character

Character Sheet: Greyson Black
A Member of Solo Operator

Greyson Black
Designation: Hero
Played By: Enforcer
Kit:
Wins: 3
Fatalaties: 2
Losses: 3
Solo Operator

Physical Attributes

Strength: Standard (25)
normal human strength

  • Strength Attack Damage: Standard

Agility: Superior (50)
This fighter can dodge, weave and move with the grace of an Olympic gymnast.

Body: Superior (50)
Takes punishment like a heavyweight fighter or wrester

  • Knocked Out by: 1 unprotected Superior level hit
    or several lesser attacks adding to same.

Mind: Superior (50)
Highly educated and ingenious.

Fight Record

1) The Polyester Cowboy Win
2) Hades II Win
3) The Intruder Loss
3) Me Win
4) Shin Tataki Loss
5) Karen Mystery Loss


Background: He sits in a bar somewhere in Lowtown, sipping on a simple glass of scotch. He sits and he waits. Maybe it’s for a job offer, maybe it’s for some information. No one’s sure. People would think he had learned his lesson the last time he had been to Khazan. But even after being left for dead by a man unaffected by fire then nearly digested by the essence of Gluttony itself, he refused to stay down. He had done so for decades. His sheer will in refusing to let go got him placed alongside Ichiro Miyazawa, Bailey Farragut, and Lucas DiCardi in the ranks of the four greatest mercenaries of the world, the ‘Four Horsemen’ as they were called. He refused to let go with the maddened death of Ichiro, the sudden disappearance of DiCardi, and the reported demise of Farragut. Even when ‘they’ tore his life apart by sending him to look after ‘it’ every chance ‘they’ got, he held on. No one even knew who ‘they’ were and what ‘it’ was. Both were assumed equally dangerous, so dangerous that Greyson received semi-immortality so he wouldn’t die before finding ‘it’, but that was not important for the time being. The gray-haired mercenary wanted his guns and his knife back. And he would find them. They were part of his legacy. Near-immortality and the mile-long lists of people he left dead and people who wanted him dead in his wake aren’t the only parts to it. It also meant he had no weaponry. But that was no matter. He had many people who owed him for various things. He had called in three. One was made to a man who kept to the shadows, when he wasn’t on the rooftops readying his own method of ‘altering destiny,’ as a seer called it once. The others were to his main employers, those who spearheaded the Random Task Agents. First, they would send covert agents to collect information for several weeks. They would tell him to avoid if he didn’t want to die yet again. Then, they would provide him with something that could guarantee his safety once he went back. And come back he did. He didn’t just come back for his guns. He wanted whatever honor he should’ve had from going there, instead of leaving looking the fool for battling those he had no chance against. He refused to merely tuck his tail between his legs, choke on his own blood and saliva, and let his coworkers retrieve his lifeless corpse from the mess ‘they’ had put him into. He had scores to settle.

Character Personality
The stoic mercenary still sat in the bar, reservedly waiting for whatever reason he had in mind. He sat there for hours, apparently not doing anything other than sip at his scotch and occasionally get a new glass. Sometimes it would be the same scotch he had been drinking for the past several hours, others it would be simply ice water in his glass. He said not a word. No one had heard smooth spoken words wrapped in a light British accent since he had come in, and even then the only words they heard were ‘scotch on the rocks’ or ‘ice water.’ Some people would take a good look at him and his ice-blue eyes, and leave. Were they annoyed by his silence, bothered by his stillness, or maybe even frightened of his presence? One drunkard received as much as a soul-piercing glare from him, and went sputtering off in a fit of abruptly sobered and unexpectantly maddened hysteria. The mercenary sat until nightfall, paid his tab, and then he left, as wordless as he had come. Only did the man who went to take the recently-vacated seat noticed what etched onto the counter. It had been said long ago that mothers would frighten their children by telling them that Hannibal the conqueror was at the gates. ‘Hannibal ad portae,’ or something of the fashion. This message was scribed ‘The horseman is at the gates.’ The barfly didn’t realize the significance of the scrawl. Perhaps it was a warning of sorts...

Powers and Abilities

Eclecticity

Power, agility, endurance, ingenuity, speed, he had all of them in spades. No one could really tell with the way he carried himself. He would stand just like a normal person, until an act of self-defense was needed. Then, of course, he learned the multiple ways of inflicting punishment. Flow like water. Anger is not power. Rage is a weakness. Take out the legs first. The environment can be an advantage. Try to disable if you can, only kill if you must. Silence is key to survival. So many styles have so many methods and lessons. It’s a wonder he knows so many of them. Tae kwon do, jujutsu, aikido, capoeira, hints of ninjitsu; only the sharpest and most analytical minds can pick out the styles presents in Greyson’s mixture, the art of motion he has unintentionally created after decades of learning, studying, and implementing. No normal human fighter had stood a chance against him in his glory days, and many a fighter will remember the ice-blue eyes and grayed hair of a nameless man from long ago.


Domineering Ways

‘The horseman is at the gates.’ He had been called War once. The only reason no one calls him War now is because it would bring back bad memories of the three that had been lost. But some still see him as War, because he knows how to wage it, if in only the form of one man. He has a high side-kick that could smash concrete and break jaws. He can take the legs of an Olympic runner right out from under them. He can knock a blade away before it has the chance to draw blood. No matter how much power he puts into a single strike, a lack of force to hold him to the ground would merely send him airborne. Normally, he fights with no trace of rage, anger, enjoyment, or anything else. It’s just business. But now, some say he grits his teeth somewhat and holds a slight glare in his eyes...


The Third Favor

  • Power: Eldrich Blast
  • Level: Standard
  • Advantage: Ranged and Melee Attack! Attack is equally effective at range and up close.
  • Advantage: Multi Attack Attack can hit multiple times during one strike.
  • Weakness: power in item - Hard to Lose item
He called in three favors before he came back to Khazan. The first was to an old friend who owed him his life. The second was to his employers, for he wanted information. The third was strapped to his back. It’s a piece of weaponry, just out of its prototype phase. It had no name, but, for now, it has been dubbed the Gatecrasher. The last time he was there, his use of hand-to-hand tactics led to his downfall. Now he plans to stay as far away from his opponent as he can, and use a weapon with a high-enough yield that would only require him to point it in his enemy’s general direction and fire a large volley of many blasts at once. It’s strapped very firmly to his back whenever he’s not firing it, and no one would really have a chance to knock it aside once he readies to fire. He keeps it to low power for the time being, as he would prefer to learn more of his opponents’ strengths before going into a fight, and he would also prefer not bring a place crashing down around his head. He prefers to stay away from any building with an unstable structure, but he especially keeps away from caves, caverns, and such...


Focus

  • Power: Mental Defense
  • Level: Standard
  • Advantage: Reinforced Defenses Defense blocks Armor Piercing attacks.
It was required for the line of work he chose; his physical stamina would have to match his mental endurance. He sleeps only when he feels the need to. His soul had hardened to the likes of the manipulative long ago. Attempts at seduction only serve to annoy him. Those he ignores see him as bitter, uncaring, full of himself. He merely has better things to do with his time than pay attention to those who would want to play around with him. Those who don’t leave him alone find themselves with the barrel of a revolver pointed under their chins. But he has none of his own weaponry for the time, except for the newly-acquired ‘means to an end’ which was never his in the first place...


‘...a fool for life...’

A man can’t live as long as he has and see the things he has seen without losing a part of themselves. He just will not let that happen. Endless amounts of people have told him that he has no purpose in life other that to hunt and kill for other people’s predetermined purposes. He won’t even acknowledge the idea. ‘They’ suck him into a portal regularly, and make him serve their purpose to fulfill some silly prophecy that he would have a hand in getting ‘it’ for them and effectively having a hand in the end of any universe they deemed fit. He refuses to succumb to them, to live his life in their servitude, to become their toy soldier. He has been stretched to a limit no human has let themselves survive, but he will not sit and wait in some puddle of muddy water or a snow-covered street curb to wait for ‘them’ to take him again. Greyson Black holds on to the life he has, futile as the struggle may be. He tries to ignore pain in his attempts to do what he is meant to do. The masterful fighters have fallen. The greatest strategists have been outsmarted. The luckiest gamble has been trumped. Even deities have seen the brink of defeat when he has the right tools in his hands. All because he refuses to give up to pain and suffering and despair, and continues to trudge on through the bleakest of times. He will be set free one day. He will find ‘them’ and their hiding place in whatever corner of whatever dimension they occupy. He will track them down, and bring along all of those whom ‘they’ have wronged. And then he will kill them all.