Post by Firelizard on Jun 5, 2024 1:19:27 GMT
“Some motherfuckers are always trying to ice-skate uphill.”
General Information
Full Name:
Eric Brooks
Full Name:
Eric Brooks
Codename or Alias:
Blade, Daywalker
Blade, Daywalker
Anonymity
Eric Brooks is a nobody, nothing but a shadow passing through the lit streets or shadowy alleyways of London. Just one more unseen inhabitant in a city overflowing with anonymity and narcissism.
Eric Brooks is a nobody, nothing but a shadow passing through the lit streets or shadowy alleyways of London. Just one more unseen inhabitant in a city overflowing with anonymity and narcissism.
Gender:
Male
Male
Race:
Dhampir (Human-Vampire Hybrid)
Dhampir (Human-Vampire Hybrid)
Age:
24
24
Place Of Birth:
Soho, London, United Kingdom of Great Britain & Northern Ireland
Soho, London, United Kingdom of Great Britain & Northern Ireland
Occupation/Status:
Eric Brooks currently works as a bouncer and musician at the Velvet Note, an oft overlooked and nocturnally inclined jazz club in the heart of Soho. He also moonlights as an amateur mixed martial artist from time to time, when money is tight and when rent is due.
Eric Brooks currently works as a bouncer and musician at the Velvet Note, an oft overlooked and nocturnally inclined jazz club in the heart of Soho. He also moonlights as an amateur mixed martial artist from time to time, when money is tight and when rent is due.
Alignment:
Neutral
Neutral
Factions:
N/A
N/A
Canon Or Original?:
Canon (Marvel)
Canon (Marvel)
Powers/Abilities:
Superhuman Senses
Blade’s hybrid physiology has imbued him with a much keener sense of smell, hearing, taste, and touch than that of any regular human. He is able to see incredibly well in the dark, and his enhanced hearing allows him the ability to detect sounds and frequencies undetectable by any mere human. His smell is just as advanced as these other senses, something that has often been a disadvantage in a city such as London. His enhanced sight has also left him incredibly sensitive to light, often requiring Eric to wear sunglasses in the darkest of city environs.
Superhuman Physicality
Blade possesses an utterly inhuman level of strength, allowing him to lift and press upwards of one ton. His speed is also unmatched, able to run and move faster than any human alive, even able to keep up with moving cars. His reflexes and stamina are also unmatched, imbuing him with the ability to fight or exert himself for hours at a time.
Regenerative Healing
Blade’s vampirically imbued physiology also lends itself to an increased rate of healing and regeneration. He can rapidly heal light to moderate injuries, and is even capable of healing from egregious slashing or stab wounds in a matter of minutes or hours.
Immunity to Vampiric Vulnerabilities
Most full blooded vampires possess a wide range of weaknesses in addition to the many strengths their physiology imbues them with. These are anything from an intense aversion to sunlight (Often resulting in intense burns or even death from incineration due to prolonged exposure) to weaknesses to silver or religiously imbued bullets or objects. Blade suffers from none of these, though he does have to contend with a much weaker resistance to bright lights or sunlight.
Accomplished Martial Artist
While by no means a master, Blade has trained in a wide variety of martial arts and fighting styles over the years. Boxing, karate, and krav maga have been the most helpful in terms of his current job as a bouncer. However he has also trained from time to time with swords and in fencing, though the latter was more a small hobby he picked up as a teenager that was promptly dropped once he left school.
Multilingual
Often forced to stay inside and not participate in the fun and games played by the children in his neighborhood, Eric would often spend most of his time watching Japanese animation instead. This led to his learning Japanese as a hobby, something that soon grew to a general love of language resulting in a cursory basis of knowledge in Japanese, German, French, and even Romanian of all things.
Weapons/Items:
Eric’s only weapons of note are a serrated knife and a Japanese katana. However due to the laws regarding possession of bladed weapons in his hometown of London, he often prefers to leave these at home as aesthetic additions to a sparsely furnished and dingy apartment.
Appearance
Image:
Superhuman Senses
Blade’s hybrid physiology has imbued him with a much keener sense of smell, hearing, taste, and touch than that of any regular human. He is able to see incredibly well in the dark, and his enhanced hearing allows him the ability to detect sounds and frequencies undetectable by any mere human. His smell is just as advanced as these other senses, something that has often been a disadvantage in a city such as London. His enhanced sight has also left him incredibly sensitive to light, often requiring Eric to wear sunglasses in the darkest of city environs.
Superhuman Physicality
Blade possesses an utterly inhuman level of strength, allowing him to lift and press upwards of one ton. His speed is also unmatched, able to run and move faster than any human alive, even able to keep up with moving cars. His reflexes and stamina are also unmatched, imbuing him with the ability to fight or exert himself for hours at a time.
Regenerative Healing
Blade’s vampirically imbued physiology also lends itself to an increased rate of healing and regeneration. He can rapidly heal light to moderate injuries, and is even capable of healing from egregious slashing or stab wounds in a matter of minutes or hours.
Immunity to Vampiric Vulnerabilities
Most full blooded vampires possess a wide range of weaknesses in addition to the many strengths their physiology imbues them with. These are anything from an intense aversion to sunlight (Often resulting in intense burns or even death from incineration due to prolonged exposure) to weaknesses to silver or religiously imbued bullets or objects. Blade suffers from none of these, though he does have to contend with a much weaker resistance to bright lights or sunlight.
Accomplished Martial Artist
While by no means a master, Blade has trained in a wide variety of martial arts and fighting styles over the years. Boxing, karate, and krav maga have been the most helpful in terms of his current job as a bouncer. However he has also trained from time to time with swords and in fencing, though the latter was more a small hobby he picked up as a teenager that was promptly dropped once he left school.
Multilingual
Often forced to stay inside and not participate in the fun and games played by the children in his neighborhood, Eric would often spend most of his time watching Japanese animation instead. This led to his learning Japanese as a hobby, something that soon grew to a general love of language resulting in a cursory basis of knowledge in Japanese, German, French, and even Romanian of all things.
Weapons/Items:
Eric’s only weapons of note are a serrated knife and a Japanese katana. However due to the laws regarding possession of bladed weapons in his hometown of London, he often prefers to leave these at home as aesthetic additions to a sparsely furnished and dingy apartment.
Appearance
Image:
Physical Appearance:
Eric Brooks stands at 6’2, and weighs a sizable 215 lbs. His physical appearance would be intimidating to many combatants, as his body is well honed and equipped with muscle gained over many years of martial arts training, sparring, and the nightly task of dispersing any miscreants from the jazz club he works at. His eyes are brown, though his hair is a jet black color.
Clothing and Armor:
Blade’s wardrobe would not be complete with a blackened and leather trench coat that reaches down to his lower body. Beyond that however, he sports a wardrobe consisting of darker colored jeans, sweaters, or simple black t-shirts when he is working security at his local jazz club. When on duty in that environment, he also sports a tactical vest that has saved him from time to time when disgruntled patrons have literally tried to take a stab at Brooks. In terms of footwear, Blade often veers towards combat or leather boots, regardless of whether he is thinking a potential fight might break out. And his outfit would never be complete without his red tinted sunglasses, which seemingly never leave his face when out in public.
Personality
Sexual Orientation:
Straight
Blade’s wardrobe would not be complete with a blackened and leather trench coat that reaches down to his lower body. Beyond that however, he sports a wardrobe consisting of darker colored jeans, sweaters, or simple black t-shirts when he is working security at his local jazz club. When on duty in that environment, he also sports a tactical vest that has saved him from time to time when disgruntled patrons have literally tried to take a stab at Brooks. In terms of footwear, Blade often veers towards combat or leather boots, regardless of whether he is thinking a potential fight might break out. And his outfit would never be complete without his red tinted sunglasses, which seemingly never leave his face when out in public.
Personality
Sexual Orientation:
Straight
General Personality:
To say that Eric Brooks is a bit of a loner would be an understatement. He is often stoic and cold in most interactions, preferring to keep to himself and not let his guard down around others. He can sport a sense of humor from time to time, cracking a joke at the expense of any potential opponent stupid enough to pick a fight with Eric. Beyond that, he is determined and relentless, ready to put the entirety of his being into any goal he has crafted for himself. This has resulted in Eric becoming skilled and well versed in everything from music to martial arts, though none of these have managed to hold his interest enough for him to become a master in any one thing. And deep down, Eric is a conflicted and tormented soul, unaware of his vampiric heritage and the terrible effects it has had on both his upbringing and life up till the current day. His childhood and teenage years spent in the British foster system have also imbued him with a world weary cynicism, though they have also given Eric a sense of compassion and an urge to protect the weak from powers that may take advantage of or prey upon the weak.
Face/Voice:
Mahershala Ali
Character's History
Siblings:
N/A
Mother:
Tara Brooks
Father:
Lucas Cross
Other Family:
N/A
History:
Eric Brooks was born twenty four years ago in the Soho District of London under the most horrible of circumstances. His mother was allegedly a sex worker employed by Madame Vanity’s Brothel, an establishment that had taken in the young Vanessa Brooks after she was abandoned by her partner in the midst of a pregnancy scare. That scare was all too real, and Vanessa decided to keep her future son. Vanessa would eventually go into labor while at the brothel, and a doctor by the name of Deacon Frost was called to help Vanessa with the birth of her child.
Unfortunately for Vanessa, Deacon Frost was no mere doctor. He was a vampire who had been preying upon expectant mothers in Soho and the wider parts of London proper. He feasted upon Eric’s mother as she was in the midst of giving birth, killing her in the process. However whilst feeding upon the young woman, Deacon Frost had unknowingly transmitted vampiric enzymes to her child to be. These enzymes enveloped Eric, but they did not completely transform the child into a vampire. It instead turned him into a dhampir, a human and vampire hybrid. Before Deacon could finish the job and feast upon the just born child, he was scared off and forced to run by the brothel workers and the security personnel called to the scene by Madame Vanity herself.
Eric would be taken under the care of Madame Vanity and the sex workers under her employ, slipped under the radar and growing up as a child in a shadowy yet love filled environment. This would go on for almost eight years until authorities caught wind of the arrangement, subsequently forcing Madame Vanity to give up Eric to the foster care system of the city of London. It was after this event that Eric would face some of the harsher realities of the world, shuttled between a wide variety of unwelcoming and uncaring foster homes for the rest of his childhood and well into his teenage years. He would barely spend any time outside during this time, with his ocular sensitivities to sunlight ensuring his propensity for staying inside instead of playing with the other children in his foster home or wider neighborhood.
Eric Brooks would eventually become fed up with a rather strict and uncaring set of foster parents and run away into the cold embrace of one of the greatest cities in the world. It was in the more nocturnal side of London that the young teenager would find his way, doing whatever small night time jobs and gigs that he could manage in order to survive. He would eventually be pulled back to Soho, where some of his only positive childhood memories lay. It was in his return to Soho as a young man that Eric would run into a musician by the name of Jamal Afari. Unbeknownst to Eric however, Jamal was a retired vampire hunter now moonlighting as a jazz musician around the many trendy jazz and music clubs that dotted Soho. And unbeknownst to Jamal, the odd young man who wore sunglasses at night was a human-vampire hybrid.
Jamal would take the young man under his wing, teaching him how to play the trumpet and taking him along for a variety of musical gigs. This went on for a few months before Jamal Afari simply vanished, leaving Eric with a trumpet and even louder, one note questions. The connections that Eric made while working with Jamal would remain alongside his instrument however, and it wasn’t long before Eric found steady work as a bouncer for a jazz club with the best rare steak in town. Eric also became involved in a night time mixed martial arts scene in London, often training in dingy and poorly lit boxing or MMA gyms when he wasn’t working during the daytime.
And so Eric Brooks has settled into a comfortable, if monotonous rhythm. He trains during the day and beats up those few poor men who can still stand to spar with him. And then he works nights at the Velvet Note, working over those few poor patrons willing to get drunk and rowdy at a jazz club of all things. However things are beginning to change for the young man. The sights and sounds of the city are becoming more and more vivid and intense, as are the spells of lightheadedness and headaches that tend to accompany them. Shadows that once seemed so inviting now have a whiff of danger about them. Rare steaks and blood sausage, a favorite of his since he was a boy, now no longer seem to satiate a gnawing and growing hunger lingering within his gut. The air and Eric’s very mind seem taut with tension, ready to snap at any moment...
To say that Eric Brooks is a bit of a loner would be an understatement. He is often stoic and cold in most interactions, preferring to keep to himself and not let his guard down around others. He can sport a sense of humor from time to time, cracking a joke at the expense of any potential opponent stupid enough to pick a fight with Eric. Beyond that, he is determined and relentless, ready to put the entirety of his being into any goal he has crafted for himself. This has resulted in Eric becoming skilled and well versed in everything from music to martial arts, though none of these have managed to hold his interest enough for him to become a master in any one thing. And deep down, Eric is a conflicted and tormented soul, unaware of his vampiric heritage and the terrible effects it has had on both his upbringing and life up till the current day. His childhood and teenage years spent in the British foster system have also imbued him with a world weary cynicism, though they have also given Eric a sense of compassion and an urge to protect the weak from powers that may take advantage of or prey upon the weak.
Face/Voice:
Mahershala Ali
Character's History
Siblings:
N/A
Mother:
Tara Brooks
Father:
Lucas Cross
Other Family:
N/A
History:
Eric Brooks was born twenty four years ago in the Soho District of London under the most horrible of circumstances. His mother was allegedly a sex worker employed by Madame Vanity’s Brothel, an establishment that had taken in the young Vanessa Brooks after she was abandoned by her partner in the midst of a pregnancy scare. That scare was all too real, and Vanessa decided to keep her future son. Vanessa would eventually go into labor while at the brothel, and a doctor by the name of Deacon Frost was called to help Vanessa with the birth of her child.
Unfortunately for Vanessa, Deacon Frost was no mere doctor. He was a vampire who had been preying upon expectant mothers in Soho and the wider parts of London proper. He feasted upon Eric’s mother as she was in the midst of giving birth, killing her in the process. However whilst feeding upon the young woman, Deacon Frost had unknowingly transmitted vampiric enzymes to her child to be. These enzymes enveloped Eric, but they did not completely transform the child into a vampire. It instead turned him into a dhampir, a human and vampire hybrid. Before Deacon could finish the job and feast upon the just born child, he was scared off and forced to run by the brothel workers and the security personnel called to the scene by Madame Vanity herself.
Eric would be taken under the care of Madame Vanity and the sex workers under her employ, slipped under the radar and growing up as a child in a shadowy yet love filled environment. This would go on for almost eight years until authorities caught wind of the arrangement, subsequently forcing Madame Vanity to give up Eric to the foster care system of the city of London. It was after this event that Eric would face some of the harsher realities of the world, shuttled between a wide variety of unwelcoming and uncaring foster homes for the rest of his childhood and well into his teenage years. He would barely spend any time outside during this time, with his ocular sensitivities to sunlight ensuring his propensity for staying inside instead of playing with the other children in his foster home or wider neighborhood.
Eric Brooks would eventually become fed up with a rather strict and uncaring set of foster parents and run away into the cold embrace of one of the greatest cities in the world. It was in the more nocturnal side of London that the young teenager would find his way, doing whatever small night time jobs and gigs that he could manage in order to survive. He would eventually be pulled back to Soho, where some of his only positive childhood memories lay. It was in his return to Soho as a young man that Eric would run into a musician by the name of Jamal Afari. Unbeknownst to Eric however, Jamal was a retired vampire hunter now moonlighting as a jazz musician around the many trendy jazz and music clubs that dotted Soho. And unbeknownst to Jamal, the odd young man who wore sunglasses at night was a human-vampire hybrid.
Jamal would take the young man under his wing, teaching him how to play the trumpet and taking him along for a variety of musical gigs. This went on for a few months before Jamal Afari simply vanished, leaving Eric with a trumpet and even louder, one note questions. The connections that Eric made while working with Jamal would remain alongside his instrument however, and it wasn’t long before Eric found steady work as a bouncer for a jazz club with the best rare steak in town. Eric also became involved in a night time mixed martial arts scene in London, often training in dingy and poorly lit boxing or MMA gyms when he wasn’t working during the daytime.
And so Eric Brooks has settled into a comfortable, if monotonous rhythm. He trains during the day and beats up those few poor men who can still stand to spar with him. And then he works nights at the Velvet Note, working over those few poor patrons willing to get drunk and rowdy at a jazz club of all things. However things are beginning to change for the young man. The sights and sounds of the city are becoming more and more vivid and intense, as are the spells of lightheadedness and headaches that tend to accompany them. Shadows that once seemed so inviting now have a whiff of danger about them. Rare steaks and blood sausage, a favorite of his since he was a boy, now no longer seem to satiate a gnawing and growing hunger lingering within his gut. The air and Eric’s very mind seem taut with tension, ready to snap at any moment...
Role Play Sample:
“You can’t throw me out! My dad owns this fucking city!”
The whiny plea skipped a beat along with its equally whiny owner as both spilled down the ornately carved concrete steps of the Velvet Note. Its source was a shabbily dressed man in his 20s, long if unkempt hair draped around his shoulders and shimmering in red as they reflected the light off of the sign of the establishment he had been so illustriously thrown out of. He took in a deep, rattling breath as he hefted himself up to his feet. Gravity was his worst enemy in that moment, making him trip over a luxurious pair of crocodile leather hewn boots. Indeed, it had been an even worse enemy when the long haired man had been thrown five feet in the air and to the ground.
“Doesn’t matter to me. Shouldn’t have been grabbing at girls who didn’t want you looking in their direction in the first place. Now get the fuck on.”
The scaly shoes shook even further at this command, reflected in the red hued and circular sunglasses of the man giving it. Eric Brooks stood at the top of the concrete stairs looking down, cold displeasure and annoyance radiating from his furrowed brow and crossed arms. The leather jacket he wore over a tight black shirt and tactical vest squeaked at the movement, his arms threatening to rip apart the well worn leather covering them. This was often enough to scare away any white collar businessman who had had one too many gin and tonics. And yet all it seemed to do was throw the long haired man’s face into an almost inhuman mask of anger and derision. The man took a few steps up the stairs he had just sailed over, one hand clumsily slammed into his tan jacket’s right midriff pocket. He took one more step up the stairs, his scowl tilting upward into what might have been a smirk. Eric’s eyes tightened and his brow wrinkled up even further.
“I told you to get on out of here. And I was nice about it the first time, motherfu-”
Eric was cut off by the sound of metal sinking into flesh, his would-be assailant a blur as his other hand reached down into its respective jacket pocket. It froze in place, Eric’s hand stopping its downward descent with a vicious and vice like grip that crushed bone with a disturbing crunch. The long haired man’s face let loose the scowl, replaced with an almost instantaneous reaction to the pain just inflicted on its bodily neighbor. Extraordinarily long canines glinted in the moonlight from up above. They quickly disappeared under the shadow of a closed fist. The force of the blow lifted its recipient into the air once more. He fell into a bedraggled clump of splayed limbs below into an all too familiar patch of nicotine laced concrete.
“If I see you ag-”
Eric fell to the ground, his left knee taking the brunt of the impact. His vision narrowed and then grew even narrower with a bright splash of red. Grunting in pain, Eric looked up and then down to where his assailant had lain just moments before. He was nowhere to be seen, replaced with bits of broken enamel, shredded plastic, and a light pool of blood. A trail of red led off into an adjacent alleyway, accompanied by the remnants of a container that had once held the velvet contents of whatever had been painted on the ground in front entrance of the jazz club.
“B-bloody hell! Is that, is that blood?!”
A woman who had been about to head into the club screamed and ran off. Her lightly sprayed perfume sent claxon bells and a wave of pain resounding throughout his skull. Her rapidly beating heart pulsated in his ears, drowning out the sounds of the city and even the lilting jazz music echoing from the door behind him. Eric had to resist the urge to run after her. To tackle her to the ground and-
“Wh-what the hell?”
Eric tamped down whatever that urge was, gritting his teeth and fighting through the intense wave of pain and hunger assaulting his senses. Wait, hunger? The tall man pushed that thought out of his head, grabbing the knife in his left shoulder and pulling it out with a sickening, wet thud. The parachute cord wrapped handle of the bladed weapon dropped to the ground. Eric ignored the stunned looks thrown his way by all manner of well dressed passerby, looking down at the ground and concentrating on the well laid brick sidewalk beneath his leather boots. He counted the number of bricks he passed in between waves of pain. Anything to not look at the necks attached to the stunned faces of those staring at him...
The whiny plea skipped a beat along with its equally whiny owner as both spilled down the ornately carved concrete steps of the Velvet Note. Its source was a shabbily dressed man in his 20s, long if unkempt hair draped around his shoulders and shimmering in red as they reflected the light off of the sign of the establishment he had been so illustriously thrown out of. He took in a deep, rattling breath as he hefted himself up to his feet. Gravity was his worst enemy in that moment, making him trip over a luxurious pair of crocodile leather hewn boots. Indeed, it had been an even worse enemy when the long haired man had been thrown five feet in the air and to the ground.
“Doesn’t matter to me. Shouldn’t have been grabbing at girls who didn’t want you looking in their direction in the first place. Now get the fuck on.”
The scaly shoes shook even further at this command, reflected in the red hued and circular sunglasses of the man giving it. Eric Brooks stood at the top of the concrete stairs looking down, cold displeasure and annoyance radiating from his furrowed brow and crossed arms. The leather jacket he wore over a tight black shirt and tactical vest squeaked at the movement, his arms threatening to rip apart the well worn leather covering them. This was often enough to scare away any white collar businessman who had had one too many gin and tonics. And yet all it seemed to do was throw the long haired man’s face into an almost inhuman mask of anger and derision. The man took a few steps up the stairs he had just sailed over, one hand clumsily slammed into his tan jacket’s right midriff pocket. He took one more step up the stairs, his scowl tilting upward into what might have been a smirk. Eric’s eyes tightened and his brow wrinkled up even further.
“I told you to get on out of here. And I was nice about it the first time, motherfu-”
Eric was cut off by the sound of metal sinking into flesh, his would-be assailant a blur as his other hand reached down into its respective jacket pocket. It froze in place, Eric’s hand stopping its downward descent with a vicious and vice like grip that crushed bone with a disturbing crunch. The long haired man’s face let loose the scowl, replaced with an almost instantaneous reaction to the pain just inflicted on its bodily neighbor. Extraordinarily long canines glinted in the moonlight from up above. They quickly disappeared under the shadow of a closed fist. The force of the blow lifted its recipient into the air once more. He fell into a bedraggled clump of splayed limbs below into an all too familiar patch of nicotine laced concrete.
“If I see you ag-”
Eric fell to the ground, his left knee taking the brunt of the impact. His vision narrowed and then grew even narrower with a bright splash of red. Grunting in pain, Eric looked up and then down to where his assailant had lain just moments before. He was nowhere to be seen, replaced with bits of broken enamel, shredded plastic, and a light pool of blood. A trail of red led off into an adjacent alleyway, accompanied by the remnants of a container that had once held the velvet contents of whatever had been painted on the ground in front entrance of the jazz club.
“B-bloody hell! Is that, is that blood?!”
A woman who had been about to head into the club screamed and ran off. Her lightly sprayed perfume sent claxon bells and a wave of pain resounding throughout his skull. Her rapidly beating heart pulsated in his ears, drowning out the sounds of the city and even the lilting jazz music echoing from the door behind him. Eric had to resist the urge to run after her. To tackle her to the ground and-
“Wh-what the hell?”
Eric tamped down whatever that urge was, gritting his teeth and fighting through the intense wave of pain and hunger assaulting his senses. Wait, hunger? The tall man pushed that thought out of his head, grabbing the knife in his left shoulder and pulling it out with a sickening, wet thud. The parachute cord wrapped handle of the bladed weapon dropped to the ground. Eric ignored the stunned looks thrown his way by all manner of well dressed passerby, looking down at the ground and concentrating on the well laid brick sidewalk beneath his leather boots. He counted the number of bricks he passed in between waves of pain. Anything to not look at the necks attached to the stunned faces of those staring at him...
