Re: Epic Clash [Apply today!]
02-03-2010, 01:20 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Odinod.
Name: UNKNOWN (Often referred to as Mr. Nothing)
Gender: Male
Race: UNKNOWN (He most often wears a human appearance)
Color: White on Black okay?
Physical Description: Human-like man, trim, well-kept black hair, wears a simple black suit with a simple black tie. He has large, almost angelic wings. His suit has been modified to let them through. When he reaps (see below), his wings begin losing their feathers (if he stays in reaper form long enough, they degrade down to the bone, basically becoming skeletal wings) and the flesh starts falling from his skull (when he goes back to normal, everything grows back quickly, albeit very painfully). It's for this reason that he doesn't particularly like reaping.
Personality overview: A good and kind man(?), he works for the higher-ups in the afterlife, doing anything that needs to be done for them. Part secretary, part gofer; he's a jack-of-all trades, really. One of those trades happens to be taking on the guise of a Reaper. He doesn't enjoy what the job entails, but after doing it for so long, it's given him a more neutral view of the world. Everyone dies; there are no exceptions. (I am aware this is pretty much personality and backstory; I kind of mix those two together. No doubt there will be personality traits revealed in the backstory part.)
Abilities: Flight, in both his normal and Reaper forms, the ability to interact with a person's soul; one of the benefits of this is extremely limited empathy; it gets useful only when he's actually touching someone, and it's still nowhere near to mind-reading. Another benefit is that he can hit, cut, and in some extreme cases, shatter a person's soul. Some of the most cruel Reapers shatter souls as much as is allowed, for it allows them to consume them instead of bringing them to their final resting place; it's said that a good soul tastes better than anything in this universe or any other. It's also said that this practice of eating souls corrupts Reapers beyond any salvation they might have had, as well as giving them unimaginable power. When he's in his standard, angelic form, he has regenerative capabilities, which allows him to lose large chunks of skin, flesh and blood, and be perfectly fine a moment or two later. He can't regenerate limbs; however, he can reattach them if he's able to reacquire them quickly. Any and all regeneration causes extravagant pain, but because he Reaps part-time, he's learned to ignore the hurt fairly well. He can also tell a good joke every once in a while.
Equipment: Suit, comb (for fixing untidy locks; usually this is necessary after Reaper transformation) and a scythe (it folds up for easy carrying and transportation, and hangs in a sheath on his hip), though he refuses to use it unless absolutely necessary. He prefers the finesse of hand-to-hand combat.
Backstory: Mr. Nothing had been working in the offices of Hereafter & Co. for as long as he could remember. At the time of the incident, he had been sorting files into some new, overly complex organization system that was bound to be a failure. Of course, he didn't say this to anyone, because he happened to enjoy having a source of income, and when you're one of the lowest men on the totem pole, you don't want to take any chances by talking back.
"Hey, you!" Nothing looked up. This was how he was referred to by his superiors, most of the time. "Get your butt down to Accounts Receivable. They need a corpse jockey down there; Azerael called in." Nothing looked at his boss, looked at the files, then looked down and sighed. He put the files to one side and headed down to the A/R offices.
He got there, looking around for where to go. An anxious looking, bespectacled, rather mousey man caught his eye. "Hey, you! Are you the one Stephen sent down here?" Nothing nodded, saying nothing. "Alright, get over here. We're way behind schedule and we need to get you outfitted!" The man handed him a robe and what appeared to be a folded-up scythe. He took a look at Nothing's suit, cocked his head, considering, and took the robe back. "What you have on'll work well enough."
The man walked him over to a small pedestal positioned against a wall. There were several glyphs of different varieties everywhere around the area; Nothing didn't know what any of them meant. The man held one hand out before him, putting a strange glove (that also had a series of symbols on it) on. "Get on that pedestal." Mr. Nothing did so. "Now close your eyes and count to ten. You're going to feel very weird, and some guys see weird things too, but whatever you do, don't stop counting. Open your eyes when you're done." Nothing did as instructed.
One...two... Suddenly it felt like his heart was being sucked from his chest by some sort of giant vacuum cleaner. It didn't hurt, but the feeling was intense and foreign. He gasped in surprise. A voice, from miles away: "Don't stop counting!" ...th-three...four...fi-AGH!... His heart was gone, ripped from his body, there was such a sense of emptiness, he couldn't stand it for much longer; "Keep going, kid!" ...s-s-six...seven... He could feel...something entering him. Something black and horrid, something slimy and putrid. It stank of death, and it was filling the hole where his heart used to be. "Almost there, almost there!" ...eight...nine... An image filled his mind; it was an image of him. It was like he was looking in a mirror. He saw himself reach up to his face, and take off his features like a porcelain mask. What was underneath was a horrible monstrosity, a skull with tendrils of rotting meat hanging off the bones, and bright red dots where the eyes used to be. "Finish, kid, jesus, you're taking forever!" ...TEN!
Nothing opened his eyes. The man was taking off the glove, which was streaked with some sort of dark ichor, and proceeded to drop it in a bin marked with a biohazard symbol. He took Nothing off the pedestal and slapped him on the back. "You did good, kid. Sometimes we have to cancel the process because some guys can't handle it. Anyways, out the door and off you go. You'll know what to do when you get there." He pushed Nothing toward the exit. "Oh! Almost forgot..." He ran over to one of the desks scattered about the room and grabbed a piece of paper. "Your list. Bring 'em back here, and we'll take care of the rest of the paperwork."
Nothing took the list, feeling strange and queasy. However, he had a job to do. He flew out the door, entering the dimensional portal that would take him to the universe and planet that he needed to go to. For the next several years, most of his work was in Accounts Receivable, simply because he was so good at his job. Tim, the mousey man who first introduced him to reaping, was even considering hiring him on for a permanent position. Reapers were paid well, and always respected. They did a dirty job, and it took guts to do it.
However, one day, Mr. Nothing didn't come back from a job, and Hereafter & Co. is desperately searching for his whereabouts...
EDIT: tl;dr version, Mr. Nothing is a part-time Reaper, part time gofer Angel.
Name: UNKNOWN (Often referred to as Mr. Nothing)
Gender: Male
Race: UNKNOWN (He most often wears a human appearance)
Color: White on Black okay?
Physical Description: Human-like man, trim, well-kept black hair, wears a simple black suit with a simple black tie. He has large, almost angelic wings. His suit has been modified to let them through. When he reaps (see below), his wings begin losing their feathers (if he stays in reaper form long enough, they degrade down to the bone, basically becoming skeletal wings) and the flesh starts falling from his skull (when he goes back to normal, everything grows back quickly, albeit very painfully). It's for this reason that he doesn't particularly like reaping.
Personality overview: A good and kind man(?), he works for the higher-ups in the afterlife, doing anything that needs to be done for them. Part secretary, part gofer; he's a jack-of-all trades, really. One of those trades happens to be taking on the guise of a Reaper. He doesn't enjoy what the job entails, but after doing it for so long, it's given him a more neutral view of the world. Everyone dies; there are no exceptions. (I am aware this is pretty much personality and backstory; I kind of mix those two together. No doubt there will be personality traits revealed in the backstory part.)
Abilities: Flight, in both his normal and Reaper forms, the ability to interact with a person's soul; one of the benefits of this is extremely limited empathy; it gets useful only when he's actually touching someone, and it's still nowhere near to mind-reading. Another benefit is that he can hit, cut, and in some extreme cases, shatter a person's soul. Some of the most cruel Reapers shatter souls as much as is allowed, for it allows them to consume them instead of bringing them to their final resting place; it's said that a good soul tastes better than anything in this universe or any other. It's also said that this practice of eating souls corrupts Reapers beyond any salvation they might have had, as well as giving them unimaginable power. When he's in his standard, angelic form, he has regenerative capabilities, which allows him to lose large chunks of skin, flesh and blood, and be perfectly fine a moment or two later. He can't regenerate limbs; however, he can reattach them if he's able to reacquire them quickly. Any and all regeneration causes extravagant pain, but because he Reaps part-time, he's learned to ignore the hurt fairly well. He can also tell a good joke every once in a while.
Equipment: Suit, comb (for fixing untidy locks; usually this is necessary after Reaper transformation) and a scythe (it folds up for easy carrying and transportation, and hangs in a sheath on his hip), though he refuses to use it unless absolutely necessary. He prefers the finesse of hand-to-hand combat.
Backstory: Mr. Nothing had been working in the offices of Hereafter & Co. for as long as he could remember. At the time of the incident, he had been sorting files into some new, overly complex organization system that was bound to be a failure. Of course, he didn't say this to anyone, because he happened to enjoy having a source of income, and when you're one of the lowest men on the totem pole, you don't want to take any chances by talking back.
"Hey, you!" Nothing looked up. This was how he was referred to by his superiors, most of the time. "Get your butt down to Accounts Receivable. They need a corpse jockey down there; Azerael called in." Nothing looked at his boss, looked at the files, then looked down and sighed. He put the files to one side and headed down to the A/R offices.
He got there, looking around for where to go. An anxious looking, bespectacled, rather mousey man caught his eye. "Hey, you! Are you the one Stephen sent down here?" Nothing nodded, saying nothing. "Alright, get over here. We're way behind schedule and we need to get you outfitted!" The man handed him a robe and what appeared to be a folded-up scythe. He took a look at Nothing's suit, cocked his head, considering, and took the robe back. "What you have on'll work well enough."
The man walked him over to a small pedestal positioned against a wall. There were several glyphs of different varieties everywhere around the area; Nothing didn't know what any of them meant. The man held one hand out before him, putting a strange glove (that also had a series of symbols on it) on. "Get on that pedestal." Mr. Nothing did so. "Now close your eyes and count to ten. You're going to feel very weird, and some guys see weird things too, but whatever you do, don't stop counting. Open your eyes when you're done." Nothing did as instructed.
One...two... Suddenly it felt like his heart was being sucked from his chest by some sort of giant vacuum cleaner. It didn't hurt, but the feeling was intense and foreign. He gasped in surprise. A voice, from miles away: "Don't stop counting!" ...th-three...four...fi-AGH!... His heart was gone, ripped from his body, there was such a sense of emptiness, he couldn't stand it for much longer; "Keep going, kid!" ...s-s-six...seven... He could feel...something entering him. Something black and horrid, something slimy and putrid. It stank of death, and it was filling the hole where his heart used to be. "Almost there, almost there!" ...eight...nine... An image filled his mind; it was an image of him. It was like he was looking in a mirror. He saw himself reach up to his face, and take off his features like a porcelain mask. What was underneath was a horrible monstrosity, a skull with tendrils of rotting meat hanging off the bones, and bright red dots where the eyes used to be. "Finish, kid, jesus, you're taking forever!" ...TEN!
Nothing opened his eyes. The man was taking off the glove, which was streaked with some sort of dark ichor, and proceeded to drop it in a bin marked with a biohazard symbol. He took Nothing off the pedestal and slapped him on the back. "You did good, kid. Sometimes we have to cancel the process because some guys can't handle it. Anyways, out the door and off you go. You'll know what to do when you get there." He pushed Nothing toward the exit. "Oh! Almost forgot..." He ran over to one of the desks scattered about the room and grabbed a piece of paper. "Your list. Bring 'em back here, and we'll take care of the rest of the paperwork."
Nothing took the list, feeling strange and queasy. However, he had a job to do. He flew out the door, entering the dimensional portal that would take him to the universe and planet that he needed to go to. For the next several years, most of his work was in Accounts Receivable, simply because he was so good at his job. Tim, the mousey man who first introduced him to reaping, was even considering hiring him on for a permanent position. Reapers were paid well, and always respected. They did a dirty job, and it took guts to do it.
However, one day, Mr. Nothing didn't come back from a job, and Hereafter & Co. is desperately searching for his whereabouts...
EDIT: tl;dr version, Mr. Nothing is a part-time Reaper, part time gofer Angel.