Name: Sandor.
Race: Human.
Gender: Male.
Description: Thirty-three years old. Average height, but stoops slightly making him appear shorter than he actually is. Brown hair cut close to the head; looks as if it was cut by him (like crap). Sharp blue eyes, the only feature he possesses that truly stands out. Not a particularly handsome face, but most wouldn't consider it ugly. Doesn't appear physically weak, but possesses a very meek countenance. Seems like the kind of guy you'd threaten for lunch money.
Augment type: Supernatural (let me know if you need me to change the augs).
Beneficial Augments: The ability to restore people to health. Extends to anything he is aware of; broken legs, damaged minds. If he doesn't know you're hurt or what's wrong with you, though, he can't do anything about it.
Negative Augs: Possesses the inability to hate, which, when combined with his ideals, prevents him from willfully hurting or even indirectly bringing harm to any other sentient creature. Is able to feel self-loathing, however.
Bio: [Note - Keep in mind that Sandor is (was?) both a drama queen and depressive] Sandor grew up in Buffalo's Rest, born to a well-off family. He had a fairly normal childhood - nothing of particular note happened during it. No bandits destroying his village, or corrupt lawmen killing his father causing him to swear vengeance. No, he had a good childhood. One thing that would affect him, however, was his status. He developed an established sense of superiority over the destitute and lowborn, believing himself to be of higher class than them. His family's decent status inflated his ego, in a sense.
Following his childhood, Sandor signed up with the guard. Expecting to achieve a high rank immediately due to his family's status (which was certainly not as high as he believed), he was bitter and disappointed when given a low-ranking station within the city guard. Angry over what he viewed as a slight by his inferiors, he abused his power, often mercilessly beating criminals he apprehended and taking "bonuses" from those he aided. It was only his right, after all. This continued for three years; day after day in the same insulting position. One day, however, he went too far...after tackling a man who attempted to steal another (richer) man's purse, he beat him to an absolute pulp. Blow upon blow of pent-up rage rained down upon the thief; it was only after Sandor was torn away by another guard that he realized the man was dead. Sandor...had killed him.
Shocked by what he had done, Sandor drank himself into a stupor. What he had been doing for years crashed upon him like waves upon a cliff, shattering his view of the world and causing immense self-hate. He was a horrible person. Disgusted with himself and more drunk than anyone ought to be, he went to his room, sat down, and impaled himself on his sword. As he slowly drifted into the black haze of death, he saw a...figure. A hooded man. Sandor smiled; Death had come to greet him. Only, this was not death: it was the Master. Realizing Sandor's potential, the Master unlocked his potential and unleashed it within him, flooding his body with regenerative energy. Sandor was shocked back into the land of the living by this and a slap across the face for his stupidity, which he'll admit he quite deserved. Ever since his encounter with the Master, Sandor has devoted his life and his gift to the lessening of death and misery - be it his friends' or his enemies'. He has wandered for twelve years now, honing his ability and also learning more about the human body and mind.
Author
Topic: The Search for the Master (6/6) It begins (Read 19783 times)