Post by DOMINICK CAVANAUGH on Jun 29, 2014 3:57:46 GMT -5
DOMINICK CAVANAUGH
25 AT TIME OF DEATH, 28 YEARS DEAD • MARCH 4th, 1963 • MALE • SHADE • PROFESSIONAL HAUNT/SPY/REAPER
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Blond Hair • Sapphire Eyes • 6’3” • 157 LBS.
Appearance,
Nick stands at over six feet tall, quite skinny for his height, with pale skin and bright blond hair that’s tousled, spiky, and obviously the least of his concerns. Striking sapphire eyes glisten out from a somewhat long face that almost always wears some kind of smile or smirk. He toned well enough, but it’s plentifully apparent that he doesn’t (didn’t?) bother to take exceptionally good care to define his muscular structure a great deal. He’s tall, handsome, and seems to walk with a certain swagger reminiscent of either a pirate or a slightly drunk rock star, a gait that shows the world how carefree he generally is. He has no scars, but he does bear two odd tattoos that he hasn’t the slightest idea of their origins or their meanings: one on his left forearm that reaches about a third of the way up his outer bicep, which depicts angular, blocky markings that appear to be some sort of lettering, and one that dominates most of his lower back and seems to be an arcane seal of some kind, entailing large concentric circles of occult markings or runes surrounding a single, seven-pointed star in the center, and radiating elaborate lines that almost look like a curving kind of circuitry. He has never been able to learn a thing about them from the myriad people he has asked, save that it isn’t in any normal or occult language that they know.
His outfit embodies all of the good (and perhaps some of the not so good?) aspects of the 80’s and 90’s rocker style, dabbled and decorated with aspects of more modern “Goth” culture. His signature look is dominated by a high-collared, blue-black canvas trench coat to which is appended a number of buckles and belts, as well as a couple of chains for look and extra securing power. Beyond that, he tends to wear a purposefully shredded, long-sleeve black shirt over a dark gray undershirt beneath his jacket, complete with additional buckles on the sleeves here and there, which depicts some band or another that he’s in the mood for at the time (being a Shade means wearing ANYTHING you want as ANY TIME), or some other occult looking design. He wears slightly baggy pants that are likewise decorated with gashes and chains here and there, and plain, unadorned combat boots cover his feet. Each ear has a cuff earring through the lower cartilage, and to the left one is attached a small chain that connects to a small skull stud with black eyes pierced through the lobe. He wears an assortment of three necklaces (usually), two of which change on a regular basis (sometimes even into a choker of black leather), but the third has remained the same no matter his preferences: a circular glyph that depicts a cross in the center of an assortment of other markings. Lastly, he wears a simple, solid ring around the middle finger of his right hand. All the jewelry that he wears is silver without fail or falter, and even he can’t tell if it’s because that’s what he wants or just how it turns out.
In his incorporeal form, however, he appears as a traditional, nightmarish wraith entity, cloaked in an aura of shifting, liquid-like black smoke that coalesces into a hood which hangs low over his gaunt ebon face. Skeletal arms protrude from the smoggy black form, as much part of it as separate from it, the bones of which are slightly translucent to observe and seem not wholly there. His facial features, on the rare occasions they are seen, are sharp and angular, vicious edges adorning a skull-like visage and giving the already ghastly countenance an unholy ferocity. His shrouded eyes glow a bright, frosty blue, their frigid glow adding a frozen haze to the black miasma that drifts about him. The tattoos glow the same icy hue in this form, further adding to the coldness that permeates the gloom his form drifts within.
Nick stands at over six feet tall, quite skinny for his height, with pale skin and bright blond hair that’s tousled, spiky, and obviously the least of his concerns. Striking sapphire eyes glisten out from a somewhat long face that almost always wears some kind of smile or smirk. He toned well enough, but it’s plentifully apparent that he doesn’t (didn’t?) bother to take exceptionally good care to define his muscular structure a great deal. He’s tall, handsome, and seems to walk with a certain swagger reminiscent of either a pirate or a slightly drunk rock star, a gait that shows the world how carefree he generally is. He has no scars, but he does bear two odd tattoos that he hasn’t the slightest idea of their origins or their meanings: one on his left forearm that reaches about a third of the way up his outer bicep, which depicts angular, blocky markings that appear to be some sort of lettering, and one that dominates most of his lower back and seems to be an arcane seal of some kind, entailing large concentric circles of occult markings or runes surrounding a single, seven-pointed star in the center, and radiating elaborate lines that almost look like a curving kind of circuitry. He has never been able to learn a thing about them from the myriad people he has asked, save that it isn’t in any normal or occult language that they know.
His outfit embodies all of the good (and perhaps some of the not so good?) aspects of the 80’s and 90’s rocker style, dabbled and decorated with aspects of more modern “Goth” culture. His signature look is dominated by a high-collared, blue-black canvas trench coat to which is appended a number of buckles and belts, as well as a couple of chains for look and extra securing power. Beyond that, he tends to wear a purposefully shredded, long-sleeve black shirt over a dark gray undershirt beneath his jacket, complete with additional buckles on the sleeves here and there, which depicts some band or another that he’s in the mood for at the time (being a Shade means wearing ANYTHING you want as ANY TIME), or some other occult looking design. He wears slightly baggy pants that are likewise decorated with gashes and chains here and there, and plain, unadorned combat boots cover his feet. Each ear has a cuff earring through the lower cartilage, and to the left one is attached a small chain that connects to a small skull stud with black eyes pierced through the lobe. He wears an assortment of three necklaces (usually), two of which change on a regular basis (sometimes even into a choker of black leather), but the third has remained the same no matter his preferences: a circular glyph that depicts a cross in the center of an assortment of other markings. Lastly, he wears a simple, solid ring around the middle finger of his right hand. All the jewelry that he wears is silver without fail or falter, and even he can’t tell if it’s because that’s what he wants or just how it turns out.
In his incorporeal form, however, he appears as a traditional, nightmarish wraith entity, cloaked in an aura of shifting, liquid-like black smoke that coalesces into a hood which hangs low over his gaunt ebon face. Skeletal arms protrude from the smoggy black form, as much part of it as separate from it, the bones of which are slightly translucent to observe and seem not wholly there. His facial features, on the rare occasions they are seen, are sharp and angular, vicious edges adorning a skull-like visage and giving the already ghastly countenance an unholy ferocity. His shrouded eyes glow a bright, frosty blue, their frigid glow adding a frozen haze to the black miasma that drifts about him. The tattoos glow the same icy hue in this form, further adding to the coldness that permeates the gloom his form drifts within.
Spells and Abilities,
Ectoplasmic Charge - This ability, like Dread Presence, can only be used while a shade is in their ghostly state. Through the use of this ability the Shade is able to concentrate some of the ghostly energy that they possess while in the spirit realm, usually referred to as ectoplasmic energy, into a small blast of power. While this blast cannot be used to directly harm human beings or supernaturals of the physical plane, these blasts can serve one of two uses. They CAN interact with inanimate objects, meaning they can be used to cause distractions or create obstacles. In addition, they play havoc with electrical systems, often causing most electronic devices to go haywire. In addition, these blasts seem to have an effect on Eldritch, though it is minimal and temporary. These blasts can be used to stun or halt an Eldritch for a short time, allowing a shade to escape or evade his or her pursuer. As with all abilities Shade's possess, this power drains energy from them, in this case exceedingly quickly. If overused, even against Eldritch, the Shade runs the risk of being trapped in the spirit realm with no way of escape or self-preservation should more of the dire creatures come.
Stillness Boneyard - By spreading their awareness over an area, a Shade is capable of projecting their senses to any point within that range, while also evoking certain haunting effects. With the Stillness Key, able to make one person blind, deaf, or mute within the area, blend in with the darkness to hide more effectively, or make one person drop into a state of ennui. If a living being makes contact with said person as they are inflicted, the subject will be cured due to their life essences combining through touch, overwhelming the Shade’s ability. If contact is disconnected, then the affliction will continue as long as the Shade keeps its concentration. The amount of combined life-force to overcome the ability is determined by how powerful the Shade in question is. NOTE: If a person is affected by this they do NOT get to automatically know it is a shade that is affecting them unless they are well versed in Shades as an entity.
Shroud - Wrapping themselves in an ectoplasmic caul, the Shade can keep themselves largely hidden from detection, provided they have the energy and don't do anything to draw attention to themselves. In physical form, they become just another face in the crowd, just another guy on a bench, or just another woman on the bus. It's difficult to pay attention to them or make any note of them, and they are quickly dismissed and forgotten when not in sight. In their ethereal form, the Shade no longer registers as a soul or a human entity at all. They become, for all intents and purposes, nothing more than a phenomenon of a psychic or ectoplasmic nature. Eldritch will mostly overlook them, and to any detection spells or even the Stigmata Boneyard, they are nothing but a residual, plasmic imprint on the psychic fabric of the world.
Ectoplasmic Charge - This ability, like Dread Presence, can only be used while a shade is in their ghostly state. Through the use of this ability the Shade is able to concentrate some of the ghostly energy that they possess while in the spirit realm, usually referred to as ectoplasmic energy, into a small blast of power. While this blast cannot be used to directly harm human beings or supernaturals of the physical plane, these blasts can serve one of two uses. They CAN interact with inanimate objects, meaning they can be used to cause distractions or create obstacles. In addition, they play havoc with electrical systems, often causing most electronic devices to go haywire. In addition, these blasts seem to have an effect on Eldritch, though it is minimal and temporary. These blasts can be used to stun or halt an Eldritch for a short time, allowing a shade to escape or evade his or her pursuer. As with all abilities Shade's possess, this power drains energy from them, in this case exceedingly quickly. If overused, even against Eldritch, the Shade runs the risk of being trapped in the spirit realm with no way of escape or self-preservation should more of the dire creatures come.
Stillness Boneyard - By spreading their awareness over an area, a Shade is capable of projecting their senses to any point within that range, while also evoking certain haunting effects. With the Stillness Key, able to make one person blind, deaf, or mute within the area, blend in with the darkness to hide more effectively, or make one person drop into a state of ennui. If a living being makes contact with said person as they are inflicted, the subject will be cured due to their life essences combining through touch, overwhelming the Shade’s ability. If contact is disconnected, then the affliction will continue as long as the Shade keeps its concentration. The amount of combined life-force to overcome the ability is determined by how powerful the Shade in question is. NOTE: If a person is affected by this they do NOT get to automatically know it is a shade that is affecting them unless they are well versed in Shades as an entity.
Shroud - Wrapping themselves in an ectoplasmic caul, the Shade can keep themselves largely hidden from detection, provided they have the energy and don't do anything to draw attention to themselves. In physical form, they become just another face in the crowd, just another guy on a bench, or just another woman on the bus. It's difficult to pay attention to them or make any note of them, and they are quickly dismissed and forgotten when not in sight. In their ethereal form, the Shade no longer registers as a soul or a human entity at all. They become, for all intents and purposes, nothing more than a phenomenon of a psychic or ectoplasmic nature. Eldritch will mostly overlook them, and to any detection spells or even the Stigmata Boneyard, they are nothing but a residual, plasmic imprint on the psychic fabric of the world.
| Likes, • Rock music and the general lifestyle that accompanies it • Owls • A good time, even more so if he can share it with others • Taking out obviously dangerous or malevolent Shades • Adrenaline Rushes (or whatever the equivalent is for Shades) | Dislikes, • Cruelty • Frogs • Buzzkills • Judgemental, self-righteous people • Being bossed around, confined, or limited |
Personality,
Dominick is pretty much the quintessential rocker guy, a peculiar amalgamation of, 80’s, 90’s, and current rock culture. He was a party fanatic in life, and death hasn’t done much to satiate that mentality, save to perhaps afford him a certain level of temperance. He’s a fun loving rabble rouser that enjoys nothing more than to have a blast doing something that’s probably stupid after thinking on it long enough to justify it. Life’s too short (or was, in his case) to not enjoy every moment one can get their hands on. He’s also a hopeless flirt, and for him, anything is fair game. He holds fast to a sense of temperance, maintaining that the only way to truly enjoy life is to wake up to it tomorrow, but it’s plenty important to him to get that rush, have a ball, and wonder how the hell he got wherever he is and whose underwear he’s in. The more people that can enjoy this with him, the better the time usually is, and he’ll take care of everyone he possibly can to make sure it stays fun. He’s a bit reckless, though the years of being dead have given him time to tone it down enough to start thinking before he jumps, lands with an unceremonious splatter, wake up in the hospital, then ask if it was a good idea. He asks just after he jumps now, especially considering the guilt that’s never too far in the back of his head.
Growing up through the 60’s, 70’s, and 80’s touched him with a strong sense of identity, individuality, and freedom. He lived through a time of tremendous social upheaval and sweeping change through the mores of the country. Taboos vanished while he lived, and so many lines became blurry and bent, so many boundaries were pushed, that he still lives with the feeling of freedom of self that he was raised with. Nothing is more important than freedom to him. Everyone deserves to embrace themselves in his mind, and no one should be stifled from personally growing in whatever way is right for them. He also lived through eras of intense drug use, and yes, he was a bit of a druggie in his living years. Cocaine and PCP were his two main ones, with occasional speed or heroin tossed in, and plenty of alcohol to boot. It’s part of what killed him after all. While he would never be the kind to dictate to anyone what they should or shouldn’t do, he will be the first to almost preach temperance and moderation about such things, and he’s the first to offer help to those he fears are descending on the same spiral that he did. It doesn’t get more fun when you’re dead.
Nick loathes, absolutely loathes, cruelty in basically any form. Sometimes emotions warrant certain viciousness, and sometimes people deserve it, but cruelty entails a lack of reason or purpose, being little more than hate and ferocity without cause. He’s an avid defender of people that he feels do not deserve such malice, and takes great delight in standing up for people against needlessly violent or malevolent Shades, adoring the fact that he is able to take the fight to them on their terms and taking away their one means to elude retribution from normal, material entities. They can’t slip away from him by popping into the Shadow. If one thing warrants his ire more than anything else, it’s cowardly people or creatures that perpetrate such savagery and flee the moment they are confronted about it. At least those that stand up and take what they deserve warrant a modicum of respect. To that end, he is a cardinal defender of victims of unwarranted rancor, first to careen to the forefront of a fight and put himself between the malignant force and those victimized by it.
Beyond all of this, though, is a depth that even he can’t fathom. He feels a strong disconnect at times, like somehow he is ancient beyond the years he lived, or even the years he’s haunted the world. Every now and then, he finds that he feels thousands of years upon his shoulders, epochs of time that he has never seen, and eons that he has never visited. He has no ideas why, no memories of such distant ages, and no recollections of being so timeless, but in the years that he’s spent as a Shade, he’s grown more and more distant. There is a vastness of time somewhere within him that he cannot place, and frankly, is a little afraid to. It’s a good part of the reason that he goes even harder than he did when he was alive; surging excitement and a demanding present keeps him from falling too far into whatever pool of abyssal time lurks within him. He exists here and now as much as he is able to. Clinging to the present and reveling in every passing moment helps ground him, anchoring him to the present through intense emotions and carefully maintained fetters. He looks at the here and now, and stares slightly into the future, to keep himself from falling into the eons of past that he feels.
History,
Born in 1963 in San Francisco, Nick was privy to, and often in the front seat of, change for most of his life. As the sixties waxed, social norms had begun to be entirely reformed, the backlash of a rigid culture finally snapping under the strain of a desire for individual freedom. Taboos of racism and sexism were being boiled out slowly, civil rights became a regular issue, and people began to move for a greater sense of equality. Feminist, anti-war, and black rights sentiments were growing, gaining power with each passing day, and gaining stronger opposition just as rapidly. The decade was one of forced change, of breaking the molds set in place as an acceptable standard, of standing up and fighting for personal freedom and equality. Nick’s parents were often deeply involved and supportive of these movements, wanting to usher in a new age of liberty and involvement in government, a new day of screaming to be heard, and a new eon of progression. Dominick was raised into this lifestyle, and his early years with his parents painted the foundation of who he would become.
The changes seeded in the 60’s, in which his parents were severely involved, sprung to new and powerful life during the 70’s, and this was the world that Nick grew up in. Many causes found only greater fires to drive them, and social norms continued to shift dramatically, the concepts of “free love” taking on new meanings. The role of women in society had been altered entirely with the growth of feminism, and thus his mother grew empowered to be a true individual. His parents separated by 1977, and where his mother continued to dedicate herself to the cause of sweeping change over the country like a blanket, his father fell more and more into alcohol abuse and eventually delved into cocaine use. His mother pushed for him to grow as an individual, while his father sought only to bring him down with him. In truth, both succeeded. Nick became a drinker and a smoker, prolifically involved in risky sexual endeavors, and near the end of the decade, had gotten himself into cocaine. Music took a perhaps darker turn with the emergence of new forms of rock, and Nick was absolutely hooked on the grim resonances that came with them. He became one of the best, and easily ranked among the worst, examples of rampant freedom of self and expression. Paired with his father dropping out of his life entirely in ’79, and he was well on his way down.
The 80’s hit, and the hole only seemed to get deeper for Dominick. The years immediately after his father disappeared were particularly hard on him, because the damage had been done and he no longer had a parental figure to relate to. His mother, remarried in ’78, grew more and more distant from him as she charged forward with her new life and new husband, and when he turned eighteen in ’81, the already crumbling chains of parental involvement dissolved completely, leaving a reckless, apathetic, hateful young man to fend for himself in the world. She was happy to have him out of the way for her new family, and he was glad to stop pretending that he was anything but alone. He dropped wholly and heavily into drugs, booze, rock, sex, and rebellion. He embraced the fast life of a self-destructive punk all too ready to crash and burn. He took chances with his life almost daily. Leather and chains, cars and gasoline, metal and drugs, these were his life. All that mattered to him were his friends and stepping up to crush those that were ready to step on the weak. There wasn’t a boundary he wouldn’t push.
Then he was diagnosed with HIV in 1986.
His destructive nature only intensified with this revelation, and on July 26th, 1988, he was killed in a wreck that took out three other people and wounded more, his car smashing through a busy intersection while he was drunk and high. He was mutilated and considered dead on impact with how fast he had been going. His funeral was a small one consisting only of his close friends. Neither of his parents came to the service.
Nick has haunted the world since that day, anchored by the guilt of what happened, the pain of all the lost time, and the regrets for all of his failures. He never lived up to anything. He was never anything but a delinquent, a failure, and a reject that couldn’t get past drinking everything, snorting everything, and boning everything long enough to care about tomorrow. For years he wandered, hidden behind the Glamour in the dark and detached from the world, running from the nightmarish Eldritch and fighting to survive, all while clinging to the brooding pain of every ounce of regret he couldn’t let go of. He wallowed in self-loathing, nearly giving himself over to the Eldritch on more than one occasion, but he couldn’t escape the pervasive feeling of something much, much greater lingering in the back of his head. The vastness of time that he felt, compared to the utter lack of any sense for past or present, history or consequence, that he had in life, was too great to give up so easily. So he fought, and he learned to use the abilities he had as a shade, and he learned to hide and escape when he needed to. He stalked the world and watched his parents and a number of his friends die off one by one, and he pressed on.
When the Glamour fell, it was like a massive door had finally been opened, and he was all too glad to step back into the world again. He stalked San Francisco for a time, using what he was and what he could do to champion defense of the meek, obliteration of the dark and horrid things that threatened them, and the eradication of cruelty. He used everything that he could to show others that were too like him that there was a line that they could walk between pleasure and forethought. He helped troubled youth more often than anything, volunteering at a number of centers for weeks before disappearing after he was sure he had made some difference to someone. He offered only his insight and cryptic hints that perhaps he knew what the end of their roads held, and when he would vanish utterly, only for them to learn that there was nothing on him, his warnings seemed more poignant. When the ultimatum was set by the government, he reluctantly gave up his own life of helping those like him and indulging in every pleasure life could still somehow offer him, and he made his way to Hollow Grove, hoping only that he would be able to keep his purpose and perhaps learn more of it.
Other,
What else could I POSSIBLY write?
RP Sample,
Can I get away with not doing this?
