Post by Ninmast on Aug 24, 2008 20:02:30 GMT -5
Name: Devon Jackson
Age: 18
Gender: Male, but steadily decreasingly so.
Race: Human
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Power Level: Low-tier High (7)
Timeline: Modern
Appearance: Devon was once a large man, nearing six and a half feet tall with ebony skin stretched over the muscles of a formidable African American football player. Now, he skuttles about with his head down and hidden by a sweater hoodie, avoiding most of his old hangouts except when necessary. His form shrinking toward a petite 5' 3" (though not there yet) and his skin, hair and once-bark-brown eyes paling seemingly day to day, he covers it up with baggy clothing and keeps as much of himself out of view as possible.
Picture courtesy of True
Personality: Like his body, his personality is degenerating and unstable. As a result, he's withdrawn to maintain as much of a grasp on his remaining sanity for as long as he can, but exposure to femininity can scratch at the breakdown, so he avoids such things as much as possible.
History:
The Magridolli family was a mafia crime family that ran a large chain of illegal enterprises. Seemingly invincible legally, publicly and militarily, when they came across his younger sister, he felt like there was nothing he could do to stop them.
The bunch that got hold of her only wanted one thing, and they took it from the girl repeatedly, over and over again, each man taking his turn once, twice, three times, all while others held him back and at gun point, reminding him that if he tried anything, they'd kill both of their "useless black hides."
Well, they killed her, anyway, then knocked him unconscious and threw him over a bridge, having intended him to share the same fate.
They should have made sure.
Only one thing saw Devon through, and that was sheer fury, but when he pulled his battered body out of the river, that was all he had left. They had beaten him black and blue even before throwing him to the river's lack of mercy, and now he couldn't hardly move. He clawed his way up onto the bank and collapsed. In that time of weakness, he did something he never would have imagined doing before. He begged whatever gods were out in the universe, pleaded with them to give him strength, more than strength, power. Power to destroy them for what they did.
One heard and answered. Her name was Cybele, and she must have been feeling particularly malicious that evening. She restored his body and granted him the ability to manifest her powers in a form quite similar to a "Persona," but her power, the power of the mother of all gods, whose beauty once drove her own son so insane that he castrated himself, was not meant for mortals, much less a male, and the presence of it would alter both in due time.
Every time he uses Cybele's powers, the strain on his mind and body compound, changing him, altering him, turning him into something he's not, but though he knows full well what it is doing to him, it is like an addiction that he can't stop using. The family that did him and his sister ill continues, thus does his fury, and so long as his fury rages, he will not give up those powers willingly. whatever they may leave him as.
Perhaps in the end, such is Cybele's test for the young man ... To see how much of himself, his manhood, his very identity he is willing to sacrifice in the name of petty revenge ...
Powers: Powerful energy generation is his primary ability, most notably fire and non-elemental. He can direct this in just about any way he can imagine, explosive bursts of energy, defensive shields, waves, even healing, though the last sees almost no use whatsoever. Some of his physical abilities, namely speed, agility and dexterity, have been largely boosted, but his physical brute strength has steadily been diminishing. His physical endurance (the capacity to take and/or shrug off damage) has also improved, but only to that of about your average Power Ranger.
Equipment: None
Weakness: Lacy Underwear = Kryptonite
Okay, not literally, but because his mental state is so fragile right now, he avoids any exposure possible, turning away from any produced and outright avoiding the lingerie section of a department store like the plague. Overpowering him by size and brute force is becoming an increasing vulnerability, as well.
Age: 18
Gender: Male, but steadily decreasingly so.
Race: Human
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Power Level: Low-tier High (7)
Timeline: Modern
Appearance: Devon was once a large man, nearing six and a half feet tall with ebony skin stretched over the muscles of a formidable African American football player. Now, he skuttles about with his head down and hidden by a sweater hoodie, avoiding most of his old hangouts except when necessary. His form shrinking toward a petite 5' 3" (though not there yet) and his skin, hair and once-bark-brown eyes paling seemingly day to day, he covers it up with baggy clothing and keeps as much of himself out of view as possible.
Picture courtesy of True
Personality: Like his body, his personality is degenerating and unstable. As a result, he's withdrawn to maintain as much of a grasp on his remaining sanity for as long as he can, but exposure to femininity can scratch at the breakdown, so he avoids such things as much as possible.
History:
He rolled over to find his face in his pillow and opened his eyes. Had it all been a dream? The fire, the power as it flowed from his fingertips, the cries of the damned getting just what they deserved ...
A smile came to his lips as the radio came on with the alarm to the news as if in answer, talking about the destruction he had wrought in the name of his dead little sister. No, it hadn't been a dream ...
He pulled himself out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom to stop before the sink, turning the faucets on and letting the cold water run over his hands. Forming a makeshift basin with them, he then splashed water on his face and stood up before the mirror.
And he froze.
His hands slowly drifted down the contours of the face only barely recognizeable as his own. His hair was hanging down over part of it, despite it being cut short the day before, and his eyes, which had always been a dark brown bordering on black, now seemed lighter and a shade green. His ebony skin was paler, like a Mexican or a gringo with a really deep tan. And his face, which had always been square, solid like a brick, had curves it never did.
Don't worry about prices right now, the goddess' words floated back to his ears in retrospect. I know what it's like to lose someone close. You'll pay your dues in good time.
His focus on the mirror was shattered as the news continued, and he yanked his head away to face it.
"Jerry Magridolli, Paul Magridolli's brother, spoke today on the horrible incident."
"I don't think this was any accident," the gruff voice stated. "I think somebody did this intentionally, and when I find out who, their lives are gonna be so miserable, they'll beg to share my brother's fate."
The image in the mirror forgotten, he clenched his fist, energy alighting about it. "Not if I find you first ..."
The Magridolli family was a mafia crime family that ran a large chain of illegal enterprises. Seemingly invincible legally, publicly and militarily, when they came across his younger sister, he felt like there was nothing he could do to stop them.
The bunch that got hold of her only wanted one thing, and they took it from the girl repeatedly, over and over again, each man taking his turn once, twice, three times, all while others held him back and at gun point, reminding him that if he tried anything, they'd kill both of their "useless black hides."
Well, they killed her, anyway, then knocked him unconscious and threw him over a bridge, having intended him to share the same fate.
They should have made sure.
Only one thing saw Devon through, and that was sheer fury, but when he pulled his battered body out of the river, that was all he had left. They had beaten him black and blue even before throwing him to the river's lack of mercy, and now he couldn't hardly move. He clawed his way up onto the bank and collapsed. In that time of weakness, he did something he never would have imagined doing before. He begged whatever gods were out in the universe, pleaded with them to give him strength, more than strength, power. Power to destroy them for what they did.
One heard and answered. Her name was Cybele, and she must have been feeling particularly malicious that evening. She restored his body and granted him the ability to manifest her powers in a form quite similar to a "Persona," but her power, the power of the mother of all gods, whose beauty once drove her own son so insane that he castrated himself, was not meant for mortals, much less a male, and the presence of it would alter both in due time.
Every time he uses Cybele's powers, the strain on his mind and body compound, changing him, altering him, turning him into something he's not, but though he knows full well what it is doing to him, it is like an addiction that he can't stop using. The family that did him and his sister ill continues, thus does his fury, and so long as his fury rages, he will not give up those powers willingly. whatever they may leave him as.
Perhaps in the end, such is Cybele's test for the young man ... To see how much of himself, his manhood, his very identity he is willing to sacrifice in the name of petty revenge ...
Powers: Powerful energy generation is his primary ability, most notably fire and non-elemental. He can direct this in just about any way he can imagine, explosive bursts of energy, defensive shields, waves, even healing, though the last sees almost no use whatsoever. Some of his physical abilities, namely speed, agility and dexterity, have been largely boosted, but his physical brute strength has steadily been diminishing. His physical endurance (the capacity to take and/or shrug off damage) has also improved, but only to that of about your average Power Ranger.
Equipment: None
Weakness: Lacy Underwear = Kryptonite
Okay, not literally, but because his mental state is so fragile right now, he avoids any exposure possible, turning away from any produced and outright avoiding the lingerie section of a department store like the plague. Overpowering him by size and brute force is becoming an increasing vulnerability, as well.