Post by Deus on Aug 11, 2008 13:05:13 GMT
The Basics
Name: Vincent Peter Kennedy
Alias: Deus
Age: 21
Type: Minor Telepath, Illusionist.
Gender: Male
Location: Unknown at present.
Alignment: So good that he’s evil.
Height: 5’ 12”
Weight: 111 lbs
Relations
Lover: None.
Crush: None.
Past Fling: None.
Current Fling: None.
Linage
Grandmother: Paradise awaits her.
Grandfather: Paradise awaits him.
Mom: Samantha Kennedy.
Dad: Kenneth Kennedy.
Siblings: None.
Personality
During the early years, before people dubbed him Deus out of adoration or fear, this humble servant of the Cult’s Clergy was a kind and charitable man. He wholehearted believed in the doctrine’s morals and ideals, and offered a friendly ear to many of his congregation.
Happily and faithfully, Vincent lived a life of penance and forgiveness, a life where the needs of others came first before his own.
But life does have a way of opening one’s eyes to new truths.
Vincent discovered a horrible conspiracy within his own sect. He learned that many of the so called ‘holy men’, the Cardinals were reaping in cash and resources for their own gains. Their morals corrupted over time, their desire for penance devolving into desires of greed and material lust.
He was shocked at such brazen disregard for the faith. Even more shocked that those he bowed to and idolised as sanctified icons of purity were as corrupt as the sinners they shunned, for fear of their sinful immoral infection.
And after the Cardinal’s found out about what he knew, Vincent went into hiding. Returning thirty years later. Looking as young as he did. But without the zeal for life and love for others he once had.
This man… If he can be called such a thing, is a soulless husk of his former self. Known as a Penitent. He never shows anger, nor hatred of his enemies, and still he never shows an ounce of happiness or fear upon his scarified features. He never grimaces to a cut or wound, never shows an expression of sleeplessness or distress, he never eats, nor drinks, nor sleeps. But his heart beats like the living and his chilly breath breathes steadily no matter what his body endures.
For all scientific purposes. Deus lives. He just doesn’t act like it.
He is a tool to be used by his true master. God. And he will be used until he corrects the mistakes his followers made on Earth, and nobody is truly innocent, no one will be exempt of judgement. All will be dragged kicking and screaming to hell by Deus’s once forgiving arms.
History
Samantha and Kenneth Kennedy are devout followers of their faith. They live in a small town community of like minded individuals near Utah in the good ol’ US of A. Every weekend they attend church, Samantha works as a cashier in the local bakery during weekdays and Kenneth is currently employed as a Firefighter for the community.
Both of them lived and grew up within the small, tightly knit settlement, they had their own orthodox religious wedding, small gathering, and years later Samantha gave birth to Vincent.
As a lad, Vincent grew up attending the religious schooling system the community offered. He studied well, attended the sermons and did his civic duty in reporting troublemakers and deviants of the doctrine to his teachers and clergymen.
His parents were so proud when Deus made his decision to take an oath of penance and join the clergy themselves. And at the age of twelve, he became a Deacon of the chapel, assisting in the Clergy’s priestly duties, cleaning and caring for the chapel grounds, and pretty much living a Monk’s life within the chapel walls.
Six years later, Vincent was voted by the clergy to become one of their number. A true Priest of the faith.
But as was the tradition of their small town, the community as a whole already has enough Clergymen to tend to the settlement’s beliefs, So Vincent’s pilgrimage was to begin. He would travel to other states, or even other countries, and assist other chapels as needed.
Vincent’s own sense of justice and wisdom, took him to Gotham City. A city enduring a economic depression at the time, and one in need of as many charitable hands as could be mustered.
For three years, Vincent worked long hours during days and nights within a homeless shelter. He talked at length with many of the destitute and the poverty stricken about the doctrine, offering a friendly ear to much of their concerns and providing a light of hope and faith to those who were desperate enough to listen.
Every act of charity given to Vincent would be immediately distributed to those who needed it most, the needs of other came first and foremost before his own, and he earned many friends and converts in the process. Such work was praised by his peers as nothing short of angelic.
But even angels can fall from grace.
For his good deeds and service to the cult and it’s ideals. Vincent was to be personally congratulated by one of the Cardinal’s of the sect, a wealthy man who owned many estates, businesses and secretly unknown to Vincent at the time, hosted his own private army of murderers and psychopaths.
As soon as Vincent was visited by the man dressed in fine silk and cashmere suits, golden signet rings of the cult’s heraldry and immaculately groomed features, the priest was appalled.
Vincent had given everything. Everything he had ever owned or earned to the poor and misfortunate, everything barring the clothes on his back.
And yet, this man, this holiest of holy men, was bathing in luxuries and decadence. Waltzing in through the door of the shelter for the destitute with a smile on his face and open arms as if he were a long lost brother of Vincent’s.
Vincent could barely contain his disgust.
He pointed out through gritted teeth that such pious men like a cardinal should be a little more humbled. Explaining the plight that was being ignored day by day just so that others could live in opulence and waste money on extravagance.
While Vincent’s peers gasped at his insolence for speaking such a blasphemy to a holy man, the Cardinal’s smile quickly turned to a glare, and started storming out of the shelter, but not before uttering a warning of knowing one’s limitations to the angry priest.
Leaving Vincent behind with anger and disgust in his heart.
Something was wrong.
How could a man who was supposed to be praised as a benefactor for the sect, be so self indulgent, so selfish and… Arrogant!
Could he not see what was going on around him? The disease, the economic collapse of the middle and lower class? Were all the Cardinals as… dare he say… corrupt as this bastard was?
In that moment, Vincent walked out of the shelter and started doing a little research. He started looking through tax records and all documents pertaining to income and investment regarding all of the privately owned businesses the cult had in it’s possession.
Money was being leaked.
Private accounts, drawing in thousands of dollars each week from the cult owned funds were draining the resources of the workers here in Gotham. He couldn’t be sure if it were happening elsewhere in the world, but from what he could tell by most of these thieving accounts, they weren’t limited to local geography. There were international ones too.
Vincent felt betrayed. His faith for his cause was slipping. He was doing good work, but in the name of devils. Corrupt pigs that watched without pity as their servants struggled to do good, but ended up fattening their ’saviours’ pockets with riches.
Gotham always had a problem of keeping the Poor, poor. And the Rich, rich. Well this was yet another fine example of it.
Something had to be done. But what could he do?
Someone out there in the city, at least thought Vincent could do something…
The Cardinals thought Vincent’s outcry could be brushed off at first, but when he started looking through detailed financial records, they realised a threat when they saw one.
The order was placed. Vincent must die.
What happens next is sketchy at best. Most of the people involved were either killed or silenced, the Cardinals got rid of Vincent. Or to be more exact, Vincent got rid of himself.
They sent their private killers to murder the priest in his sleep. But he was not at the shelter where even he slept with the destitute.
Vincent was last seen that night, wandering in a dazed stupor, caught on security camera at the Gotham subway. Wandering onto the tracks and into the darkened tunnel. Where moments later, a train passed. Presumably killing Vincent.
And for thirty years, no one had seen neither hide nor hair of the young priest, his body was never recovered. The cult sent down entire teams of their militia to hunt for him in the tunnels and sewers day and night, but not a single trace could be uncovered.
And yet, here Vincent is today, looking as young as he did all those years ago. But one could not say that he hasn’t… changed.
The doctrine’s have a legend in their scriptures. Not really a legend, but more of a superstition. A form of stigmata.
It has only been recorded three times before in one thousand years, of the birthing or devolution of a human into a Penitent. An avatar of the cult’s depiction of their Devil. The Judge.
Penitent’s in the past all died off shortly after they were born into existence, possibly via spiritual possession or maybe even genetic mutation.
But maybe because of the amount of corruption in the world, this one is here to correct a balance. Or maybe put an end to it altogether.
One thing remains clear. Vincent, or Deus as he is being persistently dubbed, is here to stay. He has a purpose. To prepare those who have sinned for judgment and d**nation. No soul is pure, hell even thinking about killing someone is a sign of corruption, and one you will be judged for.
Such a thing places him in the same boat as the sinners he persecutes. And Deus knows this. Once his work is finished he will face his own judgement, and he will do so willingly without fear. Many of the sinners acting as the cult’s security forces have been herded into submission and servitude to help enact his plans.
Afterall. When one sinner kills another sinner, the world still has one less sinner to show for it. Such a philosophy puts him at odds with heroes and vigilante’s alike, while villains and mercenaries find a temporary ally, just so long as you have something Deus needs to complete his goal. If not? Your will be judged. Sentenced. And Punished.
“libera te tutemet ex inferis”
Free yourself from hell
Pictures
<<Again just a text description. I hope it captures enough of an image within the mind’s eye. If not, well, sucks to be you then ;P>>
Frail and skinny. Deus retains his youth, like that of any thin young man, but he moves with a feeble shuffle, as if his bones were as brittle as a ninety year old cripple. It’s said that he never sleeps or eats, he lives only for the doctrine, that he’s a true icon of the faith, a chance for redemption to those in the cult’s church. If someone were to look upon his face, they might second guess such an idea.
His flesh is pale and cold to the touch, his heart pumps so slowly it could almost be conceived as a body moments from death. And upon his near dead skin are marks, sigils, glyphs and scriptures, detailing small excerpts from the cult’s sacred texts and their own holy bible.
These marks are permanently branded or etched into the flesh, presumably by Deus himself. But one never knows…
His hair is brown, greasy and unwashed, allowed to grow slightly past his shoulders, never groomed or styled. Just unkempt and ignored like the rest of his hygiene.
Eyes are blank and dead. Pupils that never dilate stare expressionlessly into reality, never truly looking at objects or people, but looking through them, as if they were nothing more than invisible ghosts or as transparent as glass. Darkened bags form under his eyes and crease his youthful features with a weariness found only in the most troubled insomniacs, and with him he carries a stink of unwashed flesh, garbage and sewer scum.
When Deus speaks, which is rare since he makes little attempts at greeting people. At least in person. His voice is shallow and breathless, having no energy or will left to show emotion or severity in his warnings or instructions.
But whenever non believers and followers witness his presence. He is always dressed in a traditional white robe of the clergy, made from humble thick cottons and a sombre hood covering the head of the holy men while they preach and deliver their sermons to the flock.
Deus’s vestments are a little more worse for wear. They are soiled to a muddy brown, patchy with black stains of oil and sewer water. His face is blacked out. Concealed with a black silk veil where an onlooker cannot perceive his features, though Deus can see clearly through the fabric at such close proximity to his dull listless eyes.
Powers and abilities
Confinement:
The most commonly used power. It is an illusionary ability which alters the senses of a victim trapped within guiding them upon a mental journey through surreality. Victims who are affected by it have been known to act differently among their peers. Talking to imaginary people they meet in their dream world, attacking imaginary foes, walking around in circles, or simply standing still, staring slack jawed and drooling unable to awaken until the nightmare ends.
Scary thing is. Deus can alter perceptions of people subtly without them realising the illusion is taking place, which can be very frightening if the right strings are pulled to aggravate or punish the unwary.
Strangely, as dangerous as such a power is, and while more than capable of even killing with aid from Deus’s alternate abilities, Deus is compelled to enact a particular punishment upon his foes.
Through his series of surreal and subtle nightmares he seeks to show people the errors of their ways, why they are being punished the way they are. The execution is pointless is the victim doesn’t know why they are being sentenced. At least… From this madman’s point of view.
In some ways… Ignorance is truly bliss. Though with such an attentive hand, it would only be a matter of time before many victim’s crack. Perish. Or become irreversibly insane.
Weakness’s to the power are existent however. Deus must remain stationary and defenceless when he uses it, and preferably hidden. Full concentration is needed. Victim’s must be in fairly close proximity to one another if he want’s to capture multiple subjects within a nightmare. But the range of the ability is at least five miles and he must have at least some kind of contact made by either himself or one of his nearby pawns. The “loyal” cultists of the cause.
This could be anything from meeting and greeting his pawns, or simply answering a telephone call made by Deus or his pawns.
Sentence:
Illusions can’t hurt you, they are not real.
This is true. They physically cannot hurt you. They cannot inflict cuts, burns, break bones or sever limbs upon the body. They can however make you believe that faux injury is real.
The brain interprets what the senses perceive. Deus’s power alters that perception. You can scream “It’s not real.” all you want. So long as your senses are still under the influence, your brain will still interpret it as real. Inflicting pain and trauma upon muscles. Especially the heart.
The heart can only take so much stress. And heart failure, seizures and even self inflicted injuries are the most common fatalities afflicted onto sinners trapped within their own worst nightmares.
Your arm may be eaten off by horrors in whatever hell lies in your own subconscious, it will still be reattached and useable when you awaken, but for as long as your lost inside your own nightmare, you’ll believe it’s missing.
An aggressor might have pulled a gun on a victim within their illusion, fired and killed the poor bastard. When in reality, the victim subconsciously pulled the gun from his pocket, put it to his head, and fired.
While ‘Sentence’ is used in conjunction with ‘Confinement‘, Deus uses it to inflict torturous punishments, rather than kill victim’s outright. He ‘could’ do it if he so desired to. But that is not Deus’s purpose for being, he is not here to slaughter, that’s God’s job.
Deus is here to show a sinner the error of their ways, to make them repent, beg for forgiveness and have a slim chance of saving their souls. Others are irredeemable and will simply be punished.
It just so happens that a few eggs get cracked along the way, and some people die as a result of Deus’s intervention.
But no matter. Deus will continue doing the ‘good’ Lord’s work.
Judgement:
Being a mental illusionist, Deus has access to a limited telepathy, a mind reading power.
It’s abilities are limited to one thing and one thing only. Guilt.
Deus senses guilt like a shark tastes a droplet of blood in a vast ocean. He thrives on it. Guilt for crimes, Guilt about missed opportunities and chances, Guilt of inferiority. If you had regrets about anything in your life, even if it was but for a fleeting moment, you can be sure Deus knows what it was.
Just like Santa Claus. Deus has a naughty list. And he knows who’s been bad this year.
No matter the soul, you are guilty of at least something. No matter how petty or insignificant it seems to you, Deus must deliver the sentence. As he regularly says. “No one is Innocent.”
Fervor:
Either due to some part of his fanaticism or perhaps even divine protection. This zealot is incredibly hard to sway using mental manipulation, aka mind control. Other mental powers can affect him, telepathy or even illusions. But anything that diverts him away from his true purpose doesn’t seem to cause much of an interruption.
Nothing short of a Godlike entity or a supernatural avatar could ever hope to enslave the already enslaved Deus.
By me:
Templates:
By Others:
Roleplay Example
Sitting in dim light, crosslegged upon the stone floor, a lone figure hunched wearily within the forgotten supply room, deep underneath the city, built in the recesses of subway tunnels long ago.
Lying twitching on the floor next to his silent contemplation was the Janitor, a man who had cheated on his wife many years ago and continued his affair for three long unfaithful years.
Then man had already been present in the small maintenance supply room, checking inventory when Deus stepped inside, altering the man’s hearing so that he heard neither the door open or the footsteps enter the room.
And now here he was, lying in a fir of delirium, believing his wife had found out about his filthy escapades and was now stabbing him to death, over and over and over again.
He would survive, Deus would make sure of that. At least for now. While one part of his mind searched the Janitor’s deepest secrets and sins, the rest of his mind sniffed out the sins of others elsewhere, probing those on the nearby train platform, venturing up into the streets outside, watching those who were faithful and those who needed be judged.
But he searched for one in particular.
One who’s sins left a stench that was easily followed. Like all vermin of his ilk.
His thoughts settled upon the sleeping figure huddled up upon the musty soiled couch, and with but a humble mental nudge, Deus stirred the young mutant from his sleep. Giving him motivation to rise and be ready for the phone call, he so desperately pleaded for.
He could invade his consciousness, appear before him in his own nightmares and bring them to light, instructing him on what to do next. But he decided to at least hold back a little. The sinner had some worth, at least for now. And such Leigh way can ensure better productivity and loyalty rather than constant oppression.
As the silent priest plucked a cell phone from his side pocket, and dialled he thought to himself. “Even these heretics need breathing room or they will drown.”
When the last digit was dialled, Deus set the tiny device onto the floor and let it ring. While the tone signalled he began to rock back and forth slowly in his sitting position on the floor.
A dull monotonous chanting sounded from his lips, wordless and ominous as it began to fill the room. The Janitor’s convulsions began to become more erratic and violent as he began to gurgle upon his own screams and saliva.
The very reality within the room seemed to fade and warp slightly, distorting sight while a rhythmic buzzing like a fly caught in a trap started filling the room.
“It’s me.” The voice on the other end of the receiver answered.
And Deus delivered the instructions without saying a single word.
About Yourself
Name: Rab
Gender: Male
RP Experience: Been paper Rping for a good few years now, mainly on WoD stuff.
Activity: So long as people don’t chase me off I’ll be here a while.
Watermelon