Character(s) Resistance's characters

[Resistance]

WELCOME TO ARASAKA CORP.

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Welcome Chairman Fujima.
How can I help you?

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"Arasaka's most wanted."

<: Personal Information: >

Name: Ian Coil [Name has been edited]
Alias: Bait
Age: [REDACTED]
Born: Australia, Sydney
Sex: Male
Last known location: Night ci-- [Information is being deleted]
Familial ties: [ACCESS DENIED]
Nationality: [ACCESS DENIED]
Occupation: [REDACTED]

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Please refer to Netrunner service.
< : External System entry detected : >
Please refer to Netrunner service.

<: Physical Information: >

Weight: 190 lbs / 90 kg
Height: 6'2 / 1,88 m
Hair color: Ocher/Chestnut brown
Eye color: Orange
Bodytype: Mesomorph
Modifications:
- Mooretech Berserk Mk.III
- X-29 FEC/Gorilla Arms
- Outfitted with black market batteries
- Rotenbori optics Mk.IV
- LQS vers. 6.6 / Lynx Paws
- PLSP, Modular launching system.
- AMG10 Bionic Joints
- Rotenbori MCG Microgenerator

<: Personality: >

To follow a code of honor, to never submit to oppression, to accept responsibility for the mistakes you've made.
The code of a Samurai; taught to him at a very young age - he values respect, just like he commands it.
As upstanding as he is however; he too is flawed.
Often plagued by pre-symptomps of cyberpsychosis that spur a brutal and negligent splinter of his personality.
He tries to hide this away - most evident in the consumption of Meestag, a preventative stimulant, that'll decrease the severity and frequency of these outbursts.

< : Accessing key-locked data : >

< :Backstory: >

Growing up with neither father or mother forces self-reliance and independence on a child, eat or be eaten, like a small mackerel tossed into the vast ocean, survival will happen instinctively.
Those that cannot protect themselves on their own, flock into groups, no attachment, no emotions, act big - but when it comes to it, fear not to sacrifice others for your own good.

You could say, that supposedly children should be put into an orphanage, however - if you are being hunted like a criminal at such young age, it will shape your mind and attitude towards authority.
Considered a blemish on the perfect Australian lifestyle, the loose stragglers that try to survive are often tossed away and burried beneath a mound of bureaucracy, so that the public will never find out what the actual deal is.

Mega Corporations like Militech and Arasaka are the leading fronts in development, giant firms that can make good use of scrambled no names.
After all; they are doing countries a favor wiping these children off the face of earth.
Ian found himself in such operation, caged in a steel container, the likes of in which you'd transport livestock ready for slaughter.
He had been locked up by Arasaka, a test subject, nothing more.
Dehumanized - just a number, a disposable asset subjugated as a guinnea pig used for testing of the latest technology, often considered to be 'too unsafe' for the current market.

One day however; Saburo Arasaka himself, a man of great fortune - so they say, came to overlook these projects, a man who values the code of honor; who views these blacklighted operations as an imperfection needed to serve the greater picture.
Entire halls filled with emaciated children locked into 1 x 1 m boxes.
From caucasian, african and asian descent alike, spanning from all across the globe.

Arasaka, with proud stature trod throught these halls, arms crossed behind his back, dressed in a quite flamboyant kimono.
Most didn't know who he was, so they kept quiet - as to prevent from getting picked as the next 'patient'.
But it was for one child, a 10 year old boy, who's iron will and unyielding confidence bellowed,
"Arasaka!" his weak voice trembled while his skeletal fingers clung onto the cold metal bars.
"ARASAKA!", he repeated again and again.

Of course, the boy was going on a whim, however - his quick deduction and the little things he learned while his parents were still alive, allowed him to add 1+1, a Japanese man wearing a high class Kimono, it must've been him.
This peeked Arasakas interest, how could a boy of that age know who he was?
The buisnessman stopped, lowering himself before the cage as he glanced upon the direly scrawny child.
"You know who I am boy?" Arasaka spoke in english, which he would soon come to notice wasn't even necessistated.
Because once the kid replied, he would come to realize despite his caucasian heritage, he spoke fluent Japanese.
"I can tell by your image." he said.
"Hmm.." Arasaka narrowed his gaze at the boy before he stood back up and continued walking.

Fearing this was his last chance of getting out of this place alive, Ian yelled;
"DO YOU HAVE NO HONOR?" with the last of his strength.
This cost him, as he soon found his body give in.
The boy slouched backwards onto the ground, the little room the box held pinned him between the metal walling.
He passed out.
-
Gasping for air, the child rocked himself upwards, his eyes flared open.
He was in a moving vehicle, but why?
Confused he turned his head to face the man he previously challenged - Arasaka.
Who glared at the boy with a stern look,
"I have high hopes for you, boy.", a faint smile crossed the giants lips, as he looked onto the child as his new protege.
----

Arasaka SAO has been dispatched..
Forcing logout..
< : System shutdown : >

 

[Resistance]

"God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe this blood off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we ourselves not become gods simply to appear worthy of it?" – Friedrich Nietzsche

Basic Information

Name : Guts, alias the Struggler, alias the Black Swordsman .

Age : 24
Place of birth : Midland.
Education : None.
Social Standing: None.
Occupation: None.

Physical appearance

Hair color : Black
Eye color : Brown
Weight : 220 lbs
Height : 6'7

Hoisted onto his back Guts carries with him a colossal black sword, easily the size of himself and weighing in at around 400 lbs.
A black set of armor, with thick rungs of plate steel going from top to bottom would cover most of his body, except his arms, they are wrapped in white cloth, presumably bandages.
The places one can see, are covered in a mound of scars.
His left hand is missing entirely, instead replaced by a steel prosthetic.

Upcoming

The stinging stench of decomposing flesh, ammonia and a taste of sulfur, those are the precursors of death stagnant in the air.
A desolate village, devoid of any life, houses torched and life stock killed, the foul fruits of battle, plundering and rape.
Whether you can ever get used to this vile atmosphere is unclear, as it happens one will simply become desensitized, willfully blind to overlook the grotesque.

A band of sell-swords trod through another of these war torn towns, bodies piled up en masse, rigor mortis already in effect, one couldn't help but to recoil in disgust.

Then, a sight that left even the coldest of hearts shook,
"Born from the corpse of his lynched mother and left to perish beneath her rigid body, his birth was nothing more than another freak of nature spectacle. "(So it came to be his name is Guts).
As they prepared to move on, the infant began wailing, crying.
Gambino and Shisu took the baby under their wings, those would be the names of his new surrogate "Parents.".

Raised in a band of Mercenaries, from childhood on Guts learned the way of the sword, a blade was in his hands before he spoke even his first words.
Then, on an ill-fated day, with Shisu stricken by the bubonic plague she perished.
A heartbroken Gambino subconsciously contributed her death to Guts, he was born under a bad omen, so it must've been his fault, this notion stuck with him, gnawing at his mind the years that followed.

By the Age of 9 Guts fought his first battle, putting an end to one's life, this was his first taste of blood.
Then on a fateful day, in the midst of battle Gambino was struck by an arrow, despite coming out on top and ultimately winning, the wounded leader was gravely injured.
Losing his leg Gambino finally snapped, in his eyes, ever since the day they introduced the infant Guts to their group, everything has gone to hell.

Thirsting for revenge he'd visit Guts tent at night with intent to kill, in the unfolding scuffle Guts wound up impaling Gambino, taking the life of the only person Guts could ever vaguely consider a father.
Fleeing the band of Mercenaries he would commit the latter years of his teenage life to fighting as a sell-sword.

Teenage years

Aimlessly wandering Midland in search for work, Guts would travel from battle to battle, from army to army, the amounts of gold he made he'd spend recklessly.
Filled with grief and guilt and still haunted by his troubled past, Guts simply averted ever settling down, instead running away and seeking to find a cause, a reason to exist.

Stumbling upon the Band of the Hawk, a group of sell-swords renowned for their strategic prowess would once more throw Guts in the path of destiny, which he so willfully opposes.
At first adversaries in battle, Guts struck down a powerful Warrior working for the Band of the Hawk, catching the eye of Griffith, who saw more within this man than a mindless barbaric.

In a turn of events Guts stumbled upon said group after winning the battle.
In spite of him, they attempted to slay him now he was all alone, however Guts proved himself to be too competent of a warrior, struck down and even killed some of their members.
On this day he had also met the one woman that would forever change his life, Casca.

Lone and behold, Griffith stepped forth, proposing to Guts a duel, if he'd be victorious Guts would have to serve Griffith, for it is to him to decide when Guts will die and when he will fight for him.
A furious battle ensued, Guts, enraged fought with nothing more than brans.
Subsequently losing and becoming a member of the Band of the Hawk.

Betrayal

After seeing his companions perish during the Eclipse and unspeakable things done to his lover, once more opposing destiny and struggling to survive, Guts was dubbed "The Struggler".
The ill-fated, now fuming for revenge has sworn to seek out and destroy the one who caused him such anguish, never has he felt such a cascade of emotions, rage, hate, fear, sadness, pity and even compassion.

 

[Resistance]

Full Name: Devon of Aedirn

Age: 107
Height: 6'1
Weight: 190 lbs

Hair and Color: Shoulder long and wavy maroon hair which curls at its tips, as time necessitates often unkempt and quite dishevelled, loose strands of white flocking the scalp; an indicator of maturing age, even for a Witcher

Build: Broad shoulders, barrel-chested physique, his weight often fluctuates depending on seasons, usually in autumn and winter he is a lot burlier and heavier, eating on a few pounds. While in summer; due to heightened physical exertion, he will be a lot leaner. Yet overall, he is built significantly better than your usual man.

Character Description: With pride the Witcher carries his medallion, the insignia of a howling wolf enwrapped by a heptagram, but it is most often hidden underneath his grey tunic sporting a V-shaped neck, which is loosely held together by a pair of laces, concealing the chain. Over said tunic he often wears a hazel jerkin, it is well-fitted, and holds on its back -with a pair of straps- the sheath to both of his swords.
Befitting to the grey of his torso are his trousers, a simple hose that holds no pockets rolled up by the ankles and fastened to his figure with a brown, heavy duty armour belt that near flawlessly blends with the bottom line of his jerkin. Rolled like his hose are his boots, the sullied black leather straps are pulled down below the ankle so proper ventilation is possible, at least while it is still warm. For such scruffy appeal he is relatively well-clad, a handsome middle-aged man, and based on ones estimates he looks to be in his late thirties. If it wasn't for his notorious profession, we would have undoubtably garnered the courtesy of a few unwed women. A wiry beard and prevalent moustache decorate the straight lineament of his jowls, covering most lower half of his bronzene features. The bridge of his nose is relatively straight - but slightly crooked to the right from the abuse it has suffered. Scars plastered along his face; he wears them like badges of honour, an emblem of the many conflicts. There also is a significantly prevalent burn mark on the left side of his face, an ever reminder for his past. Symmetric eyes, which radiate in distinct and bright orange, the pupils have feline shape - mesmerizing like a small black teardrop, they enlarge, and crop based on exposure to light.

History:
A rite of passage:

The arduous voice of old Vesimir and the dilapidated ruins of Kaer Morhen had always been a backdrop of Devons life – at least as far as he could recall. The then juvenile Witcher rarely questioned his heritage, but when he did, he was sent off with hard words and a bruised cheek.
"Your parents sold you for the little coin they could make." as cruel as that may sound, it was the truth, and once the harsh reality of his predicament set in, he found himself faced with such 'truth' more and more frequently.
'You want to have fun? Rejoice children, play hide and seek with a Kikimore, but don't let it find you, or else you'll be turned into a Temerian Kebab.'
Those of Devons friends, who didn't perish by the fanged maw of horrendously disfigured creatures, would subsequently be culled in the trial of the grasses. A flask of mutagen which triggers morbid hallucinations, causes one's skin to ripple invoking blistering agony, all the while their body convulses.
The batch of adolescent, which prior to the trials consisted of thirty juveniles has been weeded out into a group of ten remaining children, among them Devon and his close friend Lut.

Sins of drunken stupor:

"While tales are sung of white manes greatness, other Witchers names are faceless. "
The town of Thurn, 15 years after the trial of grasses.
Discrimination against their kind frequented Devons gaze and despite his abstain from conflict, he could never quite reconcile with the unprovoked hatred. People would yell out slurs of disgust, spit before his feet and the path he treads. They said he was a Monster, no longer human – devoid of any emotion and as black as deep winter tide.
Time took its toll on the former hot-headed wolf, and in an outburst of drunken impetuosity he cast the sign of Igni inside a busy tavern. He carelessly set ablaze dozens of men, the bang of their hollow earthenware rang along their tormented screams in the crackling fire.
That night, only one man left the burnt-out tavern – his face full of soot and his hands tainted with the grime and blood of countless innocent, dubbing him the Boogeyman.
"And so, they see how the boogeyman came to be."

Reconciliation and penance:

It has been 70 years since the arson of Thurn, but his reputation stuck to him like a nestling burdock. His efforts of atonement met only deaf ears and blind eyes – he was perceived to be what the gossip said, they sung tales of his villainy even after the turn of generations. But a Witcher is a Witcher and as long as there were wretched monsters skipping rocks, he found work.

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