Post by Bane on May 20, 2014 22:08:27 GMT
Bane
Take Control...
TAKE CONTROL OF YOUR CITY
Full Name:Bane
Nicknames:Bane
Gender:Male
Age:34
Sexual Orientation: Straight
Location: Gotham, currently inhabiting an old abandoned station in the Narrows
Origin: DC universe
Play-By:Tom Hardy
Height:6”8
Hair:None
Eyes: Blue
Typical Clothing/Uniform:
Knee length jacket, usually worn with the collar abroad and open down the front. Army pants, accompanies by army boots laced up, and a vest like shirt befitting of a mercenary with all its’ straps and buckles
Knee length jacket, usually worn with the collar abroad and open down the front. Army pants, accompanies by army boots laced up, and a vest like shirt befitting of a mercenary with all its’ straps and buckles
Powers/Abilities
The mask he wears is vital to him, running fluidly with a gas form of Venom, projecting and revolving it through his system continuously. He is very dependent on it, but it, but gives him super strength, tolerance, and agility, enhanced beyond human capabilities.
The mask he wears is vital to him, running fluidly with a gas form of Venom, projecting and revolving it through his system continuously. He is very dependent on it, but it, but gives him super strength, tolerance, and agility, enhanced beyond human capabilities.
Team Affiliation:N/A
Personality:
Calculating, perhaps a bit cold. His very serious, a mercenary at heart, set out to get the job done for whatever it takes, even if it crosses the lines of brutal.
Calculating, perhaps a bit cold. His very serious, a mercenary at heart, set out to get the job done for whatever it takes, even if it crosses the lines of brutal.
Family: N/A
Marital status: N/A
History:
He was born to serve the life sentence his father had left for him, so from his fragile early age, Bane saw things that no one should ever have seen in the entirety of their lives. An extraordinary boy, as he grew he got his hands on as many of the books offered within the prison walls as he could, constantly spending time building his body. But regardless of his small successes within the prison, he was a tainted child.
His first murder was at age eight. He stabbed a criminal who was using him to get information about the prison, using a knife that was kept in the hole of the back of his teddy bear, Osito. Ultimately, he allowed no one to bully him into anything, and eventually established himself as king within the prison. Few would cross him.
He had spent a large portion of his life in prison, so when a young woman had been dropped into their hell on earth, he was perhaps too ready to assist, and maybe a little too susceptible to the young creature, Talia al Ghul.
He was born to serve the life sentence his father had left for him, so from his fragile early age, Bane saw things that no one should ever have seen in the entirety of their lives. An extraordinary boy, as he grew he got his hands on as many of the books offered within the prison walls as he could, constantly spending time building his body. But regardless of his small successes within the prison, he was a tainted child.
His first murder was at age eight. He stabbed a criminal who was using him to get information about the prison, using a knife that was kept in the hole of the back of his teddy bear, Osito. Ultimately, he allowed no one to bully him into anything, and eventually established himself as king within the prison. Few would cross him.
He had spent a large portion of his life in prison, so when a young woman had been dropped into their hell on earth, he was perhaps too ready to assist, and maybe a little too susceptible to the young creature, Talia al Ghul.
Sample Post:
The sky was dark, despite the sun having not fallen. Black clouds thin and misty, raining hard on the city occasionally illuminating Gotham with a flash of lightning, followed by a crack and a rumble of thunder. The Asylum’s gates were closed, as they always were. A darkness attached to them as if the villains locked away inside had weaved their wicked words around the bars. But soon they would no longer have to endure the agony of their captivity. The Masked Man was at work.
Two large vehicles, like army trucks with flat nosed fronts, and long trailers hooked on the back pulled to the front of Arkham Asylum’s Gates, followed by a familiar tank, identical in everything except color to the Batmobile. Mercenaries began filing out of the trucks, not many but at the very least a little more than a dozen. One, more noticeable than others, as he stood atop the tank.
Bane. The mercenary was wearing his jacket with the fur inside, a familiar mask, as always, strapped to the front of his face. When he spoke, his voice was unmistakable, cutting clearly through even the storm that had slowly been building.
“People of Gotham! Before you lay a domicile of oppression in which your fellow comrades have been imprisoned within! Condemned with a diagnosis that says they are unfit, and unworthy to walk amongst the rest of us, while the rich luxuriate in their wealth in comfort that the less pleasant, less affluent remain locked away behind pillars of oppression!” his mask, as always, muffled his voice. But his words were unmistakable nonetheless, as he pledged his point, tension building as he continued.
“On proper human etiquette, these exploited prisoners should have the right to speak out, but no such graciousness has been extended.” He parted his arms, eyes wide, intense and somewhat twisted.
“Do we lie down to these false authorities? Allow them to continue on the lies they used to form the bricks of their civilization?” his tone was questioning, demanding agreement that those within the Asylum’s walls would no doubt agree with full heartily for release. His voice raised, becoming something faster, more vicious as he spat out the words, an anger rising as his speech continued.
“Or do we give the unfairly persecuted their justice! Tear down the deceitful stones in which Gotham was built. Reform our Court of Owls and endure to our own success and benefit from our achievements!”
That’s when it happened. Bane lifted a control in his hand, and pressed the button on it with a menacing grunt. The flashing lights came first, flitting up the wide gates, and down the walls containing Gotham’s imprisoned psychopaths. And then the explosions came, the walls burst, concrete flew and smoke spread as all kinds of mental cases and weirdo’s flooded from the holes. Bane nodded intently, rain pouring down his face and jacket.
Lastly the gates were demolished in a theatrical explosion, and Bane closed with a last finishing line to further encourage and rile the escapee’s up with a softer, but perhaps more dangerous voice, the lightning flashing.
“True Gothamites, I bid you take back your city. Take your liberation, for it is yours.”
And then the rumble of thunder.
The sky was dark, despite the sun having not fallen. Black clouds thin and misty, raining hard on the city occasionally illuminating Gotham with a flash of lightning, followed by a crack and a rumble of thunder. The Asylum’s gates were closed, as they always were. A darkness attached to them as if the villains locked away inside had weaved their wicked words around the bars. But soon they would no longer have to endure the agony of their captivity. The Masked Man was at work.
Two large vehicles, like army trucks with flat nosed fronts, and long trailers hooked on the back pulled to the front of Arkham Asylum’s Gates, followed by a familiar tank, identical in everything except color to the Batmobile. Mercenaries began filing out of the trucks, not many but at the very least a little more than a dozen. One, more noticeable than others, as he stood atop the tank.
Bane. The mercenary was wearing his jacket with the fur inside, a familiar mask, as always, strapped to the front of his face. When he spoke, his voice was unmistakable, cutting clearly through even the storm that had slowly been building.
“People of Gotham! Before you lay a domicile of oppression in which your fellow comrades have been imprisoned within! Condemned with a diagnosis that says they are unfit, and unworthy to walk amongst the rest of us, while the rich luxuriate in their wealth in comfort that the less pleasant, less affluent remain locked away behind pillars of oppression!” his mask, as always, muffled his voice. But his words were unmistakable nonetheless, as he pledged his point, tension building as he continued.
“On proper human etiquette, these exploited prisoners should have the right to speak out, but no such graciousness has been extended.” He parted his arms, eyes wide, intense and somewhat twisted.
“Do we lie down to these false authorities? Allow them to continue on the lies they used to form the bricks of their civilization?” his tone was questioning, demanding agreement that those within the Asylum’s walls would no doubt agree with full heartily for release. His voice raised, becoming something faster, more vicious as he spat out the words, an anger rising as his speech continued.
“Or do we give the unfairly persecuted their justice! Tear down the deceitful stones in which Gotham was built. Reform our Court of Owls and endure to our own success and benefit from our achievements!”
That’s when it happened. Bane lifted a control in his hand, and pressed the button on it with a menacing grunt. The flashing lights came first, flitting up the wide gates, and down the walls containing Gotham’s imprisoned psychopaths. And then the explosions came, the walls burst, concrete flew and smoke spread as all kinds of mental cases and weirdo’s flooded from the holes. Bane nodded intently, rain pouring down his face and jacket.
Lastly the gates were demolished in a theatrical explosion, and Bane closed with a last finishing line to further encourage and rile the escapee’s up with a softer, but perhaps more dangerous voice, the lightning flashing.
“True Gothamites, I bid you take back your city. Take your liberation, for it is yours.”
And then the rumble of thunder.
