Something Wicked This Way Comes

[Ex249]

:Name: Lysander Mordred

:Age: 27

:DOB:
August 5th

:Appearance:

pics :

Not the tallest, Lysander stands 5'8 and has a slender, but not skinny. His wardrobe consists of various shades of tans and whites but the majority of his clothes are red. His style is impeccable, especially when compared to the Reapers beneath him. His hair is a vibrant shade of red and his forearms constantly have small, sharp bits of wire poking through his skin. His forearms are always exposed.
:Race:
Conduit
:Powers:
Wire Manipulation

Power Level: 4

:Power Abilities:
Basic Attack: Wire barrage: Wires shoot from his hands toward his enemies
Dash: Wire Zip: Shoots out a chord of wires, can swing or pull himself like with a grappling hook
Melee: Whips: A mass of wires sprouts from his forearm and wrist and is used like swinging
Heavy attack: Tangle: dozens of wires shoot out in a spread and wrap around who/whatever is unlucky enough to be in front of Lysander
Missile: many wires emerge from both of Lysander's hands and tangle around a target and any surrounding objects at range.
Grenade/utility: Wire Bomb: a ball of wires tightly wound that once making contact violently untangles and straightens in a 10 foot radius
Utility: Wire Constructs: Create objects such as small walls, shields, chairs, cages and other useful things.
Utility: Springs: Wires bound in tight spirals allow Lysander to punch harder, jump higher, land softer and much more!

:Skills:
Excellent public speaker
Renowned liar
An all around persuasive man
Beginner guitar/bass/most string instruments player
Pretty ok at baseball

:Equipment:
An AK47, the standard of all reaper henchmen.
At least 3 syringes of tar.
Three burner phones.
An apple, if he hasn't eaten it yet.

:Personality:
Lysander was born and raised getting exactly what he wanted, and he intends to keep that his way even if mommy and daddy are no longer around to buy him whatever he wants. He is nowhere near a perfectionist, simply getting something done is enough to please him, what are a few casualties here and there when you've risen to the top of a third of the once great Empire City. He is not afraid to get his hands dirty, but is certainly afraid of getting his clothes needlessly stained. He treats those directly beneath him well, but those more than one step below him are cannon fodder and foot rests for all he cares. Contrary to popular belief, he has a heart, but it hasn't been beating since he got his powers.

:Faction:
Leader of the Reapers

:Biography:
Lysander Mordred was born with a silver spoon attempting to be jammed into his mouth, but it was blocked by all the other silver spoons there first. In Empire City, Lysander was the crown prince, born to a CEO mother and a bank owner father, he was set. He had never even seen the neon until he was 16 and 'ran away' because he didn't get a new car for his birthday (the car he got was used and almost a year old!). His first taste of poverty and the filth of the city that was kept from him in the historic district, and it was horrible. Seeing what it was like where the apartment buildings didn't even have a penthouse at the top, let alone a view of the park. His parents had sent almost every police officer after him to bring him home, it was the first time a lot of people in the neon probably saw a police officer doing their job, at least that's how Lysander interpreted their looks.

By the time Lysander was 18, he was already entering top 500 richest people lists, and he never had a real job. He was just given a fake title at his mother's company. His work day consisted of not working and buying clothes. He liked red ever since he saw some gangsters that one day in the neon, and incorporated it into his clothes. It went well, considering his hair was a deep unnatural shade of red. He took inspiration from some Korean rappers he met on a holiday to the country in terms of style. They were like gangsters but with money.

The next few years were uneventful, college, grad school, the works. He never learned a thing in all of his courses but the teachers did not dare give him less than a b in a class given his family's generous donations to the school. He met a lot of girls there who were willing to do whatever he wanted for a chance at living like him, and he learned he liked it. They were basically his puppets, his slaves. It was wonderful. He went back to work now with a real position in his mother's company. He oversaw some of the scientists, chemists mostly. He watched them work and took a liking to one of the projects. Some military contract involving making some sort of mind control agent to be used on animals to make them run over mines and clear out the fields to save the money of training rats to do the same job. It was a black tarry substance, but it packed one hell of a hallucinatory punch. He actually like the project enough to pump funding into it to somehow tie it to his own mind. A strange woman representing some organization called the first sons showed up to let him know she might have an idea on how to do it. Lysander had no idea how, but she made it work, all he had to do was let them run some tests on his blood. It was an easy trade.

And then Empire city came crumbling down. An explosion of blue light and a burning sensation in his bones was not the ideal combo, neither was his mother and father's death as they were on a date, Lysander was in his room when it happened. All the power immediately went out, and the city itself shook, toppling the building he sat in. He should have been crushed but somehow pulled himself out of the rubble. His veins seemed thicker than before, which scared him. What scared him more was the small points on his forearms and hands. He could pull them out and they'd just keep going. They were wire and at first, were just like limp metal strings that simply inconvenienced him. It was also the first time of his life where he was cut off. Money didn't mean nearly as much as it did post-blast and that was all he had. He had to find a way to live away from the common filth and he had a feeling his wires would help him out if he could make them do anything other than exist in his arms.

As time went on in post-blast Empire, he learned how to control the wires and in turn, others. Fear was a powerful motivator, and boy were people afraid of the man who could send wires out of his arms to wrap up, puncture or hang anyone who got in his way. He had asserted control over a small portion of the Historic district but was run out by the same mysterious group who helped him earlier. The First sons drove him out slowly, always finding him and him always barely escaping with his life. His last hiding place ended up being his smartest. The ruins of his mother's old building. He found what was left of the military contract, put it into a jar that survived the crash somehow and ran away once again. He took what he could and moved back to the only place in Empire where he knew he could find animalistic test subjects. The Neon.

He found those same gangsters, now all hopped up on power and guns and, in a show of dominance, quickly rose to a position of power in the gang. Those above him seemed to go crazy and puke a weird black substance and those who didn't were simply killed. Through this brutality, Lysander assumed control of the Reapers, and in turn, the Neon. He set up shop just as the last of his tar was running dry and kidnapped what remained of the original chemists and got them to make more. In return, he offered them his protection and he kept that promise. They currently lead some of the only happy lives in Empire anymore and don't go anywhere without armed protection from the Reaper thugs too high on Tar to have free will.

:Roleplay Sample:
"You say this as though you were in a position to argue. You're a cop in the Neon after the world has given up on us, hanging from the ceiling from wires." Lysander said as he circled the poor specimen. This man had the gall to come to his doorstep and demand he surrender. He had to laugh at just the thought of it, or even the thought of him losing everything just because he wanted to uphold justice. Justice wasn't important anymore, not in this city. Now control, that was always important, and this police officer who's name didn't matter before and would matter even less soon would soon learn what it was like to be under control. "Now I heard you say you were thirsty." he said, lowering the man from the ceiling to be eye level with Lysander. He flicked he arm to the side and wires shot out into the dark of the warehouse and came back with a few jars of a thick black substance. The jars were broken upon on this poor soul's head as he screamed and bled and eventually shriek an unhuman shriek. He didn't know but he just got inducted to the strongest gang in the Neon.

:Other:
(Optional. Can include theme song or fun facts about your character, like quirks.)

[ReaptheMusic]

Approved! He's looking spiffy.