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”No one else believed in me; I stood my ground and found my place.”
”No one else believed in me; I stood my ground and found my place.”
Marcus Brooklyn (unable to recall his actual last name)
Alexander III of Macedon, The Great
Marcus is 22, whereas Alexander is estimated to be approximately 2,060 years old.
New York City, New York, United States
July 9th, 1991
- MARCUS BROOKLYN:
- ALEXANDER THE GREAT:
At six feet and three inches tall and weighing in at a solid two-hundred twenty pounds, Marcus stands as an ideal example of what happens when a man comes to embrace that which makes him truly masculine. His physique is robust, well-sculpted and proudly olive-toned, symptomatic of an active and vigorous lifestyle while hinting at a possible daily exercise routine; symmetrical blue tattoos from the days he spent as a member of the defunct street gang, the Broadway Archkings, can be seen decorating his upper back, his shoulders, as well as his arms. Striking azure hair grows from his scalp, which he spends a painstaking amount of time shaping and styling to perfection, parting it three-quarters of the way on the left side and gelling the smallest area back behind his ear while sweeping the rest of it over his head and to the right, using hair spray to create its distinctive rebellious, spiky flair. Red is the color his eyes; as the designated color of unrestrained energy and emotions, he sees the world around him through a determined and fiery gaze.
Marcus’ personality is reflected by his taste in clothing, and can be summed up as “loud and vibrant”. He has a penchant for wearing vividly colored Aloha shirts, kept unbuttoned from top to bottom, and will often pair such with a black or dark-colored tank top shirt beneath it, but can choose to omit the flamboyant over-shirt in the instance the weather is simply not breezy enough to accommodate multiple layers; it is not uncommon to see him rocking a plaid flannel shirt during the colder months. Pants and shorts of the cargo variety are preferred over anything that hugs the skin, usually colored in black or more earthy tones like greens and browns and decorated with some kind of designer belt, occasionally with an extra one for looks. The footwear he chooses to sport mostly varies according to the weather; steel-toed boots during snowy or rainy conditions, and flashy, low-cut skateboard shoes in most other cases.
Upon making the transition to Inferis, Marcus’ wardrobe undergoes a far more dramatic change. He abandons any form of shirt entirely, exposing his rippling musculature and array of tattoos for all to see. His pants swap out for a pair of low-riding black slacks with two red stripes near where the feet emerge from, semi-loose and carrying with it a sort of Japanese style. A white belt with metal loops keeps his leg wear fastened to his waist at all times, tied in a haphazard knot. Dressed over his wrists and stomach are off-white bandages, which seem to do little more than act as another useless accessory to his outrageously non-protective ensemble, seemingly made worse with a pair of simple flip-flop sandals. And acting as the proverbial icing on the cake, Marcus gains an exaggeratedly large red cape patterned with bright orange flames at the bottom, embroidered with a silhouette of a flaming skull wearing ridiculously triangular-looking sunglasses, finishing off his look with a pair of fiery red shades made in the exact same pattern as the skull on his cape. They stick to the bridge of his nose without any kind of support. Why? Because they fucking can, that’s why.
But when one lands their gaze upon the form of Alexander the Great, who towers over his human host by an extra three feet, they are greeted with the personification of virility and machismo himself. Clocking in at a staggering two-hundred and ninety pounds, all of this weight can be attributed to his arresting levels of muscularity; virtually no trace of body fat exists on his heavily bronzed figure, having been burned away in his efforts to condition and sculpt his image into the pinnacle of humanity’s ideal of perfection. Fiery scarlet hair sprouts from both his head and face, long enough to appropriately reflect his wild and ambitious personality yet kept meticulously styled and trimmed to build upon his kingly appearance. His overly macho hair color is matched only by his crimson eyes, forever locked in a confident and commanding gaze that can shake the very souls of ordinary men with nary a glance.
The armor that the ancient king of Macedon wears is that of supernatural bronze, accented with gold and painstakingly shaped and fashioned to fit snugly against and bring emphasis to the flawless physique it was designed to protect. Vambraces and greaves wrap around his meaty arms and legs, crafted of boiled and shaped leathers and lined with soft animal fur to further build upon his magnificent, kingly visage. Beneath his extravagant dress-like lower garment, dyed a deep wine red and given golden accents of Asiatic influence, he wears a pair of simple leather pants that, by all modern standards, appear to be shorts that stop just above his kneecaps which hug against his overly thick, chiseled legs, with ornate leather tassets hanging from his waist. Sandals serve as Alexander’s choice of footwear, directly revealing how massive his feet are in comparison to the average person’s. Draped over his shoulders and completing his lordly ensemble is a great mantle dyed vibrant red, accented with a collar lined in golden hued fur and given ornate embellishments, wrapped around his impressive body as though it were a curtain made to display and profile the world’s greatest looking man.
Success Freak – An individual who is deeply convinced that there are far greater limits he can reach than just the sky alone. Marcus is motivated entirely by a powerful desire to succeed at anything he puts his mind to, which in turn has culminated into an intemperate craving for adventure and excitement all in the name of personal achievement. The act of breaking boundaries and limits, both his own and other’s from time to time, inspires him to want to do it more, and the challenge each task creates for him fuels a want for more of it. As such, the prospect of competition entices him, as it gives him a chance to prove himself to another of similar or greater ability. Never expect nor tell this man to quit or give up on anything his mind is set on, as to do so is to motivate him into succeeding even further.
In the end, winning is all that matters.
Hot-Blooded – A personality whose dominant emotion is aggressive passion. This person owns a limitless amount of energy, and all of it is wild and untamed. He pours his entire being into just about every activity he partakes in and into every word that flies from his lips. His zeal and fervor makes him and everything he says and does appear larger than life, and when surrounded by the right kind of people, Marcus is a powerful social magnet able to successfully capture the attentions of all those around him. His intense personality and mannerisms bleeds directly into his compulsive need to achieve victory; the more focused and determined he is to win, the more effort and energy he will spend in order to make that goal a reality. That being said, he is perpetually confident in himself and his abilities, and is more than willing to prove that he can walk the walk as much as he does talk the talk.
There’s nothing in the world that can cool his tiger’s blood.
Screw Diplomacy – Tactfulness is entirely foreign to Marcus. He believes that using discretion to solve a problem is a waste of valuable time, thus is an inferior approach. He charges headlong into any dilemma he’s faced with, abandoning all logic and reason in favor of loudly and confidently speaking his mind and then challenging all those who would question his beliefs. Regardless of whether he’s right or wrong, he calls it like he sees it, and anyone who can’t accept the facts as they’re being presented to them are dumb and stupid. Some say that he’s a trouble seeker, and that’s actually a pretty accurate way to sum it up. And while the thought of turning to violence does not linger in his thoughts on a frequent basis, he is wholly open to resorting to such if he meets resistance.
Then again, violence and politics are two sides of the same coin.
Overly Boisterous – Many historical documents and texts have painted the psyche of Alexander the Great as being very colorful, vivid, and outlandishly passionate. These records aren’t too far from the truth. The spirit of burning ambition emanates from the king’s body at all times, fostered by his fanatical determination to surpass the legacy of his father, Philip II, and make his own mark on history. His baritone voice is as assertive as it is bombastic, projecting nothing short of wild confidence and steadfast authority with every word that exits his mouth. He does things his way and does not bend to any man that believes themselves above the king; his stubbornness is legendary, and has no doubt created friction amongst many others that have attempted to subdue him. But all who come to know Alexander quickly learn that one does not tame a force that simply cannot be controlled.
Genius General – Alas, the mighty Alexander was not feared for his magnificent physique nor his overpowering brawn. It was his brilliant and prodigal mind that struck pure terror into the heart of the Persian Empire. He is an exceptionally swift learner and enjoys the pursuit of knowledge for its own sake; the king of Macedon was tutored by Aristotle himself in a vast number of topics until the age of sixteen. He might appear big and oafish at first blush, but the great general is every bit as perceptive and analytical as he is said to be, and then some. His endless ambition for global conquest keeps him focused on the greater picture, allowing him to be more observant where others are not; he can extract the full potential of even the smallest of nuances and apply it toward a higher purpose. As merely one of the countless testaments attributed to Alexander the Great’s peerless intellectual prowess, his military career is as flawless as they come, for he died without ever suffering a single defeat during his reign as king.
People’s King – But what truly glorifies Alexander as both a sovereign and as a person was his strength of character, and it is this very quality that distinguished his abilities from other kings and rulers and set him apart from the rest. He is a man who bonds with his subjects on a personal level, and one who openly shares with them his dream to conquer the entire world. His force of personality as a man and Demon are matched by few and resisted by even fewer, for Alexander’s words alone can either inspire courage in his allies and subjects or cause his foes to tremble and cower before his excellence. His ability to win the hearts of others and rally them to his cause helped forge one of the largest empires in all of history, and it is his unfettered personal and moral integrity—combined with his stouthearted belief in brotherhood and achieving one’s dreams with all one’s strength—that truly illustrate him as being one of history’s greatest rulers.
Much of Marcus’ early life is unknown or entirely obscure. Having no recollection of his parents, his childhood was spent growing up in a ramshackle orphanage located deep inside the Brooklyn projects with around a dozen other children at or close to his age. For as long as he remembers, Marcus was forced to endure living in a dog-eat-dog world where only the strong survive and the weak get preyed on mercilessly. In order to avoid being pushed to the bottom of the pecking order, he had to claw his way to the top. From fighting to stealing to lying, he quickly learned how to fend for himself and secured his place as the alpha wolf of sorts within a couple of years, where it became widely known among his peers that Marcus was not the kind of boy you wanted to mess with unless you sought after a bloody nose.
But the rise to juvenile authority quickly ran its course with Marcus, and very soon he became dissatisfied with his position in life. It didn’t matter if he stood out among the rest of the children—when it came down to it, he was still an orphan with no place to call home and no family to treat as his. He would be cursed to fade away into the depths of obscurity no matter how much of a difference there was between him and the other kids, simply because of what he was. Realizing that his future was fully charted on a course for long-term failure, Marcus made a choice that would ultimately come to shape him and his destiny—for better or worse. At nine years old, he chose to sever all ties with the orphanage and immediately took to the streets of Brooklyn, convinced that he could put his skills to good use and make a living on the unsuspecting masses instead of wasting his time on kids who had nothing of worth anyway.
Of course, making the transition to a street rat’s life was not easy, even for one as willing as Marcus. Nevertheless, he was quick to adapt to it, and for the next four years the urban jungles of New York City would continue to sculpt him in mind, body, and spirit. And once he grew to finally embrace the ideal of doing whatever was necessary to survive, it became painfully clear to Marcus just how easy life had become. Countless possibilities opened up before his eyes then, and that’s all she wrote. Hiding places were everywhere; every shortcut doubled as an escape route; and every person he laid his eyes on had something on them that could fetch a pretty penny. It only took a few months for Marcus to earn himself a bad reputation with the N.Y.P.D., and he became infamous for his ability to evade capture every time he brushed with the boys in blue.
Just when it seemed like he had everything figured out, things took a turn for the worse. A gang of punks that identified themselves as the Broadway Archkings emerged from the shadows unannounced, and the neighborhood Marcus had been occupying as sanctuary from the authorities was suddenly reduced to a haven for the gang’s illicit activity within a span of three weeks. Feeling significantly threatened in the market for his chosen life’s profession, Marcus spent much of his time keeping a low profile in order to analyze their methods, routines, and their chain of command before elaborating and eventually enacting a plan that many would have unanimously agreed was suicidal: infiltrate the Archkings and destroy them from the inside. It took a bit of time before he was approached by a younger member wearing a leather jacket, a necessary garment when identifying oneself as an Archking, and offered the chance to be inducted into the gang. Marcus accepted.
Then came the day of his initiation. In order to be recognized as a member of the Broadway Archkings, Marcus had to get jumped in as a test of his physical and mental fortitude. Eight, more experienced members were sent in to do the honors and brutalize the young boy, now sixteen years old, but Marcus naturally saw the attempted assault as little more than another challenge for him to win with flying colors. In a marvelous display of street pragmatism and years-honed instincts, he successfully pulverized all eight gangsters in a matter of minutes—a feat no member had ever accomplished since the gang was formed barely two years ago—without receiving more than a mildly gashed shoulder and a plethora of bumps and bruises. His integration had thereafter become virtually flawless. Everything Marcus did to survive in the slums could be practiced and refined with the Archkings, and his skills at evading capture by the police and his innate desire to succeed at everything earned him power, money, and respect within the organization. But no matter how close he came to fraternizing with the other gangsters, his stubborn mind was set on one thing and one alone: destroy his competition.
The higher he climbed the chain of command, the closer he came to discovering the true, more complex and organized beast that lie beneath the unpopular public image that the Archkings seemed to be deliberately projecting. Men were more prone to dress in expensive suits instead of the unsightly street apparel that was becoming popular lately, and they spoke with proper English. But weirdest of all was that they treated the maintenance of the Archkings as though it was some kind of business, and split gang activity up into several categories based on the potential to make a good profit. It soon hit Marcus like a freshly derailed freight train: they had connections to the American Mafia, a claim he shortly verified for himself after stumbling upon information that the three leaders of the Broadway Archkings—whom were collectively referred to as the Trifecta—were being personally funded by none other than the Lucchese crime family, and used the Archkings as little more than an extra source of muscle labor. Excited by the prospect of being able to make a scuff mark on one of organized crime’s five most powerful families, Marcus impishly snooped around for as much information as he could about the Archkings’ heads of command while continuing to consolidate and fortify his own presence in the gang.
In that time period, he learned that all three leaders were male and relied on pseudonyms to protect their real identities from the sheep that were being tricked into thinking they were part of a legitimate gang. They were comprised of “the Godfather”, the de facto leader of the entire operation and the brains behind their staggering overall success; “the Son”, the eldest child of the Godfather and second-in-command of the gang, seen as the literal and figurative muscle of the trio's operation; and “the Ghost”, the Archkings’ deadliest assassin, rumored to have been exiled from the Shaolin Monastery for adhering to violent life principles and his practice of the dark arts. Marcus delved further into shark-infested waters in order to uncover each of their personal routines; he concluded that in order to get the Godfather to reveal himself, seeing as he was an extreme social recluse, he’d have to blow his cover and expose himself as a threat. But instead, the orphaned teenager grinned—because he had other ways of smoking the rat out of his hole.
The Godfather’s right hand, aptly dubbed “the Son”, acted as the Archkings’ effective gang leader and ran the entire operation in his criminal father’s place and commonly made public appearances, while the Ghost was only called to exterminate anyone that could be viewed as a potential threat to their greater goals. Realizing who had to be eliminated first, Marcus took advantage of his position in the Archkings to acquire a vial of cyanide so that he could then hand it over to the Son’s personal chef, who was bribed a handsome sum of money and promised escape from the Mafia’s soon-to-be-evoked wrath to slip it into his White Russian. The deed went off exactly as planned, and in moments the inner circles of the Broadway Archkings were thrown into complete disarray as soon as word of the Son’s death reached the Godfather’s ears. Suspecting foul play was afoot, the chief mobster ordered the Ghost to seek out any possible moles in his organization and eliminate them.
It eventually fell on Marcus to escape the Archkings’ clutches now that the Ghost was on the prowl, but seeing as though he struck a crippling blow to their chain of command, why not cause a little more havoc and steal something important before high-tailing it out of there? He waited several days until the Godfather left the premises to make funeral arrangements before moving in to enter the office, swipe whatever affects he could lift, and get away as fast as possible. Having never stepped a foot into his personal quarters before, what Marcus bore witness to at that point took him by complete surprise. Elaborate tapestries hung freely from a high-rising ceiling; ornate carpets with intricate and complex geometric patterns were littered across the floor in various spots; artifacts of a curious nature decorated the mantlepieces and shelves, some of which were made entirely of precious metals and gems. But strangest of all, the entire room seemed to project an eerie, supernatural ambiance—as if someone was watching his every move. Though slightly disturbed by the Godfather’s apparently creepy taste in decorum, Marcus zeroed in on his desk and rummaged around several drawers until he happened upon a dusty book bound in leathers that were once dyed a luxurious red. Upon partially opening the tome, he spotted a glittering shard of metal tucked between the pages, possibly acting as a bookmark for the pages it separated.
Little did Marcus know, that during his snooping session, he really was being watched. Before he had the chance to engage himself in the book’s contents, he was suddenly ambushed by the Ghost and forced to defend himself from his fast movements and explosive attacks, courtesy of the latter’s extensive training at the Shaolin Monastery. Now, for the really bizarre part: right as Marcus was about to launch a counteroffensive against the ex-monk, the Ghost literally up and vanished into thin air, only to rematerialize behind him so that he could issue a deceptive feint attack using the same body displacement skill. Knowing that his opponent could actually teleport only motivated Marcus with the intent to fight harder than he’d ever fought before; clearly what the Ghost was capable of wasn’t natural, but if he could defeat him, there may be a chance he could interrogate him how to perform it himself. The rest of the battle virtually destroyed the Godfather’s office and nearly cost Marcus all of his stamina in the process, but in a last-ditch attempt to gain the upper hand, he pulled a letter opener off of the head mobster’s desk and jammed it straight into the Ghost’s left eye before the move could be predicted, buying the former just enough time to plunge the utensil into the assassin a second time—into his abdomen—before the Ghost utilized his teleportation abilities to escape with his life barely intact. Depleted of energy and just barely seconds from being exposed to the Archkings and the Mafia as a traitor, Marcus snatched up the strange book with the metal shard inside of it as well as a small but heavy wooden chest with ornate engravings before he begrudgingly fled the premises, unable to take more things before he could get mobbed by the other mobsters.
He never looked back from that moment onward, only choosing to run wherever he could find sanctuary from a reasonably enraged crime syndicate. And so he did run, with book and box in tow. And once his legs could push him no further, Marcus would spend another couple of weeks in total hiding, taking the opportunity to speculate the value of his loot. Upon opening the stylish wooden box, his eyes were treated to the sight of an entire collection of metal shards not unlike the one tucked away in his odd book, as well as what appeared to be an extremely ancient sword hilt. Upon fully partitioning the pages of the book to the location where the metal fragment rested, he couldn’t help but grin wildly at what he saw: inked on the yellowing parchment was an intricate blueprint of a sword illustrated as being split into tiny fragments, bearing a hilt exactly like the one in the box. Unable to decipher any of the strange lettering surrounding it (instead dismissing it as being merely chicken scratch), Marcus concluded that the book had something to do with the fragmented sword depicted inside, and that he was in possession of said fragmented sword. Were he to piece it back together and somehow weld the shards into a whole again, there was a solid chance he could pawn the finished product off on the black market for a hefty sum of cash.
For days on end, he spent hours aligning every shard from the box with one another, making adjustments and alterations as he went. The more he worked on reconstructing the ancient weapon, the more obsessed he became with completing it; there were even instances when Marcus would forgo eating or even sleeping just to work on piecing parts together. And it took him nearly another week of hiding and reconstruction before the moment came to finally reunite the finished blade with its old hilt; but as soon as Marcus moved in to complete the sword, every fragment suddenly sprung to life and rapidly connected themselves to each other, one by one, as though they were a self-solving puzzle, and in a flash of searing azure light the shards fused together to form a whole sword, as if it hadn’t ever been broken into pieces. At first the ordeal caught him by surprise; what kind of earthly weapon can repair itself? But as he picked up the blade to admire its strangely exotic appeal with that question in mind, he unwittingly exposed himself to strange forces far beyond his ability to handle, and in that moment he lost his consciousness and found himself slipping into the inky void of nothingness.
As he pondered over what became of himself, a grand and mighty presence revealed itself to Marcus in the form of an absurdly large, muscular man with fiery red hair and a beard, dressed in clothes and armor reminiscent of an ancient civilization; with a magnetic smile, he introduced himself as being none other than Alexander the Great, legendary conqueror and king of Macedon who died without ever losing a single battle in his immaculate military career. Claiming to have witnessed the young man’s battle with the Ghost, he pointed out Marcus’ obvious lust for the Mafia assassin’s supernatural abilities, then went on to offer the teenager a choice that would ultimately change his life for better or worse: turn away and wake up with no memory of what was currently happening, never to be contacted by him again, allowed to live out the rest of his life as he saw fit—or serve as the living vessel of Alexander the Great and be shown the road to everlasting power and glory. And the rest was silence.
So began his life as a Ritualist, a practitioner of the Demonic arts. For the last four years he continued honing his craft and committing petty crimes to survive while constantly living on the run from the Lucchese family, destroying any hitmen who were sent to kill him for causing as much damage to their enterprise as he did. Wanting to permanently drop off their radar, Marcus fled his beloved New York City, hitching rides from strangers or stowing away on semi trucks and making good use of his street skills until he wound up in America’s capital, Washington D.C, where he still resides to this very day, having adopted the last name of “Brooklyn” to reflect and express his roots back in the Big Apple. Nobody knows what he’s up to these days, but one thing’s for certain: he’s looking for much greater horizons to conquer.
[ STREET URCHIN ] Can quickly adapt to any urban environment and become familiar with it in no time.
[ STICKY FINGERS ] Exceptionally skilled thief and pickpocket.
[ THERE ARE NO RULES ] Has no qualms with dirty fighting, and will employ underhanded tactics to claim victory.
[ NEVER GIVE UP ] Virtually impossible to persuade into surrendering or abandoning a cause that he strives to see through to the end.
[ TRACEUR ] Fully disciplined in the art of parkour; can physically maneuver his way through, over, beneath, or around any obstacle without breaking stride.
[ PEERLESS GENERAL ] Immeasurable knowledge of all ancient and modern-day military tactics and gains the combat expertise of a veteran soldier.
[ KING’S CHARISMA ] Becomes unnaturally persuasive and spiritually overbearing when Alexander assumes control.
[ GRAND THEFT ] Gains instinctive knowledge of how to ride any creature as a mount and master any vehicle he physically comes into contact with.
[ HOT-HEADED ] Eschews planning ahead in favor of immediate action, and is ignorant of tactfulness and diplomacy.
[ REBEL YELL ] Strongly disinclined to listen to authority, and behaves defiantly when his freedom is threatened.
[ OPINIONATED ] Will not hesitate to speak his mind on whatever irritates him, which can get him in serious trouble.
[ PARTY HARD ] Overly indulgent lifestyle choices have resulted in addictive tendencies.
[ THAT WHICH I WANT MOST ] His skill in thievery motivates him to steal whenever the situation allows for it.
[ FAILURE ISN’T AN OPTION ] Refuses to acknowledge defeat as an acceptable outcome, and will do anything he can to win; this can be exploited and turned against him.
Marcus only speaks in English (electricultramarine), with an obvious New York accent. Alexander, on the other hand, is able to speak English (flame), as well as Ancient Macedonian (venetianred), Koiné Greek (darkspringgreen), Attic Greek (caribbeangreen), Egyptian (sanddune), Persian (fandango), and Infernal (maroon)
– Marcus is a lot smarter and more cunning than he tends to act, despite lacking a complete formal education.
– He is a tactile learner due to his energetic personality, and solves problems much faster if he directly interacts with its source.
– Loves any kind of music he feels is worthy enough to be played in a street brawl.
– Also not that bad of a singer.
– Pretty handy in a knife fight.
– Perfect companion to take with on a camping trip due to his own personal experiences.
– Believed to suffer from an extreme instance of megalomania, which is even further aggravated by Alexander’s spiritual influence as a Demon.
– Looks twenty percent more cooler when looking and/or walking away from an explosion.
– Major party animal; can always be counted on to get beyond fucked up on something, whether it’s drugs or booze.
– Technically homeless and lacks a stationary dwelling to call his abode, but routine robberies keep him well-fed and adequately clothed.
– Once took a thousand micrograms of acid during a rave he crashed and wound up completely naked in the middle of Madison Square Garden the next day. Spent three weeks in jail for numerous counts of gross public indecency, public intoxication, and disturbing the peace.
Marcus, or Vlad.
Vlad III, Adelaide Kingsford, Edward Teach, Matthias Hildebrand
Losing count of that, really, but around 4 years.
[b]TENGEN TOPPA GURREN-LAGANN[/b] :: [b]KAMINA[/b]
[b]FATE/ZERO[/b] :: [b]RIDER[/b]
THERE ARE NO LIMITS!
- THERE ARE NO LIMITS!
- Posts : 5
Join date : 2013-10-01
Power Level: 1
Character Faction: Freelance
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