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Subject Post 1PostSubject: Serket [APPROVED, HOLLOW, 4-1] [HAZARD RANK E]   Serket [APPROVED, HOLLOW, 4-1] [HAZARD RANK E] EmptyFri Aug 23, 2019 9:28 am


Enter The Hollow

I. Basic Information

» Name: Serket
» Age: 470
» Gender: Male
» Race: Adjuchas

» Association: Unaffiliated

» Appearance Written: Serket is a centaur-like hollow with his lower half largely resembling a giant green scorpion, with lime green legs and a tail ending in a point resembling a black steel poleaxe. His upper half is largely humanoid with grey skin, but possesses insectoid arms ending in scorpion claws. They are largely capable of articulation, and they extend roughly 5 yards in front of him at their maximum length. His chest and arms are mostly covered in white chitinous growths vaguely resembling plate armor, save for the joints and his hollow hole is in his lower abdomen, specifically the stomach. His mask possesses vestigial mandibles adjacent to a wide mouth full of needle-sharp teeth, and a secondary set of eye holes beneath the more functional ones.

» Appearance Image: [Put an image of your character here if you have one]

II. Personality

» Personality:

He is driven by the desire to become a Vasto Lorde. He cares little for the countless hollows he has, and continues to eat to achieve this goal, and will show no mercy to anyone who tries to stop him. His ambition guides his actions and gives him a purpose in a strange world in which he is an outsider. 

»Determined: Doubtless, some would call his devotion single-minded, stubborn and foolish at times, and there is some truth to these claims. However, he is not one to back down from a promise or goal easily, no matter how long it should take him, and no matter how many times he is knocked down in the process. He is one to fight until the bitter end, and then some.

»Prideful: A trait acquired as fallout from his determination and ambition, he knows of his strength and endurance, mentally and physically, and does not hide that fact. The way he sees it, he needs to be remembered and respected, so he must believe he is these things himself. If the world is full of those who would like to humble Serket, why should he help them? However, harbors disdain for those who he sees as giving up on their dreams almost as much as he despises those who stifle them and convince them to accept mediocrity.

»Straightforward: Sekret has spent centuries with himself as his main source of companionship. Since he is generally honest with himself, he generally is with others. This usually takes the form of making no effort to mince his words. He sees little point in lying or flattering. When he wants something, he is upfront about it, and he will always try to tell the truth as he sees it with little regard for the consequences. 

»Introspective: Having lost many of his memories, and his sense of self having been changed into something almost entirely new, he spends a great deal of time trying to make sense of who he is, who he was, and who he will be. Those who see him as a fool are often surprised by his propensity for thought-provoking statements about himself and the world around him. 

»Intelligent: While some may call him unwise, few would argue his intellect. Capable of making analytical and tactical decisions based on limited information in a brief has played no small part in him making it this far. This also translates to his fighting style, which is very technical, involving precise strikes where the opponent can least afford to be hit. While he may make attempts to understand his mind, he certainly understands his body, and how best to use it in battle.

III. History

» History:
Born as Floyd Roswell to a stockbroker father and nurse mother who had met during their service in WW2, he was the second child of 4 and one of 3 boys. A particularly sickly child, his health frequently interfered with his education, keeping him home often. However, he had shown a great interest in history and was often able to nurture it while he was home from school with the many books his family was able to afford. 

Yet his poor health presented another problem to him: he was often unable to join his brothers outside during the many times they went to play. Indeed, he was a solitary boy who spent most of his time with his books. History was more than a fascination, it was a way to escape the confines of his bed where he was imprisoned so often. To learn about the lives of the Caesars, the religion of the Egyptians, the grand adventure of Magellan filled him with dreams of a different life, one so outlandish, so unlikely, yet he thought of it so often it felt it would become real any minute. A life where he was a great man like those he read about, one who fought great wars, made great discoveries, did something for those around him to write about him, to praise him, and to remember him. 

 Floyd was not entirely alone. There was one who he shared his imagined world, one he would share everything with, that being his older sister, Judith. Only a year older than him, and rather erudite herself, the two were almost inseparable. It was certainly odd, two siblings of the opposite gender getting along so well, but it was a welcome change to their parents. The only girl of 4 children, she had understood what it felt like to be isolated, her two other brothers often excluding her from their play, or tormenting her. Together Floyd's room became the stage for their imaginations. They were pharaohs, kings and queens, and brave explorers of virgin lands. They weren't alone and together they learned they may not be doomed to be so.

Years passed, Floyd's health improved, yet he and Judith always remained close. As the two entered high school, the age-old question of what they wanted to be when they grew up had seemed more and more important to answer as they approached the point at which it needed to be answered. Yet neither could come up with much of a satisfactory answer. On some level, Floyd knew he would never make history, but perhaps he could discover it. Maybe he could be an archeologist, conducting digs in Egypt, he might be able to write books of his own on the subject. A career more in line with what was realistic. That was what his teachers and parents told him to look for after all. After hearing it so often, he decided it had to be true.

For Judith, the question was not so easily answered, her dreams not so easily quashed. With her career prospects auxiliary in nature, she had decided she'd become like the characters she played with Floyd. She'd find a life where she could be extraordinary, even if it meant leaving her family, and striking it out on her own somewhere, anywhere else. On a warm night in May 1965 when she came to Floyd. His window was open, letting in the sounds of burgeoning summer as he read beneath lamplight. She told him of her plan to leave New York by train. She'd bought him a ticket as well and together they'd go to Toronto to be movie stars in the Canadian film scene. She nearly broke into tears when he asked her why. She told him becoming film stars was their best bet at making history, at being remembered and praised as they had always wanted. Floyd asked her why not go to Hollywood in that case, and she replied that it was because, in Vancouver, he wouldn't have to be drafted to fight in Vietnam. Floyd thought about her offer. He thought for a long time but ultimately refused. It was like everyone always told him. Their dreams couldn't be a reality, and they'd be better off accepting that. She wept when she heard him say that. He felt too guilty to try and stop her, sad even, though he wasn't entirely sure why that was. 

When she was discovered to be missing, he denied knowing anything and maintained that story. Floyd told himself he made the right decision not going along with her, that she was doomed to fail. He told himself very often over the next few months until his health declined again. In winter of that year, he had caught pneumonia and had to be completely bedridden, with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. He thought of his sister, of the dreams they acted out, of the exact spot she pleaded with him to come with her. He tried to tell himself he was right, and that she was wrong. He tried often, yet never seemed to alleviate what he felt. Eventually, it was all he could think about as he lay there. He began to realize that he'd given up his dreams to meet the expectations of others, he had let the world clip his wings, and that he'd fallen so far he didn't chase his dreams when given the chance. In the wake of the horrible despair that consumed him when realizing what a fool he had been, he swore he'd follow her north when he recovered. Together they would be remembered, praised, and most of all, extraordinary. 

Yet it could never be. Pneumonia had claimed his life before he could ever step foot away from the world he had known. But instead of ascending to heaven or hell, he found himself above his own body, with a severed chain attached to his heart. He tried to call out to his mother, father, his brothers,  the doctor who told them Floyd was deceased, yet none heard. No matter how loud he screamed or cried. Yet it was when he realized what this meant, did despair, unlike anything he had known washed over him. He would never be a great man. He only had one chance, and he had rejected it. Louder still did he scream, louder still did he cry, but none heard. 

Days passed, he noticed the decay of the chain attached to his heart, like the fuse of a bomb. He had hoped it would finally spell the end of his suffering. It was the night of his funeral it would finish its decay. He did not attend his funeral. He couldn’t force himself to. Instead, he wandered the quiet neighborhood he had never been able to explore as a child, trying not to think about what they would say of him, the normal man who had died a normal death. Yet the harder he tried to not think of it, the more thoughts of it crept into his mind, and the more his chain decayed. There was something else though, his sister. He thought of what she thought if she even knew. It was then a question crossed his mind. Was his role was only to be the tragedy that propels her to strive harder for greatness?

 It was no sooner that he felt as though his heart was being carved out. He doubled over in pain. The pain spread all over his body, head to toe. So all-consuming it colored all his thoughts. As if the world had stopped, and all that remained was the sensation of pain. But when it subsided, all felt off. Something had changed. The houses had seemed smaller, somehow. He tried to move, yet even the sensation of walking seemed foreign. He looked down to notice a body that was not his. a segmented body below his waist, tail, claws in place of hands. It was something beyond imagining. But even more than the questions how or why another thought dominated his mind: he was hungry and needed to eat.  What he ate, where it could be found, didn't matter. It was something he knew, something he had always known. 
With all 8 of his legs, he ran. He didn't even know where. To feel the wind kiss his skin and the warm asphalt beneath his feet, if they could still be referred to as such, made him feel alive like he hadn't felt since...

He had reached the city. Even as the lights shined on him, those who walked on the sidewalks, or drove through the street didn't notice him. That didn't matter now, no. It took him a few minutes to notice it. Someone ran past him frantically. No one had seemed to acknowledge it, and Floyd could have sworn he had seen a chain spouting from his chest like he once had. It was then that he knew. There were no words for it, only pure instinct. He ran after the man. He was fast, but Floyd was faster. Without thinking Floyd grabbed him as soon as he was able.
The man screamed as he tried to pry open Floyd's claws. That was right, he had claws now. Floyd engorged himself on the man. Floyd had never known anything could taste as delicious.

Floyd stood there for a time after he was done. The hunger he felt didn’t go away, but for the moment, it was quelled. He had just eaten a man. He was already dead, but now, he had seemingly ceased to exist. Floyd expected to feel remorse, pity, even. Yet as he thought on it, for the most part, he felt nothing. Yet a singular voice cut through the apathy. A voice that decried him as a killer and a monster. He was, wasn’t he? No matter how loud the voice cried, he still felt nothing. He was a monster now. Still, none could see him, but if this was what his existence was, those souls damned as he was would know him as their superior. That was nearly as sweet as the sensation of feasting on them. 

Yet every time he ate, it was as though some part of him detested his actions more. It wasn’t inner conflict, that much he knew. But he couldn’t silence the voices, only ignore them. Their words echoed in the back of his mind. He realized his hunting could be to blame for it, as it seemed with every meal it grew worse, yet when he saw a soul, he simply couldn’t help himself. When he tore into them, he told himself it would be one bite, yet it never was. 

He’d feast on several more souls before he’d learn he may not have been the apex predator. He walked through the streets of humans who had no idea he was there. When he had seen a wayward soul, he could sense them before he saw them. He sensed something now. Something not quite human. It was different than the souls he had seen. Could he not be the only one? As if to answer his question, a monster similar to him lunged at him from the shadows. One like him, yet so very different. Aquiline in nature with sharp claws and a sharper beak. Instinctively, Floyd tried to grab it, as he had done with the souls, but this one was too fast. Flying above him, it prepared to swoop down at his face. Without thinking he used his claws to shield his face. The falcon embedded its claws in the thick chitin of the claws, yet did not pierce them. In a split second, he realized this was his chance, yet his claws were occupied. What was he to do? Then he remembered: the tail. He jabbed it into the creature’s chest, and to his surprise, it fell limp, and when he shook his claws free of it, the creature fell to the ground dead. Before he had time to think of the possibility of the worsening of the voices, he was tearing into it. Ripping its tough skin with his claws, letting ecstasy take over his mind. It even seemed to silence the voices. So great was the escape it provided, he ignored the sensed presence of another. It was far less important than consuming every morsel, as far as he was concerned. It was no sooner that he had, he was beset upon again. This time by what appeared to be a soul, yet something was different about this one. It had a sword and was running towards him rather than away. Before he knew it, he was upon him. Floyd waited for an opening, yet none appeared. This one was simply too fast, and too strong to be grabbed. Eventually, Floyd jabbed him with his tail, expecting a similar result as the hawk creature, but had no such luck. The man was staggered but quickly regained his composure.

Realizing he couldn’t win, Floyd turned and ran as fast as his many legs would carry him. He could hear the man running behind him, yet the more Floyd ran, the further the soul fell behind him, yet he could still see him chasing him. Floyd ran until he was outside of the city. He had never known he could run so far, yet he had. There were other creatures like him, and some souls capable of killing creatures like him. That much he knew. But what was he to do now? When he asked, the voices answered, each with a different reply.

“I don’t care what you do, you disgusting monster!”
“You should keep feeding.”
“You have to protect my family, they need me!”
“You should go back and let the Shinigami kill you.”

A Shinigami? Was that what the soul with the sword was? He had never known that. The last voice was different than the others, airy and shrill, like a bird…

Good god! These were the voices of those he ate! What was he going to do? He still didn’t know, and for a few minutes, he found himself heeding them, going back to the city before he stopped himself. No, those weren’t his thoughts, his desires. He wanted to keep existing. His name was…

And when he asked that, the cacophony of voices answered. It took him a moment to focus enough to say his name. 
“Floyd Roswell.”

He remembered the circumstances of his death, what lead up to it as best he could. He remembered his sister. He remembered how she left to become famous in Toronto. Some part of him thought that was a stupid idea. Though he wasn’t sure if that was him or not. He remembered the last thoughts he had before he became what he was now. Judith was someone tied to him. His feelings towards her were him. And if he saw her, if he feasted on her soul, if they were one, he would never lose himself to those he ate, and she would never outshine him in the world he had left behind. Whether that was more important to him was unclear. Regardless he had to do it. He had to see her again.
Floyd skittered along, only stopping to hunt. He even ran into more creatures like him, hollows, as he learned from them once he had consumed them. The fights with them were easier now, he had some idea how to use his body and strengths. He could sense them before they knew he was there more often than not. Sometimes if he was lucky with a single stab of his tail to an unsuspecting one, he could eat them without a fight. When he wasn’t so lucky, his claws could grab, slice, and block attacks. Most hollows he met fell before him, and he was able to escape from the ones who weren’t thanks to his tail. The focused force to a small area ensured it could crack the hardest armor, and the pain was often enough to distract the enemy allowing for his escape. He preferred the hollows to the souls, or plusses, as he learned they were called, but still took what he could get. With them, he always learned a bit more about the new world he had been reborn into. 

It coupled with the satiation of his hunger, it was always worth the growing number of voices, and at times, even memories. He would soon enough have help regulating them, anyhow. Looking at the other hollows and plusses memories of this life, he realized simply how dangerous it was. He knew that from his own memories. Yet this simply put into perspective. He would have to keep eating then, so he could grow stronger. Then none would ever be a threat to him. It was a simple enough answer to a question that would have been a concern to him once when he was another person in another life. To be sure, he was still himself, but he was so much more. Serket was the name he chose for himself. More befitting of a hollow, and symbolic of his rebirth.  He had the potential to be feared or respected by all. His dream did not die with him, and his dream would keep him from falling to the madness of the voices. 

Serket reached Toronto with unflinching resolve to find his sister. The voices blathered on, but he was able to ignore them. It was his body and his mind, and he would use or ignore their thoughts and memories as he pleased. Toronto was large but paled in comparison to New York City. With his perceptive abilities, it would only be a matter of when, instead of if. 

It would take him days, only stopping to consume and to evade Soul Reapers, but eventually, he would find her in a rundown apartment complex for the destitute. He found her as she tried to sleep. He noticed her weeping into her pillow. Her bed didn’t have a frame. It was only a mattress on the floor. Serket didn’t know why she was crying, though he would be able to ask her soon enough. He pulled her spirit from her body as he had seen other hollows do. To which she screamed. Serket remembered his monstrous appearance. He introduced himself as her brother Floyd. He told her everything that happened since she left, trying his best to keep in line which memories were his and which weren’t. He told her what he was, and what he needed to do to survive, and of the voices. At this, she wept, blaming herself for what Floyd had become. It was her fault, wasn’t it? Or was it his? Serket couldn’t decide. He had expected swift revenge, and then when she was part of him, her penance would be helping him keep his mind, but ultimately they would be famous like they had always wanted. So why did he hesitate to eat her?

She spoke up, her words shaky with grief. He realized this was likely the first time she heard of his death. She offered herself to him. Serket had no idea how to respond, and it seemed the voices all wanted something different. They screamed like howling dogs on a chain, and for a brief second, Serket forgot himself, lost to the sea of consciousnesses. When he snapped back, he stared down at his sister and realized he needed her. He almost hated how much he relished consuming her as if he made a pact to derive no pleasure from it. But derive pleasure he did. She may have been the sweetest soul he ever tasted. Yet when he was done,  a sense of guilt washed over him. He told himself he needed her to help him control the other souls, and for once it seemed a voice agreed with him. He and Judith were now one. They vowed they would live out their dream together. Floyd and Judith were no more, together they were Serket. 

The voices never went away, but with Judith, Serket gained clarity in thought and action. The memories and thoughts of those he consumed aided him, more often than hindering him. As the years passed, Serket would wander North America, consuming plusses, hollows, and eventually, the occasional Shinigami. All the while not only learning to use his abilities but developing them as he grew. He developed a fighting style based on tripping his opponent up by grabbing at their arms or legs and striking with his tail when they were disarmed or tripped. All the while using his large claws to block and parry attacks. He learned well how to use his tail. So sharp and so large, if he wanted it could be a bludgeon as well as a skewer. He became experienced in the art of incapacitation, both in achieving the state of it and examining the opponent to learn where best to hit to do the former. He learned from hollow memories of the ability to emit acid at a touch, which was useful when using his fighting style against soul reapers. When he would grab them, the acid combined with the pressure from the claws ensured sometimes he was able to break or sever limbs mid-combat. 

He trained to improve his tail, attacking from different angles, even becoming able to attack from behind. He and the hollows he consulted suspected that like a muscle, it could be improved by frequent use. Yet a skill as useful as the rest was the development of his perceptual abilities, stealth, and ability to escape combat when he knew he would be unable to win. All, of course, improved with a mixture of consumption of souls and practice over the years. 

Yet as the years passed, and as his power grew, his ability to control the mass of souls inside him decreased. Judith at times was only another face in the crowd, unable to quell them. As their number grew, Serket found himself forgetting life before his hollowfication, as though every memory was marred by the static interference of every other memory he tried so hard to compartmentalize. The mess of souls, their desires, fears, pasts, and thoughts came together to form an unintelligible mass. When he thought of losing himself, fear shook Serket to his core, but he refused to allow himself to think of it. To him, there was no other path. If the Soul Reapers got him, he would be a weak, pathetic soul confined to the Soul Society, if he continued on, his dream would never fade, no matter how much his sense of self changed. He always told himself he would never let himself be lost, but these were thoughts colored by hunger, a desire to feel the pleasure that was consuming others. Some part of him, whatever he had become knew it was a lie, but the thought of losing every bit of power he had worked for was a fate worse than losing himself. He now had the power to achieve his and his sister’s dream. He wouldn’t stop, even if his memories were to be forfeit.

Eventually, he would evolve into a menos. When he did, he left the human world, mere plusses no longer enough to sustain him. As a giant the size of a skyscraper, he had no choice but to develop his new ability to perform cero, sometimes there was no other way to catch smaller prey that could outmaneuver him in his Gillian form. At times, launching cero at the moon was all he could do to stimulate himself when he would wander for days and not see another living thing.  Centuries passed, and at times Serket teetered on the brink of descent into losing control to the collective, yet he never did. Sustained solely by determination and hedonism, he wandered through the desert, until eventually the voices silenced and his form returned to something far closer to what he had as a hollow in the human world: when he became an Adjuchas. 

He had spoken to some who had achieved the state before him. He had a cursory understanding of what it was to be like. The voices would be silenced, fully integrated, and the body would be one’s own again. When he had fully metamorphosed, he felt nothing, only silence. Whoever he was had died some time under the black sky of Hueco Mundo. The human he once was and the girl who had helped him along the way were now no more than ideas, something illusory. There were faded memories, but they were sporadic and didn’t tell him much of anything of who he was before. Even his early memories as a hollow were difficult to make sense of. Who was he? That was not something he had an easy answer to. It was as though all the conflicting memories, and consciousnesses ate each other up, creating nothing in their place. He had a dream to be strong, to be remembered, but he did not know why. 

Yet he would continue on as he had before. Some older hollows remembered him from centuries past. If that was true, it would mean the world now was unrecognizable compared to the one he had known as a human. So much had happened, even in Hueco Mundo, yet he always avoided being tied down for long, or any great amount of risk. Some still tell tales of the Desert Scorpion, the hollow with nothing but a dream. Some Gillian revere him as a symbol of hope that they can evolve and decrease the odds of ever becoming mindless menos grande. 

Sometimes he asks himself why he dwells on a dream he can scarce remember, the answer is simple. The dream is all he has. 

IV. Equipment

» Equipment: n/a

V. Racial Techniques/Abilities/Skills

» Racial Abilities:

»Acidic Skill: This forms an essential part of Serket's fighting style when paired with his claws, capable of devastating opponents if caught off guard. He has and continues to put great work into developing this technique, finding new ways to increase its potency and learn more intelligent ways to use it.

»Cero/Bala: In order to compensate for his weakness against flying opponents and those who attack him from a rage, Serket has become a competent user of Cero and Bala, though he prefers the latter. When an opponent is out of range, he typically seeks to bombard them with Cero to keep them dodging, rather than attacking until he can close the distance.

»Garganta:While familiar with the technique, he shows little interest in using it for most engagements. While he did find use in his unwieldy Gillian state, since evolving it remains a last resort.

»Regeneration: Similar to Garganta, Serket has made little attempt to develop this technique, instead relying on his wits and natural hardiness to prevent injuries. While his wounds close, it remains something far more passive and has little use in combat on account of the time it takes.

VI. Powers

» Hollow Power:

»Scorpion's Poleaxe: Serket's stinger is capable of delivering potentially devastating force with his stinger by delivering focused strikes to bludgeon or pierce. While he has great flexibility in what angles from which he can attack with his tail, it is potentially easy to dodge due to, by nature being a telegraphed attack. To combat this, Serket often grabs the opponent with his claws first or trips them, striking when they are unable to properly respond to the attack. With his tail's localized force he is potentially able to bypass very strong armor with relative ease. Likewise, if an opponent has no strong armor or other forms of defense to speak of, it has the potential to impale them or send them backward at extreme speeds.

»Burrow: During his travels as an Adjuchas in Hueco Mundo, Serket developed the ability to travel through the solid ground to sneak up on his opponents as a way of compensating for the lack of cover in the wastes of Hueco Mundo. The terrain of the ground does not matter, as long as it is the ground, and the ground specifically, he can travel through it. While it was developed as an aid when he saw fit to use stealth, it is also very useful in open combat, as when underground his reiatsu is greatly masked, allowing him to perform sneak attacks to deliver staggering blows to those he can catch off guard with it. He may stay underground indeterminately, allowing him to set up ambushes.

»Hair Radar: Serket is able to sense other beings far greater than most hollows using the hair on his lower body as antennae to detect reiatsu from a distance, making it difficult for him to be caught unaware. However, those with great ability to mask their reiatsu can fool his readings. The range varies depending on the strength of the being. Those with higher Reiatsu can be sensed from up to 100 yards in all directions with weaker opponents sometimes able to be invisible until they reach half that.

I. Skill Sheet

(To Find Out about what these skills are for, please READ THIS THREAD before you try doing anything to it. After you have read it, do not fill your skills out until a staff member has graded your thread. The staff member checking your app will also give you Will Skills in which you can add to your app when approved. Click the spoiler below to see what tier gets what kind of skills.)


General Skills
  • Durability: Elite/Advanced/Adept/Trained/Beginner/Untrained
  • General Speed: Elite/Advanced/Adept/Beginner/Untrained
  • Strength: Elite/Advanced/Adept/Beginner/Untrained
  • Weapon Skill: Elite/Advanced/Adept/Beginner/Untrained

Hollow Skills
  • Acid Skill: Elite/Advanced/Adept/Beginner/Untrained
  • Garganta : Elite/Advanced/Adept/Beginner/Untrained
  • Cero/Bala: Elite/Advanced/Adept/Beginner/Untrained
  • Regeneration: Elite/Advanced/Adept/Beginner/Untrained

Will Skills
  • Willpower/Determination: Elite/Advanced/Adept/Beginner/Untrained
  • Mental Deduction: Elite/Advanced/Adept/Beginner/Untrained
  • Focus: Elite/Advanced/Adept/Beginner/Untrained

[Click the Spoiler for details on each skill section]


VIII. Role Play Sample

» Roleplay Sample:

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Rower of Rock. And Souls.

Joined : 2011-03-03
Posts : 5158
Karma : 81
Age : 23
Location : , Location, Location!

Member Info
Platinum Points:
Serket [APPROVED, HOLLOW, 4-1] [HAZARD RANK E] Left_bar_bleue20650/20000Serket [APPROVED, HOLLOW, 4-1] [HAZARD RANK E] Empty_bar_bleue  (20650/20000)

Subject Post 2PostSubject: Re: Serket [APPROVED, HOLLOW, 4-1] [HAZARD RANK E]   Serket [APPROVED, HOLLOW, 4-1] [HAZARD RANK E] EmptyTue Sep 10, 2019 11:32 am

Application Checklist
  • Name [X]
  • Appropriate Age [X]
  • Gender [X]
  • Appearance Present [X]
  • Appearance Described in Appropriate Length OR Picture is Visible [X]
  • Appearance is Not Claimed [X]
  • 10 sentences for personality [X]
  • History is of appropriate length [X]
  • Powers are not Godmod/Overpowered [X]
  • Powers are described reasonably enough [X]
  • Application/RP Sample is not in First Person [X]
  • Skills are not filled in[X]
  • RP Sample Present (Omit if this is not the first character) [X]
  • RP Sample is 10 sentences [X]

Will Skills
  • Willpower/Determination: Adept
  • Mental Deduction: Adept
  • Focus: Beginner

Hazard Rankings
  • Power: D-Rank
  • Influence: E-Rank
  • Resources: E-Rank

Everything looks to be well in order. The appearance section is a bit short, but I got a general idea of what your character looks like from it. I was impressed with the depth of your history section.

If you need help with figuring out your skill sheets, you can ping me and I'll be happy to lend a hand.

Tier: 4-1
Hazard Rating: E


Believe nothing, no matter where you read it or who has said it, not even if I have said it, unless it agrees with your own reason and your own common sense.
- Buddha
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