JULY 9, 2014.
Post by Maxwell Verrial on Mar 8, 2014 1:01:27 GMT -5
 | Gelehrter (Savant) Twenty Two Apostle V | Male Quincy Pro-Pact Hard |
| Maxwell Verrial | ||
★ APPEARANCE
Lanky, lithe, but not particularly tall or imposing. No, most who looked upon the young Quincy would question how he could possibly have attained such a high position in the first place. Standing at a slight 5' 10'' and a thin 148 Lbs, Max's frame is not that of a warriors. However, the eye can be a very deceiving sensory device. Though not rippled with muscle and strength, Max has a body more than built for the quick, ranged combat of the Quincy. Built from a lifetime of training. His dark black, nearly bluish hair extends to his jaw, usually shaggy and unkempt as maintaining something like that seems trivial to him. His dark blue eyes belie a sense of calm and tranquility.
His complexion is chalky and unblemished. Almost looking like he'd never even seen the sun with his own eyes before. Marked by a single, broad scar going across his lower back down to his hip and right thigh. nobody but a select few members of his own order, and the damned beast that inflicted it upon him, have even seen the large, painful mark. He has a large Christian Cross, tattooed on his upper back, with three color gem sockets drawn in, blue, green, and orange respectively.
While most Quincy prefer to dress in thousand dollar tailored suits or church vestments, Max prefers to keep things simple. Baggy, usually mal-fitting dress shirts and slacks, along with an assortment of cheap loafers or dress shoes and a closet filled with hundreds upon hundreds of ties. His official robes and uniforms usually tend to lie in a scattered pile in whatever safehouse or convent the order has him living in at any particular moment. Preferring to have his weapons on him at all times, he carries his twin silver Starcream in holsters hidden by whatever overcoat or light jacket he has. Along with whatever other equipment and supplies he needs for any particular assignment.
★ PERSONALITY
Prideful, arrogant, brash, stupidly aggressive. Those under his command assume their young, dutiful apostle is nothing more than a headstrong youth that desires to get them all killed if it means winning any confrontation. This is simply not true. In reality, Maxwell is a reserved, careful strategist who sees that the best course of action in a battle where numerical superiority can never be an option is to attack at full force and attempt to overwhelm an enemy quickly. Calculating in battle, he rarely speaks, training his focus on whatever task is at hand in order to maximize his readiness and odds of victory.
Outside of battle, Max is usually reserved, speaking only when spoken too and rarely voicing his opinion. The crushing expectations of constant greatness and growth push him further inward. He detests expectations, people who believe just because you have an innate talent it means you're meant to carry those that do not. He became a leader only because he thought it was the right path for those he commanded, not because it was the expected outcome. If pushed too hard, he inevitably snaps back with his usual response. That he's growing stronger and more capable because if he does grow strong enough, he could make the world so that strength alone no longer determines who is right or wrong.
Only a select few, those closest too him, elicit the need for him to open up in any capacity, bringing out a youthful, if somewhat air headed, side of him. With his crass jokes, a tendency towards cheap alcohol, and a propensity to get lost wandering around wherever he happens to be at any particular moment. Though, due to the largely insular and traditionalist nature of his people and creed, such individuals are so rare they could be counted on one hand.
★ HISTORY
Born a mixed breed, Maxwell was never supposed to amount to anything more than a commoner, a foot soldier at best. His father was a human, a mechanical engineer in service of the French military. His mother was a pure-blooded Quincy, a once superb Ritter of Il Vaticano, reduced to a common Soldaten after she forsook her vows and duties in order to start a family. Raised within the "normal" side of the world of the living, Max's family life was fairly normal for the first five years of it. raised middle class in Marseilles and given a normal upbringing. They struggled slightly, but scraped by most months. Never desperate for food or money. It was a peaceful life with a nominally peaceful world.
But in this world, peace is fleeting. Max found that out a month after his fifth birthday, when his mother was butchered by a hollow before she could even form a bow. His father wasn't a stupid man, he knew that his son's Quincy power would more than likely manifest and he knew there was no way he'd be able to help him once it did. So he sent his five year old, recently bereaved son to Il Vaticano. To be trained properly in the use of his power and to ensure he'd have the strength necessary to protect himself.
So, for the next five years, the child was reared and bred to be a soldier, a person of use to the Holy Council. He progressed with an exceptionally remarkable pace, picking up advanced techniques and complex attacks with complete ease. The ease with which he picked up anything earned him the title of Gelehrter (Savant), a title that he still carries today. After nine years of honing his skill and physical condition, he was given the rank of Ritter.
As a Knight, despite his young age, he had attained a level of freedom and power most teenagers couldn't even begin to conceive of. So, while operating as one of the weapons of the church, he was living the life of a brash, stupid teenager who had no responsibilities when not called upon. Drinking and buying his way across the continent, mostly on Il Vaticano's dime, and flitting away the horrors of battle through a materialistic filter.
After five years of constant fighting and slaughter of those that had broken the pact and slain a hollow, Max had honed his skills and gained enough of a reputation that he had been chosen to become a Knight Commander. A rank he's since held for three years.
Lanky, lithe, but not particularly tall or imposing. No, most who looked upon the young Quincy would question how he could possibly have attained such a high position in the first place. Standing at a slight 5' 10'' and a thin 148 Lbs, Max's frame is not that of a warriors. However, the eye can be a very deceiving sensory device. Though not rippled with muscle and strength, Max has a body more than built for the quick, ranged combat of the Quincy. Built from a lifetime of training. His dark black, nearly bluish hair extends to his jaw, usually shaggy and unkempt as maintaining something like that seems trivial to him. His dark blue eyes belie a sense of calm and tranquility.
His complexion is chalky and unblemished. Almost looking like he'd never even seen the sun with his own eyes before. Marked by a single, broad scar going across his lower back down to his hip and right thigh. nobody but a select few members of his own order, and the damned beast that inflicted it upon him, have even seen the large, painful mark. He has a large Christian Cross, tattooed on his upper back, with three color gem sockets drawn in, blue, green, and orange respectively.
While most Quincy prefer to dress in thousand dollar tailored suits or church vestments, Max prefers to keep things simple. Baggy, usually mal-fitting dress shirts and slacks, along with an assortment of cheap loafers or dress shoes and a closet filled with hundreds upon hundreds of ties. His official robes and uniforms usually tend to lie in a scattered pile in whatever safehouse or convent the order has him living in at any particular moment. Preferring to have his weapons on him at all times, he carries his twin silver Starcream in holsters hidden by whatever overcoat or light jacket he has. Along with whatever other equipment and supplies he needs for any particular assignment.
★ PERSONALITY
Prideful, arrogant, brash, stupidly aggressive. Those under his command assume their young, dutiful apostle is nothing more than a headstrong youth that desires to get them all killed if it means winning any confrontation. This is simply not true. In reality, Maxwell is a reserved, careful strategist who sees that the best course of action in a battle where numerical superiority can never be an option is to attack at full force and attempt to overwhelm an enemy quickly. Calculating in battle, he rarely speaks, training his focus on whatever task is at hand in order to maximize his readiness and odds of victory.
Outside of battle, Max is usually reserved, speaking only when spoken too and rarely voicing his opinion. The crushing expectations of constant greatness and growth push him further inward. He detests expectations, people who believe just because you have an innate talent it means you're meant to carry those that do not. He became a leader only because he thought it was the right path for those he commanded, not because it was the expected outcome. If pushed too hard, he inevitably snaps back with his usual response. That he's growing stronger and more capable because if he does grow strong enough, he could make the world so that strength alone no longer determines who is right or wrong.
Only a select few, those closest too him, elicit the need for him to open up in any capacity, bringing out a youthful, if somewhat air headed, side of him. With his crass jokes, a tendency towards cheap alcohol, and a propensity to get lost wandering around wherever he happens to be at any particular moment. Though, due to the largely insular and traditionalist nature of his people and creed, such individuals are so rare they could be counted on one hand.
★ HISTORY
Born a mixed breed, Maxwell was never supposed to amount to anything more than a commoner, a foot soldier at best. His father was a human, a mechanical engineer in service of the French military. His mother was a pure-blooded Quincy, a once superb Ritter of Il Vaticano, reduced to a common Soldaten after she forsook her vows and duties in order to start a family. Raised within the "normal" side of the world of the living, Max's family life was fairly normal for the first five years of it. raised middle class in Marseilles and given a normal upbringing. They struggled slightly, but scraped by most months. Never desperate for food or money. It was a peaceful life with a nominally peaceful world.
But in this world, peace is fleeting. Max found that out a month after his fifth birthday, when his mother was butchered by a hollow before she could even form a bow. His father wasn't a stupid man, he knew that his son's Quincy power would more than likely manifest and he knew there was no way he'd be able to help him once it did. So he sent his five year old, recently bereaved son to Il Vaticano. To be trained properly in the use of his power and to ensure he'd have the strength necessary to protect himself.
So, for the next five years, the child was reared and bred to be a soldier, a person of use to the Holy Council. He progressed with an exceptionally remarkable pace, picking up advanced techniques and complex attacks with complete ease. The ease with which he picked up anything earned him the title of Gelehrter (Savant), a title that he still carries today. After nine years of honing his skill and physical condition, he was given the rank of Ritter.
As a Knight, despite his young age, he had attained a level of freedom and power most teenagers couldn't even begin to conceive of. So, while operating as one of the weapons of the church, he was living the life of a brash, stupid teenager who had no responsibilities when not called upon. Drinking and buying his way across the continent, mostly on Il Vaticano's dime, and flitting away the horrors of battle through a materialistic filter.
After five years of constant fighting and slaughter of those that had broken the pact and slain a hollow, Max had honed his skills and gained enough of a reputation that he had been chosen to become a Knight Commander. A rank he's since held for three years.
PERSONA 3, Minato Arisato PLAYED BY HACHI
coded by electric of gangnam style
