evillurks: (writing)
[personal profile] evillurks
May or may not respond immediately to PINpoint text messages, depending on availability. This message service may be rerouted to Burbank at any time.

Player Information

Name/Alias: Shad (Sorry, I've had this nickname since before I ever played the character.)

Personal Journal: http://shadowtricker.dreamwidth.org/

Email: shadowtricker@yahoo.com

I am 18+too many years old.
Found you searching for RP community listings, and bookmarked for later reference... I'm sorry I don't remember precisely where I saw this comm listed.

May we post and/or link your application for others to see as an example in the future? Yes


Character Information

Character Name: The Shadow

Canon: Pulp novels/comics

Canon Point: Several decades post pulp novels, from the late 1980's.
Character Journal: http://evillurks.dreamwidth.org/

Appearance: The Shadow is tall (several inches over six feet) and very thin, almost cadaverous in appearance. Physically he appears to be well into his seventies or early eighties, but still fit and sound of body. He does not appear frail or infirm unless he's pretending to be, although his hands do show hints of arthritis and he could probably stand to put on a few pounds. His hair is silver and kept short, but his eyebrows are still dark and show that his hair was once black. His eyes are a vivid blue, and he has a sharp, probing gaze, but wears reading glasses when necessary. Possibly The Shadow's most striking feature is his nose, which is overlarge, beaky, and slightly hooked.

He is a man of usually mild expressions, and very rare smiles. His eyebrows and eyes are more animated than the rest of his face, but his default expression tends to be slightly dour and severe. His appearance may be inconsistent when at work, as he is skilled in disguise using both make-up and extreme alteration of voice and body language, but for someone very observant there are of course details he cannot completely alter, such as his height. The Shadow also wears a silver ring set with a fire opal on the third finger of his left hand. It's slightly loose on his finger, so for disguise purposes he often turns the gem to his palm so at a glance it looks like a plain wedding band, but old age has swollen his knuckles to the point that the ring no longer comes off his finger.

The Shadow's working clothes generally consist of a long black coat, a black wide-brimmed slouch hat, and a red scarf. Occasionally he wears a black cloak instead of or over the coat. He carries a double holster with two .45 automatic pistols, and extra ammo and other odds and ends in his pockets. Under the coat he usually wears a suit, and these are the clothes he's likely to arrive in, but the coat is easy enough to throw on over various disguises as well. In more casual moments, he tends to wear suits, or slacks and a button-down shirt. He's more relaxed about not bothering with a tie, but his idea of casual wear has only moved so much with the times.

Picture references:
In working clothes: http://i60.tinypic.com/106zdaw.jpg

Out of costume: http://fc01.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2014/362/1/a/older_shadow_sketch_by_reymonkey-d8blvui.jpg

http://i58.tinypic.com/10wia3b.jpg

Age: Late 90's

History: In brief: http://www.comicvine.com/the-shadow/4005-28923/
The Shadow's original name has been lost and buried, but his history can be traced back as far as Kent Allard, a WWI ace pilot and British secret service agent (despite being of American citizenship). His daring as a pilot earned him the nickname of the Dark Eagle, and while much of his work was kept shrouded in secret, he provided some service as an agent for Tsar Nicholas II, for which he was initiated into a group known as the Seventh Star, and given a silver ring set with a large fire opal (known as a girasol). At some point during the war, it is rumored he suffered a grievous facial injury, but as he was skilled in disguise due to his Secret Service work even before this point, the rumor remains unconfirmed. After America entered the war, he was transferred to their secret service, but after the war he traveled, spending a length of time in Tibet, and later being lost in a crash in South America in 1925. The Secret Service files recorded him as MIA/likely deceased.

In 1928, a mysterious vigilante known only as The Shadow began to appear in New York city, disbanding criminal rings and recruiting a network of agents. His influence over the following years only continued to grow, until such point as the police formally recognized his existence, although they remained uncertain whether he was an aid or menace. At times it seemed possible he had some agents hidden in the police force itself, but if he did they were never found out. The Shadow's network of agents grew large, but very few of them ever knew who any of the other agents were, and they rarely knew more than their own instructions in any criminal case, relayed through an unseen contact known only as Burbank. This policy of secrecy protected any captured agents, as they were unable to give away other agents or The Shadow himself. On instances where agents were captured, their rescue was clearly a priority for The Shadow, and death in service to him was extremely rare. Most agents had their own day jobs, and their work for The Shadow sometimes involved information or access through this, but for those that had less stable means of financial support or suffered financial trouble, The Shadow ensured the agent had what they required and would not go without shelter or other basic necessities. Their encounters with him revealed The Shadow as a tall man with a beaky nose and sharp blue eyes, clad mostly in black. He was known for a quiet voice, but a chilling, strangely echoing laugh. A small handful of agents saw their chief in the role of Lamont Cranston, a wealthy, laconic man with a slightly hawkish face, or later as Kent Allard the ace pilot returned from the dead. Research and other clues would reveal that Lamont Cranston was a separate man who had agreed to let The Shadow impersonate him when he was out of the country, and Kent Allard's details remained elusive.

To the criminal underworld, The Shadow was a mysterious and alarming figure, one who seemed gifted with the power of invisibility (or at least excellent stealth and an uncanny ability to hide in darkness), and impossible knowledge (or perhaps an extensive network of secret agents feeding him information, and a superior gift for putting together clues). He was often several steps ahead of criminal masterminds, sometimes revealed himself to be people they had mistaken for a helpless victim of crime or one of their own gang of criminals, and dealt death with two .45 automatics and a spine-crawling laugh. To oppose The Shadow directly was to court doom. He was sometimes forced to flee the legal authorities just as the criminals were, but his goal of exposing criminals they could not get at or simply didn't know about was clear. His gunfights tended to leave scores of dead and injured criminals, but he seemed to avoid situations that might get innocent bystanders harmed.

As the decades turned, his legend grew, then very gradually waned until by the Vietnam War the public had dismissed him as likely gone. The Shadow continued his work against crime, and the police were privately aware that he or some successor was still at work, but his shootouts were less frequent and more private, and his network shrank as agents were retired or died of other unrelated causes. The real Lamont Cranston married Margo Lane, a woman he'd dallied with for a long time, and both retired to the tropics. The real Shadow, who had long since detached himself from identifying with any other name, briefly hung up his guns and tried some recreational travel. New agents were not recruited to replace those that retired or passed on.
The Shadow's retirement did not last. By 1980 he returned to New York, renewed his war against drug rings and arms dealers, and began stealthily recruiting from the younger generation out of necessity to combat these. He has kept a lower profile in his revived work against criminals, avoiding the public eye, but has been sighted enough for the criminals and the police to take notice. If he still maintains any alter ego consistently, it is that of James Rettigue, a retired investment broker. Even that seems to be a role of convenience for any mundane necessities. The Shadow has no other true name that anyone can find, and most of his contact with agents is through 'the Burbanks', one an older male, one a younger female, both reachable only by telephone or electronic means. He has taken to utilizing technology in his battle against crime, and pushing the fledgling internet to new uses for agent contact.

Personality: The Shadow's personality can be off-putting, although he's not intentionally difficult, or at least not most of the time. It is very possible he suffers from anti-social personality disorder to some degree, which is a condition of seeing others as being 'less real' or existing on a level slightly below oneself. He is fiercely intelligent, with a relentless and driving thirst for knowledge of any and all kinds. Given any new situation or information, he will strive to learn and figure out everything about it, which has led to an impressive and eclectic set of skills. He is not personable, except if he is pretending to be, which is an effort he rarely puts forth in his old age. People are the one puzzle his analytical skills cannot quite fathom. Given this superior intellect and social awkwardness, he has learned to regard himself as separate from other people, and has yet to see any reason to revise this viewpoint. He does not work well with anyone who tries to treat him as being on their same level or below them.

This kind of distance could lead to extremely dangerous behavior, but The Shadow has in his earlier life met a rare few people he was willing to see as above himself, and these were Tibetan priests. Their guidance has stayed with him all of his life. His early life instilled him with a deep and quiet anger, and his desperate thirst for new knowledge is both a gift and a curse. There are times he considers his own mind a beast that drives him to keep moving and doing without rest. He is acutely aware these impulses could easily make him into a monster, and all that prevents that is his vow to turn what he is to use for Justice and the protection of the innocent. The priests taught him to channel his drives into something that serves humanity, because his impulses could not be quelled, only refocused.
The Shadow has thus honed himself into a living weapon, and resigned himself to never feeling quite a part of humanity. While he does not follow the paths of the priests who taught them, he respects their teachings greatly. The Shadow does not dislike people, as a rule, but it is a source of constant, unspoken frustration that he feels a distance from them.

Powers/Special Abilities: The Shadow worked for the Secret Service in his youth, and gained exceptional skills in disguise, martial arts, and the varied other trades necessary for espionage. He has since honed these skills with frequent use over a lengthy career in crime-fighting. He speaks and reads a handful of languages with reasonable fluency, is an excellent marksman, and a skilled pilot, although he is unfamiliar with larger, newer commercial planes. It is worth noting that he avoids hand-to-hand combat when possible, now that he's older.

After extensive training with Tibetan monks, it is rumored that he has a whole host of esoteric psychic abilities, but while he may possess some ability in hypnosis and mental barriers, he is not a super-powered psychic. He IS extremely stealthy, intelligent, and not above using sleight-of-hand, throwing his voice, and other tricks to appear more mysterious to the criminal mind.

The Tibetan monks also granted him some potion or elixir to slow his aging and extend his lifespan. He is older than he looks, and close to seeing a century, but he is not immortal and he is feeling the effects of his age. While he is still an active crimefighter, some of his tactics have changed out of physical necessity.

River Power: Reinforced bones/skeleton

Reason for Character Choice: I've adored the character of The Shadow for a very long time, and when they began reissuing the pulp novels I got into reading more. The movie and radio versions of the character were slightly campy, but the original pulps present him as more plausibly realistic and gritty, but also psychologically more than a little scary. The original Shadow is a man who has no alter ego, and does not hang up his crime-fighting persona when he goes home. He is always on, always working, always focused. Even Batman can relax into Bruce Wayne once in a while, but The Shadow has no off switch and the implications of that are a little disturbing. I chose to play him as a much older version both because there is such a wealth of history to the character that I couldn't pick and choose some point in the midst of it, and because I like the idea of his renewed battle in a later era, with access to newer technology.

Additional Information: I've been playing this character for a number of years in a multiversal Nexus setting, but that has dissolved some since the shift from LiveJournal over to Dreamwidth. This journal is currently being used for both the continuation of that RP and [Bad username or unknown identity: Altered States].

Writing Samples

First-Person Transmission Sample:
The video transmission shows only a sliver of face, just an impressively hawkish beak of a nose and two piercing blue eyes, with the usual inky darkness of hat above, red scarf below, and featureless shadows behind him. The expressive eyebrows are dark, and pulled into a mild frown, and lines of age are thick above his brow and around his eyes. What little hair shows at his temples is silver, but there is nothing frail or feeble in his face. He has a sharp, commanding gaze.

His voice, too, is authoritative despite his quiet tone. "I've come to understand many people in this city are unwilling immigrants, refugees from other times and places brought here by the Hudson. If anyone else seeks to return home, I'm willing to pool resources."

Third-Person Log Sample:
Chinatown was changed by the decades, scattered with neon and the occasional fast food venue. Despite the altered scenery, The Shadow entered the area with a sense of homecoming. His quarry had chosen poorly in fleeing here. Seeking to lose the silent pursuer, the young man fled down twisting alleys in a panic. He never guessed that The Shadow knew every one by heart. For a long moment the criminal paused by a dumpster, catching his breath while his eyes probed every dark corner. He was alone, and sure of it, while the flickering light of nearby signs shrank all hiding places but his own.
In confidence he slid out onto the street, fingers loosening on the gun in his pocket. Within three steps his gaze caught and held on a dark shape just detached from cover across the street. The burning eyes there seemed to squeeze his heart. The Shadow had taken a path to cut him off and had been waiting.

Fear seized the criminal, but the adrenaline released him from that gaze into desperate flight. Heedless of the peaceful locals going about their business, he tore up the street and ducked around a stand closing up for the night. He sought cover in the first store there, a tea shop with a handful of late patrons. The bell on the door jangled angrily to announce his entrance, and a glance back showed the figure in black moving smoothly towards the shop, in plain view.

Hostages struck the man’s frenzied brain as the way to seize the upper hand, and he drew the gun as he ran for an elderly woman by a back counter. A leap carried him to her side as the door opened again, the bell tinkling softly this time under a gentler hand.

Narrowed gazes shifted between the heavily breathing rowdy and the tall shape just inside the shop. Patrons and employees alike made a frozen audience, leaving the two players the only motion in the shop.

“I’ll kill her. You stay put, stay right… there.” Arm locked around the slight figure of the woman, he panted between his threats. “I’m heading out the back, and you’re going to stay right there, or I’ll let her have it.”

Motions fluid and slow, The Shadow raised gloved hands, empty. From beneath the hat brim, sharp blue eyes showed, surrounded thickly by lines of age. As gently as the motion of his hands, the eyes settled first on those of the older Chinese woman, then very pointedly to the space behind the young man with the gun.

Attention locked on The Shadow, the criminal did not miss this silent signal, and made a half-turn to look for whatever threat was indicated behind him. In that brief moment, a sharp elbow stabbed below his ribs. His grip was loosened by the blow.

Smiling serenely, the old woman made a slight duck away.

These movements happened in an instant, but that space of time was enough for The Shadow. Before the young man could recover his aim a single bullet knocked the gun from his hand. The dark shape flowed across the intervening space to catch his arms, twisting them painfully behind his back. Rope was generously supplied by an employee, and black-gloved hands made quick work of binding the young man into utter helplessness.

Still smiling, the woman bowed her thanks and murmured the name on every other mind in the shop. “Ying Ko.”

Awestruck, her grandson came to stand beside her, watching the dark figure telescope to full height from beside the stunned criminal. He had heard the tales of this shadowy fighter from his own grandmother’s youth. Awkwardly, but in fluent English, he stammered at the intense blue gaze. “Thank you, Ying Ko. You are… truly as powerful as ever.”

The old woman grinned and pointed to a partitioning screen, the silk painted with a figure in brilliant orange and black. “It is the old tiger who is strongest, most cunning.”

His lower face was concealed, but the lines about The Shadow’s eyes told of a smile. He slipped behind the painted screen in silence, and was gone.

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evillurks

January 2016

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