(I have another character, but I'm saving him until I've established myself better as an RPer)
Name: Martin Kampfer
Age: 19
Gender: Male
Alias(es): Has hundreds. However, those who hire him as a Wetboy (he despises the word assassin) know only that they are hiring "The Night Devil."
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Appearance: Martin is exceptionally good at disguises, but he does have a normal appearance when he's not dressed up as someone else. He has short brown hair that fits under the wigs he uses. His base eye color is blue, but, as with his hair, he changes the color on a regular basis, via contacts. He never wears consistant clothing, except the outfit he wears when on the job. He is pale white, but he can (and does) use dyes on his skin for disguises.
Martin Kampfer
Personality: While this obviously changes greatly when he's in disguise, his true personality is generally very aloof, albeit somewhat righteous. He has no qualms about killing witnesses, and to him killing is just a job. He has lived through years of torment and despair before embezzling, manipulating, and fighting his way into a better monetary stance. He lived for years in a place where people would drop their waste in the streets, and where the weak die screaming. This hardened him, and he has a very cynical outlook on life, despite being somewhat choosy about his jobs, and not taking anything from those he views as scum.
Notable Mention: Martin refers to himself as a wetboy, and considers the terms assassin beneath him. According to him, there are key differences. Assassins have targets because they sometimes miss, while wetboys have deaders because the rest of that person's life becomes a formality. Assassins use traditional techniques, but wetboys use meta-human/mutant abilities to assist their work.
Relationships:Father (Deceased)
Mother (Deceased)
Sister (Deceased)
History: Martin was born as Martin Kampfer. The Kampfer were nobility in a unnoticeable town nestled in between Russia and Europe. But nobility in a state of treachery does not last long.
It was only a matter of time before someone staged a coup. Luck shined upon Martin, and he was saved by a child's game. Hide-and-go-seek saved Martin's life. When he emerged, he found his sister decapitated, his mother bent nude over a table with her throat slit, and his father impaled to the wall with a shining sword.
A young Martin was forced into poverty. Surprisingly, he adepted quite well to the life of a gutter rat. Stealing food. Beating those weaker than him for trying to take his portion. In a world like that, only the strong survive, and his loss had made him strong.
Martin eventually won the favor of a butcher, and apprenticed to him for a meager earning and a place to sleep. However, fate would not have the young ex-noble living in obscurity for long. On a silent night, while dumping garbage into the dumpsters behind the butcher's shop, he happened upon a woman being raped. This strained Martin's mind, as he remembered finding his raped mother. It was at this moment that his path was decided. Martin brandished a butcher knife. He stabbed the man twenty-six times in the chest, four in the neck, once in each eye, and finally lodged the knife into the man's forehead.
He abandoned the life of a butcher of animals for the life as a butcher of that infinitely ignorant cattle known as man.
Since then, Martin has developed a close friendship with a man named Nate, who conducts most of his money collection and information gathering. He's developed several different identities and become a master of a variety of fighting styles and weapons.
After all, in a world of villainy that knows only violence...
What else was he to do???
Roleplay Sample: Darkness filled the night. This was a haven for the young wetboy. There was something so familiar and comforting about this, no matter how often he did it.
He crept out of his own safehouse, more for good measure and superstition than practice. He'd already memorized exactly which floorboards let out a creak when his weight pressed on them, and exactly how much he could muffle the sound with his abilities. Unlocked the door, stepped outside, and then re-locked the door. The outside lock had no key, and he used the door to practice his picking skills often.
He navigated the city smoothly. He had a near-photogenic memory, and he knew several towns by heart. Several more towns he could recall simply by looking at a map. Thankfully, this town was one of the towns that he frequented.
His attire was his usual wetboy attire. He wore a cloak of mottled blacks and greys (to break up his silhouette), his face was smeared with ash to obscure his appearance, and he had several weapons strapped to his person. He did not rely on firearms very often. In his opinion, they were unwieldy, loud, and messy.
Finding the house was a simple matter. Besides the fact that he'd already scoped his deader's home, the description given by his contractor had been exceptionally vivid. It was dark, but he could already trace his path up to the second floor.
He began to scale the side of the building, thankful that he was masked by both traditional and non-human methods. As he approached his target window, he halted. He could hear a voice, and he could only guess who it belonged to.
"
Ti voglio bene Cristina, and I'm sorry," the voice said. He heard the sound of a slap, and then footsteps. The light in the window above him clicked off. Martin hung from the building for two minutes, roughly, and then crawled in through the window.
His deader was laying in bed, silent. He couldn't afford to assume the man was asleep, so he muffled his footsteps, and approached him. He crouched, and then sprung silently forward. The man had only a moment to be startled at the hand clasped over his mouth before the knife slipped into his back and pierced his heart. The death was painless, and instant. Not good or bad. Nothing spiritual, or cruel. He simply stopped moving. That was all.
Suddenly, the door to the room slid open, and a woman stepped in. "Giovanni, I've been such a fool. Please, let me join you toni-" she was cut off by the shadowy shape hovering over her dead husband.
Martin moved flawlessly to her and pinned her. "I am truly sorry," he said with a fake Italian accident, "you will join him. Rest peacefully now, in the arms of your God." The sudden fear left her eyes. She couldn't speak, but her eyes spoke more than her words could have. There was not fear, but acceptance. Her eyes closed, and she awaited the inevitable.
With a swift motion, the knife caressed her jugular, and she dropped to the ground. He surveyed himself in the room's mirror, and found himself bloodless; much to his satisfaction. He made a stealthy escape, and crept silently into the Italian night. Just another shadow in the darkness...
