Edward "Mire" Cartwright
Alias: "Mire"
Heroic Motivation: Though he wouldn't admit it, Ed feels some obligation to help out in light of the current crisis. Uncharacteristic for a slacker like himself, it only took mass devastation to bring out the motivated side of himself. Better late than never.
Name: Edward Cartwright
Age: 28
Sex: Male
Appearance: Tall and swarthy, Cartwright rocks the unkempt look, though it's dubious as to whether he does this on purpose or not; His long hair tied into dreadlocks for convenience, facial hair scraggly and untamed, and little thought given to his wardrobe beyond "
Am I wearing pants or not?" It's unusual to see him without his set of cheap shades as well, even at night when they're a tad unnecessary. Guess he's a bit of a poser.
After the blast event, his skin's taken on a faint greenish tinge, likely a side effect of his strange powers. Hasn't done his breath any favors, either.
Biography: Always the slacker, Ed cared little about getting a proper education, even in his early years. He much preferred the simpler things: Pizza, video games, comic books, later alcohol and other adult pursuits. His brothers could go on to be pillars of the community, doctors, lawyers, etcetera. He himself was content to live by meagre means, making just enough money manning the newsie he'd worked at for nearly a decade.
At the time of the Blast Event, Ed was, predictably, doing nothing of importance, playing some new game on the newest console at the time. After one particularly frustrating level, the power in his apartment suddenly went out. His last memory before the catastrophe would be hoping he remembered to save... as if that'd be the biggest of his problems.
He regained consciousness sometime later, awakening under a smoldering pile of plaster and wood that he quickly dug himself out of, stumbling in a daze through his ruined home to find the way out. He was unable to pry the front door open, as it must've been blocked in some manner during the course of the catastrophe. He scrambled to the windows, but to no avail as they'd been blockaded by rubble as well. The panic burnt in his gut, pacing about, trying to find some means of escape and coming up short.
It became too much for him, doubling over from the anxiety, preparing to retch. The sensation stung far worse than it ever had before, even for one who often drank cheap liquor and was used to it. His eyes watered, then widened as it wasn't that afternoon's entree of fine junk food that hit the floor, but rather a glowing, green liquid that splattered on the kitchen linoleum and sizzled, eating away at the ground like a burning acid and leaving a nicely formed hole, conveniently opening up the level below.
Dumbfounded, he reflexively wiped his mouth with his sleeve, the substance eating away at the cloth but leaving his skin unblemished. Despite his confusion, Ed didn't waste any time, dropping through the newly created exit, eventually finding his way the hell out of the collapsed building.
Primary Archetype: Warrior
Secondary Archetype: Tanker
Manifestation: To put it simply, Ed's become a living sludge pile. His stomach acid, for example, has become corrosive to whatever (or whomever) it comes into contact with. His blood, now a dark green hue rather than the usual crimson, has a similar, albeit far more subdued effect. While his, er,
fluids are dangerous to others, he seems to be immune to their effects himself, luckily enough for his sake.
Along with his serious case of rotgut, his body has taken on a strange squishy quality, far more flexible than he's ever been. His malleable skin can shrug off simple punches, minor cuts and the like resealing themselves with some ease.
Primary Empowerments: None yet.
Secondary Empowerments: None yet.
Signature: In sights of gods and men, I ConstructPylons, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, do hereby relinquish the fate of my character to Elendra, the one true GM and ruler of the thread.
>Hopefully everything there's sound. Lemme know if I need to change anything!
