3kul's RP Characters [NEW]

[3kul]

Apologies to those of you who enjoyed my old characters, but I feel that it is time that I moved on. HollowEyes and Little Sister were two of the first characters that I'd ever made (those of you who know your 3kul history will know that they were not the first, but whatever), and whilst I was very fond of them even I had to admit that they were fairly broken as characters. They suffered greatly from being written as I roleplayed, which resulted in them having convoluted backstories, numerous moments of contradictory characterization and a fairly high potential for powerplaying.

As such I have decided to put them to rest. With Blackstar turning to a new chapter I feel that I should follow suit, and so in this thread I will detail all information about new characters that I create. If you would like to discuss them with me or comment on them, please do so via PM or in some other thread, as I would like this one kept clear of any posts that are not here strictly for the purposes of profiling a character.

For those of you still interested in looking for information on my old characters, I have left my old profile intact, and it can be viewed here.

[3kul]

DIRECTORY:
I tend to make my profiles long and detailed, so if you'd like more details on a specific character just click on one of the following links to jump straight to their profile.

• The Doctor: Galalunde
  
• The Slave Trader: Mr. Thompson

CURRENT LOCATIONS:
This is a list of all of the roleplays that my characters are currently engaged in, as well as their level of involvement.

• A Glorious Threesome! Battle on the Skyline! - The Doctor, The Slave Trader
  
• Slave Trading in the South - The Slave Trader

[3kul]

Name: GALALUNDE (pronounced: Ga-la-loon'd)

Age: 25

Gender: Male

Species: Morrenvongil

Class: Doctor

Description and Physiology: Morrenvongil are a rare species, but easily recognizable by the fact that they are little more than a brain inside of a jar on mechanical legs.

Galalunde is no exception to this rule, he is a healthy brain encased within an orb about the size of a fishbowl fitted with a small walking unit at its base. The walking unit has six mechanical limbs. The front four seem to be exclusively for movement and are all the same size, about 60 centimetres long, and are quite flexible. The two limbs towards the back however are double the length (1.2 metres), and move about like a scorpion's tail, both of which are capable of snapping forward to sink two small prongs into prey.

At the very front of the walker is a small speaker unit that allows Galalunde to 'speak', and on either side of this is two antennae, which allows Galalunde to 'see', 'hear' and 'smell'.

Physical Abilities: Galalunde is able to generate very small amounts of electricity through the twin prongs on his tails. If he focuses on a small powerful burst he can create an effect similar to a stun gun to ward enemies away.

Alternatively, Galalunde can also focus tiny concentrated amounts of electricity through the prongs on his tails over long periods of time. If he latches onto something with his tails in the right place (typically either the spinal cord or the brain itself) and gets a good grip he can then use these subtle jolts to hijack anything with a nervous system controlled by electrical impulses. He calls this process 'brain-jacking'.

It is worth noting that both prongs must be inserted into the target for Galalunde to take control, and simply removing Galalunde will cause him to lose control immediately (although depending on where Galalunde has inserted his prongs taking such drastic action may be incredibly dangerous for the victim).

Galalunde, like most Dojodians, is quite capable of speaking and hearing telepathically (this is known to many as the gift of 'mindspeak'), but he prefers to communicate through his small speaker. His voice has been described as 'eerily computerized', 'completely devoid of emotion' and 'sort of British, if you had to pick something'.

Weaponry & Equipment:
"Verpion"
A fairly popular walker model amongst the Morrenvongil due to it's low maintenence requirements and sturdy build. It's essentially a brainless robotic scorpion with two tails that Galalunde pilots.

"Jellyzure"
One of the most popular walker models amongst Morrenvongil, given that they feel most at home in the water (having once been aquatic creatures). A specialized walker designed to cope with the intense pressures of deep sea travel, this one has a pair of aquatic jets instead of any legs to allow Galalunde to travel through the water at a reasonable pace. The twin tails on this model appear to be more like a pair of tentacles.

Home: Galalunde resides in an old medical research facility in the Unexplored South, which is situated near one of the more isolated oases in the area (ie: not the ones on the mostly blacked out Dojo map).

Origin: Galalunde's homeworld does not have a name that he is allowed to say, for all Morrenvongil have sworn not to speak of it. Most spacewise people worth their salt know that the Morrenvongil come from the completely toxic Aueanea, a once beautiful aquatic world that was poisoned by the Morrenvongil themselves.

The planet is over 90% water, all of which is quite deadly. Most Morrenvongil work offworld, sending money and supplies back home to their families. Morrenvongil are often regarded with suspicion, ridicule and scorn, and are rarely welcomed off their homeworld. It's not surprising for an employer to pay a Morrenvongil a tenth of what they'd pay any other employee, and the Morrenvongil is usually grateful for that much.

After leaving the Morrenvongil homeworld at age fifteen, Galalunde was a drifter for a good ten years before coming to Blackstar.

Pre-Dojo History: By the time that Galalunde himself was born, Aueanea was already doomed. The Morrenvongil had only very recently evolved as a sentient species, less than two hundred thousand years ago. They were a short lived but brilliantly intelligent underwater-dwelling race, and had advanced rapidly in all fields to the point that they were on the verge of discovering space travel.

Galalunde, like most children, quickly proceeded through his three years of compulsory education. In recent decades the average lifespan had dropped by a good five years, so in the year that he graduated the world government declared that all children were to go and work in the field of medicine. For the short lived Morrenvongil death was an incredibly nuisance, as the greatest minds of any age were always dead within a few scant decades, so to stave off death and increase the average lifespan for any amount of time would be a most glorious achievement for the Morrenvongil race, especially now that their lifespan was inexplicably decreasing.

Galalunde, like so many other young upstarts from his graduation year, secretly hoped to be the one who would discover the secret to immortality. He was confident that if there were any way to make somebody immortal, it would be by removing the one crucial part of what made them an individual - the brain - and put it into an immortal body. Making an artificial body was easy enough, but taking out the brain without killing the organism was infuriatingly difficult, so for the next ten years he thoroughly engrossed himself in studying and perfecting the finer points of surgery and neuroscience.

The year that he turned 15, the Morrenvongil race was changed forever by two historic events. The first was a proud announcement by the world government: finally, after all these years, space travel was possible for the Morrenvongil. What should have been the crowning moment of glory for many-a researcher was vastly overshadowed by a devestating discovery: that the by-product created by the technology used to achieve space travel had irreversably poisoned their oceans.

Unfortunately there were only seven functioning space ships at this point in time, and each ship could house just twenty individuals... Out of ten provinces, out of a world with a population of twelve billion, only 140 would be saved from certain death. The world government asked all to remain calm, but this news had caught everybody by surprise, and as such they did not have any solid contingency plan. If they stopped producing space ships right now the planet would become completely toxic in about five years, but more of the space ships would be needed to save more people... Predictions were that the planet would be incapable of supporting any life in just two years.

Morrenvongil are not known to be gamblers, and it came as no surprise to anybody that the world government chose to hedge their bets.

First they announced a plan for all provinces to pool their resources to create as many space ships as possible. In a year's time, there would be a summit to decide who should be sent into space. It was not announced how these people would be chosen. In addition to this, there was also a plan for a think tank to be open to any interested parties wishing to put forward ideas on how to save the Morrenvongil race. The government was careful to emphasize that think tank participants would not be guaranteed a place on a space ship.

Both ideas were wildly unpopular.

The world government was desperate to maintain control, and people could tell. When it came down to it, the world government had no actual power of it's own - cooperation of the provinces had always been voluntary, and now that each province wanted all of the space ships for themselves they had no motivation to work together. The think tank was viewed with bitter pessimism, a pathetic attempt to make it look like the world government actually gave a damn.

With the end of the world rapidly drawing near, chaos and civil unrest spread like wildfire, and war broke out in many provinces. Provincial governments and those still loyal to them quickly stepped in, but their reasons were purely selfish - when a province looked on the brink of destruction more armed forces would be moved in to ensure that it was destroyed. To secure your province a few more seats on the space ships was soon considered to be the highest honour, and in just a few months the world went from being a glorious society of intellectuals to being a bloody battlefield.

Galalunde was just as outraged as any other Morrenvongil, but he knew that this was his time (or to be more accurate, he knew that this was the only 'time' that he was going to get). He joined the think tank as soon as the opportunity arose, sharing his research with the few hundred great minds present. His research was still years from being anywhere near complete, but it was grimly recognized as one of the most feasable plans available. If there were a way to preserve the brain outside of the body as well as remove the need for the body to consume food and water to survive then the ships could hold a thousand or more.

One by one Aueanea's provinces collapsed, and by the time a year had passed only three remained. These three were the most powerful provinces in the world, but they were deadlocked - if one attacked the other, the third would wait on the sidelines and demolish them both when they'd exhausted their resources fighting each other.

The few remaining members of the world government, now a government in name only, emerged from hiding, desperately called for a summit once more. The three warlords begrudgingly agreed, they would meet at the summit and divide the space ships up equally, but they insisted upon one condition: the public execution of every remaining member of the world government. Much to their surprise, the world government agreed to these conditions, and the arrangements for the summit were made.

Unbeknownst to the warlords, this was a set-up. When the warlords arrived a bomb with enough firepower to wipe a small province off the map would detonate, wiping any evidence of the world government having ever existed right off the map, the warlords and their closest allies along with it. The world government members were psychological disasters, each and every one of them, so traumatized by the guilt that their actions had led to the widespread slaughter of millions and would continue to lead to the excruciating death of billions more. It was all too easy for Galalunde and the other members of the think tank to win them over, to convince them that this was a chance to absolve themselves.

The think tank was incredibly quick to take advantage of the vacuum in power, announcing themselves simply as the 'New Order'. The members of the New Order called upon all Morrenvongil to be grateful for the immense sacrifice that both the world government leaders and the warlords had made - dying here on this homeworld to ensure that the cruel war that had brought this world to it's knees ended with them! But they weren't just magnanimous, oh no, they had also secretly worked together to create a plan. This plan would ensure not only that people could leave, but also that people could stay here on the homeworld!

Defeaning applause followed. The speech barely made sense, but the people didn't care. The speaker, a leader of the think tank, expressed a sudden illness coming over them and left the ceremony. He would not return, but Galalunde knew that this had to be done and took his place. Yes, he had to tell these lies upon lies, and to do it all with a smile on his face...

The people were informed that they would need one of two kinds of treatments: those who wished to stay would need to be immunized against the poison, and those who wished to leave for space would need to be receive treatment to allow them to breath out of the water. Throughout the government city there were entrances to an underground automated facility - this facility would give them the treatment that they needed. A wave of relief washed over the populace. They were so weary of war and fear of death that they needed no proof, they were all too happy to accept the New Order's word. When the alternative was so much worse, who could bring themselves to doubt it?

The 'facility' was put together during the year of war, and was designed to carry out Galalunde's treatment on a mass scale. But it didn't even come close to the dream he had envisioned, it was more like a nightmare. They hadn't had the time to perfect the procedure or the equipment required to enable living without an organic body - the projected survival rate was less than .005%.

In just two short years, the population of Aueanea plummetted from 12 billion to a little over 180 thousand. 180 thousand that I saved! Galalunde constantly had to remind himself. It was difficult to celebrate a survival number so much greater than what they'd initially expected when so many had died for them to get where they were. Those who remained were devestated by the loss that they'd experienced. Most immediately expressed a desire to leave, Galalunde among them, and in these new forms he went entirely unrecognized.

For close to a decade he wandered space aimlessly. He called it a 'journey of self discovery', but it was more just him trying to come to terms with his actions.

Post-Dojo History: Galalunde has only recently arrived in the Dojo, completely scuttling his ship somewhere in the Wilds after a rather bumpy ride through a wormhole that had suddenly opened before him.

He quickly abandoned the wreckage and made his way to the local populace. There he saw people living in slums, crime running rampant and no law enforcement in sight. He asked several people why this world was in such a terrible state, but typically got the same response: "this place is pretty much dead anyway."

Dying? Dying!? How dare they! Any brainless moron could see that there was nothing wrong with this realm, it was the pathetic people who inhabited it that were the poison! Infuriated and disgusted with the attitudes of the people present, Galalunde left immediately.

Eventually he found his way into an old medical facility in the southern deserts (he despised the heat, but a little suffering like that kind of reminded him that he was alive, so he considered it a blessing). A large windswept plaque informed him that 'THIS FACILITY IS PROPERTY OF THE CORPORATION', but it was clearly abandoned, so he let himself in.

For a short while he set to work on building himself a new ship, carrying the two or three usable bits of scrap from his old one over to the facility, but eventually he found himself thinking more and more about the planet that he'd landed on. It's not dead, dammit! Not yet! He was reminded of his own planet for but a moment... but no, this one was different. There was still time here, but he'd need to act now.

He returned to the local city to seek assistance, but more than anything he would need people and money. Disease and substance abuse ran rampant throughout the slums of the Dojo, and to combat this he would need to create comprehensive curealls. Money to fund his research, people for him to use as guinea pigs. A slave trader approached him with a proposition, and although he seemed like a fairly unsavoury character Galalunde eventually decided to allow him to share the medical facility, in exchange for a steady supply of both money and slaves as rent.

Now working from his medical facility in the Unexplored South, Dr. Galalunde seeks to heal the land with his unmatched medical prowess.

Alignment: Galalunde has no qualms associating with any number of unsavoury types, but he despises those who claim that this world is dead or beyond redemption. Provided that their key interests lie in reviving Blackstar, Galalunde is most likely to get along with just about anybody, although his ruthless attitude focused solely on getting results puts many people off.

He is currently sharing his residency with a doctor, whom he gets along reasonably well with, although the two have something of a small rivalry between each other when it comes to intelligence.

Personality: Galalunde possesses the drive to set and achieve goals that others consider to be impossible. That said, he is willing to sacrifice just about anything to gain the desired result, which leads to people dismissive him as being cold, heartless and calculating.

He has a great deal of difficulty in befriending others, no doubt largely a result of the massive psychological trauma he suffered back on his homeworld. He also happens to feel a great deal of racial shame, and prefers not to talk about the Morrenvongil people, their culture or their history. When he does so, his tone is almost always overly spiteful.

He holds a great deal of admiration for dreamers, and rarely laughs at or judges others. Deep down he really wants to improve the lives of others, and sees Blackstar as something like a second chance for him. He is always happy to offer medical advice or treatment free of charge, and although he is quite proud of his knowledge he does not care if people doubt him.

Allies: Galalunde has nobody that he would really consider an ally at the moment.

[3kul]

Name: Gal'laxyrbnk'kus Corrtlemkkekk (but he prefers to go by 'Archibald Thompson' for business purposes)

Age: 44.7

Gender: Primary Male

Species: Scarrblaxian Thorapede

Class: Slave Trader

Description and Physiology: Mr. Thompson is fairly typical for a primary male Scarrblaxian Thorapede - thick black glossy exoskeleton (kept well polished at all times for good health and proper business conduct), four long triple-jointed limbs, each with three long triple-jointed fingers and one double-jointed thumb, a long spinal cord extending out from his body to form a very flexible tail, complete with a rather vicious barb on the end of it. Mr. Thompson has a rather large, bulbous head that tapers at the end into two small horns, his mouth is situated at the opposite end and is quite large, with four pairs of mandibles situated around it. He has two large eyes that glow, the colour of which varies between shades of yellow, orange and red (do note that this colour changing is entirely random, and is neither dependant on Mr. Thompson's emotional state nor an indicator of whether or not he is telling the truth). Mr. Thompson's body is very small compared to the rest of him, as most of his vital organs are located in his skull.

Despite having an exoskeleton Scarrblaxian Thorapedes are notoriously weak creatures, originating from a world with low gravity. Mr. Thompson has grown accustomed to higher levels of gravity in his travels, but his exoskeleton is still very fragile, aside from the skull and, as a primary male, his spinal cord/tail, both of which are substantially sturdier than the rest of his body.

As a direct result of their mostly frail bodies, most Scarrblaxian Thorapedes will tend to shy away from combat and confrontational situations, but being a primary male Scarrblaxian Thorapede, Mr. Thompson is capable of releasing a powerful neurotoxin from the barb on his tail. The barb itself is a foot long and sharp enough to pierce even the toughest of hides, and the toxin paralyzes nerves and causes the victim to lose all feeling wherever it is injected. It is worth noting that if the toxin is allowed to reach the brain the victim is instantly and completely paralyzed, and if left in this stroke-like state the victim may suffer long-term complications, and even death.

His glands are capable of producing two doses per minute, and one dose is enough to bring an African elephant to it's knees. How long the toxin's effects last depend greatly on the size of the victim: for anything smaller than a dog it lasts for more than an hour (although if the toxin has paralyzed the victim's heart they will usually die before the effects wear off), for anything the size of an average human the effects last for about 15 minutes and for anything larger the effects can last to as little as two to three minutes.

Weaponry & Equipment: Mr. Thompson is not very strong and as such does not carry a great deal of equipment with him, but he won't leave home without the tools of his trade - half a dozen slave collars and a cattle prod (he's not made of neurotoxins, after all). As much as he would like to carry a gun, Mr. Thompson's weak body makes it impossible for him to fire anything that powerful without getting his own arm torn off from the kickback, which would make the shot fired so woefully innaccurate that it's not even worth considering.

The slave collars come in a variety of sizes and are designed to be nefariously difficult to remove once put on. They release a massive electrical charge if a certain phrase is uttered to prevent the slave from running rampant, and the collar is also fitted with a small yet suitably lethal explosive device that will go off if anybody attempts to fiddle with it. Mr. Thompson came to Blackstar with about a hundred of these, but they're kind of expensive and not the sort of thing he wants to fall into the wrong hands, especially since he currently has no way to replinish his limited supply, so he's very careful not to waste them.

The cattle prod is mostly for self defense, for the collars very rarely fail. It's not special or unique, and if it's not shocking you into a convulsing frenzy then it's actually pretty easy to break. He buys them through the mail and they're fairly cheap, so he doesn't care if they break or get thrown away.

Home: Mr. Thompson resides in an old medical research facility in the Unexplored South, which is situated near one of the more isolated oases in the area (ie: not the ones on the mostly blacked out Dojo map).

Origin: Mr. Thompson's home world is located in what he translates as 'the Happy Shrimp' (it takes a good hour to describe it's full name is his language, most of which is song), a tiny galaxy with a dim sun and a single planet orbiting it.

Mr. Thompson's home world is quite desolate, but it's inhabitants are very proud of it, and commonly refer to it as 'the exquisite black pearl dancing about Our Heavenly Mistress' for short (it's full name is a seven hour opera), 'Our Heavenly Mistress' being what Mr. Thompson's people refer to their sun as. Most of the world's inhabitants live beneath the planet's surface, and as mentioned earlier the gravity on this world is very low, so the many long underground tunnels snaking through the planet are undoubtedly the safest and most convenient way to travel.

Those not so fond of Mr. Thompson's people refer to their homeworld as the 'Swiss Cheese Planet', and derogatorily refer to his people as 'weevils'.

Pre-Dojo History: Mr. Thompson left his homeworld at a young age to achieve his lifelong dream of establishing a small yet successful business as a slave trader. It took him many years to get established, but eventually 'Honest Archibald's Discount Slaves' found a place wandering the universe inside of a derelict spaceship. He specialized in catering towards those who were not comfortable with dealing with the usual sort of people who bought and sold slaves (mostly because those paid the best money), but he also dealt with rougher and less reputable customers too (because they were far more numerous).

For reasons that escape Mr. Thompson the slave business is considered by many to be something of an ethical quagmire, and there are various places in the universe where he quickly learned that slave traders, even upmarket ones with fancy names and nicely cleaned stores, were not welcome. In addition to this, competition in the questionably-legal industry was cutthroat - sabotage, theft and outright attacks were commonplace amongst slave traders.

Mr. Thompson essentially dealt in two of the most popular varieties of slave: combat and pleasure. There were other varieties of slave to deal with but these two were by far the most sought after and most definitely the easiest to manage. Combat slaves were to be kept lean, mean and, above all else, obedient. Pleasure slaves on the other hand had to be kept well fed, well exercised and, if they're still too miserable to make a good sale, injected with some of the black market's most powerful mood-enhancers.

During a particularly nasty encounter with 'Bizarre Hal's Slave-a-palooza' and 'Quxillia & Child's Slave Emporium and Friendly Meat Market' Mr. Thompson's ship was wrecked beyond the point of no return. He was forced to eject and leave the majority of his slaves to die by either explosion or cold, airless space (better that than let those filthy scoundrels Hal or Quxillia get their hands on them!), and after realizing that he'd forgotten to refuel it since the last time he had to eject he floated about in space for a good few weeks in his escape pod.

Eventually though Mr. Thompson's pod floated into a wormhole, one which led him right here into the Blackstar Dojo...

Post-Dojo History: Mr. Thompson has only recently arrived in the Dojo, but he prides himself as being an incredibly effecient businessman, and has achieved quite a bit in his short time here.

His first move was to gather as much information on the realm as possible. Blackstar had hit hard times, which meant that this was the perfect time for him to get his slave trading foot jammed firmly into the door. A complete void in power, low employment and high levels of crime are the perfect ingredients for slave trading, and he needed to take advantage of them before somebody else did.

Once he'd figured out the most suitable places to do business (and, just as importantly, the danger zones to avoid), Mr. Thompson set about 'acquiring' some property to run his business from. Starting from the ground up meant that there was a great need to act with discretion and to avoid attracting any unwanted attention, especially from any potential competition. As well as this, it needed to be in a place that was dangerous and/or desolate enough to deter potential escape or rescue attempts, and in a place far away enough from the local populace that, should things ever get really out of control, he could blow the entire thing up without killing anybody that he didn't own.

He ultimately decided that it would be a choice between the unexplored southern deserts and the frozen northern wastes, and listened carefully for any decent rumours that might pertain to either one of them. Eventually he heard word of a recent arrival who, disgusted by the unlawful state of the once glorious realm, had left for the south months ago. Most had figured that he'd die there as he didn't look much like a fighter, but amazingly enough he hadn't, and he'd come back for 'research'.

Mr. Thompson sought this individual out to meet with him immediately, in the hopes of discovering where he might have lived for so long without dropping dead from heat exhaustion or dehydration. The individual, a doctor, it would seem, was not particularly difficult to find, nor was he difficult to pursuade. The doctor pointed out that he needed money and subjects for his research, and that housing a slave trading business would provide him with both.

Now working from the doctor's medical facility in the Unexplored South, Mr. Thompson's goal is to re-establish himself as a top-quality slave trader here in Blackstar Dojo, to get his claws on as many slaves as possible and to build a classy new slavery to attract rich customers. So far he's yet to think of a good name for it.

Factions & Allies: Mr. Thompson looks most favourably upon any faction or allies that do not frown upon his business or his practices.

He is currently sharing the residency of a doctor, whom he gets along reasonably well with, although the two have something of a small rivalry between each other when it comes to intelligence.

Personality: Mr. Thompson's 'golden rule' (if it can be described as such) is that customers are the ones who have the money, and slaves are the ones who do not. He does not care about personal circumstances or grievances, regardless of what they look like or who they remind him of: Mr. Thompson is a professional, and slaves are his merchandise.

He does not consider his occupation or his practices to be immoral, nor can he understand why others might think it to be. He sees slaves as 'lesser' beings, animals essentially, but as they rarely act otherwise he's not likely to ever see them as people. That said, he does have an eye for quality, and will pay top dollar for what he considers to be a high-class slave.

On the subject of money, prior to arriving here in the Dojo, Mr. Thompson was not terribly wealthy. His business was quite successful, but all profits went into purchasing more slaves and fixing his complete rustbucket of a ship (he always hated that ship, but it was a necessity and he couldn't afford better). With so much competition in the slave market and not enough firepower to randomly abduct aliens to make into slaves Mr. Thompson was one of the more 'legit' slave traders, forced to buy and sell slaves rather than just taking them. In exchange however, he has become quite a persuasive negotiator, capable of convincing people to do just about anything for him (provided that they aren't a competitor).

To those who have money or are not wearing slave collars, Mr. Thompson is friendly, charming and very easy to get along with. He is a skilled conversationalist as he finds that having something interesting to talk about makes customers feel more comfortable. He's always eager to liven things up, and is quite the avid gambler. Losing money in a wager to please a customer is always worth it, in his opinion, and amongst companions it fosters a friendly rivalry that both parties can enjoy.

He is a little sensitive when his capabilities are brought into question, and is prone to snapping when people treat him like a criminal given his belief that he is not doing anything wrong (unless, of course, the person doing so is a paying or potential customer). All in all though Mr. Thompson is very rarely aggressive, even when provoked, and will always try to talk his way out of a confrontational situation before resorting to violence... But even then, he'd rather have a slave or somebody else fight on his behalf than get his own hands dirty.

Current Slaves: Mr. Thompson regrets to inform any interested parties that he has no slaves as of this moment.