Name: Nobelus Rhys Dieterre
Personality: A gentle giant, Rhys may appear intimidating at first, but after getting past his eternally stony expression, it is plain to see that he is actually a very kind person. While not one to allow himself to be taken advantage of, he has no qualms with helping those in need when he can spare the time and effort, enjoying putting smiles on troubled peoples’ faces. Despite this, Rhys’ penchant for animals and fondness of plant life often leaves him preferring the loyalty of non-human companions and quiet forests to the hustle and bustle of city life. Company is not unwelcome, and Rhys is not unfriendly to civil people by any means, but he has difficulties in placing his trust in other people, believing humans to be a naturally two-faced race. However once the difficult battle of winning his loyalty is won, it is practically kept for life. Rhys will stand for no affronts to his dearest companions, and spares no effort to make things easier on the people that he cares about. Only the greatest betrayal will cause Rhys to begin to doubt his loyalty— or perhaps acting against Rhys’ strong sense of morals and justice. While Rhys himself is not particularly interested in the affairs of others nor their reasons for doing the things they do, he is very averse to illegal action and places great expectations upon himself, wanting nothing less than the best his efforts can bring and always being righteous in the face of hardship.
But at times, his hardened nature overtakes his softness, and one can see the seasoned soldier turned mercenary turn one eye and hush an entire bar of rambunctious bandits. Rhys has no patience for men without dignity who smear their pride with such intoxications as alcohol and women. He chooses to ignore their existence entirely in his silent solitude, or puts them in their place, unafraid of a bar fight as he, sober and skilled, often puts such trifling matches to an end with one fell swoop of a powerful punch. Chivalry is practically Rhys’ middle name, and he conducts himself with an attitude no less than that of a nobleman or a knight of great status, and so when it comes to mannerless cretins of the city, he transforms into a cold and unfeeling man fit for his appearance. This is not to say that he becomes a confrontational man however, as it is truly only the drunken stupor of a failed man that can provoke Rhys’ endless patience and calm, reasonable demeanor. His temper is not explosive, but rather menacingly silent. The silent treatment type, Rhys requires naught but an honest apology and a genuine attempt to set things right in order to forgive—but his stubbornness can be quite frustrating, and to those who refuse to apologize Rhys can avoid uttering a single word to for days—even months.
Appearance: Towering at 6'8" with the physique of a well-travelled fighter, from appearance alone one can tell that Rhys is not a man to be messed with. His skin is stretched across tight lean muscles like sun-kissed leather but is far from flawless-- it is marred by a multitude of scars ranging from the smallest of nicks to his biggest scar, a slash that crosses his chest and wraps onto his shoulder blade, and it's quite evident that Rhys has had his fair share of battle. Across his knuckles on either hand are tattoos of numbers, the significance of which is unknown to most of Rhys’ acquaintances. These same numbers are tattooed down the left side of his face, starting from just above his temple down to the edge of his jawline. While his gold eyes glitter with clarity and keenness, they also hold the look of a man who is tired, perpetually exhausted of constantly being on the alert. His hair is platinum blonde, kept long enough to veil his eyes and barely brush against the back of his neck, but rarely does one see this halo of hair, carefully hidden along with the rest of his body under swaths of clothing and a mask.
Not one to linger for long in any place other than his hometown of Ticinum, Rhys opts for clothing and armor that is efficient for being on the move. When travelling, his entire person is normally swathed in a brown travelling cloak, hood up and signature black beaked mask down. But underneath this plain yet durable cloak he wears a considerably more ornate outfit: With a base of a tight black turtleneck long sleeved shirt, there is another hood that he prefers up rather than down—at least, when going without the additional cover of his cloak. The secondary hood is a royal blue in color, embellished with golden embroidery around the opening and down the side where it extends into a single sleeved on his right arm. This sleeve is half hidden by bronze gauntlets that extend to his mid-forearms. On either shoulder is a pair of bronze shoulder plates, connected to one another by a bronze chain that hangs across his torso. The plate on the right secures his single sleeve in place, along with a white cloak that drapes behind his right side. He wears a pair of black travelling pants, worn and stitched back together in various places and tucked into bronze-toed boots that are equally dark, gilded with golden thread on the heel and around the opening of the boot just below his knees.
Three brown leather belts circle Rhys’ waist, the thinnest one angled across his hips as it holds the lightest of his burdens, a canteen filled with whatever liquid fits his fancy for a particular trip. A pocket knife is secured to this belt as well, often clanking against the sloshing metal canteen. The other two belts bear the heaviest of his burdens: a copper double axe with a chain on the end that lets the large weapon act as a flail of sorts. The axe itself is tall enough to reach Rhys’ weight when standing upright against the ground handle included, while the blades reach about as high as his knees. The axe is hollowed about four inches past the blade in order to reduce its weight, but it is still heavy enough that simply carrying it around from place to place could be considered weight training in itself.
Background: Born and raised in the inhospitable city of Ticinum, Rhys found trouble for himself everywhere he went. His father was a factory worker, his mother a barmaid in a pub that stood on the banks of the Lesse River, and so he spent most of his days in or around the pub in the dirtiest, most lawless district of the already toxic city. For a time he and his younger sister were looked after by their older brother Leyvi, a very proficient fighter who was keen on joining the Helvan Army—but that ended in the same way most dreams were crushed in Ticinum. A drunken brawl gone bad left Rhys the oldest child, and there was no time to mourn. Rhys was now 12, old enough to work in the factories and old enough to get picked on by drunk adults, as he could no longer be classified as “cute”. He had a lot of growing up to do in the span of a few months, and grew to be a very straight-laced teenager who took his responsibilities towards his family very seriously. Such responsibilities included becoming strong, fast. Rhys spent day after day fighting in the alleys with the boys his age, working twice as hard as any other to come out on top each and every time. He was quickly named the leader of their generation, and while most of the “leading” was done by the second strongest, Rhys and his family were free from threat for the most part. But Rhys hated Ticinum, the city filled with smog and bad memories—and jumped at the opportunity to join the Helvan Army at 16 as his brother had once wanted so desperately. He was conflicted on leaving, but was assured that as a respected soldier, the thugs of Ticinum would not be likely to lay their grubby hands on the poor Dieterre household.
Rhys met life in the capital of Arianne with awe, excitement, and difficulty. Common sense in Ticinum didn’t apply in Arianne, where Rhys was unaccustomed to being around so many kind-hearted people. He found that he could trust people, not have to look behind his back as he walked, and drunkards were an anomaly in the daily life, rather than a staple. Culture shocked, Rhys was afraid of revealing his distasteful background, and in fear of being discovered, became nearly mute. And while he poured his every bit into his training, he was friendless and unhappy in the beautiful city. He spent all his time in the stables, comforted by the stallions that were wild in appearance but gentle to those who treated them well, much like him, and it was the only true place in the city where Rhys could relax and smile. His solitude was noted by a perceptive commander, who approached the young trainee and knowledgeable of Rhys’ strange upbringing, offered to teach him the differences between life in the slums and life in the city. This commander was Rhys’ greatest friend and confidant, and the first to win Rhys’ reputed unbending loyalty. He became quite attached to the commander, perfecting himself in all areas of training in order to please the man whose pride in the young Rhys grew day by day.
Then, battle came to the Helvan Empire, and Rhys performed better than anyone could have expected on the battlefield, unafraid of the reality of crossing blades with the enemy as he had already been in countless brawls in his youth. But what should have been an unrivalled victorious day became Rhys’ worst memory, as the young soldier splattered with the blood of his enemies and a proud smile of accomplishment on his face searched for the beloved commander who had taught him all his manners, all his skills, and rekindled Rhys’ hope for the human race. But that proud smile slowly began to fade into a frenzied fear as Rhys searched the faces of all the living, and finding no likeness of the man amongst them, turned slowly with dread to the tent containing the bodies of the dead. Rhys’ was inconsolable, living now in a peaceful city where the drive to survive did not chase away the grief of loss. The power of death hit Rhys twofold, as Rhys was plagued by the memories of a dead brother and commander, and he became silent once again. Rhys stayed on in the army, honing his skills as relentlessly as he had before the commander’s death, if not with even more fervor than before. He was the hero of the battlefield and did not shy from it even in the face of the most gruesome of injuries—all up until the day he died at 24. Faking his death, Rhys threw away his identity as Nobelus and traded his first name for his middle. He donned a mask and a hood to hide his appearance, and while those who had been close to him in his childhood recognized his name, he fashioned a new reputation for himself in Ticinum as a silent and fearsome man not to be carelessly approached. With this new identity Rhys was free to go wherever he liked, and travel he did—but whenever he could, he returned to Ticinum to keep an anonymous eye on the welfare of his aging parents and blossoming sister, becoming a regular at the bar he once spent his childhood running about.
Legend: Marcell the Stalwart Guardian
Strength - 17
Dexterity - 14
Constitution - 17
Intelligence - 10
Wisdom - 12
Charisma - 8
Major Edged Weapon Specialty
Rhys wields a double edged axe.
Minor Brute Force
+1 Strength Stat.
+1 Constitutions Stat.
Endless Alcohol Tolerance
With hands lying limp in his lap, Kai stared at the poster on the wall opposite him. It was a periodic table, one of those unnecessarily giant ones that had tons of extraneous information about each element crammed into each box. He looked without really seeing, because Kai-Wen Tseng's mind was elsewhere. A hero advancing upon a veteran title, he'd just been broken the news that he was to be paired up with another hero, as a joint effort between his company and another. It would be an attempt to appeal to male audiences as well, since his public image wasn't exactly the masculine kind that attracted men. And it didn't hurt to have a few friends to rely on, right?
Well that's what they'd told him, in order to convince him to agree to it. It wasn't that Kai didn't do teamwork or anything cool like that. He wasn't a lonewolf at all, but having another person who was directly related to him meant that he'd be expected to socialize with her. First of all, Kai never talked to girls, and this was just an unfortunate fact of life. The opposite sex made even less sense to him than his own gender did. Unless they were 2D-- then they made perfect sense, but real life girls just seemed to expect so much more from him than he could produce. Most of his friends were guys. The other veteran heroes, like Walker, Duke, and Ray... but even then they weren't exactly his friends so much as acquaintances with whom he would be occasionally willing to hold a brief and awkward conversation with.
Shaking his head, Kai got to his feet, standing without making another movement for a moment or two. There was no helping it, right? The company had decided this, and the company always knew best. This was the basics of the basics, all graduates of the Hero Academy knew this. Turning on his heel and exiting the empty office, Kai figured that thinking too hard about it wouldn't get him anywhere. He'd have to deal with it as it came, as he did with most things.
A familiar beeping sound alerted him to the fact that the problem plaguing him would come closer than he'd expected. He looked down at his watch, letting a slight disappointment slip into his normally expressionless face.
With any luck, Kai thought to himself, dashing down the stairs with more energy than would be expected of a shut-in like him, he'd be more confident around his new partner in costume. And if the first impression was good, then... then it wouldn't be so bad when she found out that he was just a train wreck, right? Yeah. Definitely. He hopped the railing, jumping down the center of the spiralling staircase and landing with a squishing sound as his legs melted into a black puddle, reforming and propelling him back up into a standing position. Looking up through his long black fringe, he saw the black signature truck with his name emblazoned across the side: "BIOHAZARD", in large yellow warning letters. In all these years, Kai had always wished for the contraption on the inside to be implemented into his own home. Stepping into the truck and acknowledging his technician, he stepped into the changing station, lifting his arms and planting his feet firmly on the stage. As his uniform, the signature sleeveless double-breasted jacket, knee-high boots, and pants were quickly arranged upon his person, his original outfit landed in a neat folded pile on a shelf behind him.
Reaching up behind his head and pulling his mask over his face, the truck sped away. Now there were some heroes who made flashy entrances-- heroes like Frostbite and SpitFire who had images and abilities fit for such antics. But BIOHAZARD had to keep an air of mystery about him, and Kai realized there lied the next problem.
He'd not been briefed on his new partner's abilities. The doors slid open, revealing a nice obscure alleyway that was close enough to the scene, but not butting straight into it. Stepping out, his technician called out, "Your new partner's on the roof of this building!"
Kai stared back, knowing full well that nobody could see his deadpan face from behind the swirly yellow-red eyes and gas mask. He looked up, reaching up his arms as they dissipated into long black tendrils that hooked onto the top the building. In a flash, BIOHAZARD was hopping onto the rooftop, seeing a girl in---
He opened his mouth to say "You should get dressed" but then considered the fact that maybe that was her hero outfit.
..................... It wasn't very... practical........ but if it was for advertising purposes, then BIOHAZARD could certainly er... sympathize...
Approaching her silently, he took a deep breath to calm his nerves-- meeting people for the first time had never been his favorite... But he was dismayed to find that the breath rattled out from his gas mask in a creepy way. At least it caught her attention without him having to say anything, Kai thought. He thoughtlessly held out his hand, because meeting people for the first time usually meant you shook hands. But he quickly looked down at the pitch black hand and withdrew it. Best not to poison his own partner on the first day. He looked up at the huge TV screen, and seeing the score, decided that introductions could wait. SpitFire would be showing up soon, and that guy just loved hogging all the criminals to himself.
"I can't do much against fire," Stated BIOHAZARD with his rattling, distorted voice, pointing up at the flaming NEXT on the screen. His arms dissolved and formed large clawed hands, one of which whirled off into the air. "But you do whatever works for you." He hopped onto the remaining hand, which carried him off towards a group of the criminals who had run off.
"What's happening?! One of the thieves has just collapsed!!" The announcer's voice rang through the air as the screen flashed to a man lying in a puddle of black ooze, "Looks like he was caught up in the toxic hand of the mystery hero, BIOHAZARD!!"
Sliding off of his hand as it formed into a ramp, then back into it's original clawed state, he straightened and bowed to the remaining criminal, who had paused in his escape to see his predator. His left hand swivelled back into position at his side, and BIOHAZARD let out a rattling breath for the camera just as the black puddle shot out from underneath the incapacitated thief, slamming the other into the brick walls of the alleyway. The large hand-like clamp tightened it's grasp.
"Let's make a trade." BIOHAZARD whispered maliciously to the criminal, holding up a clear vial in between the sharp points of his left index finger and thumb. Swishing it's contents back and forth, he spoke up enough for the youthful quality of his voice to be heard through the distortion, "Your surrender in return for your life. .... I suppose your friend over there, too." He made a shrug motion with what was left of his shoulders.
❝ get down with the sickness