Post by Aquaman on Dec 12, 2013 2:31:50 GMT -5
Basic Information
Player Nickname: (We'll identify the player by this, sometimes.)
Do you want other role players to give you feed back? Yes
Character Origin: Comics.
Face Claim's Name: (Liev Schreiber)
Name: Thomas Blake
Alias: Catman
Race: Human
Age: 40
Birthday: Not recorded.
Alignment: Neutral
Height: 6'2"
Weight: 210 Ibs
Hair: Brown-Blonde
Eyes: Blue
Physique: Catman possesses a muscular body worthy of being called an Olympian athlete, made strong and agile by years of hunting and training. Although he grew obese in his retirement years, he managed to shed his weight quickly through heavy, rigorous exercise and survival on the Sahara of Africa when he returned to life as Catman. Catman has a distinctive set of three vertical scars across his chest which he emblazons over his costume as well, a souvenir from a hunting trip when he was a small child.
Training: Catman is trained extensively in the use of various forms of martial arts and is generally regarded as one of the most skilled martial artists in the world, having been able to prove an equal match to Bronze Tiger and Batman. His fighting style revolves around more savage styles, utilizing Dragon and Tiger styles hand-in-hand. He is also expertly trained with all manners of bladed weapons, preferring knives or claws and using them with surgical precision. He is a master tracker and huntsman, able to track down his foes by scent alone, and can prove as skilled at intimidation and stealth as Batman whenever his ego allows it.
Equipment: Catman utilizes razor-sharp miniature boomerang shaped like the scars on his chest as throwing weapons, and owns a variety of knives on his person at any one time. His gauntlets come equipped with Titanium claw-tips designed similar to Catwomen's gloves, albeit designed to appear more savage and predatory, capable of shearing through most armor and hides. Later on, these gloves are replaced with actual claws that he acquires through surgery, capable of extending and sheathing at will.
Catman wears a cape which he believes to have magical qualities, as he states that it brings him back from the dead when he suffers fatal wounds. It is not proven that this is actually true, or whether or not Catman simply is more durable then he lets on, has armor underneath his suit, or genuinely has nine lives. In his modern outfit, he now wears the cape in the form of a shroud around his shoulders.
His modern suit is that of a trench coat with the Scar symbol emblazoned along his shirt, along with several bandoliers of knives and explosives on his legs and chest, with the added edition of a utility belt.
Powers / Abilities
(List as many as you need)
Enhanced Senses - Thomas Blake is one of DC's most skilled trackers, able to hunt someone down through scent alone. It is shown that all of his senses are superior to that of an average person, making him a dangerous foe as he was even able to smell out Batman from his hiding spots.
Physical Peak - Catman is at the peak of human capability for a male of his size and weight from training in heavy, rigorous exercises and having experience fighting some of DC's greatest martial artists. He can bench-press approximately 1'000 pounds with effort, put dents in steel with a well-thrown punch or kick, and can run on all fours at a stunning sprint of thirty miles per hour. He also displays a remarkable endurance and tolerance for pain, able to keep on fighting past bullet and stab wounds.
Martial Master - Catman is described as one of the most skilled martial artists in the world, having trained extensively in multiple schools of fighting and swordsmanship. He is shown to be on near-equal terms with Bronze Tiger, almost defeating him in battle before succumbing to wounds he had suffered in the fight.
Intimidation - Catman uses his predatory personality and ability to mimic the sounds and abilities of cats to a great extent when intimidating his foes, giving realistic hisses, snarls, and roars that are enough to strike fear into the hearts of common thugs.
Animal Empathy - Whether supernatural or simply being a good trainer, Catman is shown to have a deep connection with many animals, and can walk amongst predators without fear and even persuade them to aid him in battle. He has a specialization with felines of all kinds, obviously.
Above-Average Intelligence - Catman has a genius intellect, although it comes with the side-effect of a large ego. He knows fourteen different languages, has a master's degree in various schools of biology and zoology, and can retain information well beyond the capabilities of most humans.
Weaknesses
(List as many as you need)
Ego - Catman can be overconfident at times, which can prove to be disastrous when he goes up against foes above his skill-level.
Honor - Not particularly a weakness, but Catman has a code of honor that prevents him from killing people he believes not to be "skilled" enough to be worthy of a hunt.
Mental Sickness - Catman suffered abuse from his father, and developed a near-savage mindset after being forced to kill a lion at an early age in his childhood. Although he has regained much control over his mind, he will still sometimes lapse into savagery in battle.
Audition post
Johnny Cash has a calming effect on the mind. This has actually been scientifically proven. And in an isolated "lemonade" bar somewhere in the wilderness of Australia, the soothing voice of a dead man rolled over a tavern filled with other dead men, while the last one standing took a toss from a shot glass of whiskey before setting it down on the counter, his other hand idly scratching patterns into the table with elongated nails. He lifted his hand and drew it slowly across a short-shaved head of sandy hair before the tavern doors suddenly swung open, shining light onto a grisly scene of gore and blood....
But let's recap, shall we?
First there's the scent. Always the scent. One of them wears too much aftershave to disguise his small masculinity. Two of them smell of sex, both of each other, yet they stand at opposite sides of the room. Another one is actually a woman, or halfway at least. Old vet playing poker chews, probably has cancer. Bartender samples too much of his own merchandise. And they all got a distinct smell under smell that only a predator can see, and he literally does see it. He sees the trails in the air that sheep only wander through and mingle with, never knowing of the colorful world above and beyond the extent of human sense. It's a sixth sense in five senses, and it's what sets the lion above the cubs.
Then there's the fear.
Oh yes, fear has a scent and it's the most distinctive scent in the whole damn world. A mix of sweat and shit and piss and tears at it's strongest, but it comes in so many different flavors. Arrogance. Anger. Disinterest. It's all swirling in the room and it's all directed at the sandy-haired man clad in not but a wifebeater and jeans came in with the arrogance to walk into a bar strutting like he owned the place. Even the bartender furrowed his unibrow when the man slapped his hand on the counter and pointed at a bottle at the top shelf, not even bothering to introduce himself. "Y'got a name, big guy? Or we ain' good enough to hear it?" One of the patrons, some cowboy from the States, slurred at him from behind his back. Silence. More grumbles and snarls all around the bar, before the thug slowly lifted himself up from his seat and hefted up a baseball bat, walking up slowly to the man before the stench of tobacco on his breath heralded more filth from his mouth. "Maybe -this'll- knock ya off yer high hoRGHSHK!" It was too sudden for anyone to know what exactly happened, but in that space of a second, the thug suddenly found himself out of breath and feeling not a single thing as the man had his arm elbow-deep inside his chest, his hand cradling his heart out of the fresh new cavity coming out of his back. He leaned in, flashed a grin with sharpened teeth, and spoke in what could only be described as a purr. "The name is Blake. I'm going to eat you." Before he slid his arm slowly out of the chest and tightened his grip, bursting the heart in his hand as gore splattered along his chest and face like a child's finger-painting.
And then there's the blood.
The bouncer is the first to get over the shock, rushing towards the stranger with arm rearing back before he threw the first punch, only to find his fist caught in the palm of the man as his nails suddenly grew longer, their points razor-sharp and digging into his flesh before he was suddenly flipped over the man, a sharp pain entering his sides as those claws dragged over his stomach in mid-air, slicing the flesh open and letting out a rain of viscera onto the ground as the stench of feces and gore fill the air. Another comes at him with a switchblade, only to find his hand forced open by a swift strike to his wrist before that blade finds it's way into his eyesocket, leaving him screaming before a kick to the backside sends him sprawling onto the ground, burying the knife hilt-deep into his skull and killing him instantly. Two more come, each intending to over power him before he somersaults into the air, landing behind them and gripping them by the necks as if they were mere kittens before smashing their skulls against each other, throwing them away as the veteran pulls out a combat knife. Oh. He doesn't smell of fear. No. He smells of predator, and that's respectful. Enough for Blake to allow a scratch along his shirt with the knife, tearing it open and revealing the three vertical scars across his chest that gives the veteran enough pause for him to grab his head with both hands before twisting sharply, snapping his neck in an instant before wrenching hard, a sickening POP breaking the air as his head is pulled clear off his shoulders as a fountain of gore spurts out into the air and showers upon the skin of the predator. And then there's only the bartender left. The unwashed, unibrowed tender who's pulled out a gun, but his hands are too shaky to use it. He strolls slowly over to him, claws dragging along the tables as he passes them, leaving long furrows into them as he just smiles a sharp-toothed grin before he reaches the counter, leans over, and speaks one word. "Boo." The bartender falls over instantly, fainting out of fear and hitting his head on the counter as it cracks, killing himself out of his own stupidity. And with that....he poured himself a drink.
"You're not an easy man to find when you don't want to be found, Thomas Blake." The stern voice of a woman of middle-age, far too experienced and far too toughened by the world to even show the least bit of shock or interest in the gory scene around her. "A good thing that when you do want to be found, you make it readily apparent." The predator simply turned and smiled, shaking his head. "What makes you think I'm going to work for Suicide Squad again, Waller? I paid my debts to society. You know the rules. After that, I'm free." He purred to the short woman, whom simply smiled back with an even more sly smirk as she pushed a file against his chest, not at all intimidated by his height. "Because I have something that will interest you. Our files on Batman. And more importantly....our expert's best suggestions on how to kill him, along with access to our arsenals. Think of it, Blake. You can actually be someone again. Not just the loser who tried to be Batman and failed. No. You can be the king of the pride. The only hunter in the world capable of bagging the biggest catch of them all. And all you have to do is give back to society." It was his turn to grin, as he perused through the file only briefly before placing it on the counter. "What makes you think I still want to kill Batman? I don't want to, nor need to. I just want to beat him. And for that....I think you got yourself a deal though. I'm bored enough to risk my nine lives all over again." He chuckled as he allowed himself to be placed in handcuffs, just for the spectacle of it all as he was led away from the bar and into a helicarrier.
The Hunt is beginning, and he can already smell the excitement.
Read more: justiceleaguerpc.proboards.com/thread/70/application-template-fill-out#ixzz2nEbZjWpu
Player Nickname: (We'll identify the player by this, sometimes.)
Do you want other role players to give you feed back? Yes
Character Origin: Comics.
Face Claim's Name: (Liev Schreiber)
Name: Thomas Blake
Alias: Catman
Race: Human
Age: 40
Birthday: Not recorded.
Alignment: Neutral
Height: 6'2"
Weight: 210 Ibs
Hair: Brown-Blonde
Eyes: Blue
Physique: Catman possesses a muscular body worthy of being called an Olympian athlete, made strong and agile by years of hunting and training. Although he grew obese in his retirement years, he managed to shed his weight quickly through heavy, rigorous exercise and survival on the Sahara of Africa when he returned to life as Catman. Catman has a distinctive set of three vertical scars across his chest which he emblazons over his costume as well, a souvenir from a hunting trip when he was a small child.
Training: Catman is trained extensively in the use of various forms of martial arts and is generally regarded as one of the most skilled martial artists in the world, having been able to prove an equal match to Bronze Tiger and Batman. His fighting style revolves around more savage styles, utilizing Dragon and Tiger styles hand-in-hand. He is also expertly trained with all manners of bladed weapons, preferring knives or claws and using them with surgical precision. He is a master tracker and huntsman, able to track down his foes by scent alone, and can prove as skilled at intimidation and stealth as Batman whenever his ego allows it.
Equipment: Catman utilizes razor-sharp miniature boomerang shaped like the scars on his chest as throwing weapons, and owns a variety of knives on his person at any one time. His gauntlets come equipped with Titanium claw-tips designed similar to Catwomen's gloves, albeit designed to appear more savage and predatory, capable of shearing through most armor and hides. Later on, these gloves are replaced with actual claws that he acquires through surgery, capable of extending and sheathing at will.
Catman wears a cape which he believes to have magical qualities, as he states that it brings him back from the dead when he suffers fatal wounds. It is not proven that this is actually true, or whether or not Catman simply is more durable then he lets on, has armor underneath his suit, or genuinely has nine lives. In his modern outfit, he now wears the cape in the form of a shroud around his shoulders.
His modern suit is that of a trench coat with the Scar symbol emblazoned along his shirt, along with several bandoliers of knives and explosives on his legs and chest, with the added edition of a utility belt.
Powers / Abilities
(List as many as you need)
Enhanced Senses - Thomas Blake is one of DC's most skilled trackers, able to hunt someone down through scent alone. It is shown that all of his senses are superior to that of an average person, making him a dangerous foe as he was even able to smell out Batman from his hiding spots.
Physical Peak - Catman is at the peak of human capability for a male of his size and weight from training in heavy, rigorous exercises and having experience fighting some of DC's greatest martial artists. He can bench-press approximately 1'000 pounds with effort, put dents in steel with a well-thrown punch or kick, and can run on all fours at a stunning sprint of thirty miles per hour. He also displays a remarkable endurance and tolerance for pain, able to keep on fighting past bullet and stab wounds.
Martial Master - Catman is described as one of the most skilled martial artists in the world, having trained extensively in multiple schools of fighting and swordsmanship. He is shown to be on near-equal terms with Bronze Tiger, almost defeating him in battle before succumbing to wounds he had suffered in the fight.
Intimidation - Catman uses his predatory personality and ability to mimic the sounds and abilities of cats to a great extent when intimidating his foes, giving realistic hisses, snarls, and roars that are enough to strike fear into the hearts of common thugs.
Animal Empathy - Whether supernatural or simply being a good trainer, Catman is shown to have a deep connection with many animals, and can walk amongst predators without fear and even persuade them to aid him in battle. He has a specialization with felines of all kinds, obviously.
Above-Average Intelligence - Catman has a genius intellect, although it comes with the side-effect of a large ego. He knows fourteen different languages, has a master's degree in various schools of biology and zoology, and can retain information well beyond the capabilities of most humans.
Weaknesses
(List as many as you need)
Ego - Catman can be overconfident at times, which can prove to be disastrous when he goes up against foes above his skill-level.
Honor - Not particularly a weakness, but Catman has a code of honor that prevents him from killing people he believes not to be "skilled" enough to be worthy of a hunt.
Mental Sickness - Catman suffered abuse from his father, and developed a near-savage mindset after being forced to kill a lion at an early age in his childhood. Although he has regained much control over his mind, he will still sometimes lapse into savagery in battle.
Audition post
Johnny Cash has a calming effect on the mind. This has actually been scientifically proven. And in an isolated "lemonade" bar somewhere in the wilderness of Australia, the soothing voice of a dead man rolled over a tavern filled with other dead men, while the last one standing took a toss from a shot glass of whiskey before setting it down on the counter, his other hand idly scratching patterns into the table with elongated nails. He lifted his hand and drew it slowly across a short-shaved head of sandy hair before the tavern doors suddenly swung open, shining light onto a grisly scene of gore and blood....
But let's recap, shall we?
First there's the scent. Always the scent. One of them wears too much aftershave to disguise his small masculinity. Two of them smell of sex, both of each other, yet they stand at opposite sides of the room. Another one is actually a woman, or halfway at least. Old vet playing poker chews, probably has cancer. Bartender samples too much of his own merchandise. And they all got a distinct smell under smell that only a predator can see, and he literally does see it. He sees the trails in the air that sheep only wander through and mingle with, never knowing of the colorful world above and beyond the extent of human sense. It's a sixth sense in five senses, and it's what sets the lion above the cubs.
Then there's the fear.
Oh yes, fear has a scent and it's the most distinctive scent in the whole damn world. A mix of sweat and shit and piss and tears at it's strongest, but it comes in so many different flavors. Arrogance. Anger. Disinterest. It's all swirling in the room and it's all directed at the sandy-haired man clad in not but a wifebeater and jeans came in with the arrogance to walk into a bar strutting like he owned the place. Even the bartender furrowed his unibrow when the man slapped his hand on the counter and pointed at a bottle at the top shelf, not even bothering to introduce himself. "Y'got a name, big guy? Or we ain' good enough to hear it?" One of the patrons, some cowboy from the States, slurred at him from behind his back. Silence. More grumbles and snarls all around the bar, before the thug slowly lifted himself up from his seat and hefted up a baseball bat, walking up slowly to the man before the stench of tobacco on his breath heralded more filth from his mouth. "Maybe -this'll- knock ya off yer high hoRGHSHK!" It was too sudden for anyone to know what exactly happened, but in that space of a second, the thug suddenly found himself out of breath and feeling not a single thing as the man had his arm elbow-deep inside his chest, his hand cradling his heart out of the fresh new cavity coming out of his back. He leaned in, flashed a grin with sharpened teeth, and spoke in what could only be described as a purr. "The name is Blake. I'm going to eat you." Before he slid his arm slowly out of the chest and tightened his grip, bursting the heart in his hand as gore splattered along his chest and face like a child's finger-painting.
And then there's the blood.
The bouncer is the first to get over the shock, rushing towards the stranger with arm rearing back before he threw the first punch, only to find his fist caught in the palm of the man as his nails suddenly grew longer, their points razor-sharp and digging into his flesh before he was suddenly flipped over the man, a sharp pain entering his sides as those claws dragged over his stomach in mid-air, slicing the flesh open and letting out a rain of viscera onto the ground as the stench of feces and gore fill the air. Another comes at him with a switchblade, only to find his hand forced open by a swift strike to his wrist before that blade finds it's way into his eyesocket, leaving him screaming before a kick to the backside sends him sprawling onto the ground, burying the knife hilt-deep into his skull and killing him instantly. Two more come, each intending to over power him before he somersaults into the air, landing behind them and gripping them by the necks as if they were mere kittens before smashing their skulls against each other, throwing them away as the veteran pulls out a combat knife. Oh. He doesn't smell of fear. No. He smells of predator, and that's respectful. Enough for Blake to allow a scratch along his shirt with the knife, tearing it open and revealing the three vertical scars across his chest that gives the veteran enough pause for him to grab his head with both hands before twisting sharply, snapping his neck in an instant before wrenching hard, a sickening POP breaking the air as his head is pulled clear off his shoulders as a fountain of gore spurts out into the air and showers upon the skin of the predator. And then there's only the bartender left. The unwashed, unibrowed tender who's pulled out a gun, but his hands are too shaky to use it. He strolls slowly over to him, claws dragging along the tables as he passes them, leaving long furrows into them as he just smiles a sharp-toothed grin before he reaches the counter, leans over, and speaks one word. "Boo." The bartender falls over instantly, fainting out of fear and hitting his head on the counter as it cracks, killing himself out of his own stupidity. And with that....he poured himself a drink.
"You're not an easy man to find when you don't want to be found, Thomas Blake." The stern voice of a woman of middle-age, far too experienced and far too toughened by the world to even show the least bit of shock or interest in the gory scene around her. "A good thing that when you do want to be found, you make it readily apparent." The predator simply turned and smiled, shaking his head. "What makes you think I'm going to work for Suicide Squad again, Waller? I paid my debts to society. You know the rules. After that, I'm free." He purred to the short woman, whom simply smiled back with an even more sly smirk as she pushed a file against his chest, not at all intimidated by his height. "Because I have something that will interest you. Our files on Batman. And more importantly....our expert's best suggestions on how to kill him, along with access to our arsenals. Think of it, Blake. You can actually be someone again. Not just the loser who tried to be Batman and failed. No. You can be the king of the pride. The only hunter in the world capable of bagging the biggest catch of them all. And all you have to do is give back to society." It was his turn to grin, as he perused through the file only briefly before placing it on the counter. "What makes you think I still want to kill Batman? I don't want to, nor need to. I just want to beat him. And for that....I think you got yourself a deal though. I'm bored enough to risk my nine lives all over again." He chuckled as he allowed himself to be placed in handcuffs, just for the spectacle of it all as he was led away from the bar and into a helicarrier.
The Hunt is beginning, and he can already smell the excitement.
Read more: justiceleaguerpc.proboards.com/thread/70/application-template-fill-out#ixzz2nEbZjWpu
