RWBY - Feral Rose

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Jageroux, Nov 20, 2015.

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  1. "As the Pale Moon shatters and Dust rains from the sky, we must ask ourselves - was this fate?"
    [​IMG]

    It's been 4 years since the exploits of Teams RWBY and JNPR, and even as they've graduated and gone on to become renowned Hunters and Huntresses in their own right, the threat of Grimm and the White Fang alike still exist. As such, Beacon continues to train and teach young men and women alike how to combat the persistent threat that are the Grimm, and the seemingly ever growing White Fang.


    Don't be a dick.
     
    #1 Jageroux, Nov 20, 2015
    Last edited by a moderator: Feb 28, 2016
  2. Onyx Norwyn
    Hunter-In-Training

    [​IMG]

    Name: Onyx Norwyn
    Color: #08378c/
    Age:
    18
    Race: Snake Faunus

    Appearance:
    • A little over six feet in height - around 184 cm.
    • Mid-length and generally messy, black hair; bangs frame his face.
    • Red, snake-like iris.
    • Has noticeable scales around his eyes.
    • Pierced right ear.
    • Casual attire.
    • A sleeveless, slightly form-fitting bleached shirt with a skull motif on the chest.
    • Black jeans with red and purple faded legs.
    • Black denim jacket with a hood sewn into it.
    • A pair of converse.
    Semblance:
    Parallel Convergence
    • Onyx's aura manifests in a 'wave' of black and gold flame - endlessly restless but always contained.

    • His semblance, Parallel Convergence, when activated allows him to create a time-delayed hologram of himself, with his aura. This hologram copies his movements an actions at a 5-second delay. When he chooses to, he can return to his holograms location or swap places with it entirely, giving him a wide range of ways to tackle an opponent.
    • Using Parallel Convergence repeatedly leaves Onyx with intense vertigo and motionsickness.
    Nighthawk - Sword - Rifle - Shotgun

    [​IMG]

    Sporting a sleek design, this weapon was made to give its wielder a plethora of means of combating grimm. To quick and relentless cuts to high impact dust rounds from yards away, with an added shotgun for those that manage to sneak up on Onyx. He is fond of utilizing Red and Light Blue Dust Crystals to empower his weapon.


    Personality:
    • He's somewhat of a recluse - having mild trust issues when it comes to interacting with others.
    • Onyx is resilient - he's a fighter through and through.
    • Resourceful - when push comes to shove, he's prepared to resort to irregular means if it can ensure the safety of himself or others.
    • Passive - Onyx is an introvert. He'll never start a conversation - only speaking when spoken to. Is never one to instigate or start a fight, to the point he's willing to turn the other cheek if it means avoiding unnecessary conflict.
    • Awkward - Onyx's social skills leave much to be desired. He doesn't really know how to talk to people, as the very thought of willingly talking to others is alien to him.
    Brief History
    • Born on the outskirts of Menagerie a few years prior to the Faunus Rights Revolution.
    • Was orphaned almost immediately and grew up taking care of himself, frequently finding shelter in abandoned buildings and dumpsters.
    • Wandered away from the shanty town that was his home into a forest. Was cornered by a grimm but was saved by a huntress name Aracel who took him in as her ward.
    • Being raised by the huntress, he frequently traveled with her all throughout Vale. Observing her deeds and action, being unbiased in who she helped, he began to idolize her work and skill.
    • Seeing Aracel more as his mother than caretaker, he asked her to help him to become a hunter so he could help people like she did. She soon began train him in combat.
    • Not long after, she sent him to Beacon Academy to further hone and polish his skills to become a Hunter.
    More of his in-depth history will be revealed in RP.
     
    #2 Jageroux, Nov 20, 2015
    Last edited: Dec 14, 2015
    • Love Love x 2
  3. I approve of these rules.
     
    • Like Like x 3
  4. I formally withdrawal this character.
     
    #4 Kabyt, Nov 20, 2015
    Last edited by a moderator: Jan 29, 2016
    • Love Love x 2
  5. Izarra Aritza
    [​IMG]
    "Let's see you talk shit with your teeth in your stomach!"
    N A M E

    I z a r r a _ A r i t z a

    G E N D E R

    F e m a l e

    C O L O R

    # D C 1 4 3 C

    A G E

    1 7

    R A C E

    C a t _ F a u n u s

    A P P E A R A N C E

    Izarra's face is thin, all prominent cheekbones and angular cheeks and narrow, mischievous eyes. A faint, barely-distinguishable smattering of freckles spans a pert, slightly upturned nose. Small lips born to twist into a crooked, devil-may-care grin host pristine white teeth. Significantly detracting from an otherwise imposing aura, Izarra clocks in at approximately 5’1”, meaning one could conceivably hoist her over one’s shoulder and carry her off mid-argument.

    Straight, side-swept blonde hair tumbles to her waist in sleek, choppy layers. She’s adamant in her refusal to shear it short, and so, for pragmatism’s sake, she binds the majority of it back in a long, high ponytail. Choppy bangs feather delicately across her forehead, softening otherwise sour, ire-scrunched features.

    She’s lean and narrow, alabaster skin stretching taut over a trim, reasonably toned physique. Power is written into every movement, every challenging stare or cocky smirk, brimming deceptively beneath her skin. Years of acting on the ‘fight’ portion of her instincts has imbued within her a certain sense of confidence – her posture is aggressive on the battlefield and assertive everywhere else, and she typically stands with her feet spread, hands planted firmly – defiantly – on her hips.

    Her Faunus heritage manifests via a long, slender furry tail she makes no effort to conceal. She's not ashamed of her lineage--in fact, she embraces it.

    Despite her preference for comfortable clothing--hoodies, tank tops, shorts, and loose, baggy pants--she can be wrangled into somewhat professional garb, on rare occasion. Said attire typically consists of a bright zip-up hoodie paired with a button-down dress shirt left untucked over slim-fitting dark pants. Thanks to her tendency to instigate fist fights, she’s learned how to accessorize the common bandage, and is usually found boasting no fewer than three at any given time.

    S E M B L A N C E

    J U G G E R N A U T :
    - Izarra can charge herself or objects with kinetic energy to increase their destructive power. Affected areas emanate a faint, saturated-salmon pink aura.
    - Upon collision, the impact generates a forceful pulse powerful enough to shatter solid steel.
    - Useful in combat, but impractical everywhere else.
    - Can only manipulate and redirect the energy stored within the object in question (or, in the event of self-enhancement, the equivalent of all the 'energy' lying dormant in her body).
    - Expends massive amounts of energy; if she's not careful, she could collapse mid-swing.
    - In tandem with the above, utilizing this ability too frequently or recklessly (i.e. exceeding the natural limits imposed by her frail constitution) puts strain on both her body and her aura, causing recoil damage commensurate to the energy exerted. (i.e. pulverizing bones, mangling joints, snapping tendons, etc.)
    W E A P O N
    A pair of bulky, robotic claw-gauntlets that serve as both an amplifier for Izarra's natural strength and a medium through which she can channel her Semblance. They're the product of the better part of a decade of iteration, of perfection, of destruction and rebuilding, malfunction and repair. They’re cobbled together from the best parts of the worst technology, made from anything she’s been able to steal from the lowlifes and the scumbags of the city--and they're amazing. They're over-sized, entirely impractical, and work perfectly despite all available evidence suggesting otherwise. Izarra’s conceptual designs often turn out that way.
    The compartment in the palms contain concentrated amounts of nitroglycerin, meaning when she invokes her Semblance's power, her punches become significantly more explosive. She can also use the resulting force to propel herself for short distances, meaning her combat style is as erratic and energetic as its wielder.
    P E R S O N A L I T Y
    Prancing through life with an infuriatingly cocky grin and enough cheerful arrogance to power a small regiment, it’s little wonder this kid makes enemies nearly everywhere she goes. She is quick to judge and even quicker to dismiss; it’s this flippant sort of insouciance, especially regarding serious situations, that makes those enemies turn to nemeses. (She’s been keeping a running tally of how many people have publicly declared her their eternal archenemy. It’s about as big as her ego.) She’s brash, she’s brazen, and she’s six kinds of reckless. She’d grind every bone in her body to dust if it meant inflicting even a single bruise on her adversary, and she doesn’t care if achieving her goals means tearing down the structure of society brick by dusty brick. Insurmountable odds are viewed as a fun challenge; even the biggest threat can be broken down into smaller, more manageable chunks if you pummel it hard enough.
    Wreathed in a contagious aura of vitality and armed to the teeth with an abundance of smarmy grins and a veritable battalion of bawdy jokes, Izarra is generally always worth a good laugh. She’s confidence incarnate – she doesn’t walk, she swaggers. A lonely childhood bestowed upon her an impressive imagination, and she’s always conjuring up some sort of wild scheme. This, coupled with poor impulse control and a predilection toward improvisation, means she can orchestrate some truly nefarious plans.
    Governed almost completely by her bellicose nature, Izarra absolutely loves to fight - loves the dizzying, intoxicating rush she gets whenever the adrenaline starts coursing through her veins, loves the flutter she gets in her heart when she think she’s about to die, loves the thrill of the danger - of the possibility she might lose. Nothing gets that unsettling battle grin of hers going more than a proper brawl. Izarra’s an adrenaline junkie born and bred, and she’s yet to realize that just because no one’s died doesn’t mean it can be considered a victory. She's as hot-headed as they come, prone to irate outbursts, and generally possessing exceptionally poor impulse control.
    Her brash attitude, abrasive humor, blatant refusal to follow the rules can often infuriate any by-the-books teammates to whom she’s been assigned. She treats orders – and occasionally boundaries – like broad suggestions.
    Continuing along a similar vein, she’s a notably physical person; she’ll sling an arm around a comrade’s shoulders for support, playfully tousle their hair after emerging victorious from combat, or plop down beside them and drape herself across their lap. She’s like an affectionate stray dog that’ll turn up on your doorstep routinely if you offer it food or a scratch behind the ears even once.
    As her background might lead one to surmise, Izarra is vehemently opposed to materialism, and harbors a certain degree of resentment toward the affluent and influential. She’d destroy the financially elite in a heartbeat, provided someone could equip her with a sufficient alibi. When holiday gift exchanges or birthday celebrations roll around, she doesn’t like asking for physical possessions for presents. A lifetime of poverty has conditioned her not to want or request such things from other people. Besides, she figures if they’re giving something to her, it means they’re going without, and the subsequent guilt is enough to send her teetering over the edge.
    Izarra is also hopelessly naive, interpreting everything at face value, be it her surroundings or what she perceives as a factual statement, leaving her fairly oblivious to the nuances of human nature. She's a tinkerer, not a thinkerer - weapons provide far better company than people. (Where she grew up, disputes were settled with quick-and-dirty scuffles.) Because she's new to this particular line of work (read: unabashed heroics), she's yet to learn the importance of verifying testimonies; she equates emotional intensity with honesty. This has made many love confessions awkward and kind of unbearable; poor kid’s denser than a slab of granite. She’s shockingly good at detecting potential romantic or concupiscent partners, yet consistently comes up short insofar as long-term commitment is concerned.
    Extremely self-reliant and obstinate to a fault, Izarra is as stubborn as a scorned mule, especially when it comes to injury management. She’ll bristle and bare her fangs and skulk in corners, preferring to suffer in dignified silence than allow someone else to nurse her wounds – that is, if she’ll even admit they’re present. She doesn’t like admitting she’s not capable of handling herself – it makes her feel weak, vulnerable, and useless.
    And when kids like her lose their purpose, when they stop fending for themselves, they die.
    Because of her rambunctious, rowdy nature, she’s antsy and prone to restless fidgeting when forced to sit still, making her not at all suited to reconnaissance, infiltration, or gathering intel through ass-kissing or elbow-brushing. Cart her to some sort of formal, extravagant gala, and she’ll have you both ejected from the premises in half an hour’s time. (In her defense, there’s something absolutely hysterical about how god-awful those ludicrous, faux-posh rich-person accents sound. Especially when they know she knows they’re faking.) She’s got issues with impulse control, particularly when asked to follow orders. Her plans derail as quickly as her attention span. Her ability to read the flow of battle (and the wherewithal to almost unconsciously discern weak points, such as a faulty prosthetic, atrophied muscles, or old injuries that never properly healed) is the closest she’ll ever come to devising combat tactics.
    Her manner of speech is gruff, impetuous, and hopelessly irreverent, and her sentences consist primarily of short, choppy words - her brain moves faster than her mouth, so she prefers terse fragments to get her point across. Though her favorite method of communication is fists on flesh, she's also quite fond of employing a vast array of gesticulations to further illustrate whatever point she’s trying to make.
    The only part of her vocabulary one could consider even remotely extensive is her repertoire of creative vulgarities. It’s rare to see her compose any sort of oration, formal or otherwise, that isn’t peppered liberally with profanities.
    Izarra is aggressively bisexual. Her gaydar is notoriously accurate - it's the stuff of legends. Every girlfriend she’s ever had pinged it immediately, and plenty of people besides who turned out to be from her 'side of the street'. It’s a great guide for when to flirt, when to crush her developing crushes, and when to pay very, very close attention to the undercurrent of a conversation. She puts a lot of confidence in her ability to pick out the people who swing 'that way'.
    Has a hyperactive imagination and an affinity for all things histrionic; as such, she has a rather irrational fear of the dark and the things that might lurk within its midst. She's been known to stay up the entire night, stumble blearily into class the next morning, dark circles ringing her eyes like war paint, and offer, "The windowsill--it fuckin' creaked," as her sole explanation.

    B R I E F _ H I S T O R Y
    As a child growing up in the wild outskirts of a lawless city, Izarra learned to rob and cheat to get by. Growing up on the streets with little more than a gang of juvenile vagrants for company left Izarra with an intimate familiarity with the delicate arts of delinquency. She was a covetous scavenger that rifled through the garbage, dug through its ilk in the vain hopes it'd earn the right to live another day.
    Stealing and stripping hardware gave her the skills of a master mechanic, while life on the streets taught her self-reliance. When she was ten, a ragtag group of Faunus criminals took a shine to the young delinquent and brought her into their fold. By the time Izarra was thirteen, she had become a seasoned accomplice, and she relished the thrill of every heist--particularly those targeting the human business moguls, kingpins, and generals operating in her area.

    Eventually, after an escapade gone horribly awry, she severed ties with her former 'family' and tried her best to reintegrate into society, malnourished social skills be damned.

    She's unusually skittish around Dust and its mining facilities, suggesting they've got a history as rotten as her attitude. Perhaps somewhere along the line, during the years before she renounced her old gang, something truly unspeakable transpired?

     
    #5 Bakugou, Nov 20, 2015
    Last edited: Nov 21, 2015
    • Love Love x 1
  6. Gonna work on that other character sheet tonight, methinks--that asshole professor I mentioned.

    Also! If anyone wants to sort out character relations, hit me up!

    ...Also-also! Are we having partnerships on this team? If so, how are we handling that? (Unless it's already been decided and I've forgotten, that is.)
     
    #6 Bakugou, Nov 20, 2015
    Last edited: Nov 20, 2015
  7. Not sure about the partnerships O.o; I think that is first come first find in the first little event though depends on how / when we start right?
     
  8. Character relations and partnerships have always been a real flustercluck in my experiance. I don't know how to deal with them.

    Name: Michael Bely (Russian, "white")
    Color: White-silver
    Age: 18
    Race: Human
    Appearance: [​IMG]
    About 6' with short brown hair and dark blue eyes. His body is lean, made up of wiry muscle and a few scars from training and combat. In combat, he wears a white and grey combat outfit, and in colder environments wears a jacket over it. In more casual instances, he will wear a white, silver or grey button up shirt and blue jeans. He also wears a pair of sunglasses with a HUD in his left eye, helping with navigation, combat, and communications.

    Combat Outfit: [​IMG]

    HUD Sunglasses: [​IMG]

    Semblance: He is able to change his perception of time. So, for others it appears he is moving fast, while in his eyes he is moving normally, everything else is slowed. His weapons are still affected by normal time. This is a highly draining power, and he uses it sparingly. However, in extreme situations or near death scenarios, he can activate his Semblance with little penalty.

    Weapon: Silver Enforcer, a shifting battle rifle and longsword. In it's rifle form, it fires 30-06 caliber rounds from a ten round magazine. Effective to medium range. Dust charged rounds can also be fired through the weapon, providing those myriad effects. At a click of the fire selector switch, the rifle converts to a longsword.
    Rifle similar to: [​IMG]
    Sword form similar to: [​IMG]

    Personality: He is perceived as cold and distrusting, looking to every corner, shadow, and blur of movement for danger. Due to past experiences, he has certain triggers that will elicit a violent or abnormal reaction. A birthday surprise, for example, might lead to a few people making trips to the hospital. However, typically after only a battle, he opens up and warms to those around him. He can be quite caring, always willing to help his friends. In combat, he automatically takes charge, trying to preserve those he is commanding while inflicting as much damage as possible. It could be said he is reckless, since he always assigns himself the most dangerous tasks.

    (Brief) History: Michael is the bastard child of a famous arms manufacturer. Because of the controversy that would surely arise from the media learning of an illegitimate child, the manufacturer arranged for the child to be relocated far from Atlas, into an unstable area plagued by Grimm and White Fang attacks. Car bombings, shootings, and robberies were rampant. He learned to defend himself from an early age, and joined a militia at 12. The unit was a mix of both human and Fanus, and he grew up around the latter species, and never harbored the resentment that most humans do. They were just part of the landscape for him. With their area all but ignored by the military, police, and the Huntsmen, the militia was all that stood between the White Fang, the Grimm, and the common people. When most of the unit was killed in an ambush, Michael gathered supplies, and set off for Vale.
     
    #8 ShatteredSkies, Nov 20, 2015
    Last edited: Feb 7, 2016
  9. Partnerships? Further define 'partnerships', please.
     
  10. The sub team pairings. Like Ruby and Weiss, Blake and Yang etcetera.
     
  11. I'd say just let them naturally develop. That's always fun.
     
    • Love Love x 1
  12. Alrighty sounds good to me.
     
  13. Honestly, and I don't mean to sound like an ass, but we have a solid group of four here. We have our team, why don't we keep it all self contained and button the RP up?

    Also, why don't we create a group here for our worldbuilding and chatting needs?
     
    • Love Love x 1
  14. Mmmmm, having 1 extra actually works well with what I have in mind, plotwise. So I say we just bring Accelerator in and close sign-ups. That way it stays small and compact, and having the 5th person would be... useful.

    Also, Kabyt and I have Skypes, so if either of you two do as well, that could speed up worldbuilding and general chatting significantly. If not, we could just make a group here I 'spose.
     
    • Love Love x 1
  15. Ready to start when you guys are.
     
  16. Yo. Um, made a sort of introduction in the rwby group plotting thing and wasn't sure if you still checked it so i thought id post here to see... so yea...
     
  17. [@Jageroux] [@Kabyt] [@ShatteredSkies]

    My Skype is saccharinesneer ; we can make a little mini-group there. It'd make general conversation a bit easier, I think.
     
    • Love Love x 1
  18. I have to figure out what my Skype is, but I'll find you and join the group.

    But I'm ready to launch as well.
     
    #18 ShatteredSkies, Nov 21, 2015
    Last edited: Nov 21, 2015
    • Like Like x 1
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  19. Renault Hasek

    [​IMG][​IMG]

    "Monster . . . ? Why, you flatter me! Very astute, my dear!"

    N A M E

    R e n a u l t _ H a s e k

    G E N D E R

    M a l e

    C O L O R

    #FF4500

    A G E

    3 3

    R A C E

    H u m a n

    A P P E A R A N C E

    Tall and lean, Renault's frame is sharp, gaunt, and the barest pretense of professionalism away from 'almost distinguished'. This lanky physique, born of a preference for sweets absolutely devoid of any nutritional value, a relatively time-consuming occupation, and a lack of interest in food altogether, means Renault doesn’t cut much of a figure at all, much less one of an imposing nature. He emanates this unnerving, almost repellent sort of aura - the cheerful sort of defiance that only a hardened criminal or an absolute maniac might bear.

    His face is molded into lean angles, sharp lines carving out prominent cheekbones and emphasizing his smile. Thin lips usually rest in a cheerful, yet oddly unnerving grin, or wide, unnaturally peppy smile, soured only by the condescending gleam lighting up his eyes. A long, slightly downward-sloping nose partitions his face evenly. Dark stubble lines his jaw. He’s got a striking sort of face, unusual enough to be almost attractive - certainly striking enough to warrant a second look. Down-turned, slightly droopy eyelids hood mischievous eyes, wreathing him in that particularly whimsical brand of insouciance.His eyes are silver and sharp - much like the rest of him - and contrast his darker skin quite nicely.

    Dark, scruffy stubble lines his jaw, granting him that roguish brand of 'rugged' found exclusively on hardened criminals and absolute maniacs.

    His black, perpetually tousled wavy hair curves to a stop just past his jaw, falling diagonally across his face to partially obscure his left eye. The side-swept fringe flips out slightly at the tips, messy in an artfully deliberate sort of fashion.

    Epitomizing the very concept of 'cheerful arrogance', Renault's voice is a lilting, cheerful sing-song; his cadence is condescending and mocking and all kinds of patronizing.

    He prefers loose, comfortable garb, such as cotton tops and casual slacks; wrestling him into formal attire would most likely result in mass carnage and innumerable casualties. Hundreds of people will die, and the survivors will wake cold and screaming in the night for years to come.

    Endurance has never been his forte, considering his lanky physique; as such, he's easily exhausted. Harsh, jagged paroxysms bombard his frame after a particularly arduous battle, each cough ragged and agonizing. His health seems to be deteriorating, though he obstinately refuses to accommodate--or even acknowledge--his frail constitution.


    S E M B L A N C E

    L O C K S M I T H :

    • All gates, locks and doors open of their own accord when he approaches.
    • In essence, he can 'unlock' nearly any penetrable object.
    • It’d probably have some battle applications in terms of interfering with enemy weapons, but that would require intensive knowledge of the weapon in question's mechanics.
    • Largely espionage-centric, but has a vast plethora of practical capabilities.
    • Allegedly enhances Renault's persuasive abilities--campus rumors insist he can 'unlock' an individual's mind or inhibit one's potential, given the nature of the interaction.
    • If the aforementioned rumors hold even a grain of credibility, this means he could magnify, diminish, or extinguish one's Semblance at will.



    W E A P O N

    A ball and chain that can collapse into one-handed spiked mace. It's brutal and simplistic, yet scarily effective.

    Additionally, the spherical 'mace' can unfold into a 'claw', and its extendable chain allows it to function as a grappling hook.

    P E R S O N A L I T Y

    • Sarconic, condescending bundle of eccentricity and whimsy.
    • Hopelessly infuriating, Renault is a self-professed and self-imposed enigma, and only because it coincides with what he calls his 'prankster’s duty'. (There’s nothing quite so uplifting as the looks of consternation he earns whenever he plays coy.)
    • Eternally smiling, be it his typical mocking, unsettlingly cheerful grin, a derisive sneer, or a mutinous smirk. It’s both disconcerting and vaguely menacing, almost; the only smiles in short supply are those born of sincerity.

    • Remarkably slow to anger. Incisive remarks or scathing insults don’t really perturb him; he’s always got that infuriating grin plastered across his face, especially while navigating the most dire straits.
    • Quite fond of feigning complacency or moral superiority to vex those in desperate need of some humbling. The art of making enemies is a delicate one.
    • It’s rare to spot Renault engaging in the mundane. Even sitting down has to be addressed in the most unorthodox, complicated manner possible--he's got a propensity for burrowing away in cabinets or staking out a chandelier. It’s a massive waste of everyone’s time, and he knows it. He despises boredom and reviles the ordinary, because boredom leads to a wandering mind and a wandering mind leads to wallowing in regret, and he doesn’t much like ruminating about things he knows he can’t change.
    • Despite this vehement hatred for maudlin self-pity, Renault can, on occasion, be surprisingly rueful. If you catch him off-guard, five times out of ten he’ll be staring blankly into the distance, a bitter look on her face and a wistful glint sparkling in otherwise hollow eyes. He’s fucked up irreparably, somewhere along the line.
    • Not all of Renault’s childish immaturity is an act, however. He's actually remarkably obstinate, foolish enough to believe he can shoulder every burden solitarily and stubborn enough to try to do everything alone. (Hasn’t anyone ever told him there’s no “I” in ‘team’?)
    • Decidedly ambivalent toward the combat aspect of his profession. He’s more interested in the participants than the mechanics--besides, bloodshed and battle are far too uncouth for his tastes.
    • A hell-raiser by nature, Renault slanders his opposition with reckless abandon--those who pursue honest labor bear the “truth” of most matters, and therefore pose the greatest threat. He delights in publicizing leaked secrets for the entire world to see, and generally possesses approximate knowledge of most of the illicit happenstances cropping up within a sizable chunk of the nation’s boundaries. All of these he’ll share for a fairly hefty price --altruism is certainly a handy attribute, but a virtuous nature doesn’t pay the rent. He is a dastardly, conniving bastard, but he’s a businessman first and foremost.
    • An artisan by trade, he prides himself on weaving only the most ridiculous, far-fetched, absolutely devastating tales; he’ll turn an absent-minded typographical error on an advertisement into a conspiracy devoted to the conquering and eventual mutiny of every prominent family, company, and crime syndicate within the immediate vicinity.
      However, he may be persuaded into cashing in a certain favor or two and ruining someone entirely free of charge, depending on the nature of the request and the client in question. If he encountered two babies with two different pieces of candy, he’d distract the babies, steal the candy, and swap the pieces just to watch them fight.


    • He carries an antique pocket watch anchored on a golden chain which contains a photograph of a young woman with glossy brown hair, a wide, radiant grin, and tart green eyes alight with the coy glimmer of mischief. Perhaps this impish little lady plays an important role in Renault's life?

    • His sexuality consists of a noncommittal shoulder-shrug, an irritatingly cryptic smile, and a disinterested hum.

    • Renault absolutely abhors the color red. It reminds him of blood, and placing someone of his ilk in close proximity to any sort of bloodshed has, historically, never ended well. (He’s a bit squeamish. As much as he loves the color green, the nausea clashes with his hair.) Naturally, he makes a concerted effort to wear red garb as often as possible.

    • Has a wicked sweet tooth to the point where sugary treats comprise about 90% of his daily caloric intake. Which is, to say, not much to begin with. A relatively time-consuming occupation, preference for confections completely devoid of any nutritional value, and lack of interest in food all together will do that to you.


    B R I E F _ B I O G R A P H Y

    To be revealed in-story; he'll have his own miniature character arc.


     
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