Monster
12-29-13, 02:48 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
Blood. The sight of blood has defined much of Abel's life, has filled it much like it would a bottle. It seems to be one of the only things that will get a rise out of him; usually he is somber and withdrawn, though quick to slice into anyone with a cold, sharp word. On top of his curious red thirst, he has always been startlingly observant, quickly disquieting others with details or small odd thoughts that are usually socially unacceptable, commonly some bizarre medical facts derived from battlefield medics or foreign surgical texts. Even before he was turned, he was known to be an outcast, ostracized by his military peers due to his inappropriately timed laughs, quick temper, and alien conduct.
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 often witnessed 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. However, most times he simply looks bored, even when in pain, wholly displeased and apathetic. 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. He clothes himself in brown leathers for outerwear; a buckled jacket, breeches, and a pair of collared knee height boots. Beneath, he wears a simple long sleeved cotton white shirt, the collar often spotted with recognizable rust colored stains. If forced out into the daylight, he dons a gray linen scarf over his mouth and nose, and a brown wide brimmed hat, with the right side of the brim pinned to the cap with an x-shaped cross stitch.
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 others 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 by 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 blood red hair, and eyes that seemed to glow out of the corner of one's eyes, who merely laughed 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 gemstone, 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
Close Combat: Hand to Hand - 4
Close Combat: Hand to Armed - 3
Military Tactics - 1
Medical Knowledge - 3
Literacy - 1
World Customs, Lore, and Myths - 2
((Numbered Skill Tier Reference: 1 - Average, 2 - Above Average, 3 - Experienced, 4 - Expert, 5 - Gifted, 6 - Prodigal, 7 - Master.))
Abilities
Fiendish Flaws
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 ill, in the hands of a faithful man or woman, a religious symbol can be used to ward him away, he can not cross the doorway of a home unless invited in, 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.
Nightstalker
Despite the variety of flaws his undead body possesses, his change did not come without its boons. During the night, Abel is twice as fast as the average man, and if he can retreat to the shadows during the day, his speed will return as well. Abel's body can also recover from any wound or injury, as vampirism is a curse of the undying. He sees it as no curse though; regardless of the time of day or night, smaller wounds, such as stabs, surface cuts, light burns, slight lacerations and the like, can be healed in several minutes (3-4 posts). Larger wounds, such as severe burning, strong poisons, deep cuts, bullet wounds and the like can be healed within twenty - some minutes, often meaning any sort of crippling wound he receives will have to be endured until he is out of the thick of things. 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 pierced by a wooden stake.
Aside from his fangs, the most evident mark of Abel's vampirism are his claws. Each finger and thumb is tipped with a two inch claw with a slight curve at the tip. He can extend these claws another inch to add to his reach in combat. They have the tensile strength of chitin, though as they are a part of his vampiric aspect, they will grow stronger and harden over time. The claws will rip away from his fingertip instead of breaking if they happen to be destroyed, and will regenerate to their normal size and length a day later. While not capable of rending metals, they can slice cleanly cured hides and pelts, skin, and score deep gashes into bone.
Equipment
Vambraces
A pair of brown, boiled leather vambraces reinforce on the outer forearm with longitudinal strips of iron. Each have a fingerless glove sewed to the wrist cuff with leather cord, promoting mobility, and a wide square of iron protects the back of the hand.
Slitter
A crude, eight inch knife, made of what appears to be poorly folded iron and sharpened by being scraped across a stone floor. Its handle is covered in a long, stained length of cotton bandage, wrapped repeatedly around it. Abel formed this primitive shank during his stint in the Furnace after he was refused a ration of blood for a day. While he ended up getting it, most of it went all over the floor, and the point of the knife bent ever so slightly when it glanced off a guard's vertebrata. While it was confiscated, the Coalition returned it to him upon his insistence.
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.
((Note: Foo will never feature prominently in any battle, nor interfere. He is a story mechanic, and will never acknowledge or interact with any PC without their player's consent or request.))
_____
This is essentially a request for reapproval which started out as a 3.0 update and profile restructuring. So I gues treat this as a whole new profile, since I've yet to finish a thread with Abel anyway.
Age: 34
Race: Vampire
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Red
Height: 6'3"
Weight: 230 lbs.
Occupation: Former soldier, current Coalition attack dog.
Personality
Blood. The sight of blood has defined much of Abel's life, has filled it much like it would a bottle. It seems to be one of the only things that will get a rise out of him; usually he is somber and withdrawn, though quick to slice into anyone with a cold, sharp word. On top of his curious red thirst, he has always been startlingly observant, quickly disquieting others with details or small odd thoughts that are usually socially unacceptable, commonly some bizarre medical facts derived from battlefield medics or foreign surgical texts. Even before he was turned, he was known to be an outcast, ostracized by his military peers due to his inappropriately timed laughs, quick temper, and alien conduct.
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 often witnessed 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. However, most times he simply looks bored, even when in pain, wholly displeased and apathetic. 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. He clothes himself in brown leathers for outerwear; a buckled jacket, breeches, and a pair of collared knee height boots. Beneath, he wears a simple long sleeved cotton white shirt, the collar often spotted with recognizable rust colored stains. If forced out into the daylight, he dons a gray linen scarf over his mouth and nose, and a brown wide brimmed hat, with the right side of the brim pinned to the cap with an x-shaped cross stitch.
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 others 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 by 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 blood red hair, and eyes that seemed to glow out of the corner of one's eyes, who merely laughed 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 gemstone, 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
Close Combat: Hand to Hand - 4
Close Combat: Hand to Armed - 3
Military Tactics - 1
Medical Knowledge - 3
Literacy - 1
World Customs, Lore, and Myths - 2
((Numbered Skill Tier Reference: 1 - Average, 2 - Above Average, 3 - Experienced, 4 - Expert, 5 - Gifted, 6 - Prodigal, 7 - Master.))
Abilities
Fiendish Flaws
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 ill, in the hands of a faithful man or woman, a religious symbol can be used to ward him away, he can not cross the doorway of a home unless invited in, 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.
Nightstalker
Despite the variety of flaws his undead body possesses, his change did not come without its boons. During the night, Abel is twice as fast as the average man, and if he can retreat to the shadows during the day, his speed will return as well. Abel's body can also recover from any wound or injury, as vampirism is a curse of the undying. He sees it as no curse though; regardless of the time of day or night, smaller wounds, such as stabs, surface cuts, light burns, slight lacerations and the like, can be healed in several minutes (3-4 posts). Larger wounds, such as severe burning, strong poisons, deep cuts, bullet wounds and the like can be healed within twenty - some minutes, often meaning any sort of crippling wound he receives will have to be endured until he is out of the thick of things. 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 pierced by a wooden stake.
Aside from his fangs, the most evident mark of Abel's vampirism are his claws. Each finger and thumb is tipped with a two inch claw with a slight curve at the tip. He can extend these claws another inch to add to his reach in combat. They have the tensile strength of chitin, though as they are a part of his vampiric aspect, they will grow stronger and harden over time. The claws will rip away from his fingertip instead of breaking if they happen to be destroyed, and will regenerate to their normal size and length a day later. While not capable of rending metals, they can slice cleanly cured hides and pelts, skin, and score deep gashes into bone.
Equipment
Vambraces
A pair of brown, boiled leather vambraces reinforce on the outer forearm with longitudinal strips of iron. Each have a fingerless glove sewed to the wrist cuff with leather cord, promoting mobility, and a wide square of iron protects the back of the hand.
Slitter
A crude, eight inch knife, made of what appears to be poorly folded iron and sharpened by being scraped across a stone floor. Its handle is covered in a long, stained length of cotton bandage, wrapped repeatedly around it. Abel formed this primitive shank during his stint in the Furnace after he was refused a ration of blood for a day. While he ended up getting it, most of it went all over the floor, and the point of the knife bent ever so slightly when it glanced off a guard's vertebrata. While it was confiscated, the Coalition returned it to him upon his insistence.
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.
((Note: Foo will never feature prominently in any battle, nor interfere. He is a story mechanic, and will never acknowledge or interact with any PC without their player's consent or request.))
_____
This is essentially a request for reapproval which started out as a 3.0 update and profile restructuring. So I gues treat this as a whole new profile, since I've yet to finish a thread with Abel anyway.