Post by Deleted on Jan 21, 2016 19:45:10 GMT -8
Basic Information
Name: Arathorn Teros
Nickname(s): Eagle Eye
Age: 16
Height: 6’1”
Weight: 165
Blood Type: B+
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Demisexual
Eye Color: A dull blue
Hair: A darker brown, but has been and will be for a long time dyed pure white
Pass Time Information
Hobbies:
Shooting: Anytime he has free time, or makes himself free time, he’s out in the range practicing aim. Give him any gun, he can shoot it, and hit a target because of years of practice and dedication.
Combat: If he’s not shooting, he’s punching the air, practicing techniques and martial art styles. And if he’s not doing it physically, he’s running through them and coming up with new ones in his head.
Exercise: To be good in combat, you can’t be lanky. Constantly in his head are the words “No, you have to go faster,” or “No, you have to be stronger.” In his backyard he has a complete workout course that he trains on in the morning and at night, going until his muscles give out.
Talents: Again, after dedication (10 hours a day, 7 days a week on the range, or what he makes a range), he’s known among his old school for being a great shot. Additionally, he had a little reputation for being able to take down any challenger of his old school down in arm wrestling. He is also quite the mentalist, spotting out minuscule details on a person and using that to know a lot about a person before even speaking with them. And with all the exercise, he has the ability to push himself for quite a ways past his normal limits.
Favorite things: Firearms, more specifically sniper rifles, and bald eagles (no, not because 'MER'CA, just the white/dark color mixture of their feathers)
Miscellaneous: Loves the color white, especially when it is mixed with black. He's never known why, he just knows he does.
Mental Information
Personality: Consistently, his face is veiled with a blank expression, if not a touch of depression. Isn’t the social sort, but if approached with a question or call, he has no fear in looking the other in the eye and speaking clearly, although usually in a monotone voice.
Arathorn also has a tendency to be somewhat of a mentalist, scrutinizing people for anything he can use to get an idea of who they are: the look in their eyes, apparel, something significant physically (such as bruises, scars, evidence of fingernail biting, etc.), and miscellaneous things here and there such as how they're addressed, what/how they write on paper, what's in their locker, or even the firmness in their handshake. And, although he prefers to stick to everything other than actual contact, it severely bugs him for someone to be mysterious, so he has been known to be too nosy unknowingly by asking about something he noticed.
He's also just a logical person. When it comes to the line between human and robotic, he's about an inch from crossing over to the robotic side, in a manner of speaking. Because of this, he's not a very likeable person at first, but if enough effort was put in to make him smile or even feel happy, it could reveal a side of him not many get to see.
Mentality: “It’s survival of the fittest. I can never be strong enough. I can never be fast enough. Grief can come later. But for right now, it’s making it through this Hellhole called life, and using the skulls of your enemies as stepping stones. If others want to help, sure. But if they for one second get in the way, they'll be just another stone to step on.”
Ideal: “Lay real still, keep real quiet, and watch really carefully.”
Belief: “Is there a god? Yeah I'd say so. It's actual more logical than many things put out there when you think about it. And honestly, I’ve gone through a lot of crap. I had to have pulled my strength from somewhere other than just, life.. So yeah.. yeah He’s out there somewhere, He just doesn't stand right in front of us. Frick, I wouldn't either if I were Him.”
Physical Information
Build: Not absolutely "buff" or "ripped", but most definitely above average, including a mild six-pack and considerable sized forearms/biceps
Defining Marks: His right shoulder is quite calloused from a series of rifle butts hitting him from kickbacks.
Description:
Fighting Information
Fighting Style: A little bit of everything, but mainly Tae Kwon Do and Street Fighting
Years Practiced: about 4
Description of Style: Largely defense based, having at least one counterattack for just about every punch/kick, if not several counterattacks. The attack side is largely kick-based.
Fighting Style: A little bit of everything, but mainly Tae Kwon Do and Street Fighting
Years Practiced: about 4
Description of Style: Largely defense based, having at least one counterattack for just about every punch/kick, if not several counterattacks. The attack side is largely kick-based.
History Information
History:
As they held him in their arms, Arathorn’s parents, Martha and Eugene, decided to give him the name because it meant Eagle, and his mother had always been fond of the idea of flight, relying on strong wings to keep you soaring. His father approved the bold and unique name without hesitation, so it stuck. And so they raised him, their little Eagle, and were always his strong wings.
They lived in a rural, country-like area of Montana. His mother worked in a little corner store as a clerk, selling all of his father’s items such as firewood, skins and pelts, and meat, in addition to other things the manager of the country store had in there, of course. It wasn’t much of an income, but it was certainly enough for only the three of them.
Many times, Eugene would bring little Arathorn along to hunt. He would teach him how to “lay real steal, keep real quiet, and watch real carefully,” in his father’s words. Vividly, Arathorn could remember lying on the damp, dew covered soil in the spring, or the hot dry grass in the summer, or the cushiony piles of leaves in the fall, or the powdery, cold snow in the winter. It started back when he was around five years old. That first year was all about keeping quiet and still. Then, as he got older, it became more and more about watching, and, as soon as he was old and mature enough to hold the gun, aiming. He could still remember the first time he shot a gun… it was in the winter, the snow spinning around as it softly floated down in small arcs. There was an absolutely beautiful coyote just lazily wandering around the forest and into the range of the father and son, the fur around its lips a wet crimson from a recent meal. Arathorn was about eight and a half, and, after watching his dad for the past 3, almost 4 years, the only command his dad had to give him was “Take the gun.” From there, he knew exactly what to do. Gently he whispered almost inaudibly to himself “Lay real still… Keep real quiet… and Watch… real… carefully…“ and with the second he finished saying “carefully”, he pulled the trigger of his dad’s Remington Sendero SF II. It was a 100% clean shot; the bullet went straight through the canine’s head.
For the next few hunting trips he was doing a quarter of the kills, then half, then three quarters, and within two years, at the age of ten, he was doing just about all the hunting, with the exception of his dad shooting down some just to feel like he even mattered anymore, it seemed. In fact, by age eleven, Arathorn had become more of a marksman than his father. But nonetheless, his old man was extremely proud, along with his mother.
The next year, his mother had become pregnant with their soon-to-be second child. The whole family was ecstatic. They even moved into Martha’s parent’s house in Helena to be able to have both them and Eugene to take care of her instead of just him by himself, and to be able to be by a major hospital. They came to find out that it was going to be a girl, before too long. Every day, twelve year old Arathorn could see the excitement in “pop’s” eyes, and his mother would smile and occasionally even tear when the baby kicked.
Soon, they were in the hospital, and Martha’s brother had come up from the southern part of Montana to see the baby once it was born and to keep watch over Arathorn as his parents and his mother’s parents were in the labor room. Pacing anxiously, Arathorn waited for his dad to come out holding the newborn in a pink blanket, or something like that. He was too anxious to remember how it worked or what to imagine. He just knew he wanted to see his baby sister.
Sadly, what he got was nothing even close to positive. After hours of waiting, his father came out the door leading to the labor room and shuffled into the waiting room with the palest face he had ever had, the look of shock and disbelief covering his face. Suddenly he just collapsed to his knees and stared at the floor, tears streaming down his face.
Arathorn’s heart was racing a million beats a second, or so it felt, and a mix of worry and fear flooded into his soul as if there was a leak in Hell itself. After what felt like hours, but in reality a few minutes, of begging his dad to say what happened, the reply was some choked out words all together meaning “Your mother and sister both died because of something that went horribly wrong.”
Afterwards, with his father completely submerged in depression, Arathorn had to force himself not to do the same and support him and his dad by continuing to hunt and chop wood to sell at the country store. The country store manager even became something like a second father to him.
Because of the combination of sorrow for being the cause of Arathorn having to be the support of the two and the fear of doing something to himself that would only worsen his son’s pent up depression, Eugene sent Arathorn away to go live with the same Uncle that lived down in south Montana that was in the waiting room that day, in turn doing exactly what his father feared in the first place, worsening his depression.
At first it wasn’t that bad, but after approximately a week, the now-thirteen-year-old broke down one day and cried for three hours straight. Losing your mother, your long hoped for little sister, your home, and your father, who doubled as your hero, in a matter of a few months was unbearable, to say the least.
The next day, with no more tears left to cry, all Arathorn knew to do was, well, go out and “Lay real still, keep real quiet, and watch real carefully.” So he went out to hunt. It was in the middle of the winter, and, using a new tactic, he covered himself in snow. And, at one point, catching the slightest glimpse of his reflecting in the glass scope, he saw himself with the hair turned white from snow, temporarily. In fact, he liked it. Thus he dyed it pure white soon afterwards, and stuck with it.
With every passing day, he learned that his father’s phrase was not only true in hunting but in life. And gradually, began to apply it. At school and any social gathering, he was real still, not making any sudden or rash movements or decisions, kept really quiet, not saying a word to anyone, unless they were to approach him, that is, and watched really well, keeping track of people’s habits, names, quirks, personalities, strengths and weaknesses, and so on and so forth.
Once in high school, he had gotten to the point where he abandoned homework just to hunt, often not even showing up at all, because hunting and just aiming at a target and shooting in general helped to suppress the daily struggle of missed memories. This got to the point where the kids at school (when he did show up, that is) called him Eagle Eye, of course because of the meaning of his name, but also because of the fact that he had incredible aim.
Soon, after the undeniable piles of unfinished homework and skipped classes, both the principal and his Uncle tried to punish him by taking away all his weapons, having no idea of their aid to his struggle, or his struggle period. But it didn’t faze him at all. The following day Arathorn went out, climbed a tall pine tree, and waited, until a buck roamed underneath the branch he was sitting on, and, just like that, he had fallen on top of it and slit it’s throat with a wooden knife he had made secretly. It has even gotten to the point where he didn't try for his learner's permit and now that he's sixteen he still hasn't bothered with getting a license.
But with a bunch of correctional high school drama bull crap he had heard about, in addition to his recent actions, his Uncle sent him to 259, some correctional high school or something like that. His Uncle told Arathorn to promise him not to skip these classes, and in return he could have his HK SR9T back, AKA his favorite sniper rifle.
Thankfully, after agreeing, there was some time to practice before school started. And, now, something strange was beginning to occur. One day he was extremely focused on bettering his aim, when suddenly, with some kind of... power... within him, his vision became, inexplicably enhanced. For instance, he was aiming at something 200 yards away, without using his scope, he was peering at it and enhancing the image in his mind. It was even better with the scope; he could see the individual flaps of a butterfly that fluttered past his target, a butterfly no bigger than a quarter.
For several days he experimented with this, learning that not only could he zoom in or enhance an image, he could change it completely; he was beginning to see just as well at night compare to day, he could see slight signs of heat signatures, among others. Admittedly, he couldn't do two of these at once, but it was still incredible.
But now he was faced with an all new target: making it through another new school. Nonetheless, as with anything, he was simply going to lay real still, keep real quiet, and watch real carefully...
Atk: 7+6+1=14
Def: 12+2=14
Spd: 10+5+1=16
Per: 20+1=21
Eng: 10+1+5=16
Fights: W/1 L/1 D/1
Qi Information
Qi name: Eagle's Spirit
Main Type: Enhancement
Sub-type: Generation
Ability #1 (Eagle's Eye): Enhances Arathorn's vision by range, honing in on an object, or changing the type of vision completely, such as thermal or night vision (+4 PER) Can be used twice per thread. (Upgraded once from What's This?)
Ability #2 (Eagle's Flight): Arathorn can generate pure white wings that can be used to encase himself in for defense, or use them to attack, or, if he's on the top of a building, they can be used for brief periods of gliding. Can be used once per thread.
Equipment
Head:
Chest: An ordinary black leather jacket / 259 Militia Badge (+2 to Def, +1 to every other stat) [What's This?]
Hands: Police Tactical Gloves (+6 Atk) [Troubles of #260]
Legs: Dark colored cargo pants
Feet: Black Racing Boots (+5 Spd) [Troubles of #260]
Misc.: Eagle Talon Necklace (+5 ENG) [What's This?]
Misc.:
Special:
Soft Egg: +1 Def. Does not take up an equipment slot. Is not upgradeable. Can be opened at 110 total stat points
(All above items that add to stats can be seen being purchased here.
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