Heroes of the Wasteland OOC

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Voices of Nerat, Apr 3, 2013.

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  1. Okay, so we have the idea that it's going to be in a post nuclear world, sometime after the bombs fell, civilization was destroyed and all that jazz. The radiation somehow affected our characters and now they have superhero-esque powers that they use to help their fellow man, or maybe for their own ends. Our characters will meet in a small settlement that comes under attack by a group of raiders, at which case they discover there are others with unique abilities like themselves. And the story will go on from there, with secret government plots and all that good stuff.

    Anyways, here's the character sheet:




    Physical Description/Pic:


  2. Name: Rebecca

    : 23

    Gender: Female

    Physical Description/Pic: beauty,green,eyes,red,hair,redhead,woman-ee77f3fe1cc2b83e1049d7a18cf686e2_i.jpg

    Background: Rebecca has no memories of the times before Quinn's Mother took her in. She had been left for dead on the trail leading into town; picked up by traders and brought to Quinn's mother at the infirmary tent.
    She nursed her back to heath (from being malnourished and dehydrated) and allowed her to live with her family. Quinn's Mother realized though the treatment that it was impossible for any sort of physical harm to come to or even phase the young girl. So many times did she watch the hot headed girl get injured, (for example, falling off an abandoned water tower) only to get back up and dust herself off. Rebecca cares greatly for Quinn and her mother, not caring much about anyone else's well being.

    Power(s): can spontaneously regenerate any tissue in her body, allowing her to recover from almost any injury within seconds to minutes — though she does need larger, embedded foreign objects (such as a branch or a shard of glass) to be manually removed from her body, or bones pushed back into position for the wounds to heal properly. A method such as decapitation would indeed kill her.
    Thanks to her power, she has an incredibly high pain tolerance. She feels pain, but it is more of a dull annoyance than actual pain. Due to her regeneration, she can never be intoxicated or drugged, her body processes it to quickly. unknown to Rebecca, her limbs will regenerate if given the proper time. She has experimented with this only on accident, when cutting off the tip of her finger in a kitchen incident.
    Her blood itself can be used as a healing remedy, aiding people for only a short while.

    Name: Quinn

    : 22

    Gender: Female

    Physical Description/Pic: 2239328865_5a920e5e46_z.jpg

    Quinn had always lived in this town, being very young when the catastrophy hit. Her Father was the sheriff of the small town, killed when panic broke out over bandits raiding the town. In life, her Father tended to ignore her, finding her weak and too innocent to help him. She keeps to herself because of this incident, feeling at fault for her fathers death because he wouldn't allow her to come with him. Despite how he treated her, she is still trying to help and make up for not being able to help her father.

    She has the ability to control earth and other minerals with her mind. She seems to evoke some sort of green aura when she gets angry.

    The extensions of her ability includes manipulating ink on peoples' skin and paper, evoking water from the depths of the earth, creating a sandstorm, propelling rocks as bullets, and creating earthquakes to sink buildings and even a whole town.

    Attached Files:

  3. Name: Darren Walters

    Age: 25

    Gender: Male

    Physical Description/Pic:

    (Thanks to Greg for drawing this!)

    The most striking feature about Darren's physical appearance is his hair; while both sides of his head are shaved, at the center of his scalp stands a towering wild mohawk, dyed a bright neon purple color. His light blue eyes are usually concealed by a pair of black shades in which the left lens is cracked, and his thin mouth bears a single piercing on the lower lip. He's generally clad in a sleeveless leather vest worn over a stained white tanktop, a combination that does nothing to conceal the plethora of scars and tribal tattoos that line the tan skin on his muscular arms. At his side, he keeps a tarnished automatic pistol holstered, clipped to the simple cord that keeps his patchwork leather britches from falling down. Tied to his ankles just above his grimy boots, he keeps his backup weapon, a rusty yet sharp-looking combat knife sheathed in a scabbard.


    Hailing from a small community of scavengers and subsistence farmers, Darren spent most of his life tending to his father's crops as a farmhand, occasionally banding together with the other young men in the settlement when petty raiders or mutant creatures encroached on their land. It was mostly a quiet life, though. One night, however, a massive force of slavers armed with automatic weapons steamrolled through the village, killing any who resisted and clapping the rest in irons. At his homestead, Darren and his father fought off the raiders for as long as they could, down to their last bullet. When a stray shot crashed through the window and ricocheted into his father's back, Darren was left orphaned.

    Seething with pure, unbridled fury, the air around him grew staticky, his empty revolver clattered to the ground as his body literally transformed into a tesla coil, sparks of electrical energy shooting out at random from his positively charged body. The slavers, who at this point had bashed their way through the door, stared wide-eyed in terror at the spectacle, as Darren slowly stepped in their direction, electricity dancing at his fingertips...

    Darren set out from his family homestead the next day, gently shutting the door on the grisly display of charred corpses he left inside. There was nothing left of the settlement now; those that hadn't been left as corpses in the streets had been taken away, never to be seen again. From then on, he'd move from place to place, unable to stay put for long, as those who learned of his powers (which he was still learning to keep in check) were often fearful of him and would drive him away.

    Throughout his travels, Darren has transformed from the quiet farmboy that his father raised into the boisterous loudmouth that he is today. The wasteland is a harsh and unforgiving place, after all; there's no room for the meek or timid.


    Darren's body is basically an electrical generator; the human body already contains a minor electrical signal, but Darren's is so powerful that he can actually manifest it offensively into bolts of lightning and such. He can also manipulate energy sources that he's in close proximity to, draining the charge from batteries or overloading the circuits in a machine, and he has the odd ability to sense when something has a charge at all. There are other applications for his abilities that he has yet to discover as well.
  4. Name: Emil Crowe

    Age: 32

    Gender: Male

    Physical Description: Emil's short light brown hair is thick and messy, and his eyes are a sort of pale green, accented by the dark bags of an insomniac. He is a tall, lighlty tanned man whose form is mostly hidden beneath a tattered duster. Said duster is pieced together with different, nearly identical bits of brown leather. One of the sleeves have been ripped off just above the elbow, while the other is actually a bit over-sized, just long enough to hide a clenched fist. Both hands wear fingerless, black cloth gloves and the revealed arm wears several scars, the largest of which appear too uniform to have been accidental. Those scars, in fact, all appear to be lined up in rows, like little tick-marks used to keep count of something. His other clothing consists of equally ragged puke-green fatigues, a white-ish wife-beater, brown combat boots, and a thick piece of brown cloth that holds up his pants and houses a simple revolver, as well as a slightly rusted kitchen knife. One of his boots seems to be missing its strings, and instead is kept tied with three short lengths of small, thick chain. Hoisted over his shoulders is a pack, about the same color as his pants, that holds two surprisingly clean machetes and whatever supplies he might come across - Usually small quantities of canned food and bottled water.


    Background: Emil has always been, and likely always will be a mercenary. His father was a mercenary, as was his father before him. His family name was fairly well known in the region they mostly operated in, and as a child he'd often hear about how reliable his grandfather had been, and what a shame it was when the old man finally caught a bullet between his eyes. Emil's father however, was not quite as revered. He would only take jobs that fell in line with his set of personal morals, and would never work for anyone whose cause he deemed unjust. While this could be seen as a good quality, most in the area saw his morality as a weakness. In this world, you couldn't pick and choose your work if you wanted to survive. That held true, as most of his life Emil and his father would only just scrape by with his earnings.

    For as long as he could remember, Emil practiced fighting with other children and sometimes trained under seasoned combatants in the small settlements his father would visit to find work or claim payment, practicing on dummies made of whatever rubbish he could scrounge together around areas they'd set up camp while on the road. By the time he was sixteen, he convinced his father to let him start helping in his mercenary work by managing to get the drop on him in a spontaneous spar. At age eighteen he began to take his own contracts to bring in more supplies, and somewhere down the line he began to stray from the strong moral path his father followed. Around age twenty, his father died of infection while hunting a bounty. A client both father and son worked for on several ocassions found the body and reported it to Emil when he came around. It hurt, but that's how life goes. It was a wonder that the man hadn't died sooner.

    Emil still tried to be a good person off the clock, but he wouldn't pass up any job just because it conflicted with his personal values. He wasn't going to struggle like his father had, and he certainly wasn't going to starve. Needless to say, some of his work left him with regrets. None more than a job he pulled nine years ago, under the employ of slavers. It was during that job that his powers began to develop. He thought he was just going to help a few men sneak in and kidnap a few people to sell as slaves, which was pretty horrible in itself. Still, it was work.

    The moment they rolled into that small settlement, all hell broke loose. Shots were fired, blades tore through flesh. Not just men, but women and children. Anyone was fair game to these people. To call it a bloodbath would have been an understatement. This wasn't what Emil had signed on for, this was a slaughter. He didn't want to take part in this, he wouldn't. He refused. Emil turned on his employers, drawing his blades on them. He had managed to take down one or two, but was soon subdued and beaten viciously. There were many weapons, plenty of ammunition remaining, but they wouldn't grant him a quick death. He was a traitor, and deserved a traitor's death. As he lay on the ground, clutching at his sides and coughing blood, his eyes caught sight of something spectacular. There was a bright light shining through the windows of a farmhouse, like some wild surge of electricity. His attention was drawn away from the amazing light, that he actually thought may have been a figment of his imagination as his weak body was hefted up. He now faced the barrel of a shotgun. The slavers were leaving with those few that they had shackled, gunning down any that resisted, wrapping things up. Emil squeezed his eyes shut tight, preparing for what would come next. Boom.

    The trigger had been pulled, yet somehow.. Emil was still alive. At least, he thought he was. He hadn't felt his head explode.. Would he have felt it? He opened his eyes slowly.. And they were all gone. The slavers, the other mercenaries, the poor innocent people that had all been murdered and enslaved. All gone, nowhere to be seen. It took a while for him to come to the realization that he had actually fled the scene through teleportation, and much longer to understand how he had done it. As he did though, he swore he would use this new ability to make up for all the wrong he had done just to keep himself fed.

    Powers: Short to long range teleportation. This ability will extend to any person or thing he touches, though teleporting with larger objects, or larger quantities of objects/people will exhaust him more quickly - Teleporting longer distances or over-using the ability will also have a tiring effect. Usually a headache and/or nosebleed will indicate when he needs to take a break. When he is badly injured or fatigued, there is a good chance that his teleportation will send him and any passengers someplace unplanned, or just fail to work at all.
  5. Esthalia should totes post gaw.
  6. sorry, I was surprised by my best friend who moved back to NY from Texas!!! I had half of the post done, so now i'm working on the other half XD
  7. It's cool, I was just being a butt xP
  8. I know :D

    you are really good at being a butt ;3
  9. What's that Esthalia? I've got a great butt? Why, thank you ma'am. You may touch it, if you like.
  10. Awww yeah! This mothafuckin' thread's gettin' off the ground SHUN!
  11. I hope I do ok as Quinn! Thanks for having me! :D
  12. No problem! Glad you could join!
  13. Your first post as Quinn was pretty boss, just sayin'.
  14. Yay, we're on page two! *uncorks the champagne*
  15. sorry bitches, I was really busy this weekend!! @_@
  16. Busy being LAME. >:c
  17. Take it back!! * strangles Pylons with naughty things*
  18. *gets a wicked rad boney* NO! *gargles*
  19. Aww man, I've been slacking so hard D:

    *does Cpr on herself...somehow*
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