((Work in Progress))
Name: Killian Fennik
Nickname: Piece of Shit, Drunk, Asshole, The Diamond Fist
Age: 28
Race: Human
Height: 6' 2"
Weight: 205 lbs
Occupation: Ex-Mercenary/Drunkard
Personality:
Killian is a lack-luster waste of space. He typically keeps to himself and a bottle of something inebriating. When he desires his voice to be heard, it is often direct and blunt. Depending on his mood, Killian can be quite the entertainer. His wits are sharp and this often provokes unneeded bouts with locals. He values people who face their problems and often finds himself intrigued by their struggles or stories. On the opposite end of the coin, he despises those who cause oppression or overestimate themselves. Despite his loathing of those individuals and the damage they cause, he rarely flies into action. Most see this as laziness or cowardice, but his distant gaze and harrowing silence speak to a deeper reason.
History:
Killian is short worded on his past, but the people who have heard his name in the winds speak to a man much grander than the one today. Across the seas to the east, in the continent of Keribas, he is known by the alias of The Diamond Fist. Rumors and stories, enamored by bards and wide eyed soldiers speak of a mercenary who stood toe to toe against the greatest threats to the nation with only his fists. They say the Diamond Fist once shattered a mountain ridge between two warring nations, creating what is now called the Valley of Retribution. This act, plus numerous battles fought on both sides, lead to a peaceful resolution between the two nations after centuries of bloody conflict. Another legend speaks of a man who climbed to the peak of a frigid mountain in nothing but his armored gauntlets. There, he challenged an elder god, embodied by a three headed serpent. When he returned, he wore the dragonscale like a cloak and dragged all three heads bagged in the remaining hide of the beast.
There are many more tales of the like-- all of them just as fantastic as the one before. Whether or not they hold true depends on the willingness of the listener to seek out his exploits. However, the man who spends his days in the gutters of Althanas is not the one whispered of in high regard. No, Killian is not a hero nor a legend.
In Althanas, he is known as a blight, a ruffian, and a drunk. Several taverns in Radasanth know his face and have barred him entry to their establishments. The Royal Guard know him by name and his time spent in shackles begs the question to why his head has not been relieved of its body. Despite his renown, the majority of the guardsmen do not see him in a negative light. While often annoyed by his antics, they have been seen more than cordial and he does not hold a bounty on his head.
In Ettermire, his reputation is a different one. There, the guards and servicemen despise him, but the pubs and taverns keep their doors open. His exploits in the fighting pits have earned him a minutia of fame. Whether it be fear or respect, the shadier prospects of the dark elven city give him a wide berth. While banned from the "finer" establishments of the polluted capitol, locals have even been known to invite him into their homes for a free meal and place to rest.
Killian is an odd soul, his true past rarely spoken of. Instead, he keeps to himself. Some memories are better left where they rest.
Appearance:
Messy, wavy "blued" hair. Appears black in low light, but shines a deep bluish hue in the sunlight. He is tall, but medium framed. His skin is darker than most, but lighter than those from Fallien or Alerar. Often, he is seen shirtless, only wearing a pair of black armored gauntlets that cover from shoulder to hand. From what skin is exposed, he wears badges of combat and strife across firm, hardened sinew. His trousers are dirty and battered, frayed at the ends where his blackened feet remain bare. He walks with his head hung and lists lazily from place to place. Were it not for the striking yellow and orange of his eyes, the constant expression of disinterest and fatigue would blend him in with the common rabble. And in those eyes, a sense of yearning and pain hangs. Yet his lips only part to welcome the poison of inebriation into his body.
Skills:
Lore Master:
Killian knows quite a bit for his unimpressive appearance. He knows the names of all the gods, new and old. He knows the legends of the Forgotten and the War of the Tap. He recalls each notable city by name vivid detail. Yet, this knowledge goes to waste, drowned in a sea of liquor and ale.
Martial Competency:
This waste of air is quite scrappy when the bottles hit the wall and fists come to bear. Fights end quickly, but often without mortal injury to his foes. Sometimes, the edge becomes too dull from the putrid swill and backyard brandy. On those nights, he finds himself on his ass instead with eye swollen and jaw bruised. Sober, however, no one has seen him fall in an honest one on one.
Linguist:
Killian is strangely well spoken. While his tradespeak is filled with slang and slurs, he's been known to wow the occasional elven, fallieni, or akashiman woman. Considering how he has been seen flying into a rage at a bunch of foreigners, it's possible to say he understands when they speak about him. Or, he has a deep-seated grudge for those who don't "fit in". Only himself and a very few select others know for sure.
Abilities:
Strength:
Killian has been known to heft a bar table clean through a tavern window and into the merchant's foyer across the street. He's stopped a speeding supply wagon with all but a single arm. On countless occasions, he has lifted men twice his size by the length of their necks. He's crushed glass bottles with his bare hands and been known to bend a thug's sword between thumb and finger. While it is unclear how strong he can truly be, some rumor him to be ten times as strong as the common man.
(10x Strength)
Speed & Reflexes:
For a lazy drunkard, Killian is quite nimble. He dodges thrown bottles and fists with the best of them. Sometimes, even snatching a bottle from the air like plucking a leaf from the water's surface. Good booze should never go to waste afterall. When it is, however, he's quick to make the offender know the error of their ways. Like blinking, he can go from slouched in the corner by the hearth to three fists deep in the gut of a man across the room. They say his movements are like a thief's sleight of hand with the speed and grace of a swallow, but the force and might of a cannon. Rumors say he was the child of a wind god, for when he moves faster than the eye can follow, a furious gale follows in his wake.
(4x Foot Speed & 8x Reflex Agility)
The Breath of a Drunk:
Those in the pits of Ettermire tell a rumor about a man who's fists are invisible to the naked eye. While it seems like he lashes at the air, his opponent reels with the force of a warhammer's blow. Some believe him to be cursed or possesses of some manner of magic. Tales of objects and men hovering in the air by sheer will. They say, he has a hundred unseen arms that hang from his back. The reality, however, is far more spiritual than that. True fans of this brawler say he's possessed of a demon or god who shared the same will. That by their shared might, the spirit's power is made real on the planes of men. Regardless of the source, tales say he can throw men several feet to their backs, bend iron bars by shooting them a wry glance, and lift a full tapped keg of whiskey as if weightless.
(Is able to manipulate objects without physical contact. Throwing large framed men 10 meters. Lifting 300kg kegs. Extending his effective melee range by 5 meters. Meaning, just his two hands and two feet.
Point blank.)
The Roar of Memories:
In fights against people who call him by the name of Diamond, people have seen unbelievable acts of aggression. Steam seems to waft off his body and a heat unlike any flame radiates off him. Already gifted with fleet feet and fists matched only by the hammers of Kachuck's forge, they say he becomes a blur. Every time he vanishes, the sky rumbles with cannon fire and when he reappears, a life is ended to the unpleasant music of powdered bone and rended flesh. They've spoken of his fist removing a man's torso from his hips and left another with a hole the size of a dinner plate where his heart should be. One thing remains in all the stories told in taverns and streets alike, when he takes on this form, it only lasts but a few moments. Afterward, only silence and corpses remain with no evidence the man was ever there.
(About a 2 post or 15 second bout of short range teleportation. Punches and kicks deliver with the force of a cannon. Can severely dent or rend low tier metals and pulverize living targets into meaty pudding, but during this time, he cannot use Breath of a Drunk in any regard.)
The Wasted Fortune:
Despite his tattered appearance, Killian wears two items of immeasurable value. To him, they are extensions of his body. They are more than armor, more than a weapon, and more than the black diamond they're crafted from. Extremely hard and dense, these shoulder to fist gauntlets are perfectly fitted to his body. They move just like a second skin. Without them, his bones would surely shatter from his own might. They not only allow him to break jaws and crumble walls, but can withstand the sharpest edge of the mightiest blade. Against the elements, the protect him from heat and cold, but only on the skin they cover. Some assume the gauntlets belonged to a set. Some say he sold that set to pay his pub tabs or afford the company of women. One thing is true about the rumors and it's said that on quiet nights under the thrum of heavy rain, he speaks to them. His piercing eyes look upon them in longing as he softly mutters a woman's name, "Adelle".
(Irremovable, they are a part of him. They are indestructible. They can block most weapons but only cover his arms. They also are tipped on the fingers like talons and act like sledge hammers for his punches. They can neutralize weak elemental spells as though wearing high quality clothing for said climate. For example, rubber for electricity, dense wool for cold, and insulation for heat. They're not immune, but mitigate more than they should.)
Beyond Reality:
They say that his fists move so fast, that they can even ignite the air. They've seen him jab at a man from 30meters only to see the man burst into flame and hear the crack of thunder. It's as if the flames leap from his knuckles like an arrow and collide like a mage's fireball. They say the flames are so hot, they're clear. Only as they are about to collide can the wisps of blue and orange be seen. Rumor has it, Killian possesses no aptitude for magic. They say its by his will, might, and spirit alone that he can accomplish such fantastical feats.
(Linear high speed fireball. Ignites like napalm on contact and "stick" as they burn. Enough to burn to the bone on unexposed skin and heat iron to orange-hot. Usable three times per day before fatigue sets in.)
Beyond Sensibility:
It is also said that he can cleave a tree with his bare hands. One swing of his arm and like a single blow from a mighty axe, trees topple. It's rumored that his hands can match any knight's blade and can cleave a man cleaner than Akashiman steel. How this is possible, no one truly knows. People whisper magic and witchcraft, but any mage will tell you he is not blessed by the Tap. It's as though he wields the wind as invisible blades.
(Using wind pressure and vacuum, he can chop through flesh, bone, and iron with the ease of honed Akashiman steel. It will gouge steel and hit harder material with enough force to disarm any person still standing. It extends only one meter of the Breath of a Drunk's total range. He can use this three times a day.)
Beyond Comprehension:
They say that death's touch is cold and unforgiving, but to compare that to the rumors around Killian would be like comparing apples to oranges. One story that made its way from a pub in Salvar tells of a man who turned a trio into statues of ice. The Mage Hunters were too late to arrive, but people overheard it was unlike anything the hunters had ever seen. They say the victims suffered extreme blunt trauma and that the trauma itself was the core of what froze them. "Magic without magic," they called it. Despite their inability to describe what happened, The Mage Hunters are still searching for a man with dark hair and haunting eyes.
(A palm strike with immediate rebound. The impact and rebound snapfreeze the contact surface. If the person dies from the blow, it turns them solid and freezes them to the core. If they survive the blow, the frost is enough to freeze and shatter the outer skin layers. Would leave a dinner plate sized seeping wound with severe frost bite. Chills the core body temperature to the point of violent shaking. Can be used to freeze water or snuff out fire. Must be melee, not executable with Breath of a Drunk's range. Usable three times a day.)
The Waking Nightmare:
They say he's been killed before. In fact, they say he's died a thousand times over. Yet, somehow, his stories still spread. Some believe him to be a ghost, others say he's the dead made living. Others believe him to be a deserted general of the remnants of the Corpse War. However they spin it, people claim to have killed him only to see his visage in the streets the very next day. Those familiar with his legend refuse to believe he ever died. They call him immortal and any man who claims to have seen him dead or killed is a liar -- looking to ride his infamy for themselves.
(After complete death, a new spark begins extreme regeneration of damaged tissues. Small fatal injuries like an arrow in the heart can be recovered from in an hour. Massive trauma, dismemberment, etc recovers in 12 hours or overnight. His body must fully "die" for the regeneration to begin meaning total brain and organ failure.)
An Unshakable Resolve:
They say, once he puts his mind to something, not even a mountain or god can stand in his way. They say he's looked into the eyes of a succubus and turned her down only to have her begging on her knees moments later. They say he has wrestled a Gorian'Fel with his bare hands, untouched by its mental poisons. Rumor has it he's been interrogated by psychics and despite their tireless attempts, nothing could be pulled from his mind. They've seen him shrug off pain which would cripple most men and walk across the Fallieni Glass fields bare foot in the high sun. Whatever it be, whatever his drive, they say he cannot be stopped once he's made up his mind.
(He's not immune to mind control or will affecting powers, but his defenses are near impregnable. Something aggressively repels any attempt to invade his mind or break his will. When he sets himself on a task its as though he is a demon possessed. He can fight through almost any pain and resist all but the strongest influences. This is passive.)
Equipment/Weapons:
Black Diamond Full-Arm Gauntlets (non-sellable ability fodder)
Tattered Slacks
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