Bones

Real Name: Frankie Brokedell
Hero Name: Bones
Title: Skully, Old Man White, Scarecrow, Private Eyeless
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Age: Alive: 30 years. Undead: 3 years. Overall: 126 years.
Gender: Male
Race: Caucasian
Hair: N/A
Eyes: N/A
Height: 6’2”
Weight: 25 lbs

Description:


Personality:

Bones could be described as a classic crook. He’s quick with his mouth and wits, but even faster with his fists. He can sneak like a pro, pick locks, jimmy doors, break windows quietly and rifle through a room without ever leaving a trace he was there. He’s got skill with guns, whether they’re old or new, preferring his antique Tommy Gun over the new models if only because he’s nostalgic and can even fight with heavy blunt instruments if he needs to. Before his death, he used this numerous skills to make everyone around him have a bad day. He’d steal, rob, beat and lie his way through life, all the way until it ended with him dead. When he “recovered,” however, he had an epiphany. Crooks were scum, crooks were bad people and by extent, he was a bad person.

But this doesn’t describe the person he really is. Bones has spent most of his life reinventing himself, from a poor kid, to a tough teen, to a smooth guy who ended up deep in his neck in shit. The things that have been consistent in his life are; His smart mouth, and the ability to always make a crappy joke in a tough situation. And he will look good doing it. His vanity has always been a point of interest, always trying to find the coolest clothes and the sharp edge of fashion. However, since his resurrection, he now prefers to stay retro. He enjoys smoking during his down time, even though he can’t actually breathe in, and likes watching TV when he has the chance, or reading trashy books. While he does seem a silly or angry character sometimes, he does have a keen mind, often shown when he spills out the odd French phrase.

History:

Frankie Brokedell was born in 1902, in New Orleans. His mother, a two dime whore, was broke half the time, smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish. He never knew his father, but the Whore (as he called her) paraded a number of different johns and always made frank call them “Daddy.” His unstable home, often filled with ever the Whore’s moans or crying, wasn’t the best place for a growing kid, so he spent most of his days on the streets. He got involved with a number of gangs, which would probably be a foreshadowing of his later days in the port. As he grew up, he got more involved with the various Mafia’s using the port to smuggle weapons and drugs from all around the world. He worked as an errand boy first, running messages and parcels on a bike before upgrading to a car. From there he got involved with the darker side; sometimes riding out with some of the fella’s to convince someone to pay for protection, or maybe deterring someone from moving in on their territory.

As he earned a name for himself, he got involved in the higher ups with the Mafia. He was trusted as a guy who could keep his mouth shut and his eyes sharp. As he got more involved, he started doing more and more dangerous things and always coming out generally unscathed. The odd broken bones or gunshot wounds were a good enough price to play for the ritzy life he started to lead. He got a pretty sweet apartment, was never desperate for women and got himself a pretty little car, but he was never going to be in charge of a “Family” simply because he wasn’t from the right Sicilian decent.

However, he seemed responsible enough to blame should anything go wrong.

During what he figured was a normal cash pickup from one of the speakeasy’s, the Capo he was escorting do something unimaginable. He pulled a gun and shot Frankie right in his chest. Frankie went down like a concrete shoes and the guy disappeared like he was a ghost. Probably got onto a ship and went to Europe, where the fucker retired a happy and rich man. Apparently, the Capo had been stealing cash here and there for years, without getting noticed. As you can guess, the mob bosses weren’t very happy about the fact, but they had no one to blame. No one, of course, but a wounded Frankie Brokedell, lying in hospital. They waited for him to get better, came by and paid their respects and gave him all the time in the world. The day he stepped out on the hospital steps, on the 3rd of March 1932, was the last day in his life.

A car was waiting for him, which he easily slipped into. It took him out of New Orleans, towards an old Mob Safe house in the swamp, a big old retreat away from the city. When he asked why, the driver told him that someone from inland was driving out to meet him. He should have been thinking like a proper crook. He was just too happy to care, happy to be out of his hospital bed and back in family. However, when he arrived, two thugs caught him by the arms and held him in place. The mob bosses took it in turns and each beat the living hell out of him. The torture was horrific, with bits of his face been slowly dismantled and the hair on his head being burnt off. His eyes were removed using a cigar and his tongue pulled out his head. Finally, when he was nothing but a blubbering mess of bleeding flesh, they put a bullet in his brain and buried him in the soft, swampy earth in the basement.

That should have been the end of his story. He rotted in his little grave, glad for death, but something seemed to stop him from leaving his body and going on to the great beyond. Instead, he became a ghost, haunting the little resort. To this day, he can’t explain how it happened. People have claimed that Ghosts exist because of unfinished business, but Frankie considered himself pretty done with the world. Others say that they exists when they’ve been separated violently from their life, which he could have understood. At first, it was fun. He could mess with the mobsters that came by, could paint the walls with blood and write his name across fogged up windows, but as the house got a reputation it drove off everyone. Eventually, the hose fell into disrepair as most of the mob was sent to prison.

As the century continued on and even ended, he was left alone, wandering an old deserted house. In 2002, however, an old woman moved in, named Momma Uggada. From the start, Frankie planned on tormenting her, but the moment he moved into a room to get the old blood painting trick going, she looked him straight in the eye and told him, “Do it if you dare, hon.” From that day onward, he became a companion for what could only be described as a Voodoo Witch. She would boss him around; like he was some sort of assistant and for the oddest reasons he would do as she asked. Maybe he was just hoping that what he had heard about Voodoo raising the dead were true, or maybe was afraid of being banished to some sort of hell, although by now it was pretty obvious that such a thing was going to happen when he did pass on.

Unfortunately, it seemed that the Witch had moved out from New Orleans so that she could die in relative peace and quiet, away from the rest of her coven. The two of them grew closer and closer, until finally it was like living with a mother Frankie never had. Although their years together were short, they ended sweetly, with her granting him his one secret desire. On the 9th of March, 2011, Frankie was downstairs making coffee when he passed out. When he awoke, he was laid out on a rug in the basement, with a circle of magical runes around him and the dead body of Momma Uggada to his side.

She wrote a note, telling him that the new form he now inhabited came with a price. He would never pass onto the next world unless he performed enough good deeds to outweigh his evils. When he fully understood the limits of his powers and how he was seen in the outside world, he decided immediately that he deeply disliked everything about being Undead, and wants out of it.

Now he serves as a reluctant hero to a world that doesn’t want him.

Powers:

Everything that Frankie knows about his powers comes from the letter left behind by Momma Uggada. She told him that his spirit, the thing he became when he was dead, had been bound to earthly remains. Now, it acted like a bubble around his decayed bones. This bubble was held together by will alone, apparently. It would hold mystical properties to help him on his path to salvation. Firstly, it allowed him to see without eyes, though he can still only see like a human sees. It allows him to speak without a voice, even whistle, although it seems to have some mystical quality to it, as it cannot be recorded by devices. If he concentrates hard enough, the field can be used as an offensive weapon, becoming a large blue ball of energy that can be thrown. The power generally varies on the ball. It could be compared to fire, but it can burn at a much higher rate and often remains cold to the touch. When fighting full out, his spirit weakens so he can channel more offensive energy, and vice versa. He can also move at a faster speed then normal humans, his lighter body and mystical powers granting him a speed above even the highest trained athletes.

Defensively, Frankie is a push over. If someone came up to him in a room and took a metal pipe to his back, his spine would be broken and everything below it will be useless. If someone pulled off his arm, it wouldn’t work. Generally, below the place things break ceases to work for him any. This doesn’t mean he’s completely useless. His spirit shield can grant some reprieve against other energy, whether that be fire, electricity or anything else. However, solid objects like water or ice will still pass through the field. In fact, things that are travelling at a very high speed seem to slow when in contact with the field, if they are small. The field also grants him another reprieve. If one of his bones is broken, he can find a replacement from another body and use it. Every bone in his body can be replaced when damaged is sustain, all but the skull, which acts like a sort of home for his spirit. If the skull is damaged, it heals slowly. If the skull is pulled from his body, he will stay chained to it until it is destroyed, and will then be cursed to walk the earth until the end of days, or until a kindly witch takes pity on him.

Everything else, his high fighting skills, his intelligence, all stem from the gifts given to him before death. When forced into a fight, he will try to stay as far away from someone as possible, instead relying on his energy or his guns.

Power Grid:


Roleplay Sample:

The match grated, slowly, but the sheer concentration brought it to life. The flame flickered, dancing in its new life, casting wild shadows on the walls of the alleyway as it was slowly raised toward the large, overhanging hat. Something was wrong though. The guy was too thin, every single bone jutted out like some odd protrusion and this caused parts of his body to be still cast in the inky back darkness. As the long, bony gloved hands moved up towards the cigarette sticking out from under the large hat of his, the light blue tie fluttered on his chest and seemed to draw attention to its barrelled nature. The thugs that watched, rapt with attention, then split in two. One group went back up, as the hat slowly raised the match cast a face not even a mother could live. The other’s looked further down and questioned why a guy like that would have such protruding hips, but were shortly brought out of this line of thoughts when they heard the screaming. They looked up and screamed too.

The match flickered over the pale grey skull, with a cigarette hanging loosely in one corner of its mouth. The jaw pressed close and ground one way, twirling the stick to the centre of its mouth as it slowly lit the thing. And for some reason, this seemed to be the most terrifying thing on earth.

The banks backup generator burst black into life, and the skull that had been so brightly lit before was now hidden in shadow from the powerful overhead lamps. The match dropped as guns turned from hostages towards the skeleton in a blue pin striped suit, but he was already moving, pole vaulting over the wooden bar separating the open lobby to the clerks. The bullets they sprayed from their automatic weapons left a bunch of holes in wood and wood alone. “What the fuck was that?!” Cried one of the men, elegantly, as he slowly crept forward. Closer he got to the bar, leaning on his tiptoes, eyes down.

The blue glow hit him straight in his face and he screamed like he was set on fire. It would only sting him, what a girl. He dropped his gun and went to his knees, rocking back and forth and screaming “I’m blind! I’m blind!” while his trigger men all stood around scratching their asses. Frankie used the window of distraction to sneak along the floor, making incredibly little noise. When finally they had decided to step forward to do something, he was already behind them and checking out the damage to the vault. There seemed to be some burn holes, but nothing a little spackle wouldn’t fix. He did a 180 and did his spirit thing, a grin on his face.

To be fair, he had a lot to smile about.

SKULLDUGGERY PLEASANT!!!!!! ... sorry. Anyhow, I'm thinking if you have 0 ep... you really can't do much. And bones are stronger then you think.

The very, very low Endurance is meant to be balanced out by the EP field, but it's also meant to be a big downside to the numerous advantages that he has.

I still think you should put the edmto atleast one though... but it's your choice. ^^

Changed Endurance from 0 to 1, lowering his FS. This way, when he falls over, he won't shatter into glass.

Lol, exactly. XD

Great application and interesting character, I enjoyed reading it over, just a few questions.

Did Momma Uggada give her life to do the ritual that made you into the bag of bones you are now?

If you were ever killed/skull crushed, could some one who was intelligent enough find a way to return your spirit to another skull?

Is the only way you can use your power offensively through a ball?

Your power can protect you from physical and energy attacks correct? Sort of like an energy shield.

I have no problems with this application and I'd say it's ready for approval. Just answer those questions and we'll get this thing to the approved section.

To the first two question, yes.

Momma Uggada was very close to death and the process of making a “Zombie” means sacrificing some of your own life-force. Uggada only had a little bit of life left, so she could only restore his skeleton and his spirit, superimposed on top of it.

The process could be repeated if his skull was destroyed, because he would exist as a spirit again. But the likeliness of finding someone to do it and then to perform the ritual? Very slim.

The power forms inside his spirit bubble, which extends only around his remains. He could concentrate on his foot, and make a tennis shaped ball that he could kick. He could make a tiny amount on his finger tip and poke someone in the eye with it. The energy wouldn’t be able to extend to anything he holds, however.

Energy attacks, yes, and physical attacks if only he’s concentrating and can reinforce his shield towards the fist flying towards him. The more stuff that hits his shield, the weaker it gets.

Let's say you work with The Black Knight and the Phantoms. You're killed at one point during a very difficult mission/battle and he does everything in his power to find a way to bring you back. Could he do this ritual for you? Would it mean he'd be left physically drained since it drains your life-force? Of course I'd eventually recover, but he'd need some good rest.

Just answer me that question then I'll approve and move you.

Yes, he could do the ritual, if he had the right Magic know how. To restore his skeletal remains, it would leave him drained for a little while. Any more then that, and he will be aged.

Just asking in case the situation comes up later on. Bk would have your back and would do that for you.

Approved and moved.