Monster
02-15-10, 05:36 PM
Name: Abel Metzger
Age: 34
Race: Vampire
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Red
Height: 6'3"
Weight: 230 lbs.
Occupation: Former soldier, current Coalition attack dog.
Personality: There have been a variety of rather negative words used to describe Abel over the years, unchanging between the present, and his days before he was changed. The most accurate term of description has been monster, however. Abel is an unrelenting, cruel, merciless sociopath, and little has changed with the addition of fangs. While typically a difficult man to deal with, he'll comply with a task or agreement if the terms amuse him - what exactly amuses him, however, is difficult to pin down.
Appearance: It has always been rather difficult to call Abel an attractive man in the slightest. His nose, hooked and aquiline, was what many said simply ruined his face, though he has never been sensitive about it. They seem to gloss over the nearly perpetual state of amused lunacy that his expression is set in; the eyes wide, flaring with preternatural light, like coals pulled fresh from lucifer's furnace, his grin filled to the brim with countless needle-like, sharp fangs. His head is topped with a tangled, rat's nest spill of wavy black hair, which looks much like a spill of ink, falling over his shoulders. His skin is sickly pale, with barely any color to speak of, but a slight blush of pink in a stretch of winter snow.
Abel's attire is simple, and rather spartan, with the only stipulation to cover as much skin as possible, in fear of a chance encounter with the daylight. day in, day out, he's seen wearing a double breasted, black wool peacoat with simple wooden buttons, a long sleeved white collared shirt, and black slacks, with black leather highwaymen boots.
History: Abel Metzger enlisted in the Coronian military in his late teens, and quickly distinguished himself as a rather lousy soldier. He excelled truthfully, in combat, but he deviated often from the traditions of warfare, eagerly perpetrating and initiating acts easily bordering on, or taking a hop, skip and a leap over the border of war crimes. He was often the target of disciplinary measures, as he would rarely salute his superiors, and commonly completely forget his and other's ranks. Abel would speak without being spoken to, and out of turn, interjecting war council meetings of tactics, to suggest full out genocides, or fire bombing with long range catapults, to down right suicide charges into enemy ranks.
Offhand, one day, he admitted to a peer that he had no interest in a distinguishing career in the ranks, and couldn't give a rat's shit if he ever rose above the rank of an officer. Simply enough, he liked war. Abel enjoyed killing people, and as that is typically frowned upon as murder in the private sector, he'd joined the military to take his fill.
On the winter of his thirty first birthday, Abel's undistinguished military career was brought to a screaming, abrupt halt buy a sharp eyed marksman with a crossbow who managed to put a bolt through the man's stomach and straight through his spine, paralyzing him from the waist down. Abel lay on the battlefield for two hours, bleeding and cursing furiously, until medics managed to find him and carry him away.
Suffice to say, he was not pleased with his new disability. Bedded in an infirmary, he insisted repeatedly to have a sword shoved into his jaws and be tossed into the front lines of the enemy. While his superiors would have loved to do nothing but that, tradition saw to it that he stayed in bed to waste away, becoming steadily angrier at the smug expressions of those glad to be rid of him.
Despite being filed away like so much moldering paperwork, Abel continued to aggravate the nurses and doctors of the infirmary. He rapidly developed insomnia, sleeping perhaps four or five hours every three days, and often got out of bed, struggling to walk on legs that simply did not work anymore. He created a game, whose sole objective was to scare the hell out of the nurses. There was one woman, whoever, who did not either shrink away in disgust or terror. A woman with bllod red hair, and eyes that seemed to glow out of the corner of one's eyes, who merely lkaughed at Abel's obscene threats.
One sleepless night, the redheaded nurse came to him, sat down on the the edge of his bed - and flashed him a smile full of razor sharp teeth. Intrigued, he shoved himself up into a sitting position, as she told him she could make him walk again. She could make him something beyond a fragile soldier, could let him kill again. Without even hearing the rest of her offer, Abel readily agreed, and without warning, she lunged, sinking those teeth of his deep into his throat. He passed out moments later as he felt, curiously, no pain, his bood dribbling hot around her lips.
When he awoke the next night, he felt himself absolutely pulsing, brimming with energy he had never had before. But he was so damned thirsty, and there was a smell laying thickly across the infirmary that was driving him mad...incredibly, Abel stood up out of bed, without even a hint of atrophied muscles, walked over to his neighbor on his left, and tore the man's throat open to slurp up the blood. In little more than a few hours, he'd killed everyone in his wing, and drunk and gorged on blood, he'd intended on feasting more, and he would have, had the soldiers not arrived. Abel killed two armed men before they managed to subdue him, and they took him, without trial, to The Furnace.
The Furnace was home to some of the most dangerous criminals in Corone, but few were as bad as the foul tempered, hungry vampire that was brought in. Again, Abel killed a man as soon as he was allowed a measure of recreation time. The guards decided it would be best to fit him with a straight jacket, and a muzzle. He made a habit of chewing through the muzzle when he wasn't given enough of his special diet, until they began to simply place him in an iron mask.
Abel languished for years in The Furnace, until the Coalition arranged for his release. They gave him a deal; act as their personal soldier, and he would have a...measure of freedom. Once they reassured him that he would be killing once again, he complied, and was released once more into Althanas. But not before a measure of caution was installed; a blue-black orb, of unknown gemtsown, implanted into able's chest and fused into his sternum, which they called the coldfire orb. Any attempt to tamper with it, will trigger its affects, and at any time, should Abel become insubordinate or otherwise the orb could be activated, coating him in icy blue flames until nothing remained but ash.
Skills:
Biology of a Madman
Abel Metzger has all the traditional weaknesses of a common vampire; he is especially weak to weapons of silver, flames of any kind are especially deadly to him (he takes twice the damage from any fire based attack), the smell of garlic nauseates him, while the taste makes him violently, in the hands of a faithful man or woman, a religious symbol can be used to ward him away, and he cannot cross running water of his own power. Exposure to sunlight will cause his flesh to blacken, blister, and crack open, and, inevitably, kill him.
However, his condition is not without its boons. Abel is one and a half times stronger than the average man, is half as fast as the average man, and can lose up to more than a quarter of the amount of blood before blacking out. He has a rather high pain threshold, reacting considerably less to, say, a knife in the stomach, than any other man. He can be reduced to a catatonic state by forcing him to bleed out, and he can be even knocked out with sufficient force, but Abel cannot be killed unless he is decapitated, burnt to ash, or has had his heart peirced by a wooden stake.
These Hands
Abel is above average in the use of the Falcon's Talon in its sword state, and average in its use in its whip state. He is an average hand to hand fighter.
Equipment:
Falcon's Talon
A rather simple looking blade, given to him by the Coalition, it is visibly shorter than a longsword, but longer than a short sword. A tightly woven steel cable runs down its center, and by depressing a lever directly below the crossguards, a swordsman could contract the usually, tightly retracted cable. The sword's blade immediately separates into twelve razor sharp sections, connected in the middle by the cable, and resembles, loosely, a whip. The sword can be restored to its natural state by depressing the lever once more. It is currently made of steel.
Prison Shank
A crude dagger that Abel made while in The Furnace out of a bedpost. While it has an edge, it does not hold well, as the weapon was built primarily for stabbing. It is currently made of iron, and is stored in his boot.
Familiars:
"Foo"
Not, in truth, a familiar at all, but a man (possibly) who is his contact with the Coalition, and gives Abel his marching orders. Name, intent, full appearance, race, and even gender are unknown, being referred to by "his" nickname only to simplify things. The two constants, is the heavy black garb that "he" is always wearing, and the large male doberman that is constantly in "his" presence. People seem to fear "Foo" instinctively, though cannot tell anyone why. "He" is able to activate the coldfire orb implanted in Abel's chest remotely, or any time he wishes, just as the Coalition is able to.
Age: 34
Race: Vampire
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Red
Height: 6'3"
Weight: 230 lbs.
Occupation: Former soldier, current Coalition attack dog.
Personality: There have been a variety of rather negative words used to describe Abel over the years, unchanging between the present, and his days before he was changed. The most accurate term of description has been monster, however. Abel is an unrelenting, cruel, merciless sociopath, and little has changed with the addition of fangs. While typically a difficult man to deal with, he'll comply with a task or agreement if the terms amuse him - what exactly amuses him, however, is difficult to pin down.
Appearance: It has always been rather difficult to call Abel an attractive man in the slightest. His nose, hooked and aquiline, was what many said simply ruined his face, though he has never been sensitive about it. They seem to gloss over the nearly perpetual state of amused lunacy that his expression is set in; the eyes wide, flaring with preternatural light, like coals pulled fresh from lucifer's furnace, his grin filled to the brim with countless needle-like, sharp fangs. His head is topped with a tangled, rat's nest spill of wavy black hair, which looks much like a spill of ink, falling over his shoulders. His skin is sickly pale, with barely any color to speak of, but a slight blush of pink in a stretch of winter snow.
Abel's attire is simple, and rather spartan, with the only stipulation to cover as much skin as possible, in fear of a chance encounter with the daylight. day in, day out, he's seen wearing a double breasted, black wool peacoat with simple wooden buttons, a long sleeved white collared shirt, and black slacks, with black leather highwaymen boots.
History: Abel Metzger enlisted in the Coronian military in his late teens, and quickly distinguished himself as a rather lousy soldier. He excelled truthfully, in combat, but he deviated often from the traditions of warfare, eagerly perpetrating and initiating acts easily bordering on, or taking a hop, skip and a leap over the border of war crimes. He was often the target of disciplinary measures, as he would rarely salute his superiors, and commonly completely forget his and other's ranks. Abel would speak without being spoken to, and out of turn, interjecting war council meetings of tactics, to suggest full out genocides, or fire bombing with long range catapults, to down right suicide charges into enemy ranks.
Offhand, one day, he admitted to a peer that he had no interest in a distinguishing career in the ranks, and couldn't give a rat's shit if he ever rose above the rank of an officer. Simply enough, he liked war. Abel enjoyed killing people, and as that is typically frowned upon as murder in the private sector, he'd joined the military to take his fill.
On the winter of his thirty first birthday, Abel's undistinguished military career was brought to a screaming, abrupt halt buy a sharp eyed marksman with a crossbow who managed to put a bolt through the man's stomach and straight through his spine, paralyzing him from the waist down. Abel lay on the battlefield for two hours, bleeding and cursing furiously, until medics managed to find him and carry him away.
Suffice to say, he was not pleased with his new disability. Bedded in an infirmary, he insisted repeatedly to have a sword shoved into his jaws and be tossed into the front lines of the enemy. While his superiors would have loved to do nothing but that, tradition saw to it that he stayed in bed to waste away, becoming steadily angrier at the smug expressions of those glad to be rid of him.
Despite being filed away like so much moldering paperwork, Abel continued to aggravate the nurses and doctors of the infirmary. He rapidly developed insomnia, sleeping perhaps four or five hours every three days, and often got out of bed, struggling to walk on legs that simply did not work anymore. He created a game, whose sole objective was to scare the hell out of the nurses. There was one woman, whoever, who did not either shrink away in disgust or terror. A woman with bllod red hair, and eyes that seemed to glow out of the corner of one's eyes, who merely lkaughed at Abel's obscene threats.
One sleepless night, the redheaded nurse came to him, sat down on the the edge of his bed - and flashed him a smile full of razor sharp teeth. Intrigued, he shoved himself up into a sitting position, as she told him she could make him walk again. She could make him something beyond a fragile soldier, could let him kill again. Without even hearing the rest of her offer, Abel readily agreed, and without warning, she lunged, sinking those teeth of his deep into his throat. He passed out moments later as he felt, curiously, no pain, his bood dribbling hot around her lips.
When he awoke the next night, he felt himself absolutely pulsing, brimming with energy he had never had before. But he was so damned thirsty, and there was a smell laying thickly across the infirmary that was driving him mad...incredibly, Abel stood up out of bed, without even a hint of atrophied muscles, walked over to his neighbor on his left, and tore the man's throat open to slurp up the blood. In little more than a few hours, he'd killed everyone in his wing, and drunk and gorged on blood, he'd intended on feasting more, and he would have, had the soldiers not arrived. Abel killed two armed men before they managed to subdue him, and they took him, without trial, to The Furnace.
The Furnace was home to some of the most dangerous criminals in Corone, but few were as bad as the foul tempered, hungry vampire that was brought in. Again, Abel killed a man as soon as he was allowed a measure of recreation time. The guards decided it would be best to fit him with a straight jacket, and a muzzle. He made a habit of chewing through the muzzle when he wasn't given enough of his special diet, until they began to simply place him in an iron mask.
Abel languished for years in The Furnace, until the Coalition arranged for his release. They gave him a deal; act as their personal soldier, and he would have a...measure of freedom. Once they reassured him that he would be killing once again, he complied, and was released once more into Althanas. But not before a measure of caution was installed; a blue-black orb, of unknown gemtsown, implanted into able's chest and fused into his sternum, which they called the coldfire orb. Any attempt to tamper with it, will trigger its affects, and at any time, should Abel become insubordinate or otherwise the orb could be activated, coating him in icy blue flames until nothing remained but ash.
Skills:
Biology of a Madman
Abel Metzger has all the traditional weaknesses of a common vampire; he is especially weak to weapons of silver, flames of any kind are especially deadly to him (he takes twice the damage from any fire based attack), the smell of garlic nauseates him, while the taste makes him violently, in the hands of a faithful man or woman, a religious symbol can be used to ward him away, and he cannot cross running water of his own power. Exposure to sunlight will cause his flesh to blacken, blister, and crack open, and, inevitably, kill him.
However, his condition is not without its boons. Abel is one and a half times stronger than the average man, is half as fast as the average man, and can lose up to more than a quarter of the amount of blood before blacking out. He has a rather high pain threshold, reacting considerably less to, say, a knife in the stomach, than any other man. He can be reduced to a catatonic state by forcing him to bleed out, and he can be even knocked out with sufficient force, but Abel cannot be killed unless he is decapitated, burnt to ash, or has had his heart peirced by a wooden stake.
These Hands
Abel is above average in the use of the Falcon's Talon in its sword state, and average in its use in its whip state. He is an average hand to hand fighter.
Equipment:
Falcon's Talon
A rather simple looking blade, given to him by the Coalition, it is visibly shorter than a longsword, but longer than a short sword. A tightly woven steel cable runs down its center, and by depressing a lever directly below the crossguards, a swordsman could contract the usually, tightly retracted cable. The sword's blade immediately separates into twelve razor sharp sections, connected in the middle by the cable, and resembles, loosely, a whip. The sword can be restored to its natural state by depressing the lever once more. It is currently made of steel.
Prison Shank
A crude dagger that Abel made while in The Furnace out of a bedpost. While it has an edge, it does not hold well, as the weapon was built primarily for stabbing. It is currently made of iron, and is stored in his boot.
Familiars:
"Foo"
Not, in truth, a familiar at all, but a man (possibly) who is his contact with the Coalition, and gives Abel his marching orders. Name, intent, full appearance, race, and even gender are unknown, being referred to by "his" nickname only to simplify things. The two constants, is the heavy black garb that "he" is always wearing, and the large male doberman that is constantly in "his" presence. People seem to fear "Foo" instinctively, though cannot tell anyone why. "He" is able to activate the coldfire orb implanted in Abel's chest remotely, or any time he wishes, just as the Coalition is able to.