Title: AIMERY, colmar etienne
Colmar Aimery - August 8, 2007 09:58 PM (GMT)
__++hello. my name is…
name/nickname:: Gina
age:: 19
experience:: Approaching 6 years’ worth
other characters here:: N/A
__++you can call me…
&&__basic information
full name:: Colmar Etienne Aimery
nickname(s):: None yet
birthdate:: February 4th, 1935
age:: 80 years
ethnicity:: French
orientation:: Heterosexual
species:: Werewolf
belongs to:: Vorace Pack
title:: Pack Spy
&&__physical description
height:: 6’ 3”
weight:: 200 lbs
eye color:: Hazel – light brown around the pupil, green circling the iris
hair color:: Black
body type:: Broad, muscular
distinguishing marks:: Various minor scars – both fresher, angry red marks and those that have turned white with age – across the back, torso and arms that serve as reminders of previous scuffles.
dress style:: Colmar’s dress sense, dictated in no small part by his position and responsibilities within the pack, is always selected with a certain hint of panache. The man enjoys wearing fine clothing, that much can’t be denied. In fact, he can often be seen in dark suits and crisp, white shirts when the occasion allows. While travelling, however, he prefers a far more practical approach; t-shirts, jeans and strong boots, leather jacket for warmth, all in black or darker shades of various colours and perfectly fitted to his powerfully built form. Good grooming is also important to the spy – so far as his experience goes, a trustworthy look tends to put potential marks at ease. Therefore, his short hair is always cropped to an approachable, artfully tousled mess, and his strong jawline is covered with only a fine smattering of stubble. Only after a particularly lengthy spell of reconnaissance will this be allowed to grow, and provide the emissary with something of a more rugged appearance.
portrayal:: Hugh Jackman
picture::
&&__personality test
likes::
general description:: To describe Colmar as enigmatic would merely be touching the tip of an extremely large proverbial iceberg. While very much dedicated to Jude and the welfare of the Vorace pack as a whole, it would be fair to say that given the choice, he prefers to be solitary and to stray around the sidelines of the manor until he is needed or called upon. Space and freedom have always been important to this werewolf, and he counts himself lucky that he’s permitted that kind of luxury. Having said this, Colmar’s tendencies towards seclusion cannot be completely explained away as an inborn personality trait. Being the pack spy often throws him into dangerous, often suicidal missions – and there, logic begins to overthrow emotion. What sense would it make to form real, deep-seated bonds with another individual when he could be picked off by any one of the vampires, not to mention the rival pack, at any time? The same happened to his father, after all… and if that kind of loss isn’t something Colmar has ever fully come to terms with, how could he ever expect another to behave differently?
Perhaps working in converse to his singular behaviour, Colmar has extremely high standards concerning the loyalty of those with whom he does embark in friendship, or indeed, love. With time – and no small amount of patience – one who proves their trustworthiness can expect a lifetime of fierce steadfastness from the spy that only the most severe betrayal will break. Of course, Colmar expects that they exercise the same trust in him, whether or not they are explicitly aware of his dealings or whereabouts outside pack boundaries. To many, this might seem like an unreasonable deal, which is exactly what the emissary is afraid of.
Somewhat surprisingly, considering his slightly isolationist nature, Colmar actually possesses a fair amount of charismatic charm and stinging wit, developed since his childhood and occasionally stretched to the point of acidic sarcasm and arrogance. It’s an acquired taste that the rest of the pack has become used to over time, and is quite effectively put into play in the event of a complication or confrontations with any of their rival groups. That said, it’s also an effective way of fending people off, stopping them from reaching to deep into his emotional ground – a perfect defense mechanism. Play the charm offensive, throw people a smile, and they’ll forget about asking any probing questions.
Those who do know Colmar well enough to break through that distant demeanour will be aware of the more extreme points of his personality; quiet and detached he may be, but also enormously passionate and devoted – a factor that may just explain his sporadic bouts of fierce bad temper. When he loves, he gives everything – to the point of exhaustion. A skilled combatant he may be, and he certainly fights with that same ardour, but violence for the sheer sake of spilling blood is an idea he finds repulsive. Much as he dislikes both those of the Courroucé and the vampire clans, the lycanthrope would settle for amicable resolution to any disagreement. Shame, then, that he’s come across more than his fair share of individuals who take sheer orgasmic thrill in spilling claret and ripping away lives.
Colmar could also be described as tenacious and hardheaded to the point of infuriation. An encouraging aspect when mentioned in relation to his job – once his mind is focused on a certain goal, trained to find a specific target, he will not rest until he’s done everything necessary to ensure it’s achieved. On the other hand, many have, and continue to, argue that this foolhardy determination and willingness to throw himself into suicidal situations on a regular basis is cold, hard proof that Colmar might just have a few screws loose upstairs. Personally, however, it’s a different story. He has yet to meet anyone who makes him want to change his outsider ways, and doubts that such an exceptional individual actually exists.
&&__battle royale
artillary:: Being highly skilled with the use of various blades and firearms - thanks to his years of training with the pack - not to mention on constant alert for danger or suspicious activity around the mansion’s borders, Colmar is almost continually equipped with a small arsenal, deftly hidden beneath his clothing. A pair of Walther P22 Pistols remain strapped in double shoulder holsters, while a smaller Bersa Thunder 380 Pistol is attached to the inside of his boot.
swordsmanship:: Often useful for closer-ranged combat, Colmar has perfected his use of various knives – although his practice with longer blades such as swords is minimal. He carries twin Muala defense knives to be used either separately or together, on a belt around his waist, while a Rapala fillet knife, a gift from his father, is kept within whichever boot his pistol is not.
martial arts:: Taking it upon himself to learn more disciplined forms of tactile combat; both from his father’s wealth of knowledge and under his own steam after being accepted into the pack, Colmar is proficient in both Tae Kwon Do and Jujitsu.
combat:: Hand-to-hand combat is, undoubtedly, what Colmar does best. Indispensable in a street scrap, he is unafraid to throw himself into the fray, fight a dirty fight and cause damage through the sheer strength and intimidating size of his frame.
&&__family history
father’s name:: Theodore Aimery (deceased)
mother’s name:: Vivienne Aimery, nee Beaufort (deceased)
sibling’s name:: N/A
general history::
&&__proving your worth
role-playing sample:: The road to success is a gruelling, relentless, uphill climb. Winding pathways and hidden potholes, Question after question; split second decision, fate, both the product of outside influence and being held under another’s thumb in turn. Whoever said reaching the top of the mountain was easy, was a goddamn son-of-a-bitch liar. Ask anyone, any self-respecting, hard-working, honest Joe. Lesser individuals… lesser men often quailed at the first signpost of pressure, it was true. Fell by the wayside while those with steel wrought over their nerves, gumption clamped tight around their hearts and determination, bravado and ruthlessness pumping through their veins clambered over, strove onward. Became those worth listening to, worth noticing. Important, prominent. Powerful. The would-be engineer, ambitious runt of a boy from Pittsburgh knew that well enough, indeed. Devotion to one’s art was the essence of success, and Sebastian had thrown himself into his studies with the reminder of all that his father had taught him. A self made billionaire – around forty years in the making in fact, and Shaw’s fierce pride and arrogance ran deep because of it. Pulled at the man’s spine, straightened his considerable stature, tilted his chin and imbued a spark to the dank, dark pools of his eyes that the wise would classify as dangerous. For Sebastian, while his industrious attitude had never once been questioned, had never been a wholly honest man. If only… if only his father could see him now, seated in the throne that he had always coveted – and the means by which his own son had achieved such an astounding victory.
Fortune was the way forward; the very reason why the Hellfire Club had come to him in the first place. Wealth was power, and from power spilled forth threads of opportunity that could stretch to the far corners of one’s wildest dreams, and weave together far beyond. Sebastian had learnt as much very quickly, was seduced by a cornucopia of promises. Soon enough, the White King and Queen of Hellfire had opened their arms and embraced the man as part of the Council of the Chosen. Black Bishop, manipulator of the court, the eyes, ears, and puller of strings. Furthering the agendas of each exceptional member of this clandestine Club, quietly swaying everything from minor tussles to assassinations, so long as they were relative to his colleagues’ accumulation of command. Memory and recognition flooded back to Shaw even as he stood facing the gardens of the mansion, displaced, observing bright sunshine and well-kept greenery from the other side of a pane of glass. Hands folded neatly behind his back, narrowed gaze etching long-carved wrinkles deeper around the corners of his eyes, thin lips twitching into an even thinner smile; keen, sharp, the razor edge of a knife. Ambition, he could hear his two superiors murmur even now, a distant echo. Dangerous in the wrong hands, but he owns it in spades - and look where it got him. How charming that they should be so concerned for his welfare, then. Such aspirations often bred greed and corruption if left unchecked, and the irony was bittersweet when Shaw discovered that the White King had aligned his support with the proposed governmental Sentinel program. Hateful excuses for artificial intelligence, designed with the singular purpose of mutant control in mind. Not sitting well with Sebastian in the slightest, given his own superpowered status, confrontation was inevitable. In the fight that ensued, Shaw had gathered kinetic energy from the King’s efforts into his own frame; rebounded it against the mortal man, and snapped his neck in an almost clean break. Terrified, his Queen had fled.
So, for some time afterwards, Sebastian had remained alone. Surrounded by all that had become his; property, artefacts and ideals overgrown and covered in fine layers of dust, rooted a couple of centuries deep. Long months spent in solitary contemplation, pieces turned over and strategically shifted into place. The Hellfire Club, and all that it stood for, was his – Black King, no longer a servant of the court, but ruler of all he surveyed. What came next was, to the logical mind, entirely obvious. One man on his own could achieve great deeds; Shaw himself was living, breathing proof of that. But a single soul could only reach so far in the end - that was why Sebastian had made the call, manipulated vital factions and at last managed to arrange this particular meeting. His intention; to restore this council to its former glory with himself at the helm, gathering to his side mutants who shared the same philosophy - exerting domination and eventuating world conquest through their combined political and economic influences. Yes, mutants. True enough, this mansion had once hosted any number of homo sapiens within its halls and he respected their race , but Sebastian intended to differ – homo superior dictated it all, were the most outstanding forms of life on the planet, like himself… and therefore, in his mind, the only ones worthy of his company, and membership to this most exclusive of organisations. Only ruffians, only the coarse and uncivilised thought to reach their goals through brute strength, lower themselves to the dusty ground and squabble to get what they wanted. Those who knew better preferred different methods of persuasion. Emma Frost most certainly did know better and in that respect, Shaw mused, the two were already kindred spirits.
Drawing a deep breath into his lungs, Sebastian finally managed to pull himself out of that particular reverie. Turning away from his vantage point at the living room’s window, hands unclasped from behind his back and drifted upwards to adjust his tie, smooth out the impeccable black suit that the man continually insisted on wearing whether company was expected or not, and reached for a crystal decanter on the sideboard. Amber liquid poured into two glasses, awaiting a knock at the front door that would, all plans running smoothly, herald a new era, the next step on the pathway to triumph.
member title:: the next [complication] »
name/nickname:: Gina
age:: 19
experience:: Approaching 6 years’ worth
other characters here:: N/A
__++you can call me…
&&__basic information
full name:: Colmar Etienne Aimery
nickname(s):: None yet
birthdate:: February 4th, 1935
age:: 80 years
ethnicity:: French
orientation:: Heterosexual
species:: Werewolf
belongs to:: Vorace Pack
title:: Pack Spy
&&__physical description
height:: 6’ 3”
weight:: 200 lbs
eye color:: Hazel – light brown around the pupil, green circling the iris
hair color:: Black
body type:: Broad, muscular
distinguishing marks:: Various minor scars – both fresher, angry red marks and those that have turned white with age – across the back, torso and arms that serve as reminders of previous scuffles.
dress style:: Colmar’s dress sense, dictated in no small part by his position and responsibilities within the pack, is always selected with a certain hint of panache. The man enjoys wearing fine clothing, that much can’t be denied. In fact, he can often be seen in dark suits and crisp, white shirts when the occasion allows. While travelling, however, he prefers a far more practical approach; t-shirts, jeans and strong boots, leather jacket for warmth, all in black or darker shades of various colours and perfectly fitted to his powerfully built form. Good grooming is also important to the spy – so far as his experience goes, a trustworthy look tends to put potential marks at ease. Therefore, his short hair is always cropped to an approachable, artfully tousled mess, and his strong jawline is covered with only a fine smattering of stubble. Only after a particularly lengthy spell of reconnaissance will this be allowed to grow, and provide the emissary with something of a more rugged appearance.
portrayal:: Hugh Jackman
picture::
&&__personality test
likes::
- + travelling
+ open spaces
+ freedom
+ respect for his personal space
+ loyalty
+ his pack
+ the sound of his own voice
+ verbal sparring partners
+ culture and politics
+ reading
+ good music, has an especial soft spot for 80’s rock
+ fine wine
+ steak – always rare
+ high society – he finds the characters he meets there extremely amusing
+ being well dressed
+ training and discipline
+ women in leather
- + liars
+ insincerity
+ ignorance
+ excessive amounts of noise
+ being told how to do his job
+ vampires, purely on principle
+ the Courroucé pack
+ unnecessary, brutal violence
+ apathy
+ smoking
+ vegetables
+ blood junkies
+ severe heat
+ impudence
+ tedium
+ persecution of humans
- + Antisocial – An inbuilt aspect of his own psyche, worn in by years of covert dealings on the edges of the pack, or perhaps brought upon himself after the death of his father… not a lot is known by others about exactly why Colmar prefers keeping a low profile, and he isn’t likely to be pouring his heart out any time soon. His peers give him space, he only appears in their midst when he’s needed, and otherwise remains standoffish. It’s a simple arrangement, and one that suits him just fine.
+ Showing off – Strangely enough, when Colmar does find himself in company, he often sheds his aloof demeanour within minutes. It’s a glimpse of the man he used to be, in part, but could also be assessed as a sign of lingering insecurity, a barricade thrown up to stop others asking questions about more personal issues. As such, Colmar’s slightly bigheaded behaviour in these situations can grate on the nerves unless he at least tries to keep it in check.
+ Arrogant – Old habits die hard, it seems, and this is certainly one of them. Ever since childhood, and in the wake of his rather privileged upbringing, Colmar has been prone to spurts of self-importance and petulance – most often directed towards those for whom he holds serious dislike. It’s an ugly trait and the lycanthrope is by no means proud of it, but he’s far too old and set in his ways to change.
+ Old Wounds – While his father had never been that kind of man, Colmar can’t help but feel a deeply seated inner bitterness towards those who brought about his death. Having a chip on one’s shoulder helps nothing in the end, and he’s fully cognizant of that fact. Hurt this lycan, and he’ll add it to the list of emotional wounds that he’s built up over many years. Bring any harm to family, friends, pack… any and everyone he loves, in fact, and one had better start watching their back.
+ Excess – Means aren’t always enough to achieve the ends. For most people, that much is an everyday truth. However, with Colmar still being in possession of the remainder of his father’s wealth, it’s fair to say that he could live quite a comfortable life away from the pack, if he so wished. Always a sucker for the finest in life; food, drink and women included, it’s fair to say that a hole might already have burnt in Colmar’s pocket if he hadn’t learnt to apply such discipline of character that came with his tuition in martial arts.
general description:: To describe Colmar as enigmatic would merely be touching the tip of an extremely large proverbial iceberg. While very much dedicated to Jude and the welfare of the Vorace pack as a whole, it would be fair to say that given the choice, he prefers to be solitary and to stray around the sidelines of the manor until he is needed or called upon. Space and freedom have always been important to this werewolf, and he counts himself lucky that he’s permitted that kind of luxury. Having said this, Colmar’s tendencies towards seclusion cannot be completely explained away as an inborn personality trait. Being the pack spy often throws him into dangerous, often suicidal missions – and there, logic begins to overthrow emotion. What sense would it make to form real, deep-seated bonds with another individual when he could be picked off by any one of the vampires, not to mention the rival pack, at any time? The same happened to his father, after all… and if that kind of loss isn’t something Colmar has ever fully come to terms with, how could he ever expect another to behave differently?
Perhaps working in converse to his singular behaviour, Colmar has extremely high standards concerning the loyalty of those with whom he does embark in friendship, or indeed, love. With time – and no small amount of patience – one who proves their trustworthiness can expect a lifetime of fierce steadfastness from the spy that only the most severe betrayal will break. Of course, Colmar expects that they exercise the same trust in him, whether or not they are explicitly aware of his dealings or whereabouts outside pack boundaries. To many, this might seem like an unreasonable deal, which is exactly what the emissary is afraid of.
Somewhat surprisingly, considering his slightly isolationist nature, Colmar actually possesses a fair amount of charismatic charm and stinging wit, developed since his childhood and occasionally stretched to the point of acidic sarcasm and arrogance. It’s an acquired taste that the rest of the pack has become used to over time, and is quite effectively put into play in the event of a complication or confrontations with any of their rival groups. That said, it’s also an effective way of fending people off, stopping them from reaching to deep into his emotional ground – a perfect defense mechanism. Play the charm offensive, throw people a smile, and they’ll forget about asking any probing questions.
Those who do know Colmar well enough to break through that distant demeanour will be aware of the more extreme points of his personality; quiet and detached he may be, but also enormously passionate and devoted – a factor that may just explain his sporadic bouts of fierce bad temper. When he loves, he gives everything – to the point of exhaustion. A skilled combatant he may be, and he certainly fights with that same ardour, but violence for the sheer sake of spilling blood is an idea he finds repulsive. Much as he dislikes both those of the Courroucé and the vampire clans, the lycanthrope would settle for amicable resolution to any disagreement. Shame, then, that he’s come across more than his fair share of individuals who take sheer orgasmic thrill in spilling claret and ripping away lives.
Colmar could also be described as tenacious and hardheaded to the point of infuriation. An encouraging aspect when mentioned in relation to his job – once his mind is focused on a certain goal, trained to find a specific target, he will not rest until he’s done everything necessary to ensure it’s achieved. On the other hand, many have, and continue to, argue that this foolhardy determination and willingness to throw himself into suicidal situations on a regular basis is cold, hard proof that Colmar might just have a few screws loose upstairs. Personally, however, it’s a different story. He has yet to meet anyone who makes him want to change his outsider ways, and doubts that such an exceptional individual actually exists.
&&__battle royale
artillary:: Being highly skilled with the use of various blades and firearms - thanks to his years of training with the pack - not to mention on constant alert for danger or suspicious activity around the mansion’s borders, Colmar is almost continually equipped with a small arsenal, deftly hidden beneath his clothing. A pair of Walther P22 Pistols remain strapped in double shoulder holsters, while a smaller Bersa Thunder 380 Pistol is attached to the inside of his boot.
swordsmanship:: Often useful for closer-ranged combat, Colmar has perfected his use of various knives – although his practice with longer blades such as swords is minimal. He carries twin Muala defense knives to be used either separately or together, on a belt around his waist, while a Rapala fillet knife, a gift from his father, is kept within whichever boot his pistol is not.
martial arts:: Taking it upon himself to learn more disciplined forms of tactile combat; both from his father’s wealth of knowledge and under his own steam after being accepted into the pack, Colmar is proficient in both Tae Kwon Do and Jujitsu.
combat:: Hand-to-hand combat is, undoubtedly, what Colmar does best. Indispensable in a street scrap, he is unafraid to throw himself into the fray, fight a dirty fight and cause damage through the sheer strength and intimidating size of his frame.
&&__family history
father’s name:: Theodore Aimery (deceased)
mother’s name:: Vivienne Aimery, nee Beaufort (deceased)
sibling’s name:: N/A
general history::
- + His parents – both werewolves – met by chance in Lille, where they both worked; Theodore as a high profile banker, Vivienne an aspiring fashion designer. Having fallen in love and married after only a few months’ courtship, the couple agreed to move away from the near feverish atmosphere that lingered around the city and settle in the country instead, the better to raise a family together.
+ The Aimerys lived in blissful peace and quiet in the village of Fougères for close to a year before Vivienne discovered that she was carrying their first child. Needless to say, both parents were overjoyed. However, her pregnancy was fraught with complications. Vivienne experienced extreme bouts of sickness even in the later trimesters, and the eventual labour was long, painful and difficult. It was at that point, February 4th, 1935, that Colmar was born. Theodore could not have been happier that she had given him a son, but there, the joy ended. Having bled profusely throughout labour and torn her uterus, Vivienne was kept in hospital, only to die quietly a few days later from the complications.
+ Sadly, Colmar remembers nothing of his mother, save for the many stories that his father continued to tell him of her kind spirit and good nature throughout the years. Wracked by grief at his wife’s untimely death, or the memories of her that their family home provided, Theodore quit his job – still in possession of a fair amount of money, thanks to his high standing at the bank – and moved both himself and his son to post-war Paris to start a new life. Still nothing more than a baby at this point, Colmar grew to call Paris his home – the sophisticated lifestyle and cultured citizens all he knew, and indeed embraced, from a very young age. Perhaps going some way to explaining his especially refined tastes later on in life.
+ Theodore continued to make sure that his son wanted for nothing even as he grew into his teenage years; only the finest educational institutions would do, and Colmar himself proved to be quite the adept student – not only alarmingly intelligent, but in possession of quite a captivating, easy-going temperament that soon cemented his status as the object of many a woman’s affections. Continuing to insist that he be dressed only in the finest clothes that could be afforded, the agglomeration of all this began to have a slight negative effect on the young lycan – spells of haughty arrogance were not uncommon as he began to approach his twenties.
+ Around this same time, Theodore first became aware of the existence of the feuding werewolf packs. Cornered by the Courroucé late one night, and forced to transform into his own lupine disguise so as to avoid attack, he soon learnt of their vicious, bloodthirsty ways as he watched the group of them on the hunt. When approached by the pack leader to join them, he of course declined, disgusted by their fearsome approach. Curious of the opposing clan’s views, however, he actively sought out the leader of the Vorace and, drawn by their beliefs and ideals, agreed to join as their spy.
+ Gradually, Theodore began to spend longer and longer periods away from home, leaving the bewildered 18 year old Colmar alone to take care of himself. Sometimes weeks, occasionally months, but he would always return looking far more haggard and worse for wear than when he had left. Queries from his son pertaining to where he had been, and how he had come to acquire certain scars, were constantly brushed aside as unimportant. And for that, Colmar began to feel increasingly bitter.
+ In fact, it was at the age of 19 that Colmar finally became aware of his werewolf status, going through a quite traumatic, involuntary transformation by the light of a full moon one clear, Parisian night. Terrified, he fled through the streets, not stopping until he had returned within the safe walls of his own home. Seeking out his father, Colmar explained all – the wolf form, the heightened senses that he had always seemed to possess from a young age anyway, that other children had found to be bizarre, almost frightening… Theodore could not have been happier, or more full of pride that his own son had discovered his lycan status. Without hesitation, he was brought to the Vorace pack, who approved and took the young man under their wing as one of the lower-standing members, to be trained and counselled in the ways of the spy, by his father.
+Colmar continued to train and live with the Vorace, not looking back, for the next thirty years. By degrees, he became physically strong, not to mention highly skilled with all manner of weaponry and the use of his own body in a fight. Loved by his team mates, he continued to be a bright spark, an energetic character always full of talk and a certain measure of sarcastic wit and that same, old arrogance that did not always sit well with the pack’s leader – quite the dictator himself.
+ Conflicts with both vampire clans over the years were many and varied, the cause of the many scars that cover Colmar’s body to this day. Observing their way of life, and knowing what those creatures of the undead needed to do in order to survive, he soon learnt to abhor the vampires’ thirst for human blood.
+ Sadly, it was not the kinder death that often comes with old age that took Colmar’s father away from him. During one particularly furious and disorienting battle with the Courroucé, occurring just after Colmar himself had passed his 64th year… a battle drenched in blood and churned into a flurry of movements, and Theodore had his throat ripped wide open by a member of the rival lycan pack, right before Colmar’s disbelieving eyes.
+ Consumed by guilt and fury in his belief that he could have saved his father if only his attention had been more focused, Colmar went through a period of self-exile immediately following the battle. Remaining loyal to the Vorace of course, though not their leader, with whom he had never seen eye to eye. Gladly, he inherited the post of pack spy from his father, and like the shrivelling of flower buds at the onset of winter frost, that sparkling personality began to withdraw. Quiet bitterness swelled deep in his heart and that faint twist of remorse just would not abate. Colmar reverted to a much more isolated way of living, keeping to the edges of the pack unless needed or called upon. Odd flashes of that enchanting spirit still manage to show themselves, though, in natural spurts when he does find himself in the company of those he trusts, or conjured up to appease a mark and retrieve that ever-so-important intelligence.
+ He was present for the battle between Jude and the Vorace pack’s former leader – a battle to the death, which Jude himself one, thus staking his claim as alpha male of the pack. Far more comfortable with Jude’s ideals, Colmar was happy to accept the change in leadership and swore his own, undying loyalty. To this day, he remains faithful – almost ferociously so – to Jude and all those who make up his pack. He’s determined to follow in his father’s footsteps, do him proud and, in the war that seems to be looming with leaden inevitability, not lose track of fighting for what he believes to be right.
&&__proving your worth
role-playing sample:: The road to success is a gruelling, relentless, uphill climb. Winding pathways and hidden potholes, Question after question; split second decision, fate, both the product of outside influence and being held under another’s thumb in turn. Whoever said reaching the top of the mountain was easy, was a goddamn son-of-a-bitch liar. Ask anyone, any self-respecting, hard-working, honest Joe. Lesser individuals… lesser men often quailed at the first signpost of pressure, it was true. Fell by the wayside while those with steel wrought over their nerves, gumption clamped tight around their hearts and determination, bravado and ruthlessness pumping through their veins clambered over, strove onward. Became those worth listening to, worth noticing. Important, prominent. Powerful. The would-be engineer, ambitious runt of a boy from Pittsburgh knew that well enough, indeed. Devotion to one’s art was the essence of success, and Sebastian had thrown himself into his studies with the reminder of all that his father had taught him. A self made billionaire – around forty years in the making in fact, and Shaw’s fierce pride and arrogance ran deep because of it. Pulled at the man’s spine, straightened his considerable stature, tilted his chin and imbued a spark to the dank, dark pools of his eyes that the wise would classify as dangerous. For Sebastian, while his industrious attitude had never once been questioned, had never been a wholly honest man. If only… if only his father could see him now, seated in the throne that he had always coveted – and the means by which his own son had achieved such an astounding victory.
Fortune was the way forward; the very reason why the Hellfire Club had come to him in the first place. Wealth was power, and from power spilled forth threads of opportunity that could stretch to the far corners of one’s wildest dreams, and weave together far beyond. Sebastian had learnt as much very quickly, was seduced by a cornucopia of promises. Soon enough, the White King and Queen of Hellfire had opened their arms and embraced the man as part of the Council of the Chosen. Black Bishop, manipulator of the court, the eyes, ears, and puller of strings. Furthering the agendas of each exceptional member of this clandestine Club, quietly swaying everything from minor tussles to assassinations, so long as they were relative to his colleagues’ accumulation of command. Memory and recognition flooded back to Shaw even as he stood facing the gardens of the mansion, displaced, observing bright sunshine and well-kept greenery from the other side of a pane of glass. Hands folded neatly behind his back, narrowed gaze etching long-carved wrinkles deeper around the corners of his eyes, thin lips twitching into an even thinner smile; keen, sharp, the razor edge of a knife. Ambition, he could hear his two superiors murmur even now, a distant echo. Dangerous in the wrong hands, but he owns it in spades - and look where it got him. How charming that they should be so concerned for his welfare, then. Such aspirations often bred greed and corruption if left unchecked, and the irony was bittersweet when Shaw discovered that the White King had aligned his support with the proposed governmental Sentinel program. Hateful excuses for artificial intelligence, designed with the singular purpose of mutant control in mind. Not sitting well with Sebastian in the slightest, given his own superpowered status, confrontation was inevitable. In the fight that ensued, Shaw had gathered kinetic energy from the King’s efforts into his own frame; rebounded it against the mortal man, and snapped his neck in an almost clean break. Terrified, his Queen had fled.
So, for some time afterwards, Sebastian had remained alone. Surrounded by all that had become his; property, artefacts and ideals overgrown and covered in fine layers of dust, rooted a couple of centuries deep. Long months spent in solitary contemplation, pieces turned over and strategically shifted into place. The Hellfire Club, and all that it stood for, was his – Black King, no longer a servant of the court, but ruler of all he surveyed. What came next was, to the logical mind, entirely obvious. One man on his own could achieve great deeds; Shaw himself was living, breathing proof of that. But a single soul could only reach so far in the end - that was why Sebastian had made the call, manipulated vital factions and at last managed to arrange this particular meeting. His intention; to restore this council to its former glory with himself at the helm, gathering to his side mutants who shared the same philosophy - exerting domination and eventuating world conquest through their combined political and economic influences. Yes, mutants. True enough, this mansion had once hosted any number of homo sapiens within its halls and he respected their race , but Sebastian intended to differ – homo superior dictated it all, were the most outstanding forms of life on the planet, like himself… and therefore, in his mind, the only ones worthy of his company, and membership to this most exclusive of organisations. Only ruffians, only the coarse and uncivilised thought to reach their goals through brute strength, lower themselves to the dusty ground and squabble to get what they wanted. Those who knew better preferred different methods of persuasion. Emma Frost most certainly did know better and in that respect, Shaw mused, the two were already kindred spirits.
Drawing a deep breath into his lungs, Sebastian finally managed to pull himself out of that particular reverie. Turning away from his vantage point at the living room’s window, hands unclasped from behind his back and drifted upwards to adjust his tie, smooth out the impeccable black suit that the man continually insisted on wearing whether company was expected or not, and reached for a crystal decanter on the sideboard. Amber liquid poured into two glasses, awaiting a knock at the front door that would, all plans running smoothly, herald a new era, the next step on the pathway to triumph.
member title:: the next [complication] »
Danica Jade Caprice - August 8, 2007 10:03 PM (GMT)
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