Ultimate Chara Creation Competition

"One day Son, all those self-serving control freaks will be purged, and when that happens we won't have to hide anymore... One day, one day." That was his Great-Uncle's mantra, and the code that he lived by. He'd raised his great-nephew up on a remote island at the request of his parents. His parents not wanting to be cast in a dark light by their force wielding son. The day that his parents had caught him on the ocean glowing, the sky had been shimmering in waves of Ether like a sky-born sea, they had given him over to his Great-Uncle. Raised by extremely isolation happy survivalist he was kept from the spot-light. Trained by the man, it took forever to learn his power. When the man died Ael'vin soon stepped out of that life style and went to reservations to further train his powers.

As the years passed Ael'vin mastered his power, and slowly attempted to get used to nature of cities on what he called educational excursions. More and more the news spread of terrorists, the growing strength of the Elven Hinterland. So much mad possible by such a simple genetic inheritance: Force. At first he tried to help train and strengthen growing force users near Gru'ait in its more remote locations, occasionally apprenticing them and helping them improve. After all, if they learned responsibility and control they wouldn't be liable to branch into terrorism and become criminals. However this was dashed as many became so anyway. The growing dependance of Ether Tech further alienating Force Users and slowly thinned them out.

Once long ago according to his Great-Uncle before Ether Tech, long into the annals of history, Force users had not been the downtrodden weak outcasts they where now. It had been with the growth of Ether Furnaces and Refineries that the Ether of the world had been diminished and their people had slowly died off, as had the Keltan Wolves their ether beast guardians.

Too long had Ael'vin been hidden away from the world, too long his people had suffered and scattered like sand into the wind. He would search out the source of this discourse, and while he was about it, he'd see about finding any remaining Ether Beasts or his Keltan brethren.

The Elven Hinterland and the Elven Supremacy spoke of ether freedom, but they where a bunch of self-delusional idiots. Their whole economy was dependent on Ether, while their people fell into rampant ether abuse and addiction. The real answer would be to purge the need for Ether Tech, that would be a true Ether Freedom they wished for. Their wasn't anyone out there willing to be strong enough to bring that about, no one except Ael'vin.

Lalartu's life is littered with the deaths of kin & kith, as if he were a curse. His family was simple, they taught him the things he needed to know to survive and soon after they passed from the world. His life revolved around his parents until the age of eight, when they suddenly died. He managed to eek out a life alone until a year later he was captured by slavers.

During his time as a slave he was forced to do hard labor, and when he wasn't working he was fighting, his life on the line in the gambling den of an arena. Angered and outraged, he tried to flee from his captors at the age of eleven. He had managed to evade capture for three days, and the next morning when he awoke he was back in the main slaver camp, in his old bed, fresh lashing on his back, though he did not remember getting them, only the pain they gave him then. His slave's life continued for three more years, when he reached the age of fourteen. He had had enough. He broke out during his time in the arena, slaying a few of his captor's as he left, but as he exited into the nearby forest, he blacked out. When he awoke he was covered in blood, a pile of bodies around him and fresh gashes upon his body and a broken sword in hand.

The next several years of his life he devoted to being a mercenary. It was also during this time that his powers began to manifest. He fought for money and a balance with his new found powers over earth. He was controlled, kept in check as a mercenary, but the life was dull and he felt as if he were back in the slave's arena, day after day.

By the age of twenty, he left the mercenaries and sought only to better himself and his abilities with the earth. He struggled with his powers at first and the price he paid for them without the constant supplies he had in the mercenary corp. He soon found that if he relied more on himself first he could develop his power slowly over time, while keeping a check on his price and gathering money as he needed to replenish his power.

The age of twenty-five was when things changed for him, he became a bounty hunter. At first, he merely used it as a regulator to keep his powers in check, but soon he found that he enjoyed hunting people. There was a thrill in the hunt, something he had never felt before. There was also something else occurring. He began to glean memories of his past that he had never known. He knew who, what, had caused the death of his parents, but he honestly did not care anymore.

His life now was about survival, those who had ever been close to him had died, those who had tormented him had stayed, until he silenced them himself. There was a small group that he trusted, and even then he warned them not to trust him, telling them one day they may find themselves on his blade.

During one of his "hunts" his unfortunate victim, shot him with a gun. A mistake he paid for with his life, but it was at that time that Lalartu learned the value of firearms. He quickly found a gun that did not merely kill, it tested his skill, something that suited him strongly, like his blade. The single action revolver became a fine addition to his armaments and as he continued to use it he became more skilled with it, even enjoying the tension of having to reload during battle.

His life has continued, the only peace he has ever known is the time he spends fishing and a wash of tranquility comes over him. These moments are sparse, for he continues to fight to survive in the world. He has never worried about making a name for himself, only improving and moving to the next challenge. He is hoping his next targets actually test his skill in battle rather than in hunting.

Spoiler:

Reiki was born in the small town Corthian, the daughter to an old family of tailors and seamstresses. From the time she was five her single mother started teaching her their craft, eventually teaching her to craft the fine, needlepoint lace that the family was renowned for. She fell in love with the work the moment she first learned it, and she would spend hours and hours practicing her craft, especially her lacework. It was her pride and joy.

She might have had a fairly ordinary life, had she not started suffering from hallucinations at 16 years of age. While working on another piece of hers, an elegant woman sat down next to her, and with a critical eye ordered her to “destroy your piece of shit before the world has to see it.”

The woman – or hallucination, rather – called herself January, and she demanded nothing less than perfection from Reiki. Her appearances were irregular and unpredictable, and Reiki started to fear her approach, having trouble sleeping at night and starting to work even more feverishly on her work. Her fingers grew scarred with the number of times she accidentally stabbed herself with her needles. And as she worked herself to exhaustion, her mind only further crumbled.

The cast of her hallucinations expanded further, some of them vaguely human, more of them monstrous, and all of them either abusive or overtly violent. Her notions of reality and fantasy crumbled, and she grew more and more distant from the real world, falling back into her world of nightmares and her pursuit of perfection.

One of these hallucinations, a creature called Northwest, started appearing more and more prominently at 17, demanding that she give him blood. Reiki tried to hide herself in her work, unwilling to follow his orders, and in retaliation Northwest became a constant. He never left her side – he’d follow her in the corner of her eye and take up post at the end of her bed at night, constantly whispering or growling his desires. Her parents, by now, were becoming severely worried by her mental state – during this time she rarely ate, rarely slept, started easily, and openly spoke to her hallucinations. Terrified by their daughter’s words, they called a mental doctor, an ordinary, somewhat pudgy and harmless older man.

But to Reiki’s eyes, he was as much of a monster as the rest of her hallucination. Fire burned in his eyes, and his kind words threatened, and finally out of fear she retaliated against this ‘threat’ – she reached out for her sewing needles as he spoke to her and stabbed it through his eye, deep into his brain.

With her first murder, she was shipped to a high security mental hospital, and diagnosed with severe schizophrenia. No charges were pressed due to her obvious insanity, and the hospital was enough of a prison anyway even without official charges. It might have been suitable punishment, were it not for one thing:

With the murder, her hallucinations stopped.

Northwest no longer hunted her from the corner of her eye, and January no longer pushed her to perfection. For almost a week, she lived in a silent bliss.

Then they were back again, and more besides, with the same threats and demands. January didn’t care that she was provided no needles or thread for her work while in the hospital, and her criticism grew overtly threatening as Northwest returned to stalking her at the corner of her eye. Her condition grew worse, and the world of the hospital was replaced by a land of blackness and nightmares.

The only way to stop them, she realized, was to follow their demands. That required breaking out.

There was no history of force users in her family, and her docility after being brought in meant she was in a lower security area of the facility. Aura checks occurred regularly to determine if anyone had developed a force, and it was between these checks that a new hallucination appeared. The oddly dressed woman introduced herself as Damask, and the other occupants of her world stepped aside to let her pass.

Damask grabbed Reiki’s head with both hands, and told her it was time for them to get out. “With this,” she said, “your task should be made easier.”

Her first force awoke, Force Compulsion, and when the orderly came by for regular testing she used it to walk with him straight out the back door.

Urged on by her hallucinations, she fled to the edge of the Elven Hinterland, and set up a shop there. She wasn’t pursued into the Hinterland – in their minds, she was now the Elves problem to suffer.

She struggled to survive now in the Hinterland, quickly setting up a small shop for her labors – no more than a shack for her to live in and a workhouse next to it. Her hallucinations still failed to leave her, and now with Damask to temper their wild urgings, she planned her next kill with more care. It wasn’t hard to lure a customer into the woods outside her tiny shack and workshop, and she did the deed quickly, taking no pleasure in it.

Her hallucinations gathered around the kill, and as January hovered over the body, her eyes oddly lit up. “Look at him,” she said. “Look at him. Beneath that grime and the shit he wears you could make something amazing. Maybe… perfection.”

Her approval was so wild, so unexpected, that if anything Reiki was excited rather than horrified by what she implied.

Killing became a habit, luring in victims and killing them as cleanly as she could so she could use their bodies for her art – skin for leather shoes and clothes, but more importantly, fibres and hairs for her lace. The lace became her obsession, and with January’s encouragement she decided to make a dress from it.

Reiki is certain – absolutely, unwaveringly certain – that once her perfect creation is complete, and January is content, she will be free of her hallucinations.

At Ettan's user level, he can sap energy from up to 5 people at once. The transfer of energy is small, but the effects can be felt over extended periods of time.
5 min-Target barely feels any fatigue
10 min-Target may feel some fatigue, either mental or physical, depending on health and resilience of target
30 min-Target undeniably begins to feel tired, level of fatigue depending on target's health and resilience
1 hr-Target becomes tired, may have difficulty performing at top level
1 hr 30 min-Target becomes severely tired, may have difficulty thinking critically or executing vigorous actions
+1 hr 50 min-Target becomes too tired to move some limbs, possibility of fainting increases

When direct contact is involved, the amount of energy stolen is doubled. All targets must be within a 10ft radius for their energy to be sapped. In Ettan's case, this ability triggers whenever another person meets this requirement. This ability does not work through thick walls or through liquids. The user will experience an "overload" effect after they've sapped more energy than their body can handle: they will feel an acute sense of euphoria while being extremely overactive and restless, so much so that the user won't be able to keep their hands, arms, feet, or whatever body part from moving. The absolute extreme of the overload effect is a high level of euphoria followed by uncontrollable muscle spasms, leading to a crippling seizure.

- Fire Rounds: Incendiary rounds that burst into flames when fired. The flames set fire to, and penetrate most unprotected obstructions.
- Ice Rounds: A round that explodes on contact instantly encasing anything within 12 inches in ice.
- Electric Rounds: Essentially and tazer/stun bullet.
- Explosive Rounds: Essentially and super concentrated Fire Round that explode violently on contact.
- High Impact Round: A "force push" bullet meant to knock back or send people flying backwards.

Potentially others, when he meets other force-user willing to share their power he collaborates with them to developed another "new" round that is a weaker version of the force-users power.

A handsome man walks into a bar, he unties the belts to his leather coat and faintly glowing lights can be seems under his shirt collar. He casually walks over to the counter and orders a shot. Almost everyone's eyes are on him, until he takes the first sip.

A young lade approaches. "Hey thar, sir. You don't seem to be from around these parts. Need a hand?"

His chiseled face slowly turns to and sharp bright green-brown eyes pierce right through her. "You'd be right about that, hunny. I'm here on business. No, don't worry, there's no trouble here in this bar, I'm just passing through."

The night carries on and Garret, the man with green-brown eyes, and the young lady move over to a bench where he tells her about himself.

"Times were tough growing up. I had to work hard and long in order to just make ends meet. Force-users had it easy, they just used their powers and got paid, all-be-it minus their usage. That's why I became a hunter, to bring those low life power hungry users in, to stop the hemorrhaging of ether from this planet because of them. It's just, fighting a force-user without any powers of your own is, well, it's impossible. That's when I met Rastler. His entrepreneurship and my dedication to the cause, helped co-create the Ether Round." He pulls out a bullet casing from his belt and starts flicking it between his fingers from thumb to pinky and pinky to thumb. "These babies cost more money than ether, and pack twice the punch any of those UU-3s got."

The young lady gawks at him and moves closer placing her hand on his lap.

"Right, where did it all start? Well, I was part of the Special Operatives assigned to cease and desist certain users for the exorbitant use of Ether. They didn't like us trying to pull the plug on them and took it out on us. Half my squad was killed and the others, including myself, suffered from pretty grievous wounds."

His story didn't carry on much longer before she was pulling him away to a private room. The night's events carried on under the sheets and by dawn she was sleeping on his bare chest while he woke and placed his arm behind his head. She had a small spot of drool that left a cool tingle on his skin. Slowly slinking out of bed he let her sleep as he put on his Special Operative Exosuit, then doned his fitted leather vest to hide the lights of the suit and leather jacket over it.

He slings his twin revolvers in arm holsters, the machine pistol in a back holster hidden under his coat and the rifle on a strap hanging from his back. He leaves a note on the bedside table.

Thanks for the night, doll. I'll see you around.
XOXO Sharpeye

When speaking, his very words causes insanity. It starts out as quiet whisperings in your mind, and escalates to mind numbing terror. Doesn't matter what he is talking about, whether it is puppies or a slaughter, it drives one into completely and utter insanity. The closer you are, the worse it is. Depending on how long the victim is exposed to it, decides how much lasting damage the victim has. Someone exposed for a few hours would have minimal damage and get better within a few hours. One exposed for weeks may never truly recover from it. Depending on the type of personality the victims possessed would determine what kind of insanity the person was inflicted. Example: One could simple be curled up in the corner babbling away, one could be terrified, hiding from any and everything, or one could simply be in an uncontrollable rage.

Through touch he can reanimate dead cells. This touch doesn't necessarily have to be on the thing in question however, for example: if he has a piece of hair from a corpse he can use it to reanimate it. The thing being reanimated isn't truly alive, it is merely a shell or husk of its former self. He can make them move, blink, breathe, etc, but they can not talk or remember anything from when they are alive. In the most extreme case he can make them attack people in much the same way a zombie would. For the more extreme case he must have complete concentration, and it drains him a lot.