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Ah, alright! If you guys would be so kind as to nudge any friends of yours who might be interested in this sort of thing I'd greatly appreciate it.
Here's a couple more of the characters I'm going to use:
Alias: Buyou
Species: Raccoon
Gender: Male
Age: 18
Appearance: About four foot five with shaggy blond hair that is just barely too long, sometimes falling in front of his dazzling green eyes. His fur is tan on darker brown stripes and facial markings. He wears baggy blue jeans with shoes that are very similar to any generic sneaker. Finally, upon waking up he was wearing a black parka with the words "Combat Instructor" across the back shoulders in bright yellow, with a simple white shirt underneath.
Family: As of RP start, he cannot recall any.
Friends: As of RP start, he cannot recall any.
Other Allies: As of RP start, he cannot recall any.
Enemies: As of RP start, he cannot recall any.
Likes: Music, friends, training, pranks, and happy people.
Hates: Depressing or angry people, people who write-off magic as nonexistent/inferior to science.
Fears: Doing something he'll regret.
Strengths: Extreme understanding of magic, martial arts prodigy, highly intelligent.
Weaknesses: Very willing to trust and forgive.
Abilities:
Mana-Sight: Buyou is able to see the natural lines of mana in all things, and is able to manipulate them physically thanks to his acute knowledge of magic in its most basic form.
Superhuman Strength and Speed: By manipulating the mana within himself through extensive training, Buyou is capable of feats of strength and speed that should not be possible for someone well beyond his slight frame.
Electric Powers: No one, not even Buyou before he awoke in the city, was quite certain of the origins of his affinity for electricity. Partially magical in origin, and just as biological, his boundless energy can be manifested in violent bursts of electricity that can be controlled thanks to extensive training. Of course, much of this training was forgotten when he woke up.
History:
Finding only a nametag on his person, Buyou has only the fuzziest recollection of who he is.
DEATH COMES NOT TO THOSE WHO WAIT
WITH HIS STRENGTH COMES LOYALTY
--
Full Name: Roxxie McAllister
Alias or Nickname: Rox, Roxxie, Moxxie
Species: Fox
Gender: Female
Age and Place of Birth: 23; Miami, Fl
Appearance: Roxxie stands at about five foot four, her main fur color an established jet black with hot pink underbelly, snout, and ear and tail tips. Her eyes are a stunning steel blue. She normally wears a pair of black studded jeans with a pink tank-top adorned with a black skull and some mirror-lens aviators, as well as black combat boots.
Family: She cannot recall any.
Friends: Any current customer.
Other Allies: Whoever is convenient.
Rivals: She has no competition in the city.
Enemies: Whichever unfortunate soul ends up at the wrong end of a gun.
Love Life: Wild and casual.
Likes: Dusty Scales Gang
Hates: Magic, preppy things, cheerleaders, followers, nay-sayers
Fears: Supernatural things beyond her control, sharks, the roaming horrors of Ivy City
Strengths: Leadership skills, loyalty, steady aim, good gut instincts
Weaknesses: Headstrong, eccentric, sometimes apathetic
Abilities:
Numerous Piloting Skills: Experienced with preferably helicopter-like aircraft, but not opposed to fighter jets or bombers if the need arises.
Peak Fitness: Though liking to keep her girlish figure, Roxxie is no slouch in a fight and is capable of impressive running speed for an otherwise normal vixen.
Unique Fighting Style: Taking after her wild personality, Roxxie hits hard and fast with a combination of gun slinging and physical combat.
History:
Roxxie is, as far as anyone knows, from the earliest wave to awaken on the island. She tends to not talk too much about the others she'd met during that time more than that they'd had a bad run in with one of the roving 'bosses' as she calls them. To her knowledge, there is only one other person from her wave that could still be alive, but she hasn't seen him in over a month.
She's staked her claim in a way that is pointedly unusual among those who wake up on the island, and after experiencing its mysteries she has grown content to simply make a living. Moving in to one of the many fully prepared bars on the island. She makes sure it's always open for business, and any newcomers are more than welcome. She's found a gun to be a great deterrent for troublemakers.
Offering warm beds in the small hotel the bar is a part of, food, and drink solely for the price of what little information the newcomers have is largely her practice, but sometimes she hesitantly asks for favors from guests: getting some more ammo from a police station, medical supplies, and such. For some reason, the roaming bosses of the island never seem to make a circuit past her bar, except for the one that she calls the Stalker. The one that everyone sees at some point.
All in all, she's an often drunk, cranky, troubled ****ing of a vixen, but she's got a good heart. Rumor has it that she's been collecting the cryptic notes all those who wake up have on them, or soon find, trying to find a meaning to them. In fact, she keeps her own taped up behind the bar.
HOLD THE FORT
ONE IS A LIAR
~~
Full Name: Zakhar “Zack†Alejandro Rojas-Lobov, A.K.A. “Le Loupâ€, A.K.A. “Mr. Redâ€
Species: Human/Werewolf
Gender: Male
Age and Place of Birth: St. Augustine, Fl; 23
Appearance: Usually dressed like the sort of fellow you wouldn’t like to meet in a back alley, Zakhar has a particular fondness for the color red. He often wears some sort of hoodie to obscure his face when approaching victims, since he is still vulnerable when human. Though confident, he tends to walk around with something of a lazy slouch, his hands stuffed in his pockets. Usually in he wears jeans, and tends to prefer walking around barefoot given that his transformation tends to do a number on any shoes he might be wearing. Otherwise, he usually wears a simple black undershirt beneath his hoodie. Brown-haired, green-eyed, and olive-skinned, he looks like his mother who, despite Russian nationality, was probably more of Turkic origins.
When transformed, Zakhar gains considerable muscle mass befitting of the strength he acquires. Growing from a modest 5’8†to a much more substantial 7’, his body is covered in a rich brown and bronze coat with a much more red color on his shaggy mane. With large claws and a digitrade posture, he maintains a slouch most of the time to facilitate running on all fours for added speed. His eyes stay that same stark green after transforming.
Family: Father, Deceased; Mother, Deceased. As of RP start, he cannot recall any.
Love Life: Likes to think of himself as a player, but he’s usually too busy to do much.
Likes: Red meat, spicy food, the moon, nighttime, city life, petty criminals, singing, movies, and the color red.
Hates: Silver, cops, being coddled and dismissed.
Fears: Doing something he shouldn’t when transformed; addiction to the drugs he used to traffic, and revenge from the Medellin Cartels.
Strengths: As a human, he is clever, charming, and possesses enhanced senses and reflexes. When transformed, he possesses immense strength and agility, enormous stamina, and vicious teeth and claws.
Weaknesses: As a human, he possesses a short temper and has a tendency to get into fights against his better judgment. He is also just as vulnerable to damage as any normal human, despite being rather quick on his feet with his enhanced reflexes. As the wolf, he is something of a juggernaut, but he is still weak to things that traditionally cause problems for werewolves, particularly silver. Any injuries sustained as a wolf are partially healed when he transforms back, but not fully, potentially leading to mortal injury that causes shock when he regains full control of himself.
Weaponry:
Switchblade: Self explanatory, mostly. Given to him by his father.
Abilities:
Lycanthropy: The ability to transform to and from his werewolf form. Under the light of the full moon, this change is involuntary and unavoidable unless he stays entirely isolated from the moonlight. Once exposed, he will be in his werewolf form until the moon sets. This can mean, of course, that a full moon during the daytime is capable of transforming him as well. During this sort of involuntary transformation, he is entirely subject to the will of the wolf, and is consumed by instinct, preventing him from being aware of his actions or having and influence on them. As such, the best strategy for dealing with him in this state is to put your enemies between you and him so he has someone else to kill before he gets to you.
At all times, the wolf’s presence is known in his mind. This manifests itself in different ways as a byproduct of his psyche attempting to deal with such a powerful force. Primarily, the wolf takes the form of a voice that goads him into giving in, which he is capable of doing with at least partial moonlight. When transformed during these times, he is mostly in control of his actions, but is certainly much more prone to the suggestions of the wolf. Furthermore, his temper is also much more violent, and he is altogether easily agitated, and tends to respond to issues with brawn rather than thinking them through. In effect, his mind’s fusion with the wolf is directly proportional to the amount of moonlight, as is his overall strength and resilience.
In the absence of moonlight, he is unable to transform at all. Though he had taken an interest in some more supernatural means of drawing out the wolf in times of need, he was mostly unsuccessful, since the only means he found was a concoction called Liquid Moonlight, an ancient drug that had a strong tendency to become so pervasive and addictive in a werewolf’s body that they would permanently devolve into the wolf. As such, he’s mostly content to just hold on to his humanity. While human, he possesses above average strength, stamina, and speed, and immensely enhanced senses. These attributes are also affected by the phase of the moon, but even in the event of a new moon, these passive effects never fade entirely.
As a result of the transformation being a strenuous experience for his body, he also tends to eat quite a bit to make up for it, despite never seeming to gain weight. If he does not feed in some sense during his time as the wolf, he will be severely weakened and exhausted upon returning to human form, and often in intense pain if he has not acquired the energy to undergo the transformation without penalty.
Despite all this, and his fear of the wolf consuming him from the inside, he shares the fantasy of all werewolves who embrace their new selves: simply giving in to what he is, and becoming the wolf of his own will for the rest of his days.
History:
Character Biography
He cannot recall his past as of the start of the RP.
Zakhar was exposed to the lycanthropic curse early in his childhood, when he was abducted by a werewolf in St. Augustine. Though the crime was random, his family more than had the means to respond quickly, and he was recovered mostly unharmed. Still, he had already acquired the curse by the time he was recovered. Why, or who, cursed the young child is still a mystery. As such, he had a much longer time to develop an understanding of his condition through adolescence and into adulthood.
His family has a long and storied history with the Medellin Drug Cartels, and his father was an enforcer for Griselda Blanco in Miami in the 1980’s. Before she was deported back to Colombia and during her imprisonment in the United States, on the assumption that his father had cooperated with federal forces, had his father and mother killed in the late 1990’s.
Despite his parent’s urgings for him to follow them into either end of the criminal world, with his father’s ties to Columbia and his mother’s heritage in gun running soviet weapons out of Eastern Africa, Zakhar always was much more interested in his making his own name for himself in the underworld. He signed on as an enforcer for the a gang that moved black-market drugs, weapons, and artifacts out of Algeria through mainly French ties. As a result, the gang’s bosses took to calling him “Le Loup†for obvious reasons. For a while, he prospered.
After the death of his parents at such a young age, though, many of his parents contacts often extended invitations to him knowing his skillset and heritage. Though most were unaware of his lycanthropy, he was reluctant to accept competing offers until his boss, the ever elusive “Mr. D†suggested, through a courier, that he move to Vegas to enforce some for the mafia in some of their casinos. The gang would take a cut, and he would essentially be a mercenary for hire with “Mr. D†as his agent of sorts. As such, he spent plenty of time in Vegas until it became apparent that he tended not to break the hands of his marks so much as rend them limb from limb, which was bad for business. As such, he moved to Miami and went about purposefully working for competitors to the Medellin Cartels. After drawing too much of their ire, “Mr. D†graciously sent Zakhar to France for a while to let the heat die down.
He spent the time enjoying life a bit more, and meeting a certain American vixen who ran a small airport, and formed a fast friendship. In the meantime, he used his time to learn more about his condition.
BEWARE HE WHO WOULD RECRUIT YOU
THE MAP IS READY
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