Post by Atticus Gale on Aug 25, 2017 17:05:48 GMT -6
Atticus Gale
HERO (Marvel)
PLAY BY
Christoper Brown
RESIDENCE
Ballantine Place: 209 W 108th Street. Rm. 502 looking over 108th. Top Floor.
FAME / INFAMY
Canada, the American East Coast and Europe.
LIVELIHOOD
Molecular Geneticist working as a virologist. Genomorph Labs - East 26th Street and Mt Caramel Place, Manhattan.
HERO (Marvel)
PLAY BY
Christoper Brown
RESIDENCE
Ballantine Place: 209 W 108th Street. Rm. 502 looking over 108th. Top Floor.
FAME / INFAMY
Canada, the American East Coast and Europe.
LIVELIHOOD
Molecular Geneticist working as a virologist. Genomorph Labs - East 26th Street and Mt Caramel Place, Manhattan.
BOREAL
PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION
HEIGHT: 6 Feet 6 Inches | WEIGHT: 300 LBS | AGE: (79) Appears: 27 |
NATIONALITY / ETHNICITY: Canadian National, Norwegian Descent. Duel Canadian-American citizenship.
PIGMENT: Florid, Medium toned, often tanned. | HAIR: Pale Golden Blonde - LONG | EYES: Brilliant Blue
Atticus appears to be in his late twenties to early thirties but carries himself like someone much older. Tall, with a powerfully muscled physique and golden blonde hair it’s not a wonder that people might confuse him for the Mighty Thor. He certainly doesn’t fit the stereotype of his profession. Dressing down has taken some effort. Later on in years, Atticus maintained a formal look, always wearing suits. Even lounging around the house he doesn’t often dress down, until the evening. His long hair is often kept in a pony tail and he always maintains a few days growth of beard as it adds on a few year.
COSTUME & EQUIPMENT
Utilizing his connections with military manufacturers (through Genomorph labs and his friend and CEO Stefan Reinhardt) Atticus acquired several prototype uniforms, highly durable, fire retardant and completely comprised of a poly-carbon fibre, protecting him from the penetration of average caliber weaponry but absorbs little of the impact. The entire suit is dark grey and black, a full mask exposing his hair. A stylized silvery streak down the right side of the costume.
HEIGHT: 6 Feet 6 Inches | WEIGHT: 300 LBS | AGE: (79) Appears: 27 |
NATIONALITY / ETHNICITY: Canadian National, Norwegian Descent. Duel Canadian-American citizenship.
PIGMENT: Florid, Medium toned, often tanned. | HAIR: Pale Golden Blonde - LONG | EYES: Brilliant Blue
Atticus appears to be in his late twenties to early thirties but carries himself like someone much older. Tall, with a powerfully muscled physique and golden blonde hair it’s not a wonder that people might confuse him for the Mighty Thor. He certainly doesn’t fit the stereotype of his profession. Dressing down has taken some effort. Later on in years, Atticus maintained a formal look, always wearing suits. Even lounging around the house he doesn’t often dress down, until the evening. His long hair is often kept in a pony tail and he always maintains a few days growth of beard as it adds on a few year.
COSTUME & EQUIPMENT
Utilizing his connections with military manufacturers (through Genomorph labs and his friend and CEO Stefan Reinhardt) Atticus acquired several prototype uniforms, highly durable, fire retardant and completely comprised of a poly-carbon fibre, protecting him from the penetration of average caliber weaponry but absorbs little of the impact. The entire suit is dark grey and black, a full mask exposing his hair. A stylized silvery streak down the right side of the costume.
PERSONALITY
Going from the tail-end of one’s life, back to your youth can reek havoc on the psyche. There are still mornings that Atticus looks into the mirror and see’s a stranger staring back at him, the youthful features betraying the wisdom of his eyes. He’s experienced much but as society is predominantly dictated by one’s age he’s naturally fallen into that perceived role, unfortunately he’s as much of an oddity around people his “own age” as is he is around those who are older. The stress of pretending to act younger that he really his takes a heavy toll and so often Atticus simply prefers his own company. He finds solace in his work, but he only feels truly free when he puts on his costume and becomes Boreal. Behind the mask, Atticus Gale doesn't matter anymore.
In his youth, Atticus was a bit of trickster. His quick tongue slowed over the years. He always tries to see all the angles of situation before making a decision and this can get quite laborious for others. As a young man he was terrible at reading people, but age and experience taught him well. No matter what, he always tries to see the good in a person, but once it’s stripped away, he believes it's gone, never to return. Past a certain point, people don’t change, unless the situation is extraordinary (likes his own). The more he assumes his alter-ego, the more he see’s the world in a way he never thought possible. Making a difference in the world has alway been important to him, but now he can meet injustice head-on with a power as intoxicating as it is frightening.
Going from the tail-end of one’s life, back to your youth can reek havoc on the psyche. There are still mornings that Atticus looks into the mirror and see’s a stranger staring back at him, the youthful features betraying the wisdom of his eyes. He’s experienced much but as society is predominantly dictated by one’s age he’s naturally fallen into that perceived role, unfortunately he’s as much of an oddity around people his “own age” as is he is around those who are older. The stress of pretending to act younger that he really his takes a heavy toll and so often Atticus simply prefers his own company. He finds solace in his work, but he only feels truly free when he puts on his costume and becomes Boreal. Behind the mask, Atticus Gale doesn't matter anymore.
In his youth, Atticus was a bit of trickster. His quick tongue slowed over the years. He always tries to see all the angles of situation before making a decision and this can get quite laborious for others. As a young man he was terrible at reading people, but age and experience taught him well. No matter what, he always tries to see the good in a person, but once it’s stripped away, he believes it's gone, never to return. Past a certain point, people don’t change, unless the situation is extraordinary (likes his own). The more he assumes his alter-ego, the more he see’s the world in a way he never thought possible. Making a difference in the world has alway been important to him, but now he can meet injustice head-on with a power as intoxicating as it is frightening.
POWERS
Atticus’ abilities resulted from a combination of his personal genetic experiments later on in life and THE FOLD re-initiating the power of FEI-LIAN he earned back in 1962. The metamorphosis took approximately three months, transforming him physically and mentally.
SUPERHUMAN PHYSIOLOGY
Atticus has increased muscle and bone density. He is is able to lift 7 tons off the ground (dead-lift). Strength allowing him to walk with a pick-up truck on his back, or actually flip and throw a small-sized car. The heightened physiology also gives an increased healing factor, allowing him to mend internal injuries and heal external wounds in half the time of a normal human. This enhanced constitution offers incredible stamina and speed. Atticus can run faster than any human, able to sprint 100 meters in under 7 seconds and he’s able to run a marathon in Olympic time if required.
HEIGHTENED HEARING
A physical alteration caused by his atmospheric powers provides him with ability to increase the sensitivity of his hearing, raising the level, and is able to direct it to a specific area. If he's able to focus properly he can pick up on conversations behind closed doors beyond the normal human range.
ATMOSPHERIC MANIPULATION
In his physical form he can manipulate the atmospheric pressure around him allowing him to move the air. He can shift the winds, and alter the temperature approximately ten degrees celsius cooler or warmer within an area roughly the size of a city block. Depending on the environmental factors he may be able to produce fog or precipitation. This ability allows him to provide himself his own climate, keeping his body warm in cold environments and cool in warm. Naturally maintaining an optimal temperature becomes more strenuous in extreme conditions.
Boreal can extract air from water. He can actually create a bubble of air around him by displacing the water and even propel himself through water by slipping through it. This allows him to travel to depths otherwise impossible to reach without specialized suits but even he has his limits. He can also filter the air around him of impurities by actually manipulating oxygen and carob dioxide levels. This is probably one of his most deadly abilities, as he is able to increase CO2 levels in an enclosed area over a certain period of time. A ten foot cubic area would take him approximately fifteen to twenty minutes to filter out the oxygen. Atticus himself can breath in just about any environment due to the fact that he can actually produce his own breathable atmosphere, and he can also remove it. He's able to filter the air out of an area and maintain a seal to the equivalent of him being able to maintain a ten cubic foot vacuum (in optimal conditions) for approximately five minutes in the open air.
Atticus’ ability is essentially always ‘ON’ in a that he generates his own atmosphere. As long as he is healthy he possesses an oxygenated aura of warm air, even when unconscious. This even functions underwater, the molecules being reconstructed into breathable air at the point of his mouth, while the water around his body accelerated to a warm temperature by the exciting the oxygen.
WIND GENERATION
Boreal is able form intensely pressurized jets of air, strong enough to flip a car. Depending on the environmental conditions he can eventually move the winds in a three kilometre area, generating hurricane force winds (118 kmph, Beaufort level 12) or even generate an F3 tornado. These are, however, extreme example of his ability and he cannot just readily perform such acts.
NON-CORPOREALITY / WIND FORM
At will he can become non-corporeal by transforming the matter of his body and all ‘non-magnetic’ materials contacting his skin within an inch of his body into a mass of kinetic energy that has the same properties as 'air'. The mass of his body remains relatively the same, but it is comprised of swirling air currents, that even at rest will swirl sand, toss leaves and stir grass. It is a form he can maintain for up to seven minutes, like an extremely long breath, and the time is greatly lessened when he moving quickly or performing a strenuous task such pushing papers across a desk or slamming into an object as a gust (He cannot manipulate air currents in this form). Naturally he is completely invisible, but in complete darkness any fast movements making the kinetic energy slightly visible, the slight tracings of glowing ghostly image momentarily appearing (like a ghost). While he is impervious to all damage he is naturally susceptible to fire and electrical attacks.
The movement of this 'elemental wind form' can best be described as swimming underwater. If he 'swims' with the current, the direction of the wind, he can flow along with it, but moving against the current is strenuous. This strain, produces kinetic energy which makes is invisible form glow.
FLIGHT
Boreal can manipulate his density, putting himself in a state halfway between the physical and non-corporeal. In this state he is very light and yet still solid enough to do damage and consequently be damaged. Using his ability to manipulate the winds, he’s able to push and pull himself on air currents, a frictionless flight allowing him to achieve speeds in excess of 800 MPH. In a descent, drawing on gravity, he can even break the sound barrier. At high speeds, however, Atticus is still subject to inertia and gravity forces. To compensate for this his body produces a kinetic aura, protecting him from wind sheer and small particles of debris in the air that he may encounter. It especially protects his eyes allowing him to see perfectly. He can only carry maximum of an extra twenty five pounds and be able to maintain speed and maneuverability but if necessary he can produce enough wind force to resist or hold up to 2000 lbs, but he can only maintain this for minutes.
WIND AND KUNG-FU
Naturally, Atticus combines these powers with his marital arts, increasing the speed and power of his strikes and allowing him to perform gravity defying maneuvers.
ELEMENTAL VISION
At will Atticus can see the wind. In total darkness, void of any light he can decipher the world around him through the currents of air pressure and temperature producing a thermal-pressure map. Using this ability makes the entire area of his eyes radiate blue light.
PRESSURE SENSITIVITY
Atticus always knows when a storm is coming, when it’s going to rain. He’s so sensitive to barometric pressure that he feel the rippled of the slightest movements of the air. If needed, Boreal can fight blind, using this ability to read air movement, even in a storm. This ability could be considered a ‘sixth sense’, giving him a 360 degree awareness of his surroundings.
Atticus’ abilities resulted from a combination of his personal genetic experiments later on in life and THE FOLD re-initiating the power of FEI-LIAN he earned back in 1962. The metamorphosis took approximately three months, transforming him physically and mentally.
SUPERHUMAN PHYSIOLOGY
Atticus has increased muscle and bone density. He is is able to lift 7 tons off the ground (dead-lift). Strength allowing him to walk with a pick-up truck on his back, or actually flip and throw a small-sized car. The heightened physiology also gives an increased healing factor, allowing him to mend internal injuries and heal external wounds in half the time of a normal human. This enhanced constitution offers incredible stamina and speed. Atticus can run faster than any human, able to sprint 100 meters in under 7 seconds and he’s able to run a marathon in Olympic time if required.
HEIGHTENED HEARING
A physical alteration caused by his atmospheric powers provides him with ability to increase the sensitivity of his hearing, raising the level, and is able to direct it to a specific area. If he's able to focus properly he can pick up on conversations behind closed doors beyond the normal human range.
ATMOSPHERIC MANIPULATION
In his physical form he can manipulate the atmospheric pressure around him allowing him to move the air. He can shift the winds, and alter the temperature approximately ten degrees celsius cooler or warmer within an area roughly the size of a city block. Depending on the environmental factors he may be able to produce fog or precipitation. This ability allows him to provide himself his own climate, keeping his body warm in cold environments and cool in warm. Naturally maintaining an optimal temperature becomes more strenuous in extreme conditions.
Boreal can extract air from water. He can actually create a bubble of air around him by displacing the water and even propel himself through water by slipping through it. This allows him to travel to depths otherwise impossible to reach without specialized suits but even he has his limits. He can also filter the air around him of impurities by actually manipulating oxygen and carob dioxide levels. This is probably one of his most deadly abilities, as he is able to increase CO2 levels in an enclosed area over a certain period of time. A ten foot cubic area would take him approximately fifteen to twenty minutes to filter out the oxygen. Atticus himself can breath in just about any environment due to the fact that he can actually produce his own breathable atmosphere, and he can also remove it. He's able to filter the air out of an area and maintain a seal to the equivalent of him being able to maintain a ten cubic foot vacuum (in optimal conditions) for approximately five minutes in the open air.
Atticus’ ability is essentially always ‘ON’ in a that he generates his own atmosphere. As long as he is healthy he possesses an oxygenated aura of warm air, even when unconscious. This even functions underwater, the molecules being reconstructed into breathable air at the point of his mouth, while the water around his body accelerated to a warm temperature by the exciting the oxygen.
WIND GENERATION
Boreal is able form intensely pressurized jets of air, strong enough to flip a car. Depending on the environmental conditions he can eventually move the winds in a three kilometre area, generating hurricane force winds (118 kmph, Beaufort level 12) or even generate an F3 tornado. These are, however, extreme example of his ability and he cannot just readily perform such acts.
NON-CORPOREALITY / WIND FORM
At will he can become non-corporeal by transforming the matter of his body and all ‘non-magnetic’ materials contacting his skin within an inch of his body into a mass of kinetic energy that has the same properties as 'air'. The mass of his body remains relatively the same, but it is comprised of swirling air currents, that even at rest will swirl sand, toss leaves and stir grass. It is a form he can maintain for up to seven minutes, like an extremely long breath, and the time is greatly lessened when he moving quickly or performing a strenuous task such pushing papers across a desk or slamming into an object as a gust (He cannot manipulate air currents in this form). Naturally he is completely invisible, but in complete darkness any fast movements making the kinetic energy slightly visible, the slight tracings of glowing ghostly image momentarily appearing (like a ghost). While he is impervious to all damage he is naturally susceptible to fire and electrical attacks.
The movement of this 'elemental wind form' can best be described as swimming underwater. If he 'swims' with the current, the direction of the wind, he can flow along with it, but moving against the current is strenuous. This strain, produces kinetic energy which makes is invisible form glow.
FLIGHT
Boreal can manipulate his density, putting himself in a state halfway between the physical and non-corporeal. In this state he is very light and yet still solid enough to do damage and consequently be damaged. Using his ability to manipulate the winds, he’s able to push and pull himself on air currents, a frictionless flight allowing him to achieve speeds in excess of 800 MPH. In a descent, drawing on gravity, he can even break the sound barrier. At high speeds, however, Atticus is still subject to inertia and gravity forces. To compensate for this his body produces a kinetic aura, protecting him from wind sheer and small particles of debris in the air that he may encounter. It especially protects his eyes allowing him to see perfectly. He can only carry maximum of an extra twenty five pounds and be able to maintain speed and maneuverability but if necessary he can produce enough wind force to resist or hold up to 2000 lbs, but he can only maintain this for minutes.
WIND AND KUNG-FU
Naturally, Atticus combines these powers with his marital arts, increasing the speed and power of his strikes and allowing him to perform gravity defying maneuvers.
ELEMENTAL VISION
At will Atticus can see the wind. In total darkness, void of any light he can decipher the world around him through the currents of air pressure and temperature producing a thermal-pressure map. Using this ability makes the entire area of his eyes radiate blue light.
PRESSURE SENSITIVITY
Atticus always knows when a storm is coming, when it’s going to rain. He’s so sensitive to barometric pressure that he feel the rippled of the slightest movements of the air. If needed, Boreal can fight blind, using this ability to read air movement, even in a storm. This ability could be considered a ‘sixth sense’, giving him a 360 degree awareness of his surroundings.
QUIRKS • WEAKNESSES • FLAWS
Atticus cannot become non-corporeal if ferrous metal (containing iron and magnetic) is touching his skin.
He can be very headstrong at times, blinded by his strong moral convictions. His true age is also a constant source of social awkwardness, as some of his mannerisms may be considered a little outdated by peers of his "age".
Atticus cannot become non-corporeal if ferrous metal (containing iron and magnetic) is touching his skin.
He can be very headstrong at times, blinded by his strong moral convictions. His true age is also a constant source of social awkwardness, as some of his mannerisms may be considered a little outdated by peers of his "age".
SKILLS
GENETICIST
VIROLOGIST
MEDICAL DOCTOR
MARTIAL ARTS (Northern Wind Wushu)
KNIFE FIGHTING & THROWING
FIREARMS (Handguns » Automatic Rifles »Long Range Rifles)
INFILTRATION TACTICS
PILOT (Small Aircraft » Larger Twin Propellor)
MOUNTAINEERING
WILDERNESS SURVIVAL
NATURAL ARTIST (Sketching, Painting, Clay)
ATHLETIC (Track & Field: 200m, Javelin, High Jump » Hockey » Soccer »
LANGUAGES (Norwegian, English, speak, read and write Mandarin, Russian, French, and Finnish.)
GENETICIST
VIROLOGIST
MEDICAL DOCTOR
MARTIAL ARTS (Northern Wind Wushu)
KNIFE FIGHTING & THROWING
FIREARMS (Handguns » Automatic Rifles »Long Range Rifles)
INFILTRATION TACTICS
PILOT (Small Aircraft » Larger Twin Propellor)
MOUNTAINEERING
WILDERNESS SURVIVAL
NATURAL ARTIST (Sketching, Painting, Clay)
ATHLETIC (Track & Field: 200m, Javelin, High Jump » Hockey » Soccer »
LANGUAGES (Norwegian, English, speak, read and write Mandarin, Russian, French, and Finnish.)
ORIGIN STORY
NORWAY
Atticus Gales’ true name is Toril Njordhagen, born in the autumn of 1940 in the conurbation of Stavenger. With vague recollections of German soldiers clearing out minefields in Rogaland during the repatriation, he grew up in a time where the atrocities of the Nazis was yet an open wound on their society.
In Toril’s fourteenth year, his father, an architect, was granted the opportunity to go to Canada and head a new division of his company starting in Vancouver. He stepped out of the plane onto Canadian soil in the winter of 1954, a new chapter in his young life. Adventurous and independent, Toril could wait to explore the city and always fascinated by the Chinese culture, he was attracted to the city’s China Town district. Back then, it wasn’t commercialized and their society was still very guarded and the frequent visits of the Nordic kid attracted the attention of a local gang who confronted during one of his explorations. Large for his age, strong and athletic, Toril was confident, perhaps too much so, and discovered that day what wushu was, the hard way. The beating was severe, it might have been worse if a man named Li Daizhang hadn’t intervened.
Master Li was a respected Gong-Fu teacher and that day he didn’t see a ‘non-Chinese’ being taught a lesson, he saw potential, he saw heart, determination, and something else. When the boy is expressed that we wanted to learn the art of wushu, Daizhang appealed to the good sensibilities of his parents and convinced them to allow him to train their son.
THE MASTER THAT NEVER WAS
Master Li, taught a style of wushu stemming from the ancient forms of Shaolin. He called his school, ‘Northern Wind’, and Toril would go on to become one of greatest students. All through his university education he would continue to train, representing the school at various tournaments both locally and internationally. In 1962, when the world was being introduced to Kung Fu through the marvel of movies, Toril earned the right to compete in a tournament of which few Westerners had ever witnessed. The twenty-two year old had never experienced anything like it, nor would he ever again; a contest steeped in ancient traditions.
Toril’s fighting skills were put to the test, fighting warriors with amazing styles. Each bout often ended in a draw, their performance judged by a system unfamiliar to the young man. It was as if the concepts of winning and losing did not exist. It was a magical time, the memories difficult to decipher from dream. In the end, his reward was a symbol, an ornate tattoo of of FEI-LIAN (fay-lee-yen), a male deity of the wind. A winged dragon with the head of a deer and the tail of a snake. A peculiar trophy, but his master was honoured and proud of the accolade.
Years past. Life went on. Toril’s love of martial arts never waned, but his practice fell into the shadow of his career. The tattoo fading, until one day, it was simply gone. Tattoos simply didn’t just go away, and when he went to Master Li, his explanation seemed to so out of touch with reality that the young intern couldn’t possibly grasp the concept.
DOCTOR NJORDHAGEN
Tori began his internship in 1964 but after attending a conference conducted by Doctor Rosalind Franklin his career path would take a sharp turn. The field of genetics was pioneer territory at the time and the more Toril learned about the science of it, the more he was intrigued. His pursuit of genetics and eventually molecular genetics would take him to Seattle, then across the States to New York. There his illustrious career in the field would culminate in 1969 when he and a few colleagues began Genomorph Laboratories; starting as a think tank and growing into a company. It was also in that year that he met and instantly fell in love with, Daiyu Huo, a Chinese immigrant studying to be a nurse. They were married the following year, and success only seemed to smile brighter every year after, until Daiyu’s tragic death in 1973 when she was caught in the crossfire of a Vietnam protest. Devastated, Toril withdrew from society. He became a silent partner in his company of which he remained a majority stockholder and angrily began to attack the American government whom he blamed for his wife’s death. He blamed the availability of guns and spiralled down a dark path of protest and eventually sabotage. Charged with domestic terrorism, Toril was headed to jail, his life was over, but before the door closed on him for good his case was intercepted by S.H.I.E.L.D. Turned out, Toril possessed a certain skill set that they were looking for and so began Toril’s career as a SHIELD AGENT. Six years of service in return for a full pardon.
S.H.I.E.L.D.
In the Winter of 1974, Toril began his work for SHIELD as an analyst, specializing in mutations and the superhuman factor. It was his job to study and possibly even counteract and neutralize these biological aberrations. Occasionally, he entered the field. His martial art background offered the training necessary to qualify for chaperoned missions. It was during these field operations that Toril met other agents and even ‘enhanced individuals’.
Six years later, Toril walked away from SHIELD and never looked back.
GENOMORPH
The company had grown into a corporation. Laboratories existed in New York, Seattle and his home-town of Vancouver. Upon his return, the plans to branch out into Europe were placed in his capable hands, and Toril returned to Norway to head the new division. He remained for ten years before returning to New York in 1990. At that point he began to mentor a young doctor by the name of Stefan Reinhardt, unassuming, humble, he liked him immediately. Stefan had no other ambitions other than the mastery of his science, but there was an indomitable will to the man, a natural leadership, which was why Toril earmarked him as his successor. As the years rolled on, the two became close. Toril had never had children and Stephan, an orphan who had grown up in foster care eemed destined to become family. Together they made several break-throughs in the field of genetics that, even they didn’t further the wealth of the corporation, saved lives. Genomorph Laboratories was not founded on the principals of capitalism, but of socialism and even after Toril was gone he was confident the ideals would live on in Stefan.
DEATH
In his 78th year, Toril’s life would be changed forever. While on a flight returning from the United Kingdom the airliner would encounter a strange storm. Green lightening flashed through the windows and violent winds hammered the craft as the pilots attempted to navigate through it.
During the turbulence, Toril cried out in pain. His back began to burn and witnesses would report that a bolt of lightening blasted through the side of plane striking him, obliterating him in a bright green flash that apparently had no effect on anyone else near him. It was the hole in the side of the fuselage was the real threat. The plane depressurized, people at the impact site were at risk of being sucked out, but then miraculously the air pressure was restored, the weather becoming eerily calm as if the hand of god itself placed the jet gently down into the water.
Only one passenger was lost, Toril Njordhagen, a 78 year old, molecular geneticist. Declared dead after multiple witnesses verified that he was most likely vaporized by the lightening strike.
All his shares in the company, his possessions, were willed to Stephan Reinhardt.
REBIRTH
The passing of time of time was like a dream. He drifted through the clouds, across sparkling waves until he once more became aware of sensations. He could feel wet sand beneath his body. Seaweed clinging to his face… and long hair? He hadn’t had hair for some time. His hands were different, they looked younger, stronger. As he rose his movements were fluid, lacking the stiffness of age and injury. Was he dead? Was this heaven? No. As a two blurry images approached a sense of reality shook his consciousness. They were Australian and this was in fact that very continent. Not only had he somehow ended up on the other side of the world, but he was young again! His suit stretched against bulging muscles.
One of the two surfers made a logical assumption and inquired if he was Asgardian. Toril didn’t think so, but then he couldn’t remember much. It was all a blur, he was disoriented. They offered to get him to a hospital but feeling just fine, he declined. Fortunately for him, the two surfers were professionals on a circuit. They had sponsor-paid accommodations and offered him a place to sort himself out.
ATTICUS GALE
The two Australians (Denny Mitchel and Brighten Sharpe) hooked the stranger up with some clothes which they put on their expense account. They were both convinced there was something ‘superhuman’ about him and considering the state of the world figured it was in his best interests to lie low until his memories came back. If in fact they did at all.
He needed a name and the first one that popped into his head was Atticus, based on his favourite fictional character. The surfers came up with Gale for a last name, a bit of joke, considering he looked like that’s what tossed him on the beach. Ironically, they weren’t far from the literal truth.
Time yielded very few answers. No missing persons matching his description. No news of any capsizing ships or plane crashes he could have survived. Nothing. Three months went by, and Atticus was surfing like a pro. It didn’t have much else to do, and the large man had an uncanny talent for riding the waves, it was as if he floated across them. He was fast becoming a local phenomena then his memories began to return, slow at first, soon everything was remembered.
Atticus contacted Stephan and after convincing him that he could be none other than Toril Njordhagen the two were able to make his current identity legitimate, and an air to Toril Njordhagen’s fortune as an ‘illegitimate’ son, reinforced by DNA. Stephan also arranged for employment in the New York branch, placing Doctor Atticus Gale under a Doctor Tatyana Kutikov, a virologist. He would work in conjunction with the C.D.C., investigating viral outbreaks.
BOREAL
The tattoo had returned. Atticus had first noticed it in Australia, FEI-LIAN soared across his back once again and with it emerged strange abilities centered around the element of air. Was he some kind of guardian? Master Li had long since passed away and the Northern Wind school had been reduced to just another commercialized martial art club. Nothing of the ancient traditions remained. The only other source that remained was back in China, to seek out the original sight of the tournament but all he found there were ruins of an ancient temple and nothing else. He did, however, learn from the monks of an old monastery of the legend of the ‘North Wind Sect’, a mysterious order that supposedly died out a hundred years ago. Li Daizhang, the last known descendant of that order was recorded dying back in 1817. After that each mystery just unraveled more. Atticus returned to New York with only the knowledge that he was somehow that last remaining extension of the ’North Wind Sect’ and with that came a purpose.
He pushed his new abilities to the upmost limits, explored what he was capable of, after which he made the decision to join the ranks of metahumans taking a stand against the injustices of the world, against the immoral and the corrupt.
NORWAY
Atticus Gales’ true name is Toril Njordhagen, born in the autumn of 1940 in the conurbation of Stavenger. With vague recollections of German soldiers clearing out minefields in Rogaland during the repatriation, he grew up in a time where the atrocities of the Nazis was yet an open wound on their society.
In Toril’s fourteenth year, his father, an architect, was granted the opportunity to go to Canada and head a new division of his company starting in Vancouver. He stepped out of the plane onto Canadian soil in the winter of 1954, a new chapter in his young life. Adventurous and independent, Toril could wait to explore the city and always fascinated by the Chinese culture, he was attracted to the city’s China Town district. Back then, it wasn’t commercialized and their society was still very guarded and the frequent visits of the Nordic kid attracted the attention of a local gang who confronted during one of his explorations. Large for his age, strong and athletic, Toril was confident, perhaps too much so, and discovered that day what wushu was, the hard way. The beating was severe, it might have been worse if a man named Li Daizhang hadn’t intervened.
Master Li was a respected Gong-Fu teacher and that day he didn’t see a ‘non-Chinese’ being taught a lesson, he saw potential, he saw heart, determination, and something else. When the boy is expressed that we wanted to learn the art of wushu, Daizhang appealed to the good sensibilities of his parents and convinced them to allow him to train their son.
THE MASTER THAT NEVER WAS
Master Li, taught a style of wushu stemming from the ancient forms of Shaolin. He called his school, ‘Northern Wind’, and Toril would go on to become one of greatest students. All through his university education he would continue to train, representing the school at various tournaments both locally and internationally. In 1962, when the world was being introduced to Kung Fu through the marvel of movies, Toril earned the right to compete in a tournament of which few Westerners had ever witnessed. The twenty-two year old had never experienced anything like it, nor would he ever again; a contest steeped in ancient traditions.
Toril’s fighting skills were put to the test, fighting warriors with amazing styles. Each bout often ended in a draw, their performance judged by a system unfamiliar to the young man. It was as if the concepts of winning and losing did not exist. It was a magical time, the memories difficult to decipher from dream. In the end, his reward was a symbol, an ornate tattoo of of FEI-LIAN (fay-lee-yen), a male deity of the wind. A winged dragon with the head of a deer and the tail of a snake. A peculiar trophy, but his master was honoured and proud of the accolade.
Years past. Life went on. Toril’s love of martial arts never waned, but his practice fell into the shadow of his career. The tattoo fading, until one day, it was simply gone. Tattoos simply didn’t just go away, and when he went to Master Li, his explanation seemed to so out of touch with reality that the young intern couldn’t possibly grasp the concept.
DOCTOR NJORDHAGEN
Tori began his internship in 1964 but after attending a conference conducted by Doctor Rosalind Franklin his career path would take a sharp turn. The field of genetics was pioneer territory at the time and the more Toril learned about the science of it, the more he was intrigued. His pursuit of genetics and eventually molecular genetics would take him to Seattle, then across the States to New York. There his illustrious career in the field would culminate in 1969 when he and a few colleagues began Genomorph Laboratories; starting as a think tank and growing into a company. It was also in that year that he met and instantly fell in love with, Daiyu Huo, a Chinese immigrant studying to be a nurse. They were married the following year, and success only seemed to smile brighter every year after, until Daiyu’s tragic death in 1973 when she was caught in the crossfire of a Vietnam protest. Devastated, Toril withdrew from society. He became a silent partner in his company of which he remained a majority stockholder and angrily began to attack the American government whom he blamed for his wife’s death. He blamed the availability of guns and spiralled down a dark path of protest and eventually sabotage. Charged with domestic terrorism, Toril was headed to jail, his life was over, but before the door closed on him for good his case was intercepted by S.H.I.E.L.D. Turned out, Toril possessed a certain skill set that they were looking for and so began Toril’s career as a SHIELD AGENT. Six years of service in return for a full pardon.
S.H.I.E.L.D.
In the Winter of 1974, Toril began his work for SHIELD as an analyst, specializing in mutations and the superhuman factor. It was his job to study and possibly even counteract and neutralize these biological aberrations. Occasionally, he entered the field. His martial art background offered the training necessary to qualify for chaperoned missions. It was during these field operations that Toril met other agents and even ‘enhanced individuals’.
Six years later, Toril walked away from SHIELD and never looked back.
GENOMORPH
The company had grown into a corporation. Laboratories existed in New York, Seattle and his home-town of Vancouver. Upon his return, the plans to branch out into Europe were placed in his capable hands, and Toril returned to Norway to head the new division. He remained for ten years before returning to New York in 1990. At that point he began to mentor a young doctor by the name of Stefan Reinhardt, unassuming, humble, he liked him immediately. Stefan had no other ambitions other than the mastery of his science, but there was an indomitable will to the man, a natural leadership, which was why Toril earmarked him as his successor. As the years rolled on, the two became close. Toril had never had children and Stephan, an orphan who had grown up in foster care eemed destined to become family. Together they made several break-throughs in the field of genetics that, even they didn’t further the wealth of the corporation, saved lives. Genomorph Laboratories was not founded on the principals of capitalism, but of socialism and even after Toril was gone he was confident the ideals would live on in Stefan.
DEATH
In his 78th year, Toril’s life would be changed forever. While on a flight returning from the United Kingdom the airliner would encounter a strange storm. Green lightening flashed through the windows and violent winds hammered the craft as the pilots attempted to navigate through it.
During the turbulence, Toril cried out in pain. His back began to burn and witnesses would report that a bolt of lightening blasted through the side of plane striking him, obliterating him in a bright green flash that apparently had no effect on anyone else near him. It was the hole in the side of the fuselage was the real threat. The plane depressurized, people at the impact site were at risk of being sucked out, but then miraculously the air pressure was restored, the weather becoming eerily calm as if the hand of god itself placed the jet gently down into the water.
Only one passenger was lost, Toril Njordhagen, a 78 year old, molecular geneticist. Declared dead after multiple witnesses verified that he was most likely vaporized by the lightening strike.
All his shares in the company, his possessions, were willed to Stephan Reinhardt.
REBIRTH
The passing of time of time was like a dream. He drifted through the clouds, across sparkling waves until he once more became aware of sensations. He could feel wet sand beneath his body. Seaweed clinging to his face… and long hair? He hadn’t had hair for some time. His hands were different, they looked younger, stronger. As he rose his movements were fluid, lacking the stiffness of age and injury. Was he dead? Was this heaven? No. As a two blurry images approached a sense of reality shook his consciousness. They were Australian and this was in fact that very continent. Not only had he somehow ended up on the other side of the world, but he was young again! His suit stretched against bulging muscles.
One of the two surfers made a logical assumption and inquired if he was Asgardian. Toril didn’t think so, but then he couldn’t remember much. It was all a blur, he was disoriented. They offered to get him to a hospital but feeling just fine, he declined. Fortunately for him, the two surfers were professionals on a circuit. They had sponsor-paid accommodations and offered him a place to sort himself out.
ATTICUS GALE
The two Australians (Denny Mitchel and Brighten Sharpe) hooked the stranger up with some clothes which they put on their expense account. They were both convinced there was something ‘superhuman’ about him and considering the state of the world figured it was in his best interests to lie low until his memories came back. If in fact they did at all.
He needed a name and the first one that popped into his head was Atticus, based on his favourite fictional character. The surfers came up with Gale for a last name, a bit of joke, considering he looked like that’s what tossed him on the beach. Ironically, they weren’t far from the literal truth.
Time yielded very few answers. No missing persons matching his description. No news of any capsizing ships or plane crashes he could have survived. Nothing. Three months went by, and Atticus was surfing like a pro. It didn’t have much else to do, and the large man had an uncanny talent for riding the waves, it was as if he floated across them. He was fast becoming a local phenomena then his memories began to return, slow at first, soon everything was remembered.
Atticus contacted Stephan and after convincing him that he could be none other than Toril Njordhagen the two were able to make his current identity legitimate, and an air to Toril Njordhagen’s fortune as an ‘illegitimate’ son, reinforced by DNA. Stephan also arranged for employment in the New York branch, placing Doctor Atticus Gale under a Doctor Tatyana Kutikov, a virologist. He would work in conjunction with the C.D.C., investigating viral outbreaks.
BOREAL
The tattoo had returned. Atticus had first noticed it in Australia, FEI-LIAN soared across his back once again and with it emerged strange abilities centered around the element of air. Was he some kind of guardian? Master Li had long since passed away and the Northern Wind school had been reduced to just another commercialized martial art club. Nothing of the ancient traditions remained. The only other source that remained was back in China, to seek out the original sight of the tournament but all he found there were ruins of an ancient temple and nothing else. He did, however, learn from the monks of an old monastery of the legend of the ‘North Wind Sect’, a mysterious order that supposedly died out a hundred years ago. Li Daizhang, the last known descendant of that order was recorded dying back in 1817. After that each mystery just unraveled more. Atticus returned to New York with only the knowledge that he was somehow that last remaining extension of the ’North Wind Sect’ and with that came a purpose.
He pushed his new abilities to the upmost limits, explored what he was capable of, after which he made the decision to join the ranks of metahumans taking a stand against the injustices of the world, against the immoral and the corrupt.
SOCIAL RELATIONS
Atticus is aware of Casket's identity. He and Plymouth Weir often team-up, their abilities complimenting the other.
Atticus is aware of Casket's identity. He and Plymouth Weir often team-up, their abilities complimenting the other.
BACKGROUND
The only person that know's he is Boreal, is his long time friend and CEO of Genomorph Laboratories, Dr. Stefan Reinhardt. Stefan is fifty years old, above average height with sandy coloured hair, greying at the sides. He has very slight German accent.
Dr. Tatyana Kutikov is Atticus Gale's boss, so-to-speak. She lead's the lab he's assigned to and was until his arrival the only doctorate under 30 on the team, which for her was kind of a big deal. Considering Atticus' situation he cares nothing about, what he would consider, an insecurity. She's Russian born, from Moscow. Tall, long black hair worn-up in a tight braid, pale green eyes and very distinctly Slavic features to match her rolling tongue.
It is known through the company that Atticus is Doctor Njordhagen's "illegitimate son" and the advantages afforded him by the CEO are naturally seen as a form of nepotism, thus his work is under constant scrutiny. Fortunately, Atticus wrote the book on many of the company policies and never lost his expertise in the field.
The only person that know's he is Boreal, is his long time friend and CEO of Genomorph Laboratories, Dr. Stefan Reinhardt. Stefan is fifty years old, above average height with sandy coloured hair, greying at the sides. He has very slight German accent.
Dr. Tatyana Kutikov is Atticus Gale's boss, so-to-speak. She lead's the lab he's assigned to and was until his arrival the only doctorate under 30 on the team, which for her was kind of a big deal. Considering Atticus' situation he cares nothing about, what he would consider, an insecurity. She's Russian born, from Moscow. Tall, long black hair worn-up in a tight braid, pale green eyes and very distinctly Slavic features to match her rolling tongue.
It is known through the company that Atticus is Doctor Njordhagen's "illegitimate son" and the advantages afforded him by the CEO are naturally seen as a form of nepotism, thus his work is under constant scrutiny. Fortunately, Atticus wrote the book on many of the company policies and never lost his expertise in the field.
WRITING SAMPLE
Five months had blown by since his return to the Eastern Alliance. Nothing much had changed during his absence, not that he had been expecting it to. New York was still as vibrant as it was dark, and Jersey, well, it was still Jersey. People were more concerned about preserving what they had instead of tearing it down, in all respects. Many just wanted to hold on to past and the world was pretty much still in a state of rebuilding. New construction was rare these days which suited Slate just fine either way. Deep down he’d always been a sucker for drab grey stonework and washed out streetscapes, neither of which visible at the moment.
A bright moon punched through dark clouds, the lavender rift writhing through the dark tendrils of a Spring storm as the classic 68 Dodge Charger cruised down Amsterdam. The electric bright of the city, blue hued headlights, mirrored in the glossy black of the slick wet streets.
Chiseled features illuminated by the red glow of the dashboard scowled at the sparse traffic. Trying to tail someone these days was made all the more difficult by a declined population, that and the full moon was only two days away. After tomorrow they’d be out, the lycanthropes. People didn’t take any chances around this time of the month and lots of businesses tended to close down during the turn. Fewer cars on the normally busy avenue made Slate’s classic ride all the more conspicuous.
The man he’d been tailing was known by authorities as ‘The Midnight Cowboy’. Stupid name, it was leaked out a few months ago and the press ran with it, against the advisement of law enforcement. He knew the man as Jared Grimes. A soon to be deceased serial killer, if Slate had anything to do with it. He’d located the suspect a few weeks ago utilizing unorthodox methods inadmissible in a court of law but Slate didn’t care about bringing the man to justice. There was only one sentence for such heinous crimes to be dealt out by higher court of old testament law. Slate’s law.
Jared would pay but before then, Slate needed to be absolute of the man’s guilt and these things took time and patience. The cop had the latter, but time was not always on his side. It was ever a constant race against his own. Like him, most of the time, they were just doing their jobs. Being impartial. Handing over these scumbags to the bleeding hearts of the court. Slime encrusted lawyers looking for loopholes in a moth ridden system. Pathetic.
Sooner or later they slipped up. They all did, but the trick was to catch them in the act. To bring the monster into the light, exposed and undeniable of it’s own nature. Then would their fate be sealed. Then would their executioner, their deliverer, be revealed. The unacceptable act as grotesque as the crime itself was the undeniable truth of society. One meant to only be carried out by a chosen few, and so the cop, the last of his kind, took up the mantle each and every night to fulfill his duty.
The flash of emerald green lights momentarily pulled the hunter’s attention from his mark. The distinguishing feature of a Vanguard unit. They often worked alongside city law enforcers. The rogue detective respected their brand of justice but also feared it. They weren’t any more forgiving of vigilantes than his own, and swift back street justice often befell people of his kind.
Turning his attention back to the suspect’s car, it suddenly took an abrupt turn westbound on 66th. A bad sign. ‘Had he been made?’ Difficult to tell, so Slate took a chance and eased off the gas.
Another turn, back the way they had come. Then another. He was looping back. ‘A precautionary tactic?’. Slate could only hope. All his instincts screamed of Grimes’ guilt but there wasn’t a shred of evidence to support what in the end could be an erroneous feeling. Something prevented his high powered perception from peering behind those black eyes and he was not permitted to indulge in such a ‘human act’. He needed to know!
Five months had blown by since his return to the Eastern Alliance. Nothing much had changed during his absence, not that he had been expecting it to. New York was still as vibrant as it was dark, and Jersey, well, it was still Jersey. People were more concerned about preserving what they had instead of tearing it down, in all respects. Many just wanted to hold on to past and the world was pretty much still in a state of rebuilding. New construction was rare these days which suited Slate just fine either way. Deep down he’d always been a sucker for drab grey stonework and washed out streetscapes, neither of which visible at the moment.
A bright moon punched through dark clouds, the lavender rift writhing through the dark tendrils of a Spring storm as the classic 68 Dodge Charger cruised down Amsterdam. The electric bright of the city, blue hued headlights, mirrored in the glossy black of the slick wet streets.
Chiseled features illuminated by the red glow of the dashboard scowled at the sparse traffic. Trying to tail someone these days was made all the more difficult by a declined population, that and the full moon was only two days away. After tomorrow they’d be out, the lycanthropes. People didn’t take any chances around this time of the month and lots of businesses tended to close down during the turn. Fewer cars on the normally busy avenue made Slate’s classic ride all the more conspicuous.
The man he’d been tailing was known by authorities as ‘The Midnight Cowboy’. Stupid name, it was leaked out a few months ago and the press ran with it, against the advisement of law enforcement. He knew the man as Jared Grimes. A soon to be deceased serial killer, if Slate had anything to do with it. He’d located the suspect a few weeks ago utilizing unorthodox methods inadmissible in a court of law but Slate didn’t care about bringing the man to justice. There was only one sentence for such heinous crimes to be dealt out by higher court of old testament law. Slate’s law.
Jared would pay but before then, Slate needed to be absolute of the man’s guilt and these things took time and patience. The cop had the latter, but time was not always on his side. It was ever a constant race against his own. Like him, most of the time, they were just doing their jobs. Being impartial. Handing over these scumbags to the bleeding hearts of the court. Slime encrusted lawyers looking for loopholes in a moth ridden system. Pathetic.
Sooner or later they slipped up. They all did, but the trick was to catch them in the act. To bring the monster into the light, exposed and undeniable of it’s own nature. Then would their fate be sealed. Then would their executioner, their deliverer, be revealed. The unacceptable act as grotesque as the crime itself was the undeniable truth of society. One meant to only be carried out by a chosen few, and so the cop, the last of his kind, took up the mantle each and every night to fulfill his duty.
The flash of emerald green lights momentarily pulled the hunter’s attention from his mark. The distinguishing feature of a Vanguard unit. They often worked alongside city law enforcers. The rogue detective respected their brand of justice but also feared it. They weren’t any more forgiving of vigilantes than his own, and swift back street justice often befell people of his kind.
Turning his attention back to the suspect’s car, it suddenly took an abrupt turn westbound on 66th. A bad sign. ‘Had he been made?’ Difficult to tell, so Slate took a chance and eased off the gas.
Another turn, back the way they had come. Then another. He was looping back. ‘A precautionary tactic?’. Slate could only hope. All his instincts screamed of Grimes’ guilt but there wasn’t a shred of evidence to support what in the end could be an erroneous feeling. Something prevented his high powered perception from peering behind those black eyes and he was not permitted to indulge in such a ‘human act’. He needed to know!
