed back from his living stone form. “My name is Arius Trocar. Also known as Gargoyle.” He giggled to himself, the funniest joke in the world apparently. He continued walking towards the detective who had a suspect darkening of the trousers. The officer’s gaze dropped to Gargoyle’s fingers as he shaped the gravel around him into his own anatomy, his own fingers grew and sharpened into something not unlike claws.
“AsIwalkthroughthevalleyoftheshadowofdeathIwillfearnoevil…”
His psychotic, howling laughter was like static in the air, it made the very air move away from it, not wanting to be near such depravity any more than a human would want to.
“Yes, pray for me…for today I shall be called – YOUR EXECUTIONER!”
So…much…blood.
