Post by Rory Williams on Jun 16, 2014 0:59:49 GMT -6
Name: Rory Williams
Race/species: Human
Age: 33
Alignment (good/evil): Neutral
Gender: Male
Hair color: Brown
Eye color: Brown
Height/Weight: 5’ 11” 175lbs
Identifying marks: Battle scars running from his right ear down his cheek. Flash drive eye piece.
Background and Affiliation: Nursing, The Doctor, Torchwood.
Having lost hope of Amy ever returning for him after being sent back to 1923 by a weeping angel, Rory was recruited by Torchwood. During his time with Torchwood, he assisted in advancing their tech by dissecting alien corpse and weaponry. As tech advanced, he advanced. Slowly replacing an aging body with extraterrestrial tech, he has become a one man army.
Torchwood fearing his power, he went rogue, stole Torchwood files, gear, tech, and weaponry, and now bounty hunts across time and space courtesy of a vortex manipulator.
Special abilities/weaknesses: Expertise in hand to hand combat, small firearms, diplomacy, and military strategy. Minor cerebral implants for external storage and Torchwood databases access as well enhanced reflexes and enemy Achilles targeting (EAT).
Personality and Appearance: Stern, straight faced soldier exposed to the elements of wartime, Rory is a man of few words. He has slowly altered himself into a partial cyborg so it is common to see a light or two blink sometimes. He focuses his inner rage and anger into vigilante style justice disregarding the means of a lawful system
RP Sample: **She’s really not coming for me** is all that ran through his head as he stood in the rain. It was dusk and the rain steadily poured, dripping it’s greyed hues onto the cobblestone streets. He was still wearing his white button up and grey cardigan. The same outfit Amy had just seen him in minutes ago. Years from now. Whatever.
He had not dared to move about much hoping to see Amy and The Doctor and River Song and the TARDIS screeching out of nothingness. But it was quiet. The rain patted out a solemn rhythm on the thatch roofs of what appeared to be workers’ quarters. He noticed the sting of salt in the air mixed with fire places billowing smoke.
In an effort to keep warm, he walked the block hoping to return to see Amy. As he made his way down to the first corner he stumbled past a stack of newspapers that were slowly melting into the water pouring from above. Rory snatched one up shaking off the water and began searching for a date.
June 24, 1923
Fuck.