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Shade  Empty Shade

Post by Jax on September 1st 2017, 12:28 am





SHADE


"Bigfoot probably doesn't believe in you either."



The Bio

Real Name: Delmar De Vernon
Hero Name: Shade
Title:
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Age: 34
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Hair: Dark Brown
Eyes: Blue
Height: 5' 11"
Weight: 203 lbs.
Blood type: A Negative

The Looks




The Personality

Before he took up the mask, people called Delmar thoughtful, quiet, and perhaps a little eccentric. Little has changed since his college days, despite Del being a bit more jaded and quite a bit more cautious. He still is not a blather-mouth, save for when you strike a topic he fancies. He still keeps to himself, unless you catch him at the right (or wrong) time. He's probably gotten a bit more eccentric. His sense of humor is still, for the most part, atrocious.

Shade is no nonsense on the job. This is serious business heroes do, and he's going to act like it. If everyone else wants to dress in spandex and bright colors, fine, but they had best come through when the time comes. If someone wants to call themselves a hero, they'd best prove it. If someone wants to call themselves his friend, they'd best earn it.

Still, this isn't to say that Shade is all work and no play. He enjoys his hobbies. Enjoying wine or a good cocktail with a homecooked meal is one. Uncovering conspiracies and government cover-ups are another. If you really think they aren't fooling you, you aren't looking hard enough. Who is "they" you ask? Wouldn't you like to know?

The Story

Born and raised on a farm in Ontario, Canada, Delmar De Vernon was the youngest of two children. His parents, his older sister, and himself all worked to keep the old place running. They'd raise livestock and plant a few crops when they would grow, but the real money came from farming maple syrup out of the forest on the property. It wasn't always easy work, but Del never minded much. It kept food on the table and the house warm.

Growing up, Del was a bookish, curious young man. He never met a question he didn't like, and always found the answers he got a little wanting. In school, he took to English. Poetry and literature enthralled him. He'd often read Yates and Poe to his parents, who he knew were a captive audience. His sister was another story, but then, she always was.

Delmar grew into a fine young man and attended a fine old college, where he met a pretty, redheaded girl and predictably majored in English Studies. It was also in college that Delmar would discover a passion for investigative reporting after joining the school paper on a lark. He discovered he had some skill cracking cases and hunting down leads. Most small time stories only cost him a few sleepless nights or the right harmless bribe. There was a sense of adventure that he loved about it all, and sometimes an element of danger too. He was involved in cracking one or two high profile cases, though he admitted that he truthfully stumbled into them and the police reports never list his name. Though, nowadays he honestly prefers it that way.

Soon, he would leave college with a degree, and he and that redhead went their separate ways, though he never forgot her, nor did his heart. Not long after, a blonde appeared. It was she that convinced Delmar to move with her back to her home in the States, not far from New York. Soon, he learned to lose his accent. Soon, two rings were exchanged and vows were said.  For awhile, they were happy.

But awhile is never as long as you hope it is.

Del found that his hunger for adventure, and perhaps that sprinkle of danger, had never really left him. He couldn't help himself. He had helped people before. He had done something. Something good. Now, though he was happy but listless. He needed to do something like that again. Not only did he want to do it again, but he was determined to do it better.

Hours of the day were spent in the pursuit of this. Early mornings and late nights. Sometimes very late nights. Training and learning soon turned to practice which soon turned to execution. Needless to say, this was a strain on the marriage. It soon came a time where he was forced to choose.

In the end, he told her he didn't love her anymore, which was less of a lie than he wanted it to be. Papers were signed. He moved to the Big City, a bachelor.

He's been doing this for years now. He can't imagine doing much else. Sure, he owns a bookstore which deals in antiques and fine hardcovers, but that is only work on the side. The papers began to call him "The Shade in the Night" a while ago now. He didn't mind if it stuck. So that's what they call him now. "The Shade." It's what he's begun to call himself too. Sometimes, he's not quite sure where Delmar ends and Shade begins. Most times he realizes he doesn't really care. He's doing what he's supposed to be doing, and that should be enough.

The Priority

1. Reaction
2. Endurance
3. Agility
4. Strength


The Powers

Shade has no superhuman powers, a fact which, he admits, is sometimes a sore spot for him.

He's a near superhuman sleuth though and really doesn't know when to quit.

The Items

Shade carries a few mundane objects on him. A small black pocket journal is always tucked somewhere on him. Inside everything is written in code. He keeps a revolver on him as well, though it is not registered. He keeps a personal cell phone but never uses it. He prefers prepaid burner phones that are harder to trace.

His pride and joy, however, is a black, unmarked, 1973 Lincoln Town Car. He only uses this bad boy when he's on the job, and she drives like a dream.

The Fluff

Shade is a total conspiracy nut. A real "Spooky" Mulder kind of guy. I like to try and sprinkle that stuff in.

The RP Sample

 (This is actually a sample from an old RP I used to run this character in. It's a few years old, so my writing style and the character have developed a bit since then, I hope, but I still feel it gives a good sense of the guy in action.)

Spoiler:
The sound of my breath rattles in ears. My legs feel like they're made of brick. My lungs are on fire. My vision has gone unfocused and the stairs are blurs. So many. I turn the corner. Three more flights to go. I've got to make it in time. It can't happen again. Not like this. Not here. I won't let it. It's my responsibility.

I swing around the next corner. Two flights to go. I was lucky. So lucky. They had been careful. It had taken me weeks to find their safe house. Changed everything. So bold. Had to be fast. Drove on the sidewalk. Wish I could fly. I couldn't call authorities. Would just tip them off. Move up their time table. Had to come alone. It was happening tonight.

Last corner. Last flight. My throat burns. Tears in my eyes. Must keep running. Just hope I'm not too late. When I arrived, security was gone. All dead. So many bodies. Blood everywhere. Precise shots. Experts. Still, here of all places? How could they have gotten in? It was unthinkable. Can't concentrate. How many are there? Can I stop it? I have to try. Still people in the building. Thousands. Have to do something.

I turn the corner and see a glimmer in the dark. Barrel. I drop to the floor and as my chest hits the concrete I hear a blast. Bullet whizzes past my head. More. The ground explodes around me as I roll to the right. My shoulder slams into the wall and I whip out my revolver. Squint. Shadow. Muzzle blast lights up his face as he falls.

I scramble up and keep going. Adrenaline is back. Leap over the corpse and kick in the door. They know I'm here now. Going to be a shootout. Floor 109.

Before I get past the door, pops to my left. Drop to my knee and turn. Shadow. The recoil jerks at my hand. He slumps against the wall. I hear a magazine click into a receiver behind me. Leap through the glass wall beside me. Just in time. The hallway seems to explode. I land on my shoulder, and twist around, taking aim. Another pop. More glass shatters. He's down.

I haul myself up by a desk. A face meets mine and I see the dried blood. Worker. Innocent. He didn't need to die.

Walking over the glass shards, my breathing slows. I need to concentrate. How many? Three of them so far. Three bullets left. Didn't have time to grab more.

The hallways are so dim, lit only by the lights of the city outside. New York. My city. It seems so small from up here. So vulnerable.

Have to protect it.

I press my shoulder into a corner and peek around. It looks clear, then movement. Muzzle flash fills my vision. Bullets fly past as I dig into the corner. Ears ringing. Full auto. M-16 by the sound.Military grade. How?

There's a pause. Reloading. I step out and rush down the hall. Shadow turns out, gun ready. I duck as gunfire erupts just above my head. My shoulder lowers and I drive it into the man's stomach. I hear the air rush out of his lungs as we both go to the ground.

I'm on top. He tries to get a line with the gun. I grab the barrel with my hands and press the metal down against his neck. He struggles. Gagging. Hot barrel is beginning to sear through my gloves. Head-butt to disorient him. Press my revolver against his temple and end it.  I have to repress the urge to vomit. Two bullets left.

Push myself up and continue to work my way towards what I'm looking for. Only had moments to look at the building schematics. I feel disoriented in the dark. My hand presses into the wall to guide me. I can still hear my breath. It's ragged. Still haven't recovered from the stairs.

It must be here somewhere. But where? Where?! If only I could see. Then I could- I gag and am pulled off my feet. Behind. Choking. Slam my elbow behind me blindly. Impact does nothing. Big man. Again. Nothing. Can't get leverage. Can't touch my feet to the floor.

Stars in my vision. Try to pry off his fingers. No use. Throat closing up. Can't breath. Hear myself gasping. Vision is beginning to blur. Starting to blackout. I want to scream. Everything is going black.

No choice.

Shove my revolver into my left shoulder.

Angle.

Woozy. About to slip.

Need air. Hands shaking.

Squeeze.

The vice loosens. Feet touch the floor.

Still no air.

Won't die here.

I refuse.

Squeeze.

Air!

I fall to the floor. As I try to catch myself, my left arm gives way. Gasp as I feel my shoulder rip open.

Pain and relief mix as I inhale shallow breaths. I feel the blood pool under my shoulder. Loosing it fast. Need to move. Tuck gun in my pocket. Useless now. Push myself up to my feet with my right arm. Dizzy. Can't see straight.

I grit my teeth. Move!

I slide along the hallway, walls supporting me. Should be just around the corner. Just a few more steps. I can't be too late. I can't be. Please God.

I round the edge and see him. Behind him is a giant window. I can see the city outside. He's outlined against the lights, like some ghastly statue. Detonator in his hand. Besides him, the bomb. If I read their plans right, enough explosives to level the entire building and bring down the surrounding area. Four blocks at least. All those people.

"Put it down..." My voice is hoarse and weak. Hardly intimidating.

He's chanting something. Can't make it out. Foreign.

I limp towards him. "I said... Down..."

Still chanting. Flips off the safety

"I SAID PUT IT DOWN!"

The chant ends. His thumb moves towards the detonator.

I charge. Slam my shoulder into him. Hear the detonator clatter to the ground. He grabs my head. Just now realize I've lost my hat somewhere. That  problem quickly falls on my list of priorities as my face slams into a desk besides him. Nose broken and bleeding. My hand gropes the hard wood. He slams my face again.

Feel light headed. See a pen holder topple over. Grasp onto one. He brings my head up again. I click the pen and ram it into his thigh. He screams and let's go of my head. I tackle him back against the glass window. See his eyes. Brown. Crazed.

I thrust my knee into his rib cage. He doubles over. Right hook to the rib cage again. And again. And again. I can feel his bones breaking beneath my fist. I keep punching over and over. He coughs blood onto my shirt. Raise his jaw up and deliver a right haymaker to his chin. He crumples to the floor.

I take a knee and grab him by his shirt, pulling him up to face me. Blood running from his mouth. Smiling.

I can hardly see straight. Not sure if it's rage or blood loss.

"Who do you work for?"

Silence.

I'm done with this.

I wrap my hand around his face and slam the back of his head against the ground. I feel him yelp beneath my hand.

"Who do you work for?! Who?!"

He begins to laugh.

I am not playing.

Get up. Grab a chair. Metal. Slam it against the window. It cracks. Again. Little spider webs form. Again. The glass begins to give. My left arm has gone numb. I rear back and toss the chair. The window shatters.

Immediately the wind howls through the building. At this height, it's practically freezing. I grab him again and hold him right at the edge. The balls of his feet are barely touching the floor.

Feel vertigo. So high. We both could fall.

"WHO DO YOU WORK FOR?!"

Can barely hear myself over the wind.

He smiles wider than ever before. I see his teeth. Pearly white. Disgusting.

He grabs my hand and begins to cackle. Before I can react, he's pushed away from my grip.

"NO!"

He tumbles down, laughter echoing on the wind.

I stumble back. Take a moment to process. He's gone.

I shuffle over to the detonator and disarm the bomb.

A sigh.

I nearly faint. So tired.

So many questions.

Phone.

Make a call.

It's ringing.

Lights come back on. Back up power. Elevator dings. I see it open to concerned office goers. I slump inside.

"Floor 1, please. Call 911 after I leave."

They see the bomb. The scene of the scuffle. Broken window. They're smart enough to see what I've done. One of them presses the button. I fall against the floor. Don't blame them for not supporting me. Scared.

Phone picks up.

"You had better have a damn good reason for ca-"

"Zen. Contingency Omega."

A quick pause.

"I'll have the messages sent right away."

"Good. I need pick up."

"Where?"

I laugh.

"Tallest building in the West Hemisphere. New Trade Center."

"I'm on my way."

She hangs up.

I place the phone on the elevator floor and smash it with my fist. Breaks into pieces.

I look up at the people. They are eyeing me. I must look odd under the elevator's harsh lights.

"Don't try to take off the mask. Trapped."

They nod.

I note they all look tired.

"Long night for you too, huh?"

I chuckle.

God, I'm terrible at jokes.

Everything goes black.








Application created by Chellizard | This code is open-source and available for free use.

Jax
Jax

Status :
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Quote : Everything is connected. You just need to learn how to look at the pieces. -Shade

Warnings : 0 Warnings
Number of posts : 36
Age : 26
Registration date : 2017-08-31

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Shade  Empty Re: Shade

Post by Arcana on September 1st 2017, 3:18 am

Approved until stated otherwise
Arcana
Arcana
Site Moderator
Site Moderator

Status :
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Offline

Quote : "Insert Quote from Character Here" or etc.

Warnings : 0 Warnings
Number of posts : 2426
Location : In the middle of nowhere, Louisiana
Age : 26
Job : Nothing
Humor : [19:12:48] @ Forceaus : Shouldn't be hard to beat. It's only like a centimeter long.
Registration date : 2011-02-08

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