Apollo

Spoiler:

You wanna know about this mothafucka's personality, like you can classify that shit! This guy right here is a goddamn saint, spreading the sweet juicy word of the heavy metal gods wherever he goes, No he ain't a preacher, though he does sing the holy praises to the holy trinity of the Sabbath, Ozzy, Dio, and Dave all be getting the mad praise up in this house. This bro's fucking unflappable, can't stay mad at a man for more than a minute so long as he doesn't break the holy commandments of the HMG.

Commandment 1: Don't scratch his sweet melody machines.

Commandment 2: Do not under any mothafuckin circumstance interrupt a man when he's bustin a wicked solo.

Don't matter if a guy's life is at stake, when he's playing the sweet hymn of the Metal Gods, you do not stop him. It's a man's duty to pray to his faith ya dig, and brotha, this boy is getting his wicked fuckin confessions on. You go to church, he brings his with him wherever he goes and my good sir, if you don't believe in the gospel of the Heavy Metal Brethen then Apollo will tear the metal from your soul and slap your punk ass face with it until you feel the hot blood of the melody pumping through your recently baptized chest. Now, I won't lie, some haters be saying that this guy's all up in his own shit, being all arrogant and shit, but they just hatin on my main man's wicked skills. He's the mothafuckin best and he mothafuckin knows it.



Now you might be asking yourself, how does one go from rags to being the undisputed king of the heavy metal realm. Well I intend to answer that question, so sit your ass down and prepare to get your crazy imagination rocked to hell by the ballad of the most bombastic dude to ever split the realms of fantasy and reality with his wicked beats. Now our good friend Mr. Cobalt wasn't born this way, as much as he might tell you different, oh no. No, this sweet brother was born same way as everyone else, no twist, no shining meteor crashing through the hospital roof to collide oh so fatefully with his mother at the moment of his conception. No, this boy rolled out and cried like a bitch all night long, that was until he heard the word of the holy Manowarriors. In that night, he was born twice, once as a human and again as a demigod. The boy was carried out there holding a flame in his heart and a spark in his eyes. He was the mothafuckin metal messiah in waiting.
So Mr. Cobalt didn't grow up surrounded by bling, he had to work a thousand days to afford his first guitar, an old hand me down acoustic from his neighbor's garage. Now this might seem like a standard humble beginnings shit but no no, you see, we about to get into some serious Karate Kid-Mr. Miyagi shit up in this mirthful ballad. Now you see, that old neighbor saw the spark of metal hitting the fire of the boy's heart even before he touched the first hard earned paper of the Cobalt kid's payment. He could feel the raw, untamed power contained within the boy's finger tips and so produced for him The Pick of Destiny. I see that look, that eye rolling 'oh whatever' honkytonk bullshit your mind is spewing everywhere, so stow it and listen up. This wasn't THE Pick of Destiny, nah this was a fuckin souvenir that old Mr. Neighbor -who's named Chet by the way- got from the Tenacious D movie. Back on track, he told the young messiah that he could have the pick and the guitar for mothafuckin free if he could teach the lad the ways of the holy Sabbath and their iron-clad bible of the ages. Now when opportunity knocks, the smartest ones tear that mothafuckin door off its hinges and yank opportunity into the realm of inescapable certainty.

So that's how our hero spent his childhood, goin to school and learnin the ways of the world and returning to both his homes. The one, where he slept was so dull, lacking the sheer unadulterated liquid negrocity of Old Chet's place. That was his real home, that dark garage lit only by the light of a single crackling bulb. That place was filled wall to rickety wall with holy imagery of the great Heavy Metal Gods and their tomes for their most devoted disciples. Every day was a lesson, a new testament to learn, an old one to place in the library of Alistair's devoted mind. Now this sweet and holy cycle continued until that most dreaded of times, High school. There our intrepid messiah lost interest in the world of man, and found the realm of the mothafuckin second world. The third eye and all that good shit. Now we aren't gonna get into no animal cruelty, no that ain't Mr. Cobalt's mothafuckin style. The Heavy Metal Gods gave every little beasty their own song to sing and any real Heavy Metal Brother or Sister knows that it ain't their job to end that song. So no, Alistair "Turbo Sexophonic" Didn't kill any animals. Instead, he brought for the acoustic legend provided by Old Chet.

He played that thing so hard that it broke the mothafuckin barriers between this world and the next. Now you might be saying "Dude, what the fuck? Satan really does govern metal!" No you stupid shit, the big bad of the afterlife doesn't have a single place in this story except in the lyrics of the Holy Sabbath. No, the demon that arose was Asmodeus, ruler of Heavy Metal Hell. Yeah, that's right, they get their own hell. No, it's not a shitty place, it's just for those who don't quite make the cut into Heavy Metal Heaven. They sing a different breed of the gospel down there, praising the gods until they finally attain ultimate enlightenment and are given their backstage pass to mount Rockmore at the peaks of Olympus. So yeah, as I was saying, Asmodeus came up from the depths and challenged Mr. Cobalt to a rock-off. That dumbass. In a duel that literally raped time itself, they conducted a duel that left them bloody fingered and broken guitared. Yet, despite these wounds, our bombastic messiah played on, keeping the strings in place by wrapping them around his own bones and keeping the guitar sealed together with his own boiling hot blood. Yeah, you heard me mothafucka. So eventually the demon lord relented and gave Alistair two things. The first was a lesson in all but the holiest of guitar techniques, the second was Echidna, the mother of all monsters.

Yeah, that bitch.

How'd a bitch that big get given to a mortal? Easy, Big man Asmodeus turned her into a guitar. Royal fuschia and diamond stringed, he played the shit out of that bitch. Interestingly enough, he discovered that she did more than play a sweet solo, she actually rode the waves of the holy hymn and made it a weapon for smiting the infidels of the world. Wanting to do right by the Holy Trinity, our Turbo Bombastic Messiah took on the name Apollo and began his holy crusade to spread the justice of metal to the world.




Now see, playing guitar against Asmodeus gave Mr. Apollo more than just gruesome -but easily healed- wounds, during his centuries long duel with the head honcho of heavy metal, he absorbed some of the sweet riffs and star power of Heavy Metal Hell, enhancing his body far beyond anything any of your punk asses could ever hope to attain. That's right, he got the stamina of a minotaur on the drums, the speed of a sick ride on the strings, the dexterity to play notes you haven't even conceived of and most importantly of all, the gospel of Asmodeus straight in his Metal Messiah Mind. Yeah, he can craft the sickest strings, the toughest frame and the most powerful amps in history. Fuckin hell man, this man modified a mothafuckin bike into the mobile metal cathedral that he rides into battle today. Now I ain't sayin no fuckin more, you gotta check the catalog for this man's sicknasty works of art.


Grid:

Occult: 8
Strength: 2
Speed: 7
Durability: 5
Fighting Skills: 8
Wealth: 1