Name: Christopher Frost, known as bonehead by his friends as a term of affection.
Teacher or student: Teacher of fighting skills and battle tactics, also enjoys helping out with other physical activities around the school.
Age: 562
Weapons: FISTS OF STEEL, nah I kid. Lemme think…Two knifes and a scythe which can turn into a staff or a
sword, just replace the red with a bright electric blue.
Also, the ability of control over fire because apparently he should have some kind of magic.
Class/Race: Death.
Gender/Sexuality: Male/straight, not that it matters anymore except to annoy him.
Personality: He enjoys wise-cracks and likes nothing more then to see a classroom of people talking to each-other. Despite his skills as a fighter, he disapproves of seeing it used over trivial things and tries to make sure it doesn't get out of hand, of course, he is highly hypocritical and will happily begin a fight if words fail him. He gets along with people and enjoys reading and music, he used to play the viola but even since his lack of skin has started up the piano and is thoroughly enjoying it.
Appearance:
http://www.citv.co.uk/static/skulduggery1.jpgExactly like this, dark black jacket, light black shirt, normal black scarf and tie, dark black hat, light black gloves and normal black trousers with light black stripes. His shoes have spiked bottoms and a metal toe-cap, his gloves have metal plates to cover the back of his hands meaning it's helpful for blocking, adding weight and he now has one hell of a backhand and his hat is structurally reinforced, he tries to take care of it because he loves it. All his clothes are magically strengthened and fire-retardant, and can be easily packed up into a small ball if necessary and not crease as well as repel filth. They're also quite thick, tough and are good at spreading out force and have the last, very helpful and unique effect of being able to be washed with colours, no matter what's gotten on the clothes.
He emits a slighty aura, which leads to the appearence of the light around him always seeming a little darker and sometimes he appears to blur slightly as he moves quickly. One interesting side-effect of his transformation is normally an immediate sense of decay around his immediate person so that anyone touching him may feel slightly sickish and plants will clearly begin to wilt around him as well as animals generally hating his guts which does quite upset him, apart from some magical animals which only tolerate him.
History: He used to be your ordinary run-of-the-mill fighter extraodinaire. dedicating his life to mastering his body and becoming the best of the best, y'know, the standard stuff. After he'd become a pretty decent fighter in his own right, having studied under other masters of their unique styles, he'd travel the land, looking for a worthy fight to keep his skills sharp. So he'd do bounties, join mercenaries, fight duels and take a small part in the odd war. Back in those days he loved his fighting and loved nothing more then defeating a good opponent, though he tried not to kill them the more talented ones unless he had too, no point in wasting good fighters and he could travel back some day.
One day, he walked into a small town looking for work, along with booze, food and pleasurable company, so he travelled to the local lord of the area and asked if there was any disputes that needed settling. The lord mentioned that he had been having some trouble with his citizens lately due to a "Edward Linkin" rousing them up with stuff about lowering taxes, equal rights and giving power to the common people. Christopher agreed that this was a serious problem, as the son of a nobleman himself, he understood that peasants needed to know where they stood in the world, mainly at the bottom. Afterall, if they actually got all the stuff people like Edward preached about that would mean the nobles would be on the same level as peasants and that certainly wasn't right. Noblemen were clearly a better class of people, they ruled over vast expanses of land, lived in great mansions and knew music and art while peasants lived in filthy hovels, lived on pennies and only knew how to do simple things like farm or cook or make clothes and the like.
So after training his fighting skills against some of the ruder citizens, informing the others of the high probablility that their families will die before them and mentioning how flammable some of the buildings in the town looked, the people of the town were amazingly helpful and quickly informed him of Edward's whereabouts which were on the outskirts of the lord's land. After that it was just a simple matter of waiting til nightfall, going to his house, climbing through a window, killing everyone inside as quickly and quietly and possible and burning the house down. After that he walked back to the town and spent the money he'd found in the house on booze and wenches before picking up his payment from the baron in the morning and moving onwards, whistling cheerfully as he jingled the silver in his pockets.
A few years later, on another continent, there was a charming little war over some girl who'd gone and left her husband for a younger model. He'd just particularily enjoyed setting a giant wooden dog alight full of enemy troops and then setting his team's town on fire and opening the gate for the remainder of his opponents army to create a huge giant chaotic free-for-all in the burning megalopolis. It had been very enjoyable right up to Edward's, now grown-up and very pissed off, son, who'd been staying at his grandfather's when Chris had visited, popped up, threw sand in his eyes, kicked Chris in the shins, pushed him down a flight of stairs and chopped Chris's head off as he tried to get up, and then everything went dark.
Chris awoke to blackness, a slight pain around his neck and a face full of sand. “Ack” he coughed and retched and tried to get the sand out of his mouth. He stood up slowly and cricked his neck and blinked as his adapted to the darkness. “That was lucky, thought that little bastard had got me there.” he muttered as he rubbed his neck “Coulda sworn I saw that sword come right do-“ He stopped as he noticed his surroundings. All around him, as far as the eye could see, there was nothing, and sand. Black sand. No rocks, no trees, no movement at all and Chris had always prided himself on his amazing eyesight so if he wasn’t seeing anything moving, there wasn’t anything moving. “What the hell?” He asked himself quietly as he stared open-mouthed at the black desert. NOT EXACTLY. “HOLY FUCKING CHRIST ALMIGHTY” Chris swore violently as he spun round, doubled over, clutching his chest and gasping for breath. ALSO INCORRECT, I'M AFRAID. The tone of the voice managed to hammer through to Chris’s brain, causing puzzlement and nervousness to swiftly take over the anger.
“Eerr…” Chris slowly looked up, and then straightened up, and then looked up some more until he managed to look the newcomer in the eye, or at least where the eye should be. “um…” All his cockiness and bravado started to leak away as he stared into the empty eye-sockets of the permanently grinning skull of death, at least, almost empty, apart from two tiny blue lights, like small bright supernovas that would go on forever. Hello Christopher frost, how’s death treating you so far? Chris’s mouth opened and closed a few times as he grasped for words“…So…he got me then?” YES, QUITE A CLEAN CUT ACTUALLY, I GATHER HE SPENT A LOT OF TIME SHARPENING IT. “Really?...Well, at least he was dedicated about it then.” UNFORTUNATELY FOR YOU.
They stood there for a while as Death waited patiently for Chris to get to terms with things, he had plenty of time anyway. “So…what now?” THAT DEPENDS. “On what?” NORMALLY, I'LD TELL YOU TO BE ON YOUR PATH BUT THAT DOESN'T SEEM TO BE THE ONLY OPTION HERE. “My path? Where?” AT THE END OF THE DESERT. “What’s at the end of the desert?” I DON'T KNOW. THAT IS FOR YOU TO FIND OUT. Chris thought about this, he knew a enough about religion to know that his life hadn’t been exactly…good and that lives that weren’t good seemed to end up somewhere bad. He thought that he could handle that, he’d been in lots of bad situations, but then he remembered why exactly his life hadn’t been good. “So…everyone who dies, goes to the end of the desert?” THAT IS INDEED WHAT NORMALLY HAPPENS. “So, everyone I’ve ever known…is at the end of the desert?”
PERHAPS, YES, AND I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE THINKING OF AND I'LL TELL YOU THIS. A LOF OF THE PEOPLE YOU HAVE MET WERE VERY ANGRY WHEN I COME FOR THEM, AND SOME OF THEM WERE VERY VALM, AND THE OTHERS SEEMED TO BE LOOKING VERY FORWARD TO MEETING YOU AGAIN. “ah” Chris’s face went dark as he tried to remember the people he had met, he knew he couldn’t remember all of them but he did remember some of them. Some of them had been right bastards, and a few had been monsters, and a handful had been human, but had been far, far worse than the demons and monster’s he’d faced down.
“You mentioned….that the desert wasn’t the only option?” He asked hopefully, as he tried, and failed, to put his old friends out of his mind. THAT IS CORRECT. “Could I please hear it?” I SEE YOU ARE NOT USED TO THAT WORD YET, PERHAPS IF YOU WERE, WE WOULDN'T BE HAVING THIS CONVERSATION. Chris growled under his breath as he tried to hold back an insult. “I know, I know, would you please tell me now?” VERY WELL said Death. He flicked out his robes and shrunk until he was just one foot above Chris’s height of 6 foot 4. He held out a bony hand and took a scythe out of the air, it was only slightly shorter then death and the blade jutted out and curved over the top of Chris’s head. Chris gulped as he stared up at the blade just above his head. A blue glow slowly travelled from the hilt along each edge of the blade and when they met at the point, it flared once before flowing back along the hilt, strengthening itself.
IN SOME RARE CASES, MORTALS ARE GIVEN THE OPPURTUNITY TO CHALLENGE ME. “For what?” FOR THE ABILITY TO FLY AND THE RIGHT TO CALL YOURSELF THE QUEEN OF KITTENS, FOR YOUR LIFE, YOU STUPID CHILD. “Sorry.” ANYWAY, YOU ARE ALLOWED TO CHOOSE THREE WAYS TO CHALLENGE ME. IF I WIN, YOU DIE, AND IF YOU WIN, YOU GET TO LIVE, IN A MANNER OF SPEAKING. “So I just have to pick a way to beat you, yeah?” asked Chris excitedly, completely missing the last bit of Death’s answer. THAT IS WHAT I SAID. “Great” Chris grinned widely and drew his sword.
It wasn’t any sword, it was a sword that killed for people and people killed for, the first owner of the sword had had to chop off the blacksmith’s limbs to get it off him, and the second owner had killed the first owner to get it before being immediately attacked and killed by the third owner who had been hiding in the bushes, planning to kill the first owner to become the second owner, and this had gone on until Chris had gotten his hands on it, and had then fought off fifteen other people who’d planned on being the 356th owner, eight others planned ahead on being the 357th owner and one who was aiming for 358th.
He rushed at death, his sword flicking from side to side, up and down, in a complicated flurry of movements making it almost impossible to see where he was aiming and what angle he was coming from. He grinned at death as time appeared to slow down as he rushed at him, who grinned right back, now despite the fact that death is always grinning, Chris got a small naggling liitle feeling in the back of his head that his grin was a bit too cheerful. Death slowly lowered his scythe and twisted the handle so the blade was resting horizontally in front of him. A small part of Chris’s mind told him that because of the way death was holding the scythe, it should be easy to simply bring his sword down, knock the blade to the ground, leaving death open for an upward sweep, but another tinier part quietly suggested that possibly, just maybe, there was a slight chance that death knew this.
Chris swung the blade up from the ground and began to swing it down again as he closed in on death. “Prepare to lose bone-face” he said gleefully as he thought of the fact that’s he’d have beat death and how easy it was going to be, and then in one movement Death moved forward and pushed the scythe upwards towards Chris’s sword and moved his hand towards Chris. As the scythe met the sword, without the slightest hint of friction, Chris’s sword cut itself in half, with the scythe continuing upwards and Death’s hand reaching up and stopping right in front of Chris’s neck causing him to run right into Death’s bony death grip which immediately locked around and closed off his windpipe and lifted him right off the ground. YOU’VE LOST BOY. Said death smugly as Chris desperately kicked out and tried to pull Death’s fingers off his neck. “….”Chris breathed out, his eyes bulging as the desert around him started to blur, before he suddenly dropped to the ground. NEXT CHOICE BOY.
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Name: Atrus veneficus
Teacher, or Student?: Student
Honor Student, Or Delinquent?: Honour student.
Age: 15
Year: 1st year, I guess.
Weapons: one
magic staff with what appears to be black fire flaring around the tip, which is harmless but just spreads darkness, kinda like anti-light. He also has
one black knife which he got from his father, which has the nasty little ability of turning wounds septic. It also can heal him if he stabs himself, by sucking out poison and infections. He’s still stabbing himself in the process, so he just uses it in emergencies, like say, someone went and put scorpion venom in his drink because he’d given them a box full of jumping arachnids for a birthday present.
Class/Race: Sorcerer, mainly human, part demon and other...things, way back with varying powers over darkness, and it could be said he's basically an abomination.
Gender/Sexuality: Male, straight.
Personality: Exceptionally twisted, violent and cruel, on the very far end of the spectrums, but considering his family and past, it’s fair enough. He likes to make wise cracks and insult other people and violence, he enjoys violence, and more violence…but he knows not to be an idiot about it, he’s a bit of a coward in a sense. He likes to be bad and enjoys people’s hate, mostly, and has a thirst for power. He’s not big on taking orders, but has a small knowledge of the fact that he isn’t great at tactics normally.
Appearance:
http://s699.photobucket.com/albums/vv35 ... sachoa.jpgAround a little lower then 6 foot in height, and quite thin but built with a kind of wiry muscle. All his skin is covered at all times, and he wears about three to four layers of clothing so he’s hidden deep under the fabrics and materials. He permanently emits darkness around him so it’s like he’s always in the shade, and no light is ever seen on his person. Under his hat, there is always black, apart from his glowing yellow eyes most of the time unless he wishes to smother that too, except for perhaps the slightest hint of the appearence of a fangy grin. He wears leather boots with cushioned soles to keep his footsteps silent and his gloves, while skin-tight, are very soft also, so he can still get a good grip on things with a little bit of pressure.
His straw hat is kept on his head with a thin piece of old string and his belt is just made from older, thicker rope. His robes have numerous folds and pockets in them, so he’s always got stuff stored up in there, and as for the magical properties of his clothes…they’re pretty tough, soak up materials quickly, like blood, and strand themselves back together if whipped or torn. One last odd little thing about him, is his smell. It has the strange effect of changing depending on the persons mood, so that the more of a negative emotion someone is feeling, the more horrible and disgusting it is to the person smelling it. Let's say someone detested the smell of rotten flesh, the more angry, scared, jealous, etc they are, the stronger his scent appears to be, but this works both ways so the happier they are, the better he smells, etc. He finds this quite useful to distinguish how people are feeling.
History: Born and raised in isolation with his family up on a lone hill, in a mansion surrounded by a graveyard beside a battlefield and a corrupt and violent city of sin and desolation. His family lived out side the town because after they’d lived in the city for a while, they’d been attacked and forced out because of fear and hatred. His father and mother were a summoner and necromancer respectively, his big sister was a succubus and his big brother was a giant hulking violent and angry behemoth that once got stabbed in the head and had his neck clawed open by a demon and proceeded to bite it’s neck open, tear it’s head off and shoved it’s head down it’s neck.
Now, in a family like this, Atrus’s entire life was basically
Trainingfromhell since he was three, only because it was deemed unsporting and not challenging to start before then. When he was six, his powers finally manifested in the form of shoving his eight-year old brother out the fourth story window after his bro had attempted to push his elbows back because he had wanted to have cereal that morning, and Atrus had finished the last of the milk and then stabbed him in the eye with a spoon when he had lurched towards Atrus for a minor beating and then Atrus had ran like hell from him, while dropping down various vases on him from the higher floors as he lumbered up the stairs.
After that, his parent started to join in on the hefty free for all, so Atrus had to deal with his insanely vengeful brother, a father who routinely sent various types of imps and lesser demons to keep him on his toes and to force him to adapt quickly when chased by one fire and one water ims and then followed up immediately by a demon made entirely of spikes, fangs and claws, a mother who would send swarms of skeleton rodents after him and also resurrect some of his father’s demons out of spite and a manipulative and twisted sister who, while not having a lot of physical or dangerous magical power of her own, was an expert on turning and controlling the rest of the family, including himself, and making them fight each other like animals, at least, animals that could use magic and use sharp, blunt and painful tools.
There was also the fact she was a quick little bitch, great at psychological warfare, a genius at torturing people and insanely talented with a knife and bladed weapons. She and Atrus got along the most overall in the family and she taught him everything he knew about handling a knife and using whatever he could get his hands on as a weapon, partly because she wanted him to become better and she wanted more of a challenge but mainly because she just enjoyed hurting him, but he didn’t blame her for that much, she was nicer to him then the rest.
When he was thirteen, he drugged his brother, slit his throat and stabbing him into little bits in his sleep until he was sure he wouldn’t be able to get up again. He’d once cut off his brothers hand to try and get away from him after he’d grabbed his arm and then it had instantly turned into a death grip, and crunched his arm slightly. After that, he snuck into his father’s laboratory and swapped around chemicals and smudged the summoning circles and waited until his father had started a summoning and then stabbed him in the back with his own knife as he fought off an angry minor demon lord who poofed into smoke once Atrus’s father stopped writhing in pain. Then he crept into his mother’s lair and failed completely in sneaking up on her and ended up fighting off a swarm of skeletons and other undead abominations with a poisoned bear trap around his ankle until he was out of magic and she was out of bodies. She then proceeded to strangle him with her bare hands with Atrus’s knife sticking in her leg and he only managed to win because he’d managed to grab a femur and club her around the head with it.
After all this, he stumbled, fell and pulled himself up the stairs to his sisters room, leaving about one and a half litres of blood as a trail behind him, determined to finish what he’d started once and for all, but she wasn’t there. After bandaging up his wounds, searching the entire house and throwing a huge fit of destructive rage at the absence of any clues or leads, his brother would have been proud of, he set the house alight and limped down the hill quickly, as explosions of magic and various destructive properties went off behind him.
After spending the next two years wandering around the place, looking around for his sister, solely because he wanted to finish the job and that he had nothing else to do, he heard of the evil academy from a shady figure at the back of a location-jumping bar he routinely stayed at whenever it appeared close to him and immediately enlisted, and the rest is history.
Reason for attending the Academy: He’s got nothing else to do, and he wants to get more power,see what the other powers he may be fighting against one day and try to gathe information.
Theme song.
Bad things by Jace Everett which I think accurately sums up Atrus and his sister's relationship as well as fits with the characters.
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Name: Saga fallax
Teacher, or Student?: Student
Age: 16
Year: Freshman
Weapons:
A knife along with it's elemental allies.
Ice knife, increases defence of user, hardening their skin and if stabbed into someone, ice will quickly grow around the wound so you'd better get it out fo yourself quickly.
Fire knife, increases flexibility or agility of user, leaves a brief trail of fire behind itself in the air, if swiped through the air, it sends a curve of fire forwards and if stabbed into someone, it will quickly begin to burn.
Earth knife, adds strength to user and if stabbed into someone, the skin begins to petrify.
Air knife, adds speed to user, and if swiped through the air, sends a curve of air forwards which cuts through objects.
Each knife gives her a mild control and resistance to the element.
Also, if anyone attempts to use them but her then they'll find their hands freezing, burning, turning to stone and getting torn to pieces respectively.
That's the basic abilities of the knives.
Class/Race: Succubus mainly, and other.
Gender/Sexuality: Female, and whatever the heck she wants.
Personality: Quite sociable and charismatic, which could also be seen as being interested about people and manipulative. She's not the type of person that tries to be the big bad but she does love attention. She can control her emotions perfectly. She also prefers to not take a direct influence into others affairs.
Appearance:
This cutie. Along with some slight manipulation, she has some subtle control over her natural appearance. She has her four knives hanging at her hip, two on each side. Numerous thin chains and the like about her person, she wears good old Doc Martins with spikes sticking out of the bottom of them and her main colour fashion is black or dark purple. Her hair is inky blakc and her eyes are a bright yellow that seems almost to glow. Her skin is an ivory white and remains like that due to a natural regeneration which helpfully gets rid of scars and other permanent injuries. She has her own white fangs and her hands are naturally as they appear in the image, claws but can be easily changed to a normal hand, which still has pretty sharp nails if she wished it.
History: The same as Atrus's right up until the whole murdered family thing. After that she just travelled the land for a while, meeting some young men with potential, building them up, robbing them of everything and knocking them down against each-other. After a while, she heard from her contact at a location jumping bar, that her brother had decided to go to school. After a few days of consideration, she thought that it had been long enough since she'd seen him and besides, she was getting bored of her lifestyle. She could do with a challenge, and Atrus had always been such fun to play with, pushing him down stairs, putting laxitives in his drinks, cutting him in his sleep...ahh, good times.
Reason for attending the academy: curiousity and boredom.
