The Matician

Real Name: Mark Howards
Super Hero/Villain/Renegade/etc Name: The Matician
Title: Who?
Alignment: Good
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Hair: Dirty Blonde
Eyes: Blue
Height: 6'00”
Weight: 175

Personality: Mark Howards close family and friends would describe him as slow, kind hearted, and brave. Rivals of the Matician would more likely use words like brash, lucky, and smart. Both are two sides of the same coin. As a hero the Matician comes off as cocky, flamboyant even. Patrolling the streets as a B grade hero who would never admit to being B grade The Matician still dreams of meeting heroes, having the utmost respect for his childhood heroes who got him through his tough childhood. As mentioned before The Matician is a constant glory hound, seeking a name for himself he yearns to see his name in the newspaper, or, heavens forbid, the television. When in a fight hes the first to crack a joke, and often the only one to laugh. Deep down though The Matician is truly a kind hearted person who simply wants to use his powers to help, whether that involves hacking a computer or taking a crowbar to the side of someones head.

Costume Description/Image:
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By [You must be registered and logged in to see this link.] at 2012-05-12

History: In a world full of super heroes Mark Howards was utterly and completely un-super. In fact Mark was born with several learning disabilities and was told from a very young age he would never truly be “normal”. He didn't know just how right the Doctors were. His parents, understandably, took this news much worse then the young Mark, who by all means truly had no way of telling just what “normal” was. To cope with his mental state his mother doted on him to the point of excess, his father took the opposite approach, locking himself away for days on end in his study.
The Howards had always been a wealthy family, largely due to Marks grandfathers early dealings in the pharmaceutical business, a trade Marks father took over. Rumors circulated that Howards Inc. also had many other lucrative investments, some more shady then others

The day Mark had been diagnosed, a mere three years old, his father swore to find a way to help his son, and being a man of science thoroughly believed he could do so. Throughout the years he poured vast amounts of money towards helping fund his sons research but sadly it seemed as though nothing would work, Mark having turned 13 with no signs of improvement: reading a comic took days and basic math skills eluded him completely. By his 15th birthday Marks father, locked away in his office yet again, put a bullet in his brain. Needless say Mark didn't have a happy birthday
As the years went on research on Marks condition fell to the wayside because Mrs. Howards, an understandably distant widow, let the family company fall completely under the control of a once superficial committee. Mark, now in his mid twenties, spent most of his time hidden away from the public's eye. By day he'd read comics or the newspaper, obsessed with the hero's he'd read about for as long as he could remember, and by night he'd work as a janitor for his mothers company-an arrangement he had to beg his mother to agree with. He didn't necessarily get paid for his services but to him just getting out of the house was compensation enough, and besides he had bank accounts in his name that could last him well into retirement, money wasn't really a problem.

Twenty Five years old and everyone still treated Mark like that poor little boy, and boy did Mark hate it. Sure, sometimes he had trouble understanding what people were trying to say, and yeah, he couldn't add ten plus ten. But he knew what was good, what was bad, what hurt and what stupid meant. He wasn't stupid. Although a simple janitor Mark took pride in his work, often working late into the early hours of the morning, simply savoring the quite and the satisfaction of a job well done.

To this day Mark doesn't know when the “change” truly began, but one night while working on a particularly memorable mess in the science wing he stopped to take a break. At first he thought he'd try and squeeze a comic in between his break like normal, but this particular night a certain white board caught his attention. To Mark the various algorithms and equations that took up entire white boards were like art to a blind man, but tonight was different, tonight they seemed....to make sense. The longer Mark stared the more he became enticed, and before he knew it he had a sharpie in hand and was frantickly scribbling across whiteboard after whiteboard, until to his surprise every problem within eyesight had been solved. The scientist who stumbled across the aftermath of Marks realization the next day was promptly promoted to the head of the science department.
After that night everything changed, the world was still the same but to Mark it was as if he could see for the first time. No, seeing wasn't the right word, he could read, predict and theorize at a moments notice. He could mathematically add the angle, height, and force needed for any thrown object to make it hit his desired target, and likewise a few minutes of study is all it takes for Mark to point out the key weakness's of a structure: remove x from y and z doesn't work.

Having always been obsessed with heroes Marks first reaction was to take to the streets and fight crime. Hitting the streets of a particularly bad neighborhood Mark quickly learned it didn't matter if he knew where hit someone when three people were hitting him. Then he got stabbed.

Waking to a frightened mother Mark couldn't help but smile. Although he was heavily bandaged and had various tubes connected to his body he was still happy. He was finally “normal” No. He was Super. “I'm fine Ma...But I...I got work to do.” She still looked at him like an idiot.

Powers: Able to project a thrown targets destination, point out critical and weak spots on structures/vessels. Advanced computer and quick thinking skills. Closeted scientist.


Power Grid:
STR: 2
SPD: 3
END: 5
INT:6
EP: 0
FS: 6

Power Grid colours:  Brown/Gold

Roleplay Sample: Three masked men made their way out of an obviously broken into door, an alarm screeching at them from behind. “I thought you said Tessla was gonna be getting that alarm, whole neighborhoods gonna know were here.” Said that fattest of the three, ironically he also carried both large duffel bags of whatever they had stolen while the other two, much more fit, carried fully automatic rifles. They were clearly the professionals here. As if on cue the alarm deafened, the night turning quite again. Running on foot the three men rounded the corner to their getaway car, an unnoticeable sedan.

Turning the corner they were shocked to see a lone figure standing there, a red crow bar clenched menacingly in his right hand, his masked face unable to hide the slight look of mischief that played across his grin. “Halt villians!” He shouted in a overly boastful voice, as if reenacting an old school cartoon. “Tremble at the might of my crowbar!” With a quick swing he bashed in the front windshield, causing the alarm of the car to scream violently and a few adjacent windows to turn their lights on. The Matician assumed their shock instantly turned to anger, as evident of the automatic fire he was now hiding from. Hearing the familiar 'dead' click that sounded when a gun spent its last bullet The Matician sprang up from behind the bullet riddled car. “Hey assholes don't you know who I am?!” He barked in his still youthful voice.

The fat sleezeball who wasn't preoccupied loading his machine gun was the only one willing to shout back “You ain't the only masked freak runnin round here! You aint even on our radar crowbar boy!”

At this The Matician sprang forward, bravely zaging past the first gunner to reload. With a grunt and a two handed heave he let loose the crowbar, which spun in a viscous looking circle. His aim couldn't have been any better, the red crowbarsmashing into the side of the first gunman's knee with a sickening crack, causing the shocked man to cry out in pain as he fell to the ground, finger still clutching the trigger. The second gunman, now fully loaded, turned his sights to The Matician, Only to have his forearms ripped apart by machine gun fire from his fallen ally. Horrified he too fell to the ground, his useless arms trying desperately to grasp at the fallen machine gun. Sirens could be heard coming from far away.

Non nonchalantly The Matician strode over and picked up his now bloody crowbar “You know, i've been bustin baddies like you for the past year now. You think somebody know me by now!” He was talking to the fat man still left standing. The crook looked like he was trying not to wet himself as he stumbled over the bags he carried, his fallen comrades, and just his weight in general. It wasn't long before he wound up on the street, crawling away from the approaching Matician, he just had to reach that gun while the stupid hero monologued. “But no, guess ill just keep at it till you guys learn your lesson. Or my name, whichever comes first.”

Like a cobra the fat man turned and struck, pulling the trigger as fast as his pudgy little fingers would allow. Only instead of a “bang” he was met with a 'click'. The masked man just smiled “Oh yeah I forgot to tell ya, I was countin, and that guns dead dry. Nice try though. So...I gonna have to crack your skull to or we doin this the easy way?”


ooc- So any thoughts on improvement? Im welcome to them. Im new by the way, nice to meet you all

I think it's great, i really do. you'll fit in just fine. ^^

Approved