Post by Percival Heath on Dec 22, 2010 18:31:22 GMT -5
Percival Heath
"Hey. Lookit me. C'mon. It'll be fine."
"Hey. Lookit me. C'mon. It'll be fine."
NICKNAMES: //[/color]
AGE: //[/color] 26
DATE OF BIRTH: //[/color] October 12, 2000
GENDER: //[/color] Male
ALIGNMENT: //[/color] Neutral Good
OCCUPATION: //[/color] General do-gooder, part-time driver,
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Locked and loaded
THISPHONETHISPHONETHISPHONE
Formal me is unformal
Rollin' out.
HEIGHT: //[/color] 5 feet, 10 inches
WEIGHT: //[/color] 165 pounds
EYE COLOR: //[/color] Blue
HAIR COLOR: //[/color] Blonde
PIERCINGS: //[/color] Not really, no.
TATTOOS: //[/color] A command seal on his bicep, shaped like so.
DISTINGUISHING FEATURES: //[/color] Nah.
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- Faith
- From the beginning, Percival was raised to believe in the presence of a higher power. As it turns out, that power is God of the Christian faith, despite the fact that He does not actually exist within this world. Although he is not learned as versed in the Bible as he'd like to be (more often than not, he would end up butchering Latin and psalms), his faith endures.
- HEROIC HERO WHO DOES HEROIC STUFF
- As a result of his upbringing, he earnestly wants to help the world in any manner he can, step by step. He's not presumptuous enough to think that he's capable of massive revolutions, or of grand wisdom, or anything like that. He just wants to help.
- Friendly
- It's sort of a given that he's friendly. After all, it says somewhere, “Love thy neighbor,” right? Percival takes this part seriously. No man is an island, after all.
- Sorta Innocent
- Well, some things that he has done certainly prevent him from landing in the wide-eyed idiot territory. However, for the most part, he's rather optimistic, almost dangerously so. This might have been sufficient in his previous life, but the world of Magi is an entirely different affair.
- Chivalrous
- 'Nuff said. He won't hit girls, either. Or dudes that dress like girls. He's fine with girls who dress like men, though – at least, till he realizes that they're girls.
- Rich Idiot with no day job
- When your patron seems to enjoy paying for your basic needs and lets you do whatever you want to do, you don't tend to try to develop actual work-related skills beyond burger-flipping (but face it, anyone can do that). It's only a good thing that he actively devotes his time to helping people, lest he'd be plagued with crippling self-doubt or something like that.
LIKES: //[/color]
Cars.
Chivalry.
Chivalric tales.
Cars.
Goodness in general.
Smokes. Hey, he didn't say he was PERFECT.
DISLIKES: //[/color]
Bats.
Profanity.
BEEEEEEEEEES
People who abuse their power.
STRENGTHS: //[/color]
Percival tends to make friends with many people, if only because of his gregarious nature. It's just how he is. Furthermore, he's just very likeable. It can't be quantified. It's one of those things – some people make friends, some don't. He's one of the former.
Another thing of note is that Percival is pretty active and strong for his age – that is to say, freaking fit. He usually keeps himself in practice, though.
WEAKNESSES: //[/color]
Percival's friendly disposition also makes him vulnerable to assholes. Especially the manipulative type.
Additionally, while he's quite skilled at being an ACTION HERO, this has come at a price. Although he's naturally sharp, he barely knows anything about skilled work, like math and whatnot. Don't get me wrong – he knows addition and multiplication, but stuff like calculus, history, or higher education in general slips by.
Lastly, he has entered the War with a disadvantage. While the other Magi know what they are dealing with, to an extent, Percival has no such benefits. He does not know about the war, even about other Magi... but they will certainly know about him.
Also, cannot hit a girl.
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MY FAMILY LINE: //[/color]
Riiiight. Since Percy can hardly answer for himself, being a bastard and all, I,
Anyways. As a generational family, they were rather poor Magi. They could not settle on anything. In the way the Edelfelts stuck to jewels, the Einzberns to alchemy, and the Matous to creepy weird shit, Percy's family had... nothing. Then again, this is due to their Sorcery Trait.
While a family's element would remain rather static through the ages, Percival's family's element varies per person, dependent on the personality. A hotblooded fiery fellow would be more attuned to fire. A person of regal and noble standing would be wind, and so on. Due to this wildly varying familial learning, standing by a single teaching would be all but impossible, and thus, a Crest is nearly useless, save for prana-boosting capabilities. Each individual Magus is generally self-taught, from records and the like, save for the rare cases that they can find a tutor, either in a different family
The Crest is passed down, decided by basic, raw prana capacity - every sixty years, the extended family gathers, just as a normal one would for a reunion (barbecues, but with magi!). There, every child under ten has their prana capacity checked. The one with the most would be decided as the Crest's heir. The child would spend however long it took for the Crest to get transplanted with the head family, even if his family and tutors had to be shipped along with him/her.
(Apparently, they once overbooked Hyde Park. Hyde Park)
However. If they say power comes with a price, then I guess... uh, a bad thing comes with a good thing? Ah, the metaphor's “every cloud has a silver lining.” As their magecraft is more tied with their own mentality, conforming to it, the science just... comes more natural to them. It can't be quantified, like how having twenty-fifteen crests per generation or boosting spells to so-and-so rank can. MAGICAL SCIENCE.
Regardless. Because of this decidedly weirdass sorcery trait, this family is surprisingly scattered. There's not much competition out of the friendly scale with them. They're more communal as a result... but they have an odd way of working. Only recently, about a hundred years ago, now that their family is large enough, have they done something about this. They allow their children to grow to six, after getting a general measure of a man, before shipping them to other relatives of similar temperament, in order to facilitate training. They're quite diverse, not nuclear at all.
MY HISTORY: //[/color]
Hey, it's Lord Baron the REEEED (It's a pen-name) again.
Percival was born to some offshooty parents – they were rather inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. Sure, they went home for Christmas and whatnot, but, overall? Not so important to their family, aside from FAMILIAL stuff.
That said, this particular family (and I mean the small kind: mom, dad, kids, not uncles) was kind of... assholish. They moved in on my turf, some nice little hamlet-y place in England or Scotland or somesuch, about forty years ago, rejected the proverbial fruit basket I sent them (which consisted of fire, bees, and MAGIC). They bit back with the fury of an angry lamb. And I retaliated, and so on and so forth.
Eventually, it got to the point that it was like... Romeo and Juliet, but without, you know, Romeo or Juliet.
Anyways, after some assorted dickery on both parts, an escalating war of undercover trickeries and pranksterings, I kind of... well, they sort of died. Somehow.
Yeah.
It was a very embarrassing mistake really. I only found out without meaning to. I sent some servant to knock on their door, only for him to notify me that the door fell too easily without any sort of wards, traps, or whatever. Don't ask why he specifically added that stipulation.
I can only presume that they were messing with some serious magical mojo, and that they were going to hurl that shit at me. Over a friggin' feud. And if it got them killed, then it was probably bad enough to get them Sealing Designated.
So I looked around, a bit curious about what kind of research they were dabbling in. Saw a bunch of desiccated husks. What do you know, they did get killed. And that... sort of pissed me off. That they would meddle with such dangerous stuff just to bug me. Then I saw a kid. Like, a baby. Since I'm not a complete monster who sacrifices babies to the blood god, I adopted him, secretly, of course.
Then I moved my more questionable research over to their little house on the prairie, set the whole thing ablaze, and, like any good samaritan, notified the Clock Tower, so they could call the Enforcers to sift through the scraps and the crap. I sat back in my leather chair, stroked my cat, and sipped some wine. After the Enforcers left, I sold the chair, returned the cat to my henchman and trashed that old, horrible tasting wine.
But. I still brooded and cackled maniacally. For great villainery.
I now had a little child to mold in my image, to guide, to lead, to teach... well, were it not for the fact that I already had a heir, so that was sort of out.
And since I barely liked the brat's family anyways, I decided to have some fun with him. First, I did some research. What obviously false idol could he worship? God, apparently. Already, I could see the ending!
For the next fifteen years, I hired / called some priestly guy to instill the faith of the lord and everything in him, not a magical priest, mind you. Just a vanilla mortal. It worked pretty well. Little kid grew up to be some hilariously devout fellow, and many laughs were had by me, for me, with me.
But it wasn't all rosy. I had to give up a decent amount of magecraft for fifteen years. FIFTEEN YEARS, FOR THE BEST CON EVER. Can you imagine? At least I had a small army of butlers, maids, and butler-maids (for those sitting on the fence) to see me through.
Really, the only magecraft I allowed myself was something that I'd never touched for about a decade (and I used it only because of a particularly well-played trick by the Capulet to my Montague involving a duck, a funnel, and JD Salinger's The Catcher in the Rye - again, don't ask). Reinforcement.
It was harder than you'd think... for my MASTER PLAN to come to fruition, I would have to tread carefully. I would have to work quietly. Secretly.
So I basically lied my ass off, told him that his faith would empower him, and that God gave him holy points or something. For, you know, coolness. Then I taught him reinforcement. This undercover magecraft teachings went only so far. I doubt that I'd be able to pass off a frickin' fireball as GOD POPE BEAMS.
And, surprisingly, it worked. Sure, I taught him the very basic theory with only different terms, but, wow, it worked. As it turned out, it was probably his sorcery trait. Not, you know, because I'm a particularly good teacher.
Anyways, throughout his learning, I also sort of let him do whatever, when not learning. He mingled with the peons and the locals. He went running. He went exercising. He went reading chivalric tales. He even went riding those newfangled metal steed things.
Then, when he was 16, I kicked his virgin mind and ass out of my house for two years.
I think he went to some third world country to do church-y stuff, like maybe preach, or at least volunteering at a parish. When he came back, at the age of 18, he also picked up some decent skills with those... firearms, was it? As I understand it, the parish was a little more lenient about that sort of thing. While they would gladly give aid and sanctuary to those that needed it, they also understood the harsh reality of their jobs. They needed to deter the would-be predators, those that would violate a church's sanctity. Percy, not being a godly orator or even basically proficient, took up a guard's duty.
He willingly gave up the protection granted to him by the Geneva Conventions as a noncombatant, actually. (First, they tried imposing rules on war, and second, those rules seem to work so well). That said, he got some basic weapons training (In his words, brace it against your shoulder, don't shoot sideways) and... well, I guess that he took it himself, from then on out. Himself, and a little/lot of reinforcement.
Oh, and he also took up smoking. For some reason. What. Guess shit was tougher than he'd thought.
Anyways, after resting up, he left again, on various journeys around the world. All volunteering. All... well, action-y volunteering. He wasn't the type to dole out soup and books when he could be doing tougher things. I really don't care what he did, exactly... but I think he picked up epic driving (Or riding?) skills and a rather marginal amount of combat medic skills along the way. Guess it comes with the territory...? It boggles the mind. Is that what vanilla human churchies do? Think my respect might've marginally increased, slightly... w-w-well, I'm not saying that because I like them! Hmph!
Anyways, tsundere moment over. One night, I called him up on one of those rare off days, not because I cared or anything, but because I wanted to see how my MASTER PLAN was going along. It was a crapass boring conversation, up until he mentioned some asshole giving him trouble. I had a few suggestions for him.
First, he should shit himself. That would show them. Funnily enough, he didn't go for that.
Second, he could just... kill the asshole. It took some trying, but I pointed out, why would he have super strength, sight, etc etc, and make stuff better?
And so it went. He was away, I helped to fund him a bit... at least, until a few weeks ago, when I received a very interesting letter from the Association, regarding a certain Grail War. I thought about it, and penned a letter back.
To whom it may concern.
First, I honestly am flattered that you would consider me, some eighty year old codger with the weirdest hair and mustache, a truly noble warrior, or at least noble enough to participate in a war consisting of seven men, seven familiars, and no collateral damage. I truly appreciate you lumping me in with all of them whippersnappers and what not. Let's get that out of the way, here and now. I honestly do not believe that you are trying to actually force me into a confrontation with young folks just so I can die an ignoble death, slain by some asshole assassin, so then you can sweep down on my estate like vultures and harpies and assbandits.
Furthermore, I have almost forgotten the fates of well-placed and established magi that have participated in the last few wars. El-Melloi, who lost his wife, died, and got his head cut off. Then he got replaced by by some asshole whose strings are being pulled by some absurdly youthful-looking girl, who, despite being 43, still gives me naughty thoughts, and then makes me ASHAMED of having them, young as she looks. I mean, goddamn. No sag. Or Tohsaka, who apparently got stabbed by some asshole Assassin, and his wife... err, got turned into a vegetable. And I honestly have no idea why. Furthermore, all of those poor magi had the poor, poor luck of having to associate with those godsdamned Matous - thank god that they got wiped out. Then do I have to mention the last War? Where everyone died? Hope not.
In conclusion? Fuck no.
Then I called up my foster son. "Percy...? Think you need a vacation... I have a nice summer house in Italy... a place called Lucca. Interested?"
He was, actually. So, as he made preparations to fly to Lucca (in the womb of a big iron birdgod), I basically checked out his stuff (borrowed) and shipped them to my vacation home, through MAGIC SCIENCE POWERS.
If I could ship pig skulls and a few million dollars of jewels around, I'm sure that a few recreational stuff wouldn't be out of the question. Wouldn't want him to die so soon. Wouldn't want him to get lonely, eh? Now, pardon me, while I go ahead and buy a chair, borrow a cat, and steal some old vinegar. And cackle malevolently.
------
Percival grinned as he set his traveling bags on the steps, flipping through his keyring. He shook out a well-worn bronze key, and matched it with the equally worn lock. With a light click, he pushed the oak door open, picked his bags up, and entered the house, kicking the door shut behind him. For the second time in as many minutes, he discarded his bags, casually tossing them aside. It was a long trip. He'd unpack later. For now, he was content to take the grand tour of his foster father's estate.
Despite the man's claim that he had never stepped foot in it for about thirty years, the place looked fairly fresh, lacking the dust of ages. The house was fairly unfurnished, at least, for its size - there were many empty spaces, no superfluous knick-knacks. Certainly, a far cry from his father's home. Still, it was far too generous for a simple vacation.
As he entered the absurdly spacious dining hall, Percival glanced at the table, faintly raising an eyebrow at the fruitbasket placed in the center. As he strode to the well-furnished basket, he absentmindedly picked out an apple, biting into it, as he fished out a note.
Hey, Asshole.
Don't leave your stuff with me. I've had them shipped to the basement.
-Yours.
Chuckling, Percival crumpled the note up, tucking it in a pocket. Still chomping down on the apple, the tourist made his way to the basement. Finishing the fruit, he tossed it in a nearby wastebasket as he picked up some ancient lamp. Honestly, he had no idea why his surrogate father insisted on technology from half a millenium ago. It was a little ridiculous... but he learned to deal with it. Lighting the gas lantern, Percival descended down the steps, illuminating the path before him, one step at a time.
Then he stopped. Before him lay a... something. He couldn't tell what it was, or even affix any single name to it. It resembled a lion, but only in form. Its body was of splintered bone, its mane of twisted, mangled copper. Then a word came. Not many, only one.
It was a monster.
The beast turned two baleful, unseeing eyes upon him, each a white, glowing plate. With the tortured screeching of metal scraping against bare bone, the monster stretched languorously, warily and vapidly staring at the intruder.
Suddenly, Percival found himself stricken by a crippling fear. He could not bring himself to move, to even twitch. He could only stare back into the lion's eyes as it began to leisurely trot towards him. It growled, a cacophony of rasps and screeches, taunting its prey. The man could only wait for his inevitable demise. However, some goading voice at the back of his mind snarled at him, forcing him into action, pushing back against the clouding fear.
The lion pounced.
At the last moment, the voice broke through. As he imagined a beam of light breaking through the heavens, Percival felt a rejuvenating sensation spread through his body as the numbness instantly disappeared. Quickly breaking into a simple and short chant, Percival tapped into some unknown wellspring of strength, allowing it to flow through his legs. As the beast bore down upon him, blood dripping and trailing from its form (Oh God, why did he not see that before), the man swiftly ducked out of the claws' range, allowing the lion to clumsily smash itself against the wall, sending flecks of blood and bone flying. Without hesitating, Percival dashed away, stumbling. He frantically swung the lantern around, casting pale beams of light hither and thither, wildly looking for something that he could use. He blinked. There was a half-finished suit of armor. It was a hobby of his, a restoration project what was it -
Already, the lion was regaining its bearings. As it loosed another rasping howl, it pounced once more. Percival began chanting again, grabbing a gauntlet. As he slipped the old metal glove over his right hand, he already felt His grace flow through both arm and armor. He planted himself firmly, and as the beast neared, he loosed a mighty uppercut, smashing the monster's chin, sending a third of its face flying away in a hail of bone and copper. Then the rest of it bore down upon him, forepaws firmly pinning his shoulder. Without hesitation, he rapidly kicked at the thing's underbelly, once, twice, sending more bone shards and blood spraying. Growling in frustration, it slammed a paw into Percival's shoulder. Percival bit back a choked gasp of pain. As the beast prepared another slam, he swiftly unleashed another kick, unbalancing it. As the lion rolled over, Percival stumbled to his feet, grabbing the discarded lamp, wildly looking around for a weapon, pausing to cast the occasional harried glance at his foe.
He blinked.
It was a shotgun. No, not just any gun, it was one that he had employed rather frequently... he thought he had stored it in a vault or something. Where did it - he stopped thinking, and quickly picked it up. Good, already loaded... well, half-loaded. As the lion pounced once more, he raised the shotgun, and fired.
The creature's face exploded into another hail of bone and copper and blood. It loosed a horrible, gargling scream as it skidded across the floor, a broken thing. It attempted to limp to its feet, only for Percival to calmly level the shotgun at its body, firing again.
This time, it did not rise.
Percival only stood there, the shotgun hanging limply by his side, breathing heavily. What had he gotten into? Monsters. Inside his basement. What sort of madness was this? He should leave. He should get out, before it got too -
He stopped himself. These things were monsters. Freaking nightmares dreamed up by the worst of people. And this was his first encounter in Lucca. This could not be a mere coincidence. He stopped shaking, slowly calming down. He was given strength for a reason. He never knew what that reason was, but he had an inkling of a feeling that the answer lay here... no, he already knew it! Everything was building up to this moment. He would fight monsters.
Despite himself, despite the half-ruined carcass smoldering on the floor beside him, Percival could only allow himself an exhilarated grin. He knew what had to be done. He would remain in Lucca, and find the source of this infestation. He would remain in the holy city, and protect it.
AN: No, I didn't set a frickin' bone lion on his ass. It would have been hilarious, though.
MY GOALS: //[/color] His goals? Probably something noble, like killing all the evil monsters, or maybe wishing for world peace, once he finds out about the Grail.
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Suit of Armor - more ornamental than anything, it's actually part of an ambitious restoration project, in the way that some people restore hotrods. It's a half-finished recreation of some Knight templar armor. Currently missing a cuirass, both pauldrons, and a greave. Collects dust in the basement.
Longsword - With the blade measuring at 90 centimeters long, its genericness speaks volumes.
Ford F-150 Pickup Truck: A 17 year old truck, Percy purchased one for the express purpose of, you guessed it, getting around. It has been in use for half a decade, and is rather wellworn as a result.
Browning High-Power - Starts with 5 clips of 13 rounds.
AA-12 Shotgun - 32 12-gauge shots, 40 non-lethal, rubber shots.
Smokes and Lighter - Enough said.
A cellphone - Is a cellphone. It texts, it skypes, it calls people, it even plays Robot Unicorn Attack.
RANK: //[/color] NA, Tower has never heard of him.
ELEMENT: //[/color] Fire. His devout faith burns with the fury of a small sun!
EXPERTISE: //[/color]
Car Fu / Improbable Driving Skills-
You drive in urban settings. Everyone does that. You want a cookie or something? Now, try driving a car through a desert. Or maybe through a rainforest. In rain. And mud. Through trees. And people, if necessary. Because Percy's had to do such things in his line of work. He had to transport people and food and whatnot through the roughest terrain - and if you get pursued by assholes who want your money, life, and bread, well... more training for you, I suppose. Percival is an excellent driver of all vehicles, a skill born out of experience and necessity.
Oh, and he drives stick, too.
Gunmanship-
Percy shoots people. It happens. The rabbiting and scurrying tactics of yesteryear only gets you so far before you get slaughtered like a pig anyways. Sometimes, it takes training to fight back. Although he never initiates a firefight, Percy certainly will end one, should it come to that. He is quite skilled with handling handguns, shotguns. Sometimes, though, he prefers the nonlethal takedown, so he is outfitted with rubber rounds to facilitate this end.
Sword Fu-
Not really a game-breakingly powerful practitioner of this art (because honestly, who brings a sword to a gunfight, or to anything besides a costume party?), but then again, hobby. Percival is fascinated with chivalric tales and the like, and has essentially taken up swordplay as a result. He has been tutored in the use of longswords during a three year stint in Colombia - you find the strangest (and coolest) people in the strangest places, after all.
MAGIC CIRCUITS: //[/color] Ten circuits at 7.5 PrC = 75 Pr
SPELLS: //[/color] The spells shown here are mostly (if not all) buffs for a reason. Buffing something can be explained more easily than a god pope beam or calling a lightning bolt to the hands, which goes well with Percy's muggle-ish upbringing. The only reason he can use those spells is because he is sort of magically autistic as a result of his Trait. Reinforcement is just a matter of dumping prana in an object, even if the amount is the tricky part. To use an analogy, he can add 1 to itself a 10321 times over (it takes dedication), but not necessarily find the integral of some function without help.
Body/Limb Reinforcement (Strengthening - Fire)
Rank: D
Cost: 3 per body part (Arms x 2, Legs x 2, head, torso, neck)
Range: Self
Effect: A one-line spell for initializing, can be extended by a few words for added reinforcement (It takes a single line to start the spell and to reinforce a body part, but then, it's swifter to add extra parts onto it than it is to do each reinforcement individually).
It reinforces the chosen body parts for 10 minutes, and all that entails: greater strength, greater durability, greater dexterity.
Perception Reinforcement (Strengthening - Fire)
Rank: D
Cost: 10
Range: Self
Effect: A one-line spell.
It reinforces his perceptions (by prana dumping his BRAIN), as well as the way he can handle them. It increases his reaction speed, dropping his reaction time to 90 milliseconds, as well as increasing his senses. He can see farther (5 times better than someone with 20/20 vision), as well as hear, smell, etc. A funny story about that - when he first tried it out, he nearly fainted because his teacher had deliberately unloaded several pounds of manure in the next room over. He got better though - he is capable of phasing out the 'white noise' of the senses, and is better attuned to the world as a result.
Lasts 5 minutes.
Material Reinforcement (Strengthening - Fire)
Rank: D
Cost: 2 prana per 5 kilogram of object being reinforced up to 100 kg.
Range: Self
Effect: Two line spell.
Pushes the basis of an object to the utmost. For example, it would make a sword sharper or a hammer heavier.
Lasts 5 minutes.
PLAYER'S NAME: //[/color] Beogurd
FACE CLAIM: //[/color] Jean Havoc, FMA
OTHER CHARACTERS: //[/color] BEOWULF, Sigurd
MISC. INFORMATION: //[/color] I hope this is okay. Haven't made any master chars yet, so... :<
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