Application to The Sky Tides
PLAYER INFORMATION-
Name/Nickname: Dragon or DD5150
AIM/E-mail/Contact: dragondancer5150@yahoo.com
LJ: http://dragondancer515.livejournal.com/
CHARACTER INFORMATION-
Canon Character and Series: Hellboy, Hellboy
In-Game Name: “Red” . . . his “father” named him Hellboy and it’s actually the one he prefers for that reason, but it tends to get too much automatically (sometimes violently) negative reaction from people - his true name is Anung un Rama but he ardently refuses to acknowledge it, and will generally pummel anyone who tries to force the issue
Age: 74, though he’s in a physical and mental shape equivalent to a human in his prime
Gender: Male
Position & Ship: Paranormal investigator Supernatural monster hunter Mechanic, the Convoy
Appearance: Hellboy is an eight-foot-plus, blood-red tower of muscle and attitude. He’s really not 100% sure just what he is, though he had a vision once that…pretty much confirmed his suspicion concerning demonic origin, but as it’s not been wholly confirmed, he does his best to ignore it. He’s built big, tough, and strong, with broad shoulders over a barrel chest, thick neck and arms, powerful legs ending in large, cloven hooves, and a long, smooth, prehensile tail. His face is rather simian, sporting a heavy brow and prominent, square lower jaw, his ears somewhat tipped like an elf or half-elf. His hair is jet black, which he wears in a short, sort of “samurai-style” ponytail tied at the base of his skull, with sideburns that reach to the corners of his jaw and a goatee marking the center of his chin. A pair of bony, circular formations take up the space of his forehead - they’re the bases of a pair of horns which he keeps filed down to help him “blend in” with those around him just that little bit more. All right, so it doesn’t really do much in contrast to his other very obvious features, but it makes him feel better, okay? (=3;;;) And . . . what’s that scent of lightly-roasted peanuts?? (That would be him.)
His most notable feature, after his bright-red skin, is his right hand and forearm. It has only three fingers plus thumb, is over twice the size of his left, and formed of living, articulated stone, with whorls of arcane designs carved into the forearm portion that continue in the flesh up his arm and around his shoulder. Described in some, little-known sources of demon lore as “The Right Hand of Doom,” it is supposedly an ancient key to freeing the Ogdru Jahad, a group of colossal dragons imprisoned before the dawn of history. And he was the lucky bastard to be born with it, bringing the damned thing with him into the Material Plane of existence when he was summoned over seventy years ago. Great . . . go, him.
Of course, whether or not any of this is true versus pure mythology, he doesn’t know. Frankly, he doesn’t care.
In terms of clothes, he wears a heavy leather duster over dark pants (modified with a hole for his tail) and a black muscle shirt, along with an army belt with his gun, a dagger, and several pouches stuffed with an array of useful goodies.
Personality: Hellboy has been described as a living oxymoron - a being of demonic questionable origin with a “fate” for evil that includes supposed end-of-the-world bullshit predictions, yet has a genuine, big heart for other people and an iron will to do the right thing, even in the face of incredible odds. An undeniable force for good, he’s a gruff wisecracker who faces every challenge with a nonchalant air and an off-handed one-liner. He’s got an outlook on life like a Berum plumber - been there, done that, faced down the OMFG-sized rats in the sewers without batting an eye, all in a day’s work. Not much surprises him, not much fazes him. The most anyone will get from him is a deadpanned “Crap” or, rarely, a severely understated “Wow.” Unless he’s pissed, in which case all bets are off, but then he lets his stone fist do most the talking. He’s one of the best at what he does, which is take on not just monsters, but supernatural monsters and other paranormal threats. Does he enjoy it? Yeah, in a sense. It’s something he excels at, can be proud of and feel like he’s accomplishing something - for the world and those who live in it. Plus a good fight is a good way to blow off steam. It’s not something he goes looking for “just because,” though. He’s equally happy to kick up his hooves, light a cigar, and knock back a few beers.
He’s got a huge heart, but it’s buried under a lot of snark and seemingly careless behavior. He’s used to people fearing and reacting badly to him - OMG a demon! - so he’s built a shell from which he operates. He’s sarcastic, kind of callous (on the surface), and always has to have the last comment in a conversation.
And if he hears the word “destiny” one…more…time…someone’s getting hurt. Badly.
Abilities/Weapons:
He carries a really big pistol, inhumanly big, which he has named The Samaritan. It’s forged from melted-down bells from an ancient church. It takes “really big bullets,” including various custom-made ones that he’s developed, such as “The Works,” a type of hollow bullet filled with silver shavings, bits of witch-hazel, cloves, holy water, etc, to ensure its effectiveness against a variety of supernatural opponents. However, Hellboy is the first to admit that he’s a lousy shot, preferring to get up close and personal in straight-up hand-to-hand combat.
To that end, his most valuable weapon is his own stone hand. There’s not a lot that’ll stand up to a strike from that built-in hammer he’s got, both in terms of its indestructibility and the amazing physical power behind it - Hellboy is hella strong! He’s been known to use it to punch like a “normal” fist or swing like a cudgel. The stone lacks a sense of touch so he feels no pain in it either. Conversely, that right hand is not the most dexterous thing in the world - hell, his tail is probably more dexterous than that hand in terms of fine manipulation.
Again, in the depths of obscure demon lore, it’s known as the so-called “Right Hand of Doom.” Theological and mythological debates abound as to whether or not such a thing truly exists (let alone whether or not Hellboy possesses the very artifact). Fortunately, he himself will never use it for that - again, turning his back on his so-called “destiny” as the herald of the world’s end, blahblahblah - and when he dies, it will crumble and cease to exist.
As mentioned, Hellboy is supernaturally strong, able to pull a tree up by the roots or throw something weighing 400-500 pounds minimum.
He can take damage as well as he can deal it too, being inhumanly tough (though by no means invincible). Plus he can heal damage at a supernatural rate. Not quite to the point where someone could stand and visibly watch the wounds close, but not far off that. He is also invulnerable to fire.
He has an amazing amount of knowledge in terms of mythology, folklore, and fairy tales of all kinds. Even the most obscure tidbits of information on any such subjects he’s likely to know something about - he’s had experience, or he’s studied it, or he just remembers someone talking about it once. He has an innate ability to understand and use magical and magitech items and to read/translate mystical writing. He carries a variety of items in the pouches of his utility belt: holy relics, a horseshoe, a collection of herbs and concoctions, rock salt, magical amulets and talismans. While he’s no proper mage, he does have the ability to cast a number of minor spells (mostly things to awaken, deal with, control, repel, etc supernatural/folkloric threats), or activate the spells built into most mystical items.
Speaking of magical power, Hellboy’s been told by a number of people - including humans, faerie folk, and demons - that he holds a great deal of power within him. They could have been telling the truth or they could have just been trying to manipulate him. Personally, he thinks they’re all full of shit. Well, no, that’s not true - he just doesn’t want to acknowledge it, because of everything else that would go with it if it’s true. He’s only experienced clues that it might be a handful of times in his life, and those times that he did, others were trying to force things out of him that he wants no part of. Repeatedly, he’s turned his back on what they claim is his “destiny” and therefore all this supposed power he has in him. He’s lived this long doing just fine without it, and he’ll continue getting by without it, thank you very much. He really, truly, in his heart wants nothing to do with any of that crap, and steadfastly locks away any part of himself that might lead him into it.
On a completely different tangent, he’s recently (within the past decade or so) discovered a knack and an enjoyment for blacksmithing and mechanics.
How well can your character hack?: Easy ability. He’s taught himself some skill out of ornery curiosity alone, just to see if he could, and out of mischief to find out what some of his friends and colleagues might be hiding, but he hasn’t the patience for anything too difficult - he’s more likely to smash a difference engine itself out of frustration than manage to crack a difficult code. Besides, anything that well protected generally points to pretty sensitive information (likely something he needs to find out for a mission if he’s aware of the file’s existence at all) and, if he needs something that badly, there are (well, were) plenty of fellow Ivonan BPRD agents he could ask to crack things for him.
Weaknesses: His temper. That’s the biggest one. It’s gotten him in trouble more times than he’ll talk about (without a few beers in him, anyway). He’s been known to say and do some pretty rash things out of anger or frustration. He’s not good at dealing with emotions in general, really, at least not the negative ones. For instance, grief will manifest as anger, and if something is bothering him, he’ll just shut it out and bury further into his work. He’s certainly not the kind to talk about emotional issues. He’ll be fine, just needs a good, stiff drink. And a quality cigar.
He’s something of a loner, too, at least in his monster-hunting work, and that too has gotten him in trouble more than a few times. The phrase “bit off more than he could chew” comes to mind, where he’s underestimated an opponent and really should have brought backup.
He DESPISES (and to an extent even fears) the fact that he’s (at least half-) demon. He doesn’t want to admit that he’s of the same ilk as the kinds of things he’s fought and killed or banished in order to protect himself and his friends and fellow agents, desperately wanting to be accepted by those around him. C’mon, he’s just one of the guys, right?
Also, because of his demonic blood, he’s susceptible to the same magics that can summon, bind, command, or banish any other demon, though their effectiveness will be notably weaker due to his human aspect. And, of course, the one attempting it has to know his true name to even try.
On a side note, he’s got a weakness for cats. He loves them, he really does, he tends to attract and collect them, and he can’t stand to see one hurt or killed.
In terms of physical weaknesses, he’s amazingly tough but nowhere near immortal or indestructible. He can be killed just like any other being - it just takes a hella lot more to do it (especially with his healing factor). Also, because his right hand is so big, and lacks a sense of touch, there are many common, two-handed tasks that are a challenge for him, if not pretty much impossible. Having only ever had the stone hand all his life, never a “normal” right hand, he’s never known any differently, so he’s always found ways to compensate whenever possible, but there are still some things that are just plain beyond his ability.
History:
One cold, black Long Night several decades ago, an elite force of Ivonan soldiers penetrated into the jungles of Kagatau to the ruins of what looked to be an old holy building, perhaps a church, following on the heels of a supply train from Kropmork. The Ivonans had heard stories of a mysterious facility doing biological experimentation involving supernatural forces. Rumors spoke of people - both humans and demi-humans - who had been captured and taken there. A few escaped to tell of their experiences - most did not.
Upon arrival, the Ivonans discovered the facility hidden below the ruins and witnessed an event that was half science project, half magic ritual. The leader, a mysterious (and insane) sorcerer by the name of Rasputin, was overheard telling his disciples that the time had come for their research to bear fruition, and for them to create the being that would alter the course of history and win them control of the world. Battle broke out between the forces as the Ivonans tried to stop the Kropmork group from "doin' whatever the hell it was they were doin'!", but not before Rasputin managed to cast the final spell. The Kropmork forces were destroyed, Rasputin escaped (some swear he just up and vanished), and the Ivonans, guided by paranormal scientist Professor Trevor "Broom" Bruttenholm, scoured the area for anything that might have resulted from the ritual. Well, they found something, though nothing quite like they might have expected. Whether or not the creature was the spell's product, let along an actual demon, is debated to this day, but it was a demi-human child of some kind. The boy seemed harmless enough, and Prof. Broom convinced the ment to take the child with them as they pull back out of Kagatou.
This incident had been only one in a string of events and reports known to the Ivonan government, finally convincing them that they needed to form an agency specialized in dealing with such things. Thus was born the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense. At first, the agency operated out of an outpost on the edge of the Badlands, and this was where the demi-human child, whom Broom nicknamed Hellboy, grew up. And he grew up fast. In ten years’ time, he was physically and mentally an adult, and hasn’t changed since. He officially joined the BPRD as a field agent, no longer just a ward, and spent the next several decades fighting demons, imps, banshees, elf-folk, and more.
All the while, there were the questions in the back of his mind - his and everyone else’s around him. What was he, where did he come from, why had he been brought through from wherever he came from? A friend and fellow agent once asked him what he thought of all that. And his answer? “I like not knowing. I’ve gotten by for fifty-two years without knowing. I sleep good not knowing.”
Unfortunately, Hellboy wasn’t going to get to keep “not knowing.” A mission to an isolated and troubled mansion on a rocky islet off the backside of Erealia proved to be the start of a line of incidents over the next few years that would slowly unravel the mystery of his origin . . . and threatened to unravel his sanity with it. There, he encountered - and destroyed (he’s pretty sure) - the man who summoned him from that mysterious other plane so long ago. Rasputin claimed Hellboy was to command powers to destroy the world (he was also insane, so this may have been true or just mad ravings). Hellboy, of course, was none too pleased to hear this, and the two of them went a few rounds before Rasputin disintegrated in a ball of fire. His dying words, however, haunted Hellboy for some time to come: “If you kill me, you will never know who you are.”
Hellboy had retorted at the time that that was fine with him . . . but the damage had been done. As time went on, he got curious, and the occasional comments by some of the supernatural entities he met in his travels didn’t help. But still, he refused to give in to what these creatures hinted, choosing to live his own life and telling himself they were all just full of it.
…until he had a run-in with a powerful sorceress calling herself Hecate a few months later. Much like Rasputin before her, she cajoled and berated Hellboy, spouting bullshit about his supposed destiny and trying to get him to acknowledge and accept it. “Screw you! It’s my own goddamned life, and I’ll do with it what I want! You don’t like that, kill me if you can!” She failed to and he escaped.
Two separate sorcerers had claimed to know his origin, and numerous minor entities had hinted at much the same. With this last assignment, and the (possible, if unconfirmed) “truth” he had learned about himself, Hellboy found that he just couldn’t bury his head in the sand again like he’d been doing for so long. Mind full and heart heavy, he quit the BPRD, putting as much distance as he could between himself and . . . everything.
As was inevitable, he had more encounters with the supernatural in his aimless wanderings - he attracted it like flies to a carcass, after all - but eventually he found himself in Vohemar, in a little town outside of Colvus. An old mechanic and blacksmith took him in after he’d been injured in a monster raid, and he stayed “just for a little while” to help out and repay the elderly man for his kindness. But days turned to weeks, weeks to months, months to years. He had found a home again, a place that accepted him. He could pull his weight as a monster hunter helping defend the community from attack, and the rest of the time he discovered that he really enjoyed mechanics, building things and making them work, as well as the blacksmithing trade. It took physical skill and stamina, know-how to do a job right, and yet could sometimes be mind-numbing enough to let him forget himself, to stop thinking and just do, pounding out the hot metals into beautiful and useful shapes and his ghosts into temporary oblivion among the sparks.
As was inevitable, however, the old man died of age and natural causes. Restless once more, and grieving the loss, Hellboy packed up and left town. It was time to move on.
SAMPLES-
Third Person (roleplay):
Hellboy looked up from his coffee and pancakes at the sound of the airship descending in the near distance, hooding his eyes from the sun with his stone hand as he did so. Huh, looked like it was headed for the city’s landing strip. A big one, too - only reason he couldn’t make out the designation on her broad flank was the glare of the rising sun.
Later that day found him chatting with a few of the ship’s crew at the same eatery. He sat back, arms folded, a cigar between his teeth, as he listened to them regaling him with tales of their adventures, trying to impress him. Honestly, it’d take more than regular humans and even most demi-humans could probably survive to really impress him, but he did the amicable thing and let them think he was enthralled with their tales. To be fair, he was enjoying, though he repeatedly held back on sharing any of his own experiences. Didn’t wanna scare ‘em, you see. Wasn’t until he learned that one of them was a blacksmith for the ship that they really got his serious attention, though. Ship was understaffed, and the guy was currently one of only two mechanics, so he was pulling double-shifts, especially since a pirate attack a few days ago. Hellboy asked if they were hiring. “Why, you know anything about smithin’?” he was asked. Hellboy gave the guy a crooked grin as he thought back over the past almost ten years. “Yeah . . . yeah, I know a thing or two. Tell ya what, how about you and me go back to your ship after lunch, and I’ll show you what I know. See if it’s worth anything to you.”
It was a perfect opportunity, and he wasn’t sure why he’d not thought of it before - steady employment and he’d still get to travel around. He just hoped the ship would have a stop in Boston sometime in the fall - he was getting low on his stash of favorite cigars.
Joseph Falls’ magnificent beard. XD
First Person (journal): [Voice | Filtered to the BPRD]
[there’s a bit of a banging noise as the recording comes on, and low cursing under his breath]
-amned stupid piece of- . . . oh, looks like it is recording. Finally. Geez.
Abe, Liz, Kate! How you guys doin’? Thought I’d drop you a quick line to let you know I’m still kicking. Bureau still workin’ everyone like dogs? Kate, how’s that paper on the Huntsman of the Hills coming along? I’m in Boston at the moment. Man, you guys gotta come meet me here one of these days. Fall here is real pretty.
Oh, hey, ah . . . Abe? Could I ask ya a favor? Father’s birthday’s comin’ up, and I won’t be able to make it back there. Could you take some flowers by for me? He always liked lavender. Heh . . . and witch hazel. Yeah, I know - go figure, right? [there’s been a note of forced cheeriness in his voice, but then there’s the sound of him pulling a deep breath and letting it out slowly; when he continues, his voice is low and subdued] You know where to find him, right? South lawn at the end of the third row. So he could see the lake. …damn. Hard to remember sometimes that he’s gone. Been, what, fifteen years now?
Augh. Enough’a that. My shift’s starting soon, and I still gotta get everyone fed. [a cat’s cry is heard just then, and his next comment is likely to the cat] Yeah, yeah, hold your horses, Armin. Anyway, guys, gotta go. Lookin’ forward to hearing from ya. Tell Manning “hi” for me . . . and that, no, I’m not coming back. Well, except to visit of course, next time ship’s in the neighborhood.
Talk to you guys again soon. Later!
Name/Nickname: Dragon or DD5150
AIM/E-mail/Contact: dragondancer5150@yahoo.com
LJ: http://dragondancer515.livejournal.com/
CHARACTER INFORMATION-
Canon Character and Series: Hellboy, Hellboy
In-Game Name: “Red” . . . his “father” named him Hellboy and it’s actually the one he prefers for that reason, but it tends to get too much automatically (sometimes violently) negative reaction from people - his true name is Anung un Rama but he ardently refuses to acknowledge it, and will generally pummel anyone who tries to force the issue
Age: 74, though he’s in a physical and mental shape equivalent to a human in his prime
Gender: Male
Position & Ship: Paranormal investigator Supernatural monster hunter Mechanic, the Convoy
Appearance: Hellboy is an eight-foot-plus, blood-red tower of muscle and attitude. He’s really not 100% sure just what he is, though he had a vision once that…pretty much confirmed his suspicion concerning demonic origin, but as it’s not been wholly confirmed, he does his best to ignore it. He’s built big, tough, and strong, with broad shoulders over a barrel chest, thick neck and arms, powerful legs ending in large, cloven hooves, and a long, smooth, prehensile tail. His face is rather simian, sporting a heavy brow and prominent, square lower jaw, his ears somewhat tipped like an elf or half-elf. His hair is jet black, which he wears in a short, sort of “samurai-style” ponytail tied at the base of his skull, with sideburns that reach to the corners of his jaw and a goatee marking the center of his chin. A pair of bony, circular formations take up the space of his forehead - they’re the bases of a pair of horns which he keeps filed down to help him “blend in” with those around him just that little bit more. All right, so it doesn’t really do much in contrast to his other very obvious features, but it makes him feel better, okay? (=3;;;) And . . . what’s that scent of lightly-roasted peanuts?? (That would be him.)
His most notable feature, after his bright-red skin, is his right hand and forearm. It has only three fingers plus thumb, is over twice the size of his left, and formed of living, articulated stone, with whorls of arcane designs carved into the forearm portion that continue in the flesh up his arm and around his shoulder. Described in some, little-known sources of demon lore as “The Right Hand of Doom,” it is supposedly an ancient key to freeing the Ogdru Jahad, a group of colossal dragons imprisoned before the dawn of history. And he was the lucky bastard to be born with it, bringing the damned thing with him into the Material Plane of existence when he was summoned over seventy years ago. Great . . . go, him.
Of course, whether or not any of this is true versus pure mythology, he doesn’t know. Frankly, he doesn’t care.
In terms of clothes, he wears a heavy leather duster over dark pants (modified with a hole for his tail) and a black muscle shirt, along with an army belt with his gun, a dagger, and several pouches stuffed with an array of useful goodies.
Personality: Hellboy has been described as a living oxymoron - a being of demonic questionable origin with a “fate” for evil that includes supposed end-of-the-world bullshit predictions, yet has a genuine, big heart for other people and an iron will to do the right thing, even in the face of incredible odds. An undeniable force for good, he’s a gruff wisecracker who faces every challenge with a nonchalant air and an off-handed one-liner. He’s got an outlook on life like a Berum plumber - been there, done that, faced down the OMFG-sized rats in the sewers without batting an eye, all in a day’s work. Not much surprises him, not much fazes him. The most anyone will get from him is a deadpanned “Crap” or, rarely, a severely understated “Wow.” Unless he’s pissed, in which case all bets are off, but then he lets his stone fist do most the talking. He’s one of the best at what he does, which is take on not just monsters, but supernatural monsters and other paranormal threats. Does he enjoy it? Yeah, in a sense. It’s something he excels at, can be proud of and feel like he’s accomplishing something - for the world and those who live in it. Plus a good fight is a good way to blow off steam. It’s not something he goes looking for “just because,” though. He’s equally happy to kick up his hooves, light a cigar, and knock back a few beers.
He’s got a huge heart, but it’s buried under a lot of snark and seemingly careless behavior. He’s used to people fearing and reacting badly to him - OMG a demon! - so he’s built a shell from which he operates. He’s sarcastic, kind of callous (on the surface), and always has to have the last comment in a conversation.
And if he hears the word “destiny” one…more…time…someone’s getting hurt. Badly.
Abilities/Weapons:
He carries a really big pistol, inhumanly big, which he has named The Samaritan. It’s forged from melted-down bells from an ancient church. It takes “really big bullets,” including various custom-made ones that he’s developed, such as “The Works,” a type of hollow bullet filled with silver shavings, bits of witch-hazel, cloves, holy water, etc, to ensure its effectiveness against a variety of supernatural opponents. However, Hellboy is the first to admit that he’s a lousy shot, preferring to get up close and personal in straight-up hand-to-hand combat.
To that end, his most valuable weapon is his own stone hand. There’s not a lot that’ll stand up to a strike from that built-in hammer he’s got, both in terms of its indestructibility and the amazing physical power behind it - Hellboy is hella strong! He’s been known to use it to punch like a “normal” fist or swing like a cudgel. The stone lacks a sense of touch so he feels no pain in it either. Conversely, that right hand is not the most dexterous thing in the world - hell, his tail is probably more dexterous than that hand in terms of fine manipulation.
Again, in the depths of obscure demon lore, it’s known as the so-called “Right Hand of Doom.” Theological and mythological debates abound as to whether or not such a thing truly exists (let alone whether or not Hellboy possesses the very artifact). Fortunately, he himself will never use it for that - again, turning his back on his so-called “destiny” as the herald of the world’s end, blahblahblah - and when he dies, it will crumble and cease to exist.
As mentioned, Hellboy is supernaturally strong, able to pull a tree up by the roots or throw something weighing 400-500 pounds minimum.
He can take damage as well as he can deal it too, being inhumanly tough (though by no means invincible). Plus he can heal damage at a supernatural rate. Not quite to the point where someone could stand and visibly watch the wounds close, but not far off that. He is also invulnerable to fire.
He has an amazing amount of knowledge in terms of mythology, folklore, and fairy tales of all kinds. Even the most obscure tidbits of information on any such subjects he’s likely to know something about - he’s had experience, or he’s studied it, or he just remembers someone talking about it once. He has an innate ability to understand and use magical and magitech items and to read/translate mystical writing. He carries a variety of items in the pouches of his utility belt: holy relics, a horseshoe, a collection of herbs and concoctions, rock salt, magical amulets and talismans. While he’s no proper mage, he does have the ability to cast a number of minor spells (mostly things to awaken, deal with, control, repel, etc supernatural/folkloric threats), or activate the spells built into most mystical items.
Speaking of magical power, Hellboy’s been told by a number of people - including humans, faerie folk, and demons - that he holds a great deal of power within him. They could have been telling the truth or they could have just been trying to manipulate him. Personally, he thinks they’re all full of shit. Well, no, that’s not true - he just doesn’t want to acknowledge it, because of everything else that would go with it if it’s true. He’s only experienced clues that it might be a handful of times in his life, and those times that he did, others were trying to force things out of him that he wants no part of. Repeatedly, he’s turned his back on what they claim is his “destiny” and therefore all this supposed power he has in him. He’s lived this long doing just fine without it, and he’ll continue getting by without it, thank you very much. He really, truly, in his heart wants nothing to do with any of that crap, and steadfastly locks away any part of himself that might lead him into it.
On a completely different tangent, he’s recently (within the past decade or so) discovered a knack and an enjoyment for blacksmithing and mechanics.
How well can your character hack?: Easy ability. He’s taught himself some skill out of ornery curiosity alone, just to see if he could, and out of mischief to find out what some of his friends and colleagues might be hiding, but he hasn’t the patience for anything too difficult - he’s more likely to smash a difference engine itself out of frustration than manage to crack a difficult code. Besides, anything that well protected generally points to pretty sensitive information (likely something he needs to find out for a mission if he’s aware of the file’s existence at all) and, if he needs something that badly, there are (well, were) plenty of fellow Ivonan BPRD agents he could ask to crack things for him.
Weaknesses: His temper. That’s the biggest one. It’s gotten him in trouble more times than he’ll talk about (without a few beers in him, anyway). He’s been known to say and do some pretty rash things out of anger or frustration. He’s not good at dealing with emotions in general, really, at least not the negative ones. For instance, grief will manifest as anger, and if something is bothering him, he’ll just shut it out and bury further into his work. He’s certainly not the kind to talk about emotional issues. He’ll be fine, just needs a good, stiff drink. And a quality cigar.
He’s something of a loner, too, at least in his monster-hunting work, and that too has gotten him in trouble more than a few times. The phrase “bit off more than he could chew” comes to mind, where he’s underestimated an opponent and really should have brought backup.
He DESPISES (and to an extent even fears) the fact that he’s (at least half-) demon. He doesn’t want to admit that he’s of the same ilk as the kinds of things he’s fought and killed or banished in order to protect himself and his friends and fellow agents, desperately wanting to be accepted by those around him. C’mon, he’s just one of the guys, right?
Also, because of his demonic blood, he’s susceptible to the same magics that can summon, bind, command, or banish any other demon, though their effectiveness will be notably weaker due to his human aspect. And, of course, the one attempting it has to know his true name to even try.
On a side note, he’s got a weakness for cats. He loves them, he really does, he tends to attract and collect them, and he can’t stand to see one hurt or killed.
In terms of physical weaknesses, he’s amazingly tough but nowhere near immortal or indestructible. He can be killed just like any other being - it just takes a hella lot more to do it (especially with his healing factor). Also, because his right hand is so big, and lacks a sense of touch, there are many common, two-handed tasks that are a challenge for him, if not pretty much impossible. Having only ever had the stone hand all his life, never a “normal” right hand, he’s never known any differently, so he’s always found ways to compensate whenever possible, but there are still some things that are just plain beyond his ability.
History:
One cold, black Long Night several decades ago, an elite force of Ivonan soldiers penetrated into the jungles of Kagatau to the ruins of what looked to be an old holy building, perhaps a church, following on the heels of a supply train from Kropmork. The Ivonans had heard stories of a mysterious facility doing biological experimentation involving supernatural forces. Rumors spoke of people - both humans and demi-humans - who had been captured and taken there. A few escaped to tell of their experiences - most did not.
Upon arrival, the Ivonans discovered the facility hidden below the ruins and witnessed an event that was half science project, half magic ritual. The leader, a mysterious (and insane) sorcerer by the name of Rasputin, was overheard telling his disciples that the time had come for their research to bear fruition, and for them to create the being that would alter the course of history and win them control of the world. Battle broke out between the forces as the Ivonans tried to stop the Kropmork group from "doin' whatever the hell it was they were doin'!", but not before Rasputin managed to cast the final spell. The Kropmork forces were destroyed, Rasputin escaped (some swear he just up and vanished), and the Ivonans, guided by paranormal scientist Professor Trevor "Broom" Bruttenholm, scoured the area for anything that might have resulted from the ritual. Well, they found something, though nothing quite like they might have expected. Whether or not the creature was the spell's product, let along an actual demon, is debated to this day, but it was a demi-human child of some kind. The boy seemed harmless enough, and Prof. Broom convinced the ment to take the child with them as they pull back out of Kagatou.
This incident had been only one in a string of events and reports known to the Ivonan government, finally convincing them that they needed to form an agency specialized in dealing with such things. Thus was born the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense. At first, the agency operated out of an outpost on the edge of the Badlands, and this was where the demi-human child, whom Broom nicknamed Hellboy, grew up. And he grew up fast. In ten years’ time, he was physically and mentally an adult, and hasn’t changed since. He officially joined the BPRD as a field agent, no longer just a ward, and spent the next several decades fighting demons, imps, banshees, elf-folk, and more.
All the while, there were the questions in the back of his mind - his and everyone else’s around him. What was he, where did he come from, why had he been brought through from wherever he came from? A friend and fellow agent once asked him what he thought of all that. And his answer? “I like not knowing. I’ve gotten by for fifty-two years without knowing. I sleep good not knowing.”
Unfortunately, Hellboy wasn’t going to get to keep “not knowing.” A mission to an isolated and troubled mansion on a rocky islet off the backside of Erealia proved to be the start of a line of incidents over the next few years that would slowly unravel the mystery of his origin . . . and threatened to unravel his sanity with it. There, he encountered - and destroyed (he’s pretty sure) - the man who summoned him from that mysterious other plane so long ago. Rasputin claimed Hellboy was to command powers to destroy the world (he was also insane, so this may have been true or just mad ravings). Hellboy, of course, was none too pleased to hear this, and the two of them went a few rounds before Rasputin disintegrated in a ball of fire. His dying words, however, haunted Hellboy for some time to come: “If you kill me, you will never know who you are.”
Hellboy had retorted at the time that that was fine with him . . . but the damage had been done. As time went on, he got curious, and the occasional comments by some of the supernatural entities he met in his travels didn’t help. But still, he refused to give in to what these creatures hinted, choosing to live his own life and telling himself they were all just full of it.
…until he had a run-in with a powerful sorceress calling herself Hecate a few months later. Much like Rasputin before her, she cajoled and berated Hellboy, spouting bullshit about his supposed destiny and trying to get him to acknowledge and accept it. “Screw you! It’s my own goddamned life, and I’ll do with it what I want! You don’t like that, kill me if you can!” She failed to and he escaped.
Two separate sorcerers had claimed to know his origin, and numerous minor entities had hinted at much the same. With this last assignment, and the (possible, if unconfirmed) “truth” he had learned about himself, Hellboy found that he just couldn’t bury his head in the sand again like he’d been doing for so long. Mind full and heart heavy, he quit the BPRD, putting as much distance as he could between himself and . . . everything.
As was inevitable, he had more encounters with the supernatural in his aimless wanderings - he attracted it like flies to a carcass, after all - but eventually he found himself in Vohemar, in a little town outside of Colvus. An old mechanic and blacksmith took him in after he’d been injured in a monster raid, and he stayed “just for a little while” to help out and repay the elderly man for his kindness. But days turned to weeks, weeks to months, months to years. He had found a home again, a place that accepted him. He could pull his weight as a monster hunter helping defend the community from attack, and the rest of the time he discovered that he really enjoyed mechanics, building things and making them work, as well as the blacksmithing trade. It took physical skill and stamina, know-how to do a job right, and yet could sometimes be mind-numbing enough to let him forget himself, to stop thinking and just do, pounding out the hot metals into beautiful and useful shapes and his ghosts into temporary oblivion among the sparks.
As was inevitable, however, the old man died of age and natural causes. Restless once more, and grieving the loss, Hellboy packed up and left town. It was time to move on.
SAMPLES-
Third Person (roleplay):
Hellboy looked up from his coffee and pancakes at the sound of the airship descending in the near distance, hooding his eyes from the sun with his stone hand as he did so. Huh, looked like it was headed for the city’s landing strip. A big one, too - only reason he couldn’t make out the designation on her broad flank was the glare of the rising sun.
Later that day found him chatting with a few of the ship’s crew at the same eatery. He sat back, arms folded, a cigar between his teeth, as he listened to them regaling him with tales of their adventures, trying to impress him. Honestly, it’d take more than regular humans and even most demi-humans could probably survive to really impress him, but he did the amicable thing and let them think he was enthralled with their tales. To be fair, he was enjoying, though he repeatedly held back on sharing any of his own experiences. Didn’t wanna scare ‘em, you see. Wasn’t until he learned that one of them was a blacksmith for the ship that they really got his serious attention, though. Ship was understaffed, and the guy was currently one of only two mechanics, so he was pulling double-shifts, especially since a pirate attack a few days ago. Hellboy asked if they were hiring. “Why, you know anything about smithin’?” he was asked. Hellboy gave the guy a crooked grin as he thought back over the past almost ten years. “Yeah . . . yeah, I know a thing or two. Tell ya what, how about you and me go back to your ship after lunch, and I’ll show you what I know. See if it’s worth anything to you.”
It was a perfect opportunity, and he wasn’t sure why he’d not thought of it before - steady employment and he’d still get to travel around. He just hoped the ship would have a stop in Boston sometime in the fall - he was getting low on his stash of favorite cigars.
Joseph Falls’ magnificent beard. XD
First Person (journal): [Voice | Filtered to the BPRD]
[there’s a bit of a banging noise as the recording comes on, and low cursing under his breath]
-amned stupid piece of- . . . oh, looks like it is recording. Finally. Geez.
Abe, Liz, Kate! How you guys doin’? Thought I’d drop you a quick line to let you know I’m still kicking. Bureau still workin’ everyone like dogs? Kate, how’s that paper on the Huntsman of the Hills coming along? I’m in Boston at the moment. Man, you guys gotta come meet me here one of these days. Fall here is real pretty.
Oh, hey, ah . . . Abe? Could I ask ya a favor? Father’s birthday’s comin’ up, and I won’t be able to make it back there. Could you take some flowers by for me? He always liked lavender. Heh . . . and witch hazel. Yeah, I know - go figure, right? [there’s been a note of forced cheeriness in his voice, but then there’s the sound of him pulling a deep breath and letting it out slowly; when he continues, his voice is low and subdued] You know where to find him, right? South lawn at the end of the third row. So he could see the lake. …damn. Hard to remember sometimes that he’s gone. Been, what, fifteen years now?
Augh. Enough’a that. My shift’s starting soon, and I still gotta get everyone fed. [a cat’s cry is heard just then, and his next comment is likely to the cat] Yeah, yeah, hold your horses, Armin. Anyway, guys, gotta go. Lookin’ forward to hearing from ya. Tell Manning “hi” for me . . . and that, no, I’m not coming back. Well, except to visit of course, next time ship’s in the neighborhood.
Talk to you guys again soon. Later!