Powers & Abilities: Alaric doesn’t have any supernatural abilities of his own, but he does come with a ring that, when he wears it, brings him back to life as long as the cause of his death was supernatural (such as a vampire/werewolf/vampire/curse killing him). Since he is keeping it, I’d like to have the ring’s ability dampened down where, like the example for characters who can regenerate, it only heals minor wounds.
Alaric, having trained himself to be a vampire hunter, uses his broad frame and strength to his advantage. He is highly skilled with a crossbow as well as a wild variety of weapons, not limited to spears, knives, guns, and bows. He is a master weapon maker, creating some specifically designed to take down vampires. His most notable achievements are vervain darts, compressed air-powered stake guns (pictured far left), and a type of handmade grenade that is filled with a liquefied vervain mixture. Other weapons he has created are a type of bronze knuckle with wooden spikes and a air-powered wrist holster that shoots a miniature stake when it strikes something with enough strength behind it.
He jokingly refers to other various skills he has - tracking, navigating, and knot-tying - to be things he picked up as a boy scout. He can whittle a highly elaborate stake (pictured alongside the stake guns) and is one of few humans who has been able to kill a vampire with his natural abilities alone.
Items on their Person: Alaric has the Gilbert ring, a piece of magical jewelry gifted with the ability to bring its wearer back to life as long as the cause of death was through the fault of something supernatural. The ring is thick silver with a square of black onyx. A silver eagle-like crest is displayed in the middle of the onyx.
Otherwise, Alaric is only carrying a battery-operated flashlight and a messenger bag, holding a camera.
Samples;
First Person Sample:
[Alaric's tone, when he starts, is firm. He feels like shit; he's worn out, alone, and has one bolt to his name. There's a shuffle or two out behind the back wall, and he clutches the phone to his chest like it'll keep his heart beating. He's world-weary and seen too many people die. All of that before he ever came here.
He slips into that void space he utilizes when he teaches, when twenty young faces blur together and all that keeps him going is the insane urge to want kids to be smart.] Maybe it’s arrogant as hell, I dunno. I hate to be that guy [The one who shines with optimism but, at his core, is thoroughly defined as a fatalist. The one who claims they should stick together, but eventually moves away himself and gets disemboweled in the epic climax], but the fictional thing? Yeah, I get it. It sucks. Life’s not a picnic for anyone, but there are bigger problems. Hordes of those bigger problems. I’m not saying we should all group together, because based on pop cultural evidence, I’m thinking that would attract them. I’m saying… I’m saying stick to people you trust. Don’t wander off alone. Don’t wander. Just.. be careful, okay? If you need help, find me. I’ll do what I can.
Try not to be dicks. It’ll keep everyone alive. [The finalizing way he says this makes it a marked fact that keeping everyone alive is what's most important.]
Third Person Sample:
Like any sane person, Alaric’s mind defaults to the fact that his isn’t real. Not the videos – those, no, those are insanely real; someone has put careful thought into this, a wary pen to paper, a man with a worried brow and eyes that wander, all of it to make it seem real. This, though. Everything else. The pamphlet, the videos, the text on a phone that has never been his in a cheerful voice that is excessively fake; all of that is not real.
When he awakens, his clothes are dry. The damp of the cave Damon had coaxed him into looking in has faded from his sleeves, and he can barely remember the shy glance of white, fading marks that had been etched into the cavern’s walls. Frustration wells in him, and he considers taking the phone and slamming it against the wall until the plastic shatters in his hand. Just for something to do, something that no one had planned on him doing (or had rehearsed him doing). The rush of his heart at discovering something no one had seen in a thousand years - snatched away. Now it’s beating with the need for escape, except home has become somewhere inexplicably far away.
This isn’t real. The falsifying of his life – maybe it makes him a complete moron to ignore it, but he does. He tries his best to push off the table, pick up the phone, and press his thumb to the screen to run through its options. Telling him what he’s suffered is fake doesn’t make it so.
(Someone told your wife to leave you to make you sympathetic. You were pressed to call Damon a friend for dramatic irony. Each death escaped leads to something greater, just beyond the sight of where your character is, that is inevitable. The climax. She loves you despite your faults.)
To hell with it. The phone buzzes in his hand, and he scrolls, watches videos. A red-haired woman introduces herself, and a variety of anonymous words chime in. Someone compares their life to a collection of movies, some which sound familiar and some that don’t.
Alaric figures the phone out, catching on to its special kind of broadcasting system. He gets it. An electronic bulletin board. Despite how inane it feels, he can’t help but hope (stupidly, selfishly) that someone out there might recognize him. Or, at the very least, be smart enough to ask for help.
Alaric Saltzman, he types, and zombies are really not the worst crap I’ve had to deal with.
Samples
Alaric, having trained himself to be a vampire hunter, uses his broad frame and strength to his advantage. He is highly skilled with a crossbow as well as a wild variety of weapons, not limited to spears, knives, guns, and bows. He is a master weapon maker, creating some specifically designed to take down vampires. His most notable achievements are vervain darts, compressed air-powered stake guns (pictured far left), and a type of handmade grenade that is filled with a liquefied vervain mixture. Other weapons he has created are a type of bronze knuckle with wooden spikes and a air-powered wrist holster that shoots a miniature stake when it strikes something with enough strength behind it.
He jokingly refers to other various skills he has - tracking, navigating, and knot-tying - to be things he picked up as a boy scout. He can whittle a highly elaborate stake (pictured alongside the stake guns) and is one of few humans who has been able to kill a vampire with his natural abilities alone.
Items on their Person: Alaric has the Gilbert ring, a piece of magical jewelry gifted with the ability to bring its wearer back to life as long as the cause of death was through the fault of something supernatural. The ring is thick silver with a square of black onyx. A silver eagle-like crest is displayed in the middle of the onyx.
Otherwise, Alaric is only carrying a battery-operated flashlight and a messenger bag, holding a camera.
Samples;
First Person Sample:
[Alaric's tone, when he starts, is firm. He feels like shit; he's worn out, alone, and has one bolt to his name. There's a shuffle or two out behind the back wall, and he clutches the phone to his chest like it'll keep his heart beating. He's world-weary and seen too many people die. All of that before he ever came here.
He slips into that void space he utilizes when he teaches, when twenty young faces blur together and all that keeps him going is the insane urge to want kids to be smart.] Maybe it’s arrogant as hell, I dunno. I hate to be that guy [The one who shines with optimism but, at his core, is thoroughly defined as a fatalist. The one who claims they should stick together, but eventually moves away himself and gets disemboweled in the epic climax], but the fictional thing? Yeah, I get it. It sucks. Life’s not a picnic for anyone, but there are bigger problems. Hordes of those bigger problems. I’m not saying we should all group together, because based on pop cultural evidence, I’m thinking that would attract them. I’m saying… I’m saying stick to people you trust. Don’t wander off alone. Don’t wander. Just.. be careful, okay? If you need help, find me. I’ll do what I can.
Try not to be dicks. It’ll keep everyone alive. [The finalizing way he says this makes it a marked fact that keeping everyone alive is what's most important.]
Third Person Sample:
Like any sane person, Alaric’s mind defaults to the fact that his isn’t real. Not the videos – those, no, those are insanely real; someone has put careful thought into this, a wary pen to paper, a man with a worried brow and eyes that wander, all of it to make it seem real. This, though. Everything else. The pamphlet, the videos, the text on a phone that has never been his in a cheerful voice that is excessively fake; all of that is not real.
When he awakens, his clothes are dry. The damp of the cave Damon had coaxed him into looking in has faded from his sleeves, and he can barely remember the shy glance of white, fading marks that had been etched into the cavern’s walls. Frustration wells in him, and he considers taking the phone and slamming it against the wall until the plastic shatters in his hand. Just for something to do, something that no one had planned on him doing (or had rehearsed him doing). The rush of his heart at discovering something no one had seen in a thousand years - snatched away. Now it’s beating with the need for escape, except home has become somewhere inexplicably far away.
This isn’t real. The falsifying of his life – maybe it makes him a complete moron to ignore it, but he does. He tries his best to push off the table, pick up the phone, and press his thumb to the screen to run through its options. Telling him what he’s suffered is fake doesn’t make it so.
(Someone told your wife to leave you to make you sympathetic. You were pressed to call Damon a friend for dramatic irony. Each death escaped leads to something greater, just beyond the sight of where your character is, that is inevitable. The climax. She loves you despite your faults.)
To hell with it. The phone buzzes in his hand, and he scrolls, watches videos. A red-haired woman introduces herself, and a variety of anonymous words chime in. Someone compares their life to a collection of movies, some which sound familiar and some that don’t.
Alaric figures the phone out, catching on to its special kind of broadcasting system. He gets it. An electronic bulletin board. Despite how inane it feels, he can’t help but hope (stupidly, selfishly) that someone out there might recognize him. Or, at the very least, be smart enough to ask for help.
Alaric Saltzman, he types, and zombies are really not the worst crap I’ve had to deal with.