Psycho Chef
12-14-08, 10:50 PM
Name: Vincent Wolfe
Age: 25
Race: Human
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Varies
Height: 6' 3"
Weight: 195
Occupation: Line Chef
Personality:
Extremely curious. Vincent has always loved to understand how things work. If it was a scientific matter, he threw himself into books. If it was a religious matter, he visited many churches to find his answers. But the one thing he could never get enough of is cooking. Too cook is to create and to create is to be a god. At least in the kitchen.
Appearance:
Being a chef means having food around you at all times. In order to keep his heart unclogged and pumping long enough to keep being a cook for as long as possible, he works out regularly. Fit and toned, he won't be winning the next Mr. Universe competition, but he can jog a mile in six minutes just fine. He has a smile of wonderment most of the time and his colored eyes change with his mood. They range from silver blue to green with brown. His black hair is kept combed forward a bit, with a slight spike at the widow's peak.
History:
Torn page from Vincent's journal found lying near the Citadel in Corone
Finally! I've found a quiet spot. I'm sitting behind a building that many strange people keep entering. All of them look very...blood thirsty I guess you can say. No clue what's going on in there, but I do see them carrying lots of weapons.
Ok, back. Sorry, some weird cat-boy creature came running up to me asking what I was doing sitting outside the Citadel instead of waiting in the main hall area. I politely asked him to go away since I was trying to collect my thoughts. He didn't seem bothered...but I hope he doesn't come back with friends. I should probably move soon. It's gonna be dark in a few hours by the looks of the sun. Shelter and food are gonna be top priorities for today. Oh no...something is coming this way...doesn't see me yet....oh crap
Life for Vincent was pretty simple. Go to work, attend his judo classes, go home, cook some more for himself, watch TV about inventions and new gadgets, call it a night before 1 a.m. rolled around. Wake up the next morning and repeat the cycle.
As a young boy, Vincent hadn't been stuck in such a lifestyle. He'd always been on the move. Mainly because he wanted answers. He wanted to improve things that weren't working right. At the age of ten, he'd came up to his father with a rough draft for a new constitution. Although severely lacking in many areas, his dad was keen enough to pick up that his son was a thinker and a doer. Everyday he brought Vincent stacks of books per the boys request and the child would read every second he had, until his ideas would form into plans and those into action.
One afternoon when he was eleven, he happened to be home alone for a couple of hours since he was sick and his mother had run out to get orange juice and medicine. With a rumble in his stomach, he climbed out of bed, trotted downstairs and began to rummage through the kitchen, looking for ingredients to make a sandwich. Remembering the steps from a cookbook he had read once a few months back, he constructed a sandwich made of toasted potato bread, spicy turkey breast and black forest ham with grilled onions and some homemade French fries with just a touch of fresh crushed garlic and dill. When his mother had come home, she was in shock as she saw her son sitting at the kitchen table watching Looney Tunes with a big smile on his face as he bit a fry in half. A few seconds later, she noticed a plate with an identical meal on the kitchen counter with a note saying, "Made you one too, Mom! :)"
From there his passion for creating meals grew fervently as he began to learn there was as much science as there was art in the culinary skills. A direct result of being such a cook with no real interest in sports made him a target of thick headed bullies who got jealous of the sweet girls taking an interest in a young teen who was a master of fire and food. So as he poured through books that claimed words were more effective than violence, he donated them to charity and asked for martial arts lessons. He was soon showing the bullies what it felt like to nearly have their arm broken from a Judo limb lock.
After high school ended, he went straight into a culinary school and began learning everything he hadn't learned from working at restaurants as a busboy. He had even met a new friend their who taught him knife fighting skills. At first it seemed like a silly idea, but being in the real world and nearly getting his ass kicked by four men with clubs and switchblades changed his mind. Soon he was proficient in using the very tools he cut beef and chicken with as a deadly weapon.
What happened next was no surprise to him. He began to see if he could modify his spare stainless steel chef knives as more effective killing utensils. He enjoyed the familiar in your face combat that came from it (since Judo was very much the style), but he knew if his opponent was packing heat, it would be bad times for the line cook.
So he experimented with attaching bungee cords, ropes, and anything else you could think off that could serve as a way to extend his reach with the knife. Using a gun would be the practical solution, but it was boring. He was still the same old kid who wanted to improve whatever he could.
A few years had passed and his skills with Judo and knife fighting had improved just as much as his cooking. He had settled on having a pair of chef knives connected with a thin, but strong nylon rope. They moved quickly and were something like nun chucks with a much longer and sharper reach. Happy with his improvement, he'd moved onto his cooking and science once more.
He began to learn of chemistry and the interesting results that came from government uses with the subject, much like the way they used poisons and explosives. Although he had no enemies, he was having a great deal of fun practicing with injecting muffins with an unstable chemical agent and them tossing them into the alleyway, watching the pastries explode. There was hardly any more damage than a firecracker would leave behind, but his ideas were growing.
He began to attend seminars on physics on the weekends. His favorite speakers were the ones who talked of possible dimensions that worked in theory and of independent scientists that were engaging in such tests. Of course this was just a delicious worm on a hook for Vincent. He found the most convincing scientist and joined his team on the weekends, serving as a cook. With happy stomachs he quickly became friends with all of them and they allowed him to look at their work and even touch buttons when they said "Ok start the test".
One particular day proved to be extremely life changing. It was a warm day, so he had come in just jeans, a t-shirt, and a dark blue with black leaves Hawaiian shirt. He had a denim backpack filled with a extra knife weapons (he had decided to cut the pair of knives in half, now giving him a wider range of attack). Although the area was a business district at nine in the morning, he had to leave after eleven at night and the surrounding area got dangerous.
Strolling into the plain white building with reflected windows, he carried his pack and his chef kit casually, not much of a care. His only thoughts were if he wanted to give them apple wood smoked bacon or thick slices of honey ham to go with their eggs.
It wasn't until he reached the kitchen that he noticed it was unusually quiet in the usually busy hallways. Still holding his gear, he stepped slowly into the usual testing rooms. The lights were on, but they were vacant. He wandered into the last room, the biggest they had and was floored. Most of the top crew was there, staring at a glowing portal. No one moved, not a single person blinked. They just stared quietly at the white, almost seamless hole in the room.
He tried calling their names, but there was no response. He was wondering if this was some kind of accident from the experiment, but he knew none of them would've been stupid enough to be so close to a major test with no kind of protection. Especially with all of them in the same room like this; foul play had to be the reason. Suddenly he noticed a member of the team was missing; the leader. The project leader wasn't in the room. Unfortunately Vincent had figured that too late. Something hard took out his left leg and he fell forward a bit, dangerously closer to the huge, glowing portal.
He fell on his back and turned his gaze on Mike, the project leader. His usually friendly blue eyes were filled with a craze he'd never seen before. He held a large golf club (he and the other guys often made Sunday's half days to hit the driving range) and pointed it at Vincent. He talked nonsense about finding his purpose, offering his team as a sacrifice to some God and how he'd be rewarded once he fulfilled the demands.
Slowly Vincent reached for the small switchblade he kept in his back pocket. Mike was still mumbling nonsense and the team still stood in the room, silent, possibly dead. The cook stumbled to his feet as the words kept flowing out of the man's mouth like raw sewage. He kept the blade hidden in his right hand, his chef's kit still firmly grasped in his left.
Mike lunged with the driver and Vincent quickly plunged the knife into chest. He gurgled and fell against his former weekend chef, still muttering something. His boss was fairly heavy and with his weakened leg, he lost his balance, stumbled backward and fell into the portal, vanishing in the milky light, leaving the room of living mannequins.
Leaving it to what...he did not know.
Skills:
Advanced Judo: His training in this martial arts isn't anything to scary, but he can certainly hold his own against a few brawlers.
Knife Fighting: At the moment he is proficient with knives and daggers.
Quick Thinking: His ability to see a problem and the solution to it are what keep him alive.
Chemistry and Physics: He has a firm understanding of chemicals and the nature of physics. This will allow him to grasp the workings of explosives and poisons as he travels Althanas.
Cooking: His skills are currently at the level of an Executive Chef. He was only weeks away from taking his Master Chef test in Florida, USA. He was truly a wonder in the kitchen.
Equipment:
-Backpack:
-Cooking apron made of 100% cotton, complete with food stains and burns
-Two 8 inch stainless steel chef knives with fifteen feet of nylon rope attached to each
-Journal
-Fresh pack of ballpoint pens; black, blue, and red ink
-Fresh box of matches
-Fresh pack of BBQ lighters (5 pack)
-Canvas Travel Wrap Bag (Chef Kit, all equipment is made of stainless steel)
-10 inch Switzerland Chef Knife
-Standard Paring Knife
-Boning Knife
-Standard Cleaver
-Kitchen Scissors
-Knife Steel
-Utility Knife
-Bread Knife
-Wire Whisk
Age: 25
Race: Human
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Varies
Height: 6' 3"
Weight: 195
Occupation: Line Chef
Personality:
Extremely curious. Vincent has always loved to understand how things work. If it was a scientific matter, he threw himself into books. If it was a religious matter, he visited many churches to find his answers. But the one thing he could never get enough of is cooking. Too cook is to create and to create is to be a god. At least in the kitchen.
Appearance:
Being a chef means having food around you at all times. In order to keep his heart unclogged and pumping long enough to keep being a cook for as long as possible, he works out regularly. Fit and toned, he won't be winning the next Mr. Universe competition, but he can jog a mile in six minutes just fine. He has a smile of wonderment most of the time and his colored eyes change with his mood. They range from silver blue to green with brown. His black hair is kept combed forward a bit, with a slight spike at the widow's peak.
History:
Torn page from Vincent's journal found lying near the Citadel in Corone
Finally! I've found a quiet spot. I'm sitting behind a building that many strange people keep entering. All of them look very...blood thirsty I guess you can say. No clue what's going on in there, but I do see them carrying lots of weapons.
Ok, back. Sorry, some weird cat-boy creature came running up to me asking what I was doing sitting outside the Citadel instead of waiting in the main hall area. I politely asked him to go away since I was trying to collect my thoughts. He didn't seem bothered...but I hope he doesn't come back with friends. I should probably move soon. It's gonna be dark in a few hours by the looks of the sun. Shelter and food are gonna be top priorities for today. Oh no...something is coming this way...doesn't see me yet....oh crap
Life for Vincent was pretty simple. Go to work, attend his judo classes, go home, cook some more for himself, watch TV about inventions and new gadgets, call it a night before 1 a.m. rolled around. Wake up the next morning and repeat the cycle.
As a young boy, Vincent hadn't been stuck in such a lifestyle. He'd always been on the move. Mainly because he wanted answers. He wanted to improve things that weren't working right. At the age of ten, he'd came up to his father with a rough draft for a new constitution. Although severely lacking in many areas, his dad was keen enough to pick up that his son was a thinker and a doer. Everyday he brought Vincent stacks of books per the boys request and the child would read every second he had, until his ideas would form into plans and those into action.
One afternoon when he was eleven, he happened to be home alone for a couple of hours since he was sick and his mother had run out to get orange juice and medicine. With a rumble in his stomach, he climbed out of bed, trotted downstairs and began to rummage through the kitchen, looking for ingredients to make a sandwich. Remembering the steps from a cookbook he had read once a few months back, he constructed a sandwich made of toasted potato bread, spicy turkey breast and black forest ham with grilled onions and some homemade French fries with just a touch of fresh crushed garlic and dill. When his mother had come home, she was in shock as she saw her son sitting at the kitchen table watching Looney Tunes with a big smile on his face as he bit a fry in half. A few seconds later, she noticed a plate with an identical meal on the kitchen counter with a note saying, "Made you one too, Mom! :)"
From there his passion for creating meals grew fervently as he began to learn there was as much science as there was art in the culinary skills. A direct result of being such a cook with no real interest in sports made him a target of thick headed bullies who got jealous of the sweet girls taking an interest in a young teen who was a master of fire and food. So as he poured through books that claimed words were more effective than violence, he donated them to charity and asked for martial arts lessons. He was soon showing the bullies what it felt like to nearly have their arm broken from a Judo limb lock.
After high school ended, he went straight into a culinary school and began learning everything he hadn't learned from working at restaurants as a busboy. He had even met a new friend their who taught him knife fighting skills. At first it seemed like a silly idea, but being in the real world and nearly getting his ass kicked by four men with clubs and switchblades changed his mind. Soon he was proficient in using the very tools he cut beef and chicken with as a deadly weapon.
What happened next was no surprise to him. He began to see if he could modify his spare stainless steel chef knives as more effective killing utensils. He enjoyed the familiar in your face combat that came from it (since Judo was very much the style), but he knew if his opponent was packing heat, it would be bad times for the line cook.
So he experimented with attaching bungee cords, ropes, and anything else you could think off that could serve as a way to extend his reach with the knife. Using a gun would be the practical solution, but it was boring. He was still the same old kid who wanted to improve whatever he could.
A few years had passed and his skills with Judo and knife fighting had improved just as much as his cooking. He had settled on having a pair of chef knives connected with a thin, but strong nylon rope. They moved quickly and were something like nun chucks with a much longer and sharper reach. Happy with his improvement, he'd moved onto his cooking and science once more.
He began to learn of chemistry and the interesting results that came from government uses with the subject, much like the way they used poisons and explosives. Although he had no enemies, he was having a great deal of fun practicing with injecting muffins with an unstable chemical agent and them tossing them into the alleyway, watching the pastries explode. There was hardly any more damage than a firecracker would leave behind, but his ideas were growing.
He began to attend seminars on physics on the weekends. His favorite speakers were the ones who talked of possible dimensions that worked in theory and of independent scientists that were engaging in such tests. Of course this was just a delicious worm on a hook for Vincent. He found the most convincing scientist and joined his team on the weekends, serving as a cook. With happy stomachs he quickly became friends with all of them and they allowed him to look at their work and even touch buttons when they said "Ok start the test".
One particular day proved to be extremely life changing. It was a warm day, so he had come in just jeans, a t-shirt, and a dark blue with black leaves Hawaiian shirt. He had a denim backpack filled with a extra knife weapons (he had decided to cut the pair of knives in half, now giving him a wider range of attack). Although the area was a business district at nine in the morning, he had to leave after eleven at night and the surrounding area got dangerous.
Strolling into the plain white building with reflected windows, he carried his pack and his chef kit casually, not much of a care. His only thoughts were if he wanted to give them apple wood smoked bacon or thick slices of honey ham to go with their eggs.
It wasn't until he reached the kitchen that he noticed it was unusually quiet in the usually busy hallways. Still holding his gear, he stepped slowly into the usual testing rooms. The lights were on, but they were vacant. He wandered into the last room, the biggest they had and was floored. Most of the top crew was there, staring at a glowing portal. No one moved, not a single person blinked. They just stared quietly at the white, almost seamless hole in the room.
He tried calling their names, but there was no response. He was wondering if this was some kind of accident from the experiment, but he knew none of them would've been stupid enough to be so close to a major test with no kind of protection. Especially with all of them in the same room like this; foul play had to be the reason. Suddenly he noticed a member of the team was missing; the leader. The project leader wasn't in the room. Unfortunately Vincent had figured that too late. Something hard took out his left leg and he fell forward a bit, dangerously closer to the huge, glowing portal.
He fell on his back and turned his gaze on Mike, the project leader. His usually friendly blue eyes were filled with a craze he'd never seen before. He held a large golf club (he and the other guys often made Sunday's half days to hit the driving range) and pointed it at Vincent. He talked nonsense about finding his purpose, offering his team as a sacrifice to some God and how he'd be rewarded once he fulfilled the demands.
Slowly Vincent reached for the small switchblade he kept in his back pocket. Mike was still mumbling nonsense and the team still stood in the room, silent, possibly dead. The cook stumbled to his feet as the words kept flowing out of the man's mouth like raw sewage. He kept the blade hidden in his right hand, his chef's kit still firmly grasped in his left.
Mike lunged with the driver and Vincent quickly plunged the knife into chest. He gurgled and fell against his former weekend chef, still muttering something. His boss was fairly heavy and with his weakened leg, he lost his balance, stumbled backward and fell into the portal, vanishing in the milky light, leaving the room of living mannequins.
Leaving it to what...he did not know.
Skills:
Advanced Judo: His training in this martial arts isn't anything to scary, but he can certainly hold his own against a few brawlers.
Knife Fighting: At the moment he is proficient with knives and daggers.
Quick Thinking: His ability to see a problem and the solution to it are what keep him alive.
Chemistry and Physics: He has a firm understanding of chemicals and the nature of physics. This will allow him to grasp the workings of explosives and poisons as he travels Althanas.
Cooking: His skills are currently at the level of an Executive Chef. He was only weeks away from taking his Master Chef test in Florida, USA. He was truly a wonder in the kitchen.
Equipment:
-Backpack:
-Cooking apron made of 100% cotton, complete with food stains and burns
-Two 8 inch stainless steel chef knives with fifteen feet of nylon rope attached to each
-Journal
-Fresh pack of ballpoint pens; black, blue, and red ink
-Fresh box of matches
-Fresh pack of BBQ lighters (5 pack)
-Canvas Travel Wrap Bag (Chef Kit, all equipment is made of stainless steel)
-10 inch Switzerland Chef Knife
-Standard Paring Knife
-Boning Knife
-Standard Cleaver
-Kitchen Scissors
-Knife Steel
-Utility Knife
-Bread Knife
-Wire Whisk