Author Topic: Marlon Murk  (Read 832 times)

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Marlon Murk
« on: September 12, 2016, 12:21:27 AM »
CHARACTER

Name: Marlon Murk

Age: 18, born the 20th of Frost, Year 62 of the Age of Color

Species and Gender: Male Human

Symbol: A simple anvil encircled by a black ring.

Themes: The Light-Disturbed, Still Alive-Three Doors Down

Occupation: 1st Year Student at Beacon Academy. Previously, he had worked as a blacksmith on the Isle of Yrrch with his father and uncles, and has an apprentice level knowledge of metalworking, most of which pertains to everyday farm and factory tools that one would find in out of the way locales where manufactured goods are a luxury. The only complex items he knows his way around are his armor and weapon.

Appearance: A stocky lad weighing in at an excess of 340 Ilbs and topping off at 6'7", he moves like a landslide and talks like distant thunder. His years at the forge have given him an excellent physique and an iron, stubbly jaw. He keeps his soot-black hair close-cut on the top and sides, and gives it a little room to hang down the nape of his neck in the back. Despite his rough-hewn features and brawny complexion, his eyes are warm, evergreen, and friendly. He can most often be seen in jeans and a white undershirt, enjoying the fact that he doesn't have to constantly wear heavy rain or snow gear in Vale. His work boots are ever present unless he's feeling really relaxed, in which case he'll go barefoot just about anywhere.

When he's working, his heavy gloves, protective leather mask, and thick apron are a must, and he'll usually have them on even if he's just out for a bite to eat during a stopping point in the forging process.

While he's had no cause to put it on in Vale as yet, when it comes time for fighting he does have an extremely durable breastplate, pauldrons, and cuisses he forged himself, along with a vambrace and gauntlet for his right arm. The metal is light for its strength, has the color and shine of coal, and was a gift from his Aunt and Uncle. The armor is easy to put on, and fits over everything he owns nicely. It can be carried conveniently in a heavy sack over the shoulder.

For more formal occasions he does have a green vest and some dress shirts and pants, and, as silly as it may seem on someone of his size, sports a bowtie of the same color. It remains intolerable for him to wear a suit of any kind, and even his formal clothes are usually partially untucked.

He does have one heavy oilskin outfit for use in inclement weather, left over from Yrrch, but he likes the rain in Vale as it feels warm by comparison, so he rarely wears it.

History: Like any child raised in a settlement outside the boundaries of the Four Kingdoms, Marlon's life was by nature difficult. The founders of the tiny, remote community on the Isle of Yrrch had originally chosen its location far off the Western Coast of Atlas because of a surprisingly sparse Grimm population. For a few generations this worked well for them, and while food was not always easy to come by in such a cold, desolate place, they were able to eke out a very ungoverned and untamed existence. Every so often traders from Atlas would come seeking pelts and ivory in exchange for goods that the small island could not possibly manufacture, for the people of Yrrch were primarily trappers and whalers. Yet, by the time Marlon was just beginning to learn how to swing a hammer at his family's forge, at the tender age of eight, the traders were coming less frequently. There were whispers of something new in the waters around the Isle, something that lurked just on the horizon whenever the whaling ships went on the hunt, dark shadows that deepened as the blood from the kills turned the brine an altogether unwholesome inky shade.

When he was ten, some of the trappers began to talk in low voices about the way the colossal fir trees that blanketed their island home felt as though they were growing closer together, as if they were looming in around you when you were out at dusk or dawn to check your snares. When even the heavy steel clamps began to turn up rent and twisted, Marlon was no longer allowed to play in the woods with his friends, and no one left the villages alone, even for a short while, or left at all after night fell.

At the age of thirteen, people began to disappear. This in itself was not abnormal, for small fishing boats could be lost at sea if water and weather conspired against even a skilled angler, and the rocky hills and ravines among the firs could catch an experienced woodsman off their guard. It was not unheard of. But never had there been so many on the same days, even within the same hours. The whalers began to see things in the waves when the ocean became choppy, and those who ventured out in search of their missing loved ones often found their campsites befouled and torn to bits. Those that were found at all, that is.

By the time he had turned sixteen, those who were able to leave had already done so. The smaller villages were ghost towns either through flight or culling. No outsiders dared to grace the shores of Yrrch, for the sinewy tentacles and rows upon rows of serrated teeth waiting patiently in the waters which lapped at its stones had proven too ravenous for even the most foolhardy. The very skies conspired to bar escape, as for months on end storms raged and bled into one another, swinging back and forth between snow and hail and driving all but the most resilient indoors for days at a time. Marlon's life had never been carefree, as he had lost childhood friends in the previous years, and relatives to illness and injury. Yet, this was new, and despite his shared stubbornness and will to persevere through trying times, he found himself thinking of leaving. It was not an uncommon sentiment.

A year and a half later saw the end of the Isle of Yrrch as a settlement and its beginnings as an unmarked grave. It was in the bitter heart of Frost, shortly before his eighteenth birthday. His mother and father had managed to get his four younger siblings, Marianne, Melinda, Maximo, and Meridian safely to Vale some months before, and though they knew the airship had made it safely through, they as yet had no word of whether or not the children had found their way to his Aunt Winnifred's estate in the City of Vale. It had in fact been her wealth and reputation that had secured so daring a pilot and crew for the task, to say nothing of her husband, a stuffy but highly skilled Huntsman by the name of Rosenrot. Marlon had been given the opportunity to leave as well, and the day his siblings had left Rosenrot had tried one final time to persuade him to leave and try for admittance to Beacon. With his physique and familiarity with life-threatening situations, his Uncle had said, he would have been a solid candidate. He had been sorely tempted, and almost said yes, but despite his parents' whole-hearted and overjoyed encouragement, he refused. He had seen past the sudden light in their eyes and been moved not by it, but by their otherwise haggard faces. He could not abandon them in their struggle to maintain their home, their way of life, their dreams. And so he remained, along with a handful of his friends and their families, to hold the line against a foe that even had his uncle, no stranger to death and danger, looking pensively at the treeline, when he thought no one was watching.

The end came slowly at first, during a cold grey dawn as the hail was softening to a torrential rain. It was a blessing that the folk of Yrrch were by necessity early risers, and all were taking advantage of the safer weather in order to catch up on repair work or step outside for a change. A band of four woodsmen out to check their traps met it first, and their brave, then frightened shouts gave the townspeople all the warning anyone needed. They armed themselves, and sent out a party to investigate, made up of Marlon's father and some of the toughest and most canny men and women on the island. For a half-hour they waited, standing among the spiked barricades with torches and weapons at the ready. The children and elderly were packed into heavily armored carts hitched to their swiftest and most steadfast horses, should a break need to be made for the one remaining dock on the island.

Just a precaution, they thought, should the worst happen.

It did. Marlon's father was the only one who made it within sight of the village before he was taken. Moments later the last of the town's defenders clung tenaciously to the carts as they barreled through the trees, careening off of stones and downed branches as the Grimm swarmed in about them. There was not a moment that did not pass when another fighter was dragged from their perch by shadows that made only a dull wheezing as they raced alongside the rapidly failing caravan. By the hand of Fate and Marlon's semblance they were able to make it to the open ground by the dock before one of the wheels was torn off the lead cart.

Some died in the resulting crash. Others fell as the Grimm roiled over the survivors like flies. A few score managed to get to the dock in time to be dragged into the deeps by what waited in the waters. A scant number of them got the boat out into open water, fighting off seaborn Grimm as they went. Several died of their wounds or illness over the next few weeks of sailing, made largely aimless by damaged navigational equipment, a shortage of crew, and wrathful storms. Marlon's mother was one of these. She died on his birthday and like the others, had to be buried at sea to ward off further sickness and death. When the Vale Navy found them, they were starved and had run out of water just hours before. Of the over two-hundred souls living on the Isle of Yrrch the day it was lost, exactly eight remained. Two sailors, Marlon, a woodsman, and a mother and her three young children. The woodsman never fully recovered and is indefinitely confined to a mental hospital in Vale City. The sailors delivered the mother and her children to some relations in Vacuo and retired from their seafaring lives somewhere far inland.

Marlon, however, pushed past his grief as best he could and took his uncle's advice after a few months of recovery at their estate, safe in the arms of his kinfolk once again. While the portions of the Entrance Exam relating to combat were not something he needed to break a sweat over, the academic section was another creature entirely. It took many late hours by the fire in his Uncle's study to catch up on years of lost time. Education on Yrrch had been practical in nature to a fault. He was no simpleton, but a lack of passion for book learning and dry studies was inevitable with that kind of lifestyle, and it was only by the skin of his teeth that he passed.

While the ghosts of his old life still come for him in moments of doubt or darkness, and he is ultimately unsure of his final goal, he has elected to keep moving forward, and he feels that Beacon is the first step he must take.

Personality: Marlon is easy-going and friendly, often displaying physical affection toward those around him. He is not on the rowdy or loud-mouthed side, and keeps a cool head in difficult situations, largely because he has seen worse at some point in his life. He usually takes things stoically and on the chin, and is reliable and trustworthy person. Generous sometimes to a fault, but not to be taken for a fool, he'd give you the shirt off of his broad back if he knew you needed it. While at the moment he lives with family, he does experience bouts of sullen loneliness or grief, and muddles through them as best he can without letting too much of it show through. He does wonder how he will cope with this at Beacon, and hopes he'll be able to soldier through whatever obstacles he faces there. Although rarely angry, when his temper flares, something will likely be smashed to kindling. He has a strong sense of charity, in the traditional sense, and tries hard to do what is best for everyone involved, often disregarding the cost to himself in the process.

A note on Faunus: He cannot stand any mistreatment of them, as out of necessity faunus and humans worked together to survive on Yrrch, and there was a higher population of faunus than normal there for that reason.

Aura and Semblance: Marlon isn't terribly proficient at using his aura for much aside from defending himself and healing his own wounds. One would think it would be easy for such an imposing physical specimen to channel his aura into raw strength, but he has yet to achieve this feat with any noticeable result beyond facial strain. When using his shielding ability, it does yield better than average results, and therefore he is tough to actually take down. His innate abilities truly shine when people around him are being harmed. Specifically, his allies, those he identifies himself with. As they take hits and suffer the consequences, his aura begins to strengthen itself roughly in proportion to the beating they are receiving. His semblance was crucial to his survival during the slaughter at Yrrch, as so much pain and death was visited upon his friends and family that he could shrug away blows that ordinarily would have slain him outright. He has noticed, though, that the less familiar or intimate he is with those feeding his aura, the weaker the energy they give him. A stranger's bearable hurts may only register with as much force as a refreshing breeze, but a loved one's grievous wounds may gird his limbs in steel and adamantine skin. Naturally, the more there are around him who suffer, the greater his boon, but at what terrible cost?

When activated, his aura starts off as a whispy grey shroud which surrounds him, and as it grows stronger, bits of shadow flicker and dart through the air from his allies to himself, and if the stream of power waxes fulsome enough, it becomes almost like a tether. The more power he is given, the darker the aura becomes. At its strongest, it pulses with a menacing hum and seems to drain the light from the air around it.

Combat Behavior: Marlon prefers to get things over quickly and minimize collateral damage. He's not much for showy antics and would rather just end things with a stiff blow to the jaw than break out any weapons. His movements are concise and intended to conserve his energy for final push or a full retreat, if necessary. A tried and true team player, he's surprisingly quick on his feet for his build, and likes to lend a hand where he can in a fight, mostly by taking hits for other people with Isenwachter, or if necessary, himself. He's invaluable to have around when things get dicey, as his semblance makes him the perfect Ace in the Hole for any force close to being overwhelmed. His preferred style of combat does work heavily against his own abilities, as he focuses on short fights where his aura cannot build and tries to prevent the injuries which would make him a more resilient opponent. He also tends to be at the forefront of any combat, so his chances of being taken down before his semblance can truly be beneficial are much higher than the ideal.

WEAPON

Name: Isenwachter

Primary Form: A broad, edged kite shield that has barely visible lines on its surface. The lines form a pattern which marks where the hair-thin seams are that are utilized during transformation. The center of the shield has a diamond-like spike which is a fully functional grapnel launcher. The diamond splits into claws when fired and has a tether of the highest quality fine alloy cabling with a length of one-hundred feet. The firing mechanism itself builds tension for the cable to be retracted in a manner similar to a pull toy, and both are pressure-switch activated by the shield grip. This weapon is of the same metal and coloration as Marlon's armor.

Secondary Form: The shield snaps apart and extends outward into a large double-edged sword about as long as a man is tall and as wide as two arm widths. The tip has an edge, but no thrusting point, instead trading this for two bladed spikes jutting out perpendicular to the blade. Towards the hilt there are a few holes in the fuller to reduce weight. The grappling spike that normally lies at the center of the shield becomes the pommel and retains its ability to launch.

History: Unlike his armor, Marlon did not forge this weapon himself. Nor was it passed down to him by a family member. It once belonged to Yrrch's lone hunstman, who perished, gruesomely but with nobility and honor, during the flight from that accursed place. Marlon was already a swordsman before claiming the weapon, and its workings were simple enough to master in combat. The maintenance of the master-crafted tool was more difficult to grasp, but he feels he has got the knack of it, and bears it like a banner for all those lost in that final desperate battle.   

Relatives and Associates (NPCs):
Spoiler: ShowHide
 Marianne Murk, Age 16: The first thing most people notice about Marianne is her silvery pale eyes, and how they unnervingly never seem to focus on anything. Their perfectly natural assumption, made based on the fact that she walks without the aid of a cane or seeing-eye dog, and does everything with the same sense of ease a sighted person would possess, is that she can see perfectly. She hasn’t been able to since birth. The only reason she can function so well is that her semblance activated on its own exceedingly early in her life, and it is essentially an aura-based form of echolocation which only grows stronger when she’s directly touching something. Like her sisters she is light in complexion, and her cheeks are sprinkled with freckles. She has a serene expression that matches both her face and her interior life. Marianne’s calm, peaceful voice has a little more duskiness to it than the rest of the brood, aside from Marlon of course, and she uses it sparingly, preferring to hold her tongue unless she thinks she has something particularly useful to say. Her style of dress is markedly plain and hangs loose about her slender form, and the only adornment she allows herself is the silver locket around her neck that holds a lock from each family member. Even her rich nut brown hair is kept up in a simple ponytail, out of the way of her face for convenience’s sake.

Melinda Murk, Age 13: A shy young lass, Melinda rightfully fears that she does not stand out among other girls her age. While they all wear brightly colored clothing and are busy with their scrolls and makeup and boys, she sticks timidly to her simple homespun dresses and her reading. An accomplished seamstress, she has personally made every bit of clothing she owns, and gravely misses the mother who taught her all she knows of that craft. The red satin bow that binds her waist-length brown hair toward the end had belonged to her. Her voice is soft and fair, like her freckled complexion, and she has her eldest brother’s deep green eyes. She is a small, gentle creature, though her inner mettle is apparent whenever she is forced to reign in her younger brother’s excesses. Her sudden imperiousness in those moments is a shock to all but her Aunt, who recognizes her sister’s spirit living on in her niece.

Maximo Murk, Age 10: Maximo, or Max, for short, has an inflated opinion of himself. He’s found that the best way to cope with the sudden absence of his parents is to abuse and disobey all other authorities trying to usurp their once godlike positions of honor at the head of the household, and he does so with all the energy an excitable ten year old boy can muster. Scrawny, dusky, and sooty-haired, with a boisterous tongue and an attitude to sharpen it, he tends to take things, as he so painfully says, “TO THE MAX”. While earlier in life he had interests in medicine and learned to tend small woodland creatures that were the worse for wear, his new hobbies include noise-making, verbal abuse, and smashing things as thoroughly as possible. His Aunt and Uncle and all the servants are just about at their wit’s end, and only Melinda has any true control over him. He does, as any younger brother might, still idolize Marlon, and will behave when he is present. Most of the time.

Meridian Murk, Age 5: The baby of the family, Meridian, or Merrydee for short, is a quiet girl with large brown eyes, a pale complexion, and raven hair flowing down to the waist of her slight build. She still is highly unsure of her surroundings, and sticks close to her family when out and about. The loss of her parents is making itself felt, and she isn’t quite at the point where she can understand that Mawmaw and Pawpaw aren’t coming to visit from Home, and that Vale is her home now. She has become emotionally needy as a result, and often sleeps with Marianne after she has nightmares, which come more frequently as time passes. She would originally crawl on Marlon’s back or chest when things were especially terrifying, but now that he has left for Beacon, Marianne’s arms are all she has left. Her main comforts, aside from her two eldest siblings, are her large collection of stuffed bears that her Aunt Winnifred dotingly purchases for her, and getting her hair brushed.

Seigfried Rosenrot, Age 37: Were it not for his demeanor and attire, Seigfried would appear a most ordinary sort of fellow. While he is athletic, it is not particularly noticeable, and he is of average height and weight, with an almost severe, angular face made more so by his thin half-frame pince-nez glasses. His steely eyes are unremarkable until they fix you in their glare, stabbing out from behind the fringes of his iron-gray hair, which is largely contained in a short ponytail aside from his bangs, which are parted at the middle. He invariably wears some shade of deep burgundy or crimson, and endless variations of a regency suit with a ruffled vest and black cavalry boots. Drachenbalger, a simple silver longsword he wears at his hip in a matching scabbard, always completes his outfit. Despite being a hunter of some renown, as well as an accomplished raw Dust user, he is a quiet man, and can often be found in his study calmly taking in one of his countless rare books. Out of respect for the man, few speak of his terrible and rarely seen semblance, the power that gave him the moniker he so detests….Drachenblut. He adores his wife and the family he married into, and has done his best to use his substantial wealth and estate to care for what remains of them. All in all, he prefers to do good over being seen as good, and his ostentatious style of living aside, he is indeed, generous, introspective, and humble.

Winnifred Rosenrot, Age 31: Like most women of Murk stock, she is slender, freckled, and fair, although unlike her deceased sister she managed to be a cool, blue-eyed blonde. She can most often be seen gliding along in a stately manner while lost in peaceful contemplation, wrapped in a coal black or blood red tea gown and keeping her hair up in an uncomplicated bun. At times she carries a matching parasol. Despite her soft voice and gentle mannerisms, she is fiercely social and personable, and enjoys the company of others. Though unable to bear her own children she has been more than content to raise her sister and brother in law’s banner from where the Grimm tore it down and lift it proud once more. While she is not fully used to the task of Motherhood, the same unbending will that brought her to strike out alone from Yrrch to Vale has served her well in that endeavor. The same milk of human kindness and tender heart that won her Seigfreid when she arrived also work to her benefit in the task at hand.

Seek Justice, Love Mercy, and walk humbly with your God.

Character List:
Spoiler: ShowHide
Marlon Murk-Leader of Team MRKD (Marked) "The power of the night, the press of the storm, The post of the foe; Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form, Yet the strong man must go..."-Prospice, Robert Browning

Cheri Chanson-Team AFMC (Afirmacion) “The people who were trying to make this world worse are not taking the day off. Why should I?” -Bob Marley

Jack Pettibone-Leader of Team JCRA (Jackrabbit) "In my body, where the shame gland should be, there is a second awesome gland. True story."-Barney Stinson

Cherry Chainsaw "Wake up, I'm a bullet loosed Into the heart of a wretched age, I breathe just to beat and bruise, an evolution of the burnin' rage!"-Miracle of Sound, Hell to Pay

Professor Siobhan Clannad-Personal Finance and Home Economics Professor at Beacon Academy "We can do no great things, only small things with great love."-Unknown, often attributed to Saint Teresa of Calcutta

Professor Feltch Hatterly Criminal and International Law Professor at Beacon Academy "Art, like morality, consists of drawing the line somewhere."-G.K. Chesterton

Professor Scarlet Vandal Weapons Engineering and Design Professor at Beacon Academy "Perfection has one grave defect: It is apt to be dull."-W. Somerset Maugham


Character AMA here, Personal AMA here, Character/Plot Timeline here, Descent into Madness here

If you ever need writing advice, be it for a post, a plot, or a character, don't hesitate to ask, I'm happy to help! PM me if you need someone to DM Grimm or NPCs, or need my Professors in your threads, though my ability to help with that depends on my free time!