thats what fangs are for

[Ðari]

Ashes?

Name
Avery Stessel
Sex
Male
Age
20

Physical Description
Of Russian descent, with a rugged face, currently shaven. His brown eyes seem to fit the feeling of the icy home of mother Russia. Hair cut to that of a russian infantrymen in arms, graced with only his burlap overcoat of tan opacity and white fur. Lightly browned gloves, and pants of the same color, somewhat thick.

Psychological Profile
A stern and often brazen individual, as rigorous as he was filled with vigor. He was not that different from his brethren and friends in arms. Allies where like family and enemies where the putrid scum of his country's pride. His own demeanor and views were politically just and empathized hated relations with a few countries. Upon his 'programming' at a prison, this greatly snapped his perspective and corrupted his pride into a kind of individual and fascist outlook on mankind.

Unique Characteristics
By means of under the table tampering, its likely depicted Avery's mind was drastically boosted. By means of tuning one's initial output of the brain from an average nine percent, greatly surpassing even the abnormal thinking capacity of thirteen and extending the flexibility of his mind to thirty four percent. In further examination, Avery has displayed a kind of amplified form of knowledge by individual intuition or noesis, to where the interpretations of whats going on, simultaneously configuring a counter measure if said event develops hostility. Avery's last and most immediate recognizable trait is in the moving of inanimate objects, namely matter in question. Illegitimate construction of said matter isn't feasible by his mind nor ability. The weight of which he can lift levies between ten metric tons, naturally surpassing the weight posses and even greater strain and harm is done by means of recoiling back unto his mind.

brief
Originally a captive of the U.S. Government's 'No Russian' project. About the time skirmishes were broken out between the two, few battles erupted, and their dimes the brainwashed super-soldiers, one Avery Stessel were commissioned. Memory was but a memory, but in his rapid realization he recollected it all within mere days and plotted his escape. Returning to the homelands, he'd decided to rise is something of an inspirational political figure, become something of a prophet and move across the countryside sweeping the east hemisphere in a few short years. Labeled a vagrant, crazy, and hero by numerous.

 

[Ashes Remnant]

Sorry for being slow. Real life blows.

Also, +1 for a reimagined character. I had SO much fun writing this character out. This should be fun.

Name: Shaun Spencer, A.K.A the monster known as Fumetsu
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Personality: Sadism is no exaggeration in Fumetsu's part. He is overjoyed at the sight of violence. Riots and scenes of abuse stimulate his senses. He is very focused on his goals for being a raving psychotic however. His plans are always very well thought out. He never makes a move that has no meaning. His goals are nowhere near as narrow-minded or selfish as taking over the world or some other cliche. He seeks chaos in the world, for that is how he perceives it.

Appearance: He is tall and lanky. His arms drape down his sides, his body slightly out of proportion. He wears a black mask with blood stains seeped in, his eyes the only visible part of his face. His left eye is blue, while the right is a deep brown. His hair drapes over his face, the color being as black as night. He wears a t-shirt with a swirling pink symbol in the middle. Underneath is a long-sleeved striped one with a repeating pattern of the same pink on his shirt and a deeper pink. He wears tight jeans like the hipsters of the day. His belt has many small trinkets on it, a small samurai keychain, a bone, and a small ball that looked like it was made of some otherwordly energy. His shoes were chuck taylor designed black shoes. If one didn't know better, he'd look like a normal college student. But he was far from that.

Abilities: Fumetsu is a copycat. He can clone himself at thought, the clone either coming from his body, or him stepping away. He has a very strict limit of three clones at a time, and they can only take minimal damage before fading out of existence. He can swap places with a clone with but a touch. If he or his clone is killed by a certain kind of attack, he can perform it perfectly, but only once. After that, it would be a much weaker version. He seems to have the strength and stamina of three people, however his abilities are split between the amount of clones. His power is cut in half by two clones, and cut into a third with three leaving him as strong as a normal person.

Brief: Shaun was born a twin, his brother John being the "tougher" of the two. They weren't born into the best of households however. But that was okay. Shaun didn't know that. John took all the hits. Shaun didn't even realize it. He was young. When John said that he fell and broke his arm, Shaun believed him. When John claimed to have a black eye because he ran into a door, Shaun laughed. They both did.

One day, mommy didn't get out of bed. Shaun was crying, he didn't understand. Daddy was trying to hide her. Making the kids tell people mommy was sick. She never got up however. John told Shaun they were going to make Daddy disappear. Shaun didn't understand why John had a knife with him as they walked into the room. They fought. Not like Shaun and John always did in the backyard. Daddy called him bad words. Red stuff went everywhere. And when it was over, Shaun was alone in the house. His tears dried up with the blood. His fears dead in the corner. His other half in his arms. Something woke up in him. He wasn't alone anymore.

 

[Ðari]

Location - A colony in space. Characters find themselves in a long and narrow hallway on the colony, on one side the glass windows that overlook the emptiness of space. On the other end a gyrating door that leads into isolated hangars which house space vehicles for exploring the outer atmosphere of the colony. At the ends o the hall, there is a door that leads to an open Atrium, filled to the brim with citizens.

Cryogenic stasis. Something that even this russian was familiar with. The time was different, the time had forwarded itself. He was in space and he had been for about as long as he could recall. Somewhere in the scraps of memory the russian possessed an innate and humble desire to be a cosmonaut.

He'd come from the atrium, a casual stroll through the narrow hall.

A jump, he'd let himself float lazily along about five feet before tapping the floor again. Stopping, he stood to look over at the expanse of space. It was empty, a neighboring planet close by. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a cigarette, and lit it with the friction of his mind flitting a spark.

Taking a drag from his tobacco, he blew a cloud of smoke.
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