Difference between revisions of "Spookmatter"

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{{VillainBox
+
<div style="padding:6px; border: 8px Solid #444444; color:#FFF; border-radius: 64px; -moz-border-radius:60px; background-color: #447444">
| name = Spookmatter
+
<center>[[File:SpookslogoCRAYONS.png]]</center><br>
| player = @theh8nter
+
</div style><br>
| image = SpooksSlimeForm.jpg
+
<div style="padding:2px; border: 8px Solid #444444; color:#000000; border-radius: 64px; -moz-border-radius:60px; background-color:#d4dbb8">
| caption = "Must be boring, not being able to rip your own spine out."
+
| realname = John Matters / Ianco Mithras
+
| aliases = Light Laughter, Spooks, Sir Prize
+
| species = Lich
+
| ethnicity = Eastern European
+
| age = 95
+
| height = Varies, since he can change his form (Usually 6"3 / 7"0)
+
| eyes = Blue
+
| hair = Black (True form is bald)
+
| nationality = Romanian
+
| occupation = Mercenary, Wizard, Part-time self-proclaimed god.
+
| birthplace = Nimesch, Transylvania, Romania, Earth
+
| hometown = Millenium City (His actual home is somewhere in the void)
+
| marital = Single
+
| relatives = Count Dracula (Great Grandfather), Amir Mithras (Father), Adelina Mithras (Mother).
+
| powers = Shape-shifting, Extensive Magical Knowledge, Near Immortality (Can possess one of any unconcious vessel/item, at a time.)
+
| abilities = Fast Reflexes, Extensive Weapon Training
+
| equipment = Several projectile weapons, a blood-forged Katana, Prototype Questionite Armor.
+
| appearance = When in his true form, he is a tall, humanoid, creature. He consists of a green, slime-like, substance. He also has a human form, which appears to be a man in his mid-20s, with black hair, and a stubble.
+
|}}
+
  
== Some pretty dark content.. ==
+
<br><font face="courier new"><b>APRIL 6TH, 2017, 11:13 AM</b><br><center>
'''If you don't like hearing about murder, foul language, etc, then this page is not for you.'''
+
<b>HERE I COME, CONSTANTINOPLE </b> <br>
 +
Most people, they'll say.. They'll say, you know, that we should all follow our Will,<br>
 +
our destiny, whatever you call it. But that's fucking bullshit sometimes. I mean, you don't always have to be super rebellious or anything,<br>
 +
being a great chef, or an auctioneer or a seal-trainer or whatever is absolutely, completely, without a doubt,<br>
 +
quite alright. Very decent.<br>
 +
But when Mama tries to force your destiny, when she makes you for the one purpose of being some kind of supernatural cult enforcer, well, to HELL with you, mom!<br>
 +
Yeah, bitch, I'm a fucking descendant of the DRAGON! So are you, you're my mom, but I'm a fucking man and you're a woman!<br>
 +
And yeah that's moderately sexist but that's the world we're living in, baby! This is America!</center><br><br>
  
 +
<b>
 +
APRIL 6TH, 2017, 23:52 PM</b>
 +
<center><b> EDIT:</b><br>Ah shit, how do I delete stuff on a typewriter..<br>
 +
Shouldn't write this stuff on ketamine, I'll get in trouble with the media..</center>
 +
<b><center>...</center></b><p align="right">[[File:SpookmatterCrayonPortrait.png]]</p><br>
  
== Story of old Spooks: ==
+
<center>[[File:SpooksCRAYONline.png]]</center><br>
'''Chapter One'''
+
<b>APRIL 7TH, 2017, 07:01 AM</b><br>
Spookmatter was born 'Ianco Mithras' on July 6th, 1919, in a little village in Transylvania, Romania. His father was of Persian decent, while his mother was full-blooded Romanian. They lived a low-class life, but they managed to pull through. At the age of 10 (2nd of January, 1930), he and his family managed to scrap enough money together, to get low-class ferry tickets to "The Land of Opportunities', U.S.A. Unfortunately, his mother and father died during the trip- due to bad conditions. His mother passed away from disease, and his father died of starvation, since he had given most of his food to his son.
+
<center><b> I AM THE BEAST I WORSHIP</b><br>
 +
So who am I? Spookmatter? What does that even mean? Shit, last I checked,<br>
 +
<i>Spookmatter</i> was something you got on your perineum! Well..<br>
 +
I'm a special circumstances occult consultant. That means I'm like all the other magic people,<br>
 +
Witchcraft, whomever, whatever, except I'm completely out of a job, except for when a few special<br>
 +
<b>[[UNTIL|SOMEONES]]</b><br>
 +
screw something up major, and need some really obscure and esoteric magic to save the day. Wicked, right?<br>
 +
[[File:Witchcraft crayon.png]]<br>
 +
Yeah, but like I said, mostly out of a job. People prefer Witchcraft. Suspect it's cause of larger breasts.<br>
 +
That, and she's not a registered sex offender, but you know, the point remains..<br>
 +
I got other ways of supporting myself. I've been legally advised to not discuss exactly what, but it's way cooler<br>
 +
than anything those mainstream, oligarch-ball-licking prostitutes up in the Champions HQ does. That's for sure.<br><br></center>
 +
<center>[[File:SpooksCRAYONline.png]]</center><br>
 +
<b>APRIL 8TH, 2017, 22:00 PM</b><br>
 +
<center><b>ORIGIN STORY PT. 1: SKINNY WAS BORN IN A BATHTUB AND GREW SO INCREDIBLY THIN</b><br>
 +
So I was a kid once. Surprising. I know. Little kid. Name was Ianco Mithras. Grew up in Romania. To add to the dark magic cliché, it happened to<br>
 +
be Transylvania (not to be confused with Transexual Transylvania). This was, uh, almost 100 years ago. Was born July 6th, 1919.<br>
 +
<i> "That makes you very old, you old, bald, cunt"</i>, absolutely, shitlord, but I can still kick your ass. Anyways, lived a pretty<br>
 +
isolated childhood. My father isn't really worth wasting time on, but my mother was a very interesting woman. A woman of faith.<br>
 +
She wasn't religious, however. Not in any traditional way, anyways, she had her toes in something much more sinister. As of writing<br>
 +
this, I am still not fully sure what she was worshiping, but I am quite certain it wasn't little Baby Jesus. I'll get into all of this later,<br>
 +
when it begins becoming important to the story, but for now, let's just keep the narrative focused on Lil' Spooks. I didn't have any formal education.<br>
 +
We were quite poor, we lived in a small village out in the country. I'm not exactly certain how we afforded what little we had, I never saw my father<br>
 +
do much, except sit in his chair and then sometimes, when he had the courage, go out for long walks. My mother was usually in her kinky cult-room.<br>
 +
Never really saw the inside of the place, only a lamp-sized statuette, that I could see for the brief moments the door would be open. It was like a<br>
 +
trinity of some sort, had the face of a toad, a guy and a little kitten. It wasn't until I hit the age of 10, that my adventure would be set into gear ........<br>
  
It was May 3th, 1930. Much to young Ianco's surprise, the journey was over. They had arrived at New York harbor. It was morning, the smell of fish and urine filled the air. Ianco stepped onto land, while trying to breathe with his mouth. He had to go through a passport building, first. He showed his papers, as he had been told to, by his late parents. Ianco's paper stated that his name was "John Matters", as his parents believed it would increase his chances of becoming a successful person. The young, newly named, John Matters then stepped into a whole new world. A world of opportunity.
+
Yeah, I'm leaving you on a cliffhanger, fuck you.<br><br></center>
 +
<b>APRIL 29TH, 2017, 23:48 PM</b><br>
 +
<center><br><b>ORIGIN STORY PT. 2: LIFE WOULD BE WONDERFUL</b></center>
 +
<center> .. God damn goat-fucking pieces of shit outside my window, making all this noise with their crickets and insects and shit. Anyways, where were I?<br>
 +
Right, my origin story. When I was 10, my parents suddenly decided that we were moving to some small country in the west called 'America'. That's right,<br>
 +
U.S. of A., greatest country on Earth. Unfortunately, both of my parents passed during a storm on our shitty boat-trip. To my surprise and, if it is not<br>
 +
too much, my relief, Mother went first. She lost her mind a few days prior. Hysterical. Like a, like a, uh, like a dog with rabies, that just wants to<br>
 +
break shit and cause havoc. She died of a sickness. Father died the morning after. Nobody's really sure why. I have my theories. Not gonna write them here.<br>
 +
I came to America, the boat arrived in New York, I managed to get through, with papers that I'd gotten from my parents. At the time I didn't know how they'd<br>
 +
gotten their hands on all this shit. I found out later. I'll get to it when it's appropriate. I had gotten a new, American, name. 'John'. 'John Matters'. Cute.<br>
 +
Didn't use it very much. Was just a formality. I don't think of myself as 'John'. or Ianco. Ended up getting taken in by an old lady up in Harlem. Her name<br>
 +
was Simona. I liked her.<br>
 +
<p align ="right">[[File:Ianco young crayon.png]] </p>
 +
<br><br></center>
 +
<center>[[File:SpooksCRAYONline.png]]</center><br><br>
  
'''Chapter Two'''
+
[[Category:Character]][[Category:Male]][[Category:Romanian]][[Category:Undead]][[Category:Lich]][[Category:Occult]][[Category:Addict]][[Category:Magic]]
Matters picked up the language relatively quickly. An elderly lady grew to care for him, and taught him English. She lived in an apartment, up in Harlem. She was daughter to an african father, and Puerto Rican mother. She was the owner of a small general goods store. On the 2nd of September, 1932, 12 year old John, heard the sound of a window smashing. He slowly crept downstairs, to check it out. He saw a tall man, wearing a hat, that kept his face in shadows. He walked over to the register, and checked to see whether or not any money were stored in it. Obviously, there weren't, so he moved onto picking up some of the useful wares. All of a sudden, young John ran at him, and jumped onto his back- causing the burglar to fall. His head hit a desk, and a slight crack could be heard, coming not from the desk- but from the burglar. The young burglar had hit it with his chin, and with the weight from John's body, his neck broke.
+
 
+
The lady, Mrs. Yoreah, came running down from the staircase. Her eyes opened wide, as she saw the dead burglar- besides the, very much alive, young John Matters. She rushed towards the body, and turned it around. She looked at his face, and opened her mouth, as tears began running from her, already red, eyes.
+
"It's.. It's my son.." she managed to squeek, while shaking heavily.
+
Young John was as in just as much shock, as Mrs. Yoreah.
+
"H.. He tried to rob your s.. Store.." John said, as he almost began to cry, himself.
+
"It was an accident.. I wanted to catch him, and.." John added.
+
"W.. We need to call the police" she said, looking towards John.
+
First then, did the boy begin to cry.
+
 
+
'''Chapter Three'''
+
It was the 1st of December, 1932. Mrs. Yoreah did not react well. John was sent to an orphanage, since Yoreah was unable to care for him. John was angry on the inside. A terrible anger. It was not pity, sadness over what happened to Mrs. Yoreah's son.
+
It was anger. Anger aimed at himself. He felt stupid, and the workers of the orphanage could see it on him. Young John preferred to stay in his room, with the only thing he had from his home, in Romania. A music box.
+
A fine tune, that only had to be started, and it would play by itself. The notes of the music box were only ever played, when he knew he was alone. The leader of the orphanage, Mrs. Scrooge, was strongly catholic. She knew, as the only one of the staff, why John had been placed on the orphanage. She felt pity for him. But he had already locked his mind, in a state of anger. Only the music-box made him feel, like he had once felt. Joy, yet loneliness.. It was a kind of loneliness that he liked, though. A sweet, silent solitude.
+
 
+
John stayed that way, for years to come. Barely speaking. The other children never really saw him. Rumors went around, about how a horrible freak, too hideous to show his face. And they were right. At the very least, partly.
+
Young John felt hideous. He felt like the monsters, from the fairy tales, must've felt. And he empathized. He had not heard the rumors about him, and yet he agreed. He was never adopted, and had to be kicked out on his 18th birthday, July 6th 1938. A few years after, the military sent out posters, telling the true patriot to help fight the Nazi scourge of Germany. John looked at the poster, and felt a need to sign up for the military; and so he did.
+
 
+
 
+
Story is W.I.P.
+
 
+
 
+
== The Broken, the Spooky and the Boogeyman: ==
+
 
+
'''The Broken'''
+
The man who was once known as ''John Matters'' was cracked apart, a long time ago, like a pick does to a small berg of ice. He is, however, the vessel that contains his figurative offspring: Spookmatter, and ''The Boogeyman''; Split personalities that have almost forgotten who they once were.
+
 
+
'''The Spooky'''
+
Spookmatter. This is the fast-talkin', sociopathic, generally homicidally insane personality, that is most known to the public. He is prone to quick moodswings, and sometimes even depression. He tends to hide what he actually feels, and instead focuses on what he finds truly fun: Seeing people dead. He was the one who got them into the merc-business, and also the one who got them into 90% of the bar-fights they've participated in.
+
 
+
[[File:SpookmatterSketch.png]]
+
 
+
'''The Boogeyman'''
+
Ah, ''The Boogeyman''. He's a wicked one; significantly more calculating than Spookmatter, and not afraid to let the world know of his opinion, about Spooks:
+
''"He is an imbecile!"'' -'Shit-Talk Motherfucker'.. His goals are simple: Attempt to reach godhood, Destroy his enemies (Spookmatter is #1 on his list), Create sentient life. Although he is often, usually by Spookmatter, being dressed up as a villain, he is usually peaceful unless provoked. He has gotten the name 'Boogeyman', since he uses bad memories, nightmares, sadness, etc. To power his 'Furnace of Eternal Misery'.
+
[[File:The Feces Talking Mother Screwer.jpeg]]
+

Latest revision as of 22:19, 4 August 2018

SpookslogoCRAYONS.png



APRIL 6TH, 2017, 11:13 AM

HERE I COME, CONSTANTINOPLE
Most people, they'll say.. They'll say, you know, that we should all follow our Will,
our destiny, whatever you call it. But that's fucking bullshit sometimes. I mean, you don't always have to be super rebellious or anything,
being a great chef, or an auctioneer or a seal-trainer or whatever is absolutely, completely, without a doubt,
quite alright. Very decent.
But when Mama tries to force your destiny, when she makes you for the one purpose of being some kind of supernatural cult enforcer, well, to HELL with you, mom!
Yeah, bitch, I'm a fucking descendant of the DRAGON! So are you, you're my mom, but I'm a fucking man and you're a woman!

And yeah that's moderately sexist but that's the world we're living in, baby! This is America!


APRIL 6TH, 2017, 23:52 PM

EDIT:
Ah shit, how do I delete stuff on a typewriter..
Shouldn't write this stuff on ketamine, I'll get in trouble with the media..
...

SpookmatterCrayonPortrait.png


SpooksCRAYONline.png

APRIL 7TH, 2017, 07:01 AM

I AM THE BEAST I WORSHIP

So who am I? Spookmatter? What does that even mean? Shit, last I checked,
Spookmatter was something you got on your perineum! Well..
I'm a special circumstances occult consultant. That means I'm like all the other magic people,
Witchcraft, whomever, whatever, except I'm completely out of a job, except for when a few special
SOMEONES
screw something up major, and need some really obscure and esoteric magic to save the day. Wicked, right?
Witchcraft crayon.png
Yeah, but like I said, mostly out of a job. People prefer Witchcraft. Suspect it's cause of larger breasts.
That, and she's not a registered sex offender, but you know, the point remains..
I got other ways of supporting myself. I've been legally advised to not discuss exactly what, but it's way cooler

than anything those mainstream, oligarch-ball-licking prostitutes up in the Champions HQ does. That's for sure.

SpooksCRAYONline.png

APRIL 8TH, 2017, 22:00 PM

ORIGIN STORY PT. 1: SKINNY WAS BORN IN A BATHTUB AND GREW SO INCREDIBLY THIN

So I was a kid once. Surprising. I know. Little kid. Name was Ianco Mithras. Grew up in Romania. To add to the dark magic cliché, it happened to
be Transylvania (not to be confused with Transexual Transylvania). This was, uh, almost 100 years ago. Was born July 6th, 1919.
"That makes you very old, you old, bald, cunt", absolutely, shitlord, but I can still kick your ass. Anyways, lived a pretty
isolated childhood. My father isn't really worth wasting time on, but my mother was a very interesting woman. A woman of faith.
She wasn't religious, however. Not in any traditional way, anyways, she had her toes in something much more sinister. As of writing
this, I am still not fully sure what she was worshiping, but I am quite certain it wasn't little Baby Jesus. I'll get into all of this later,
when it begins becoming important to the story, but for now, let's just keep the narrative focused on Lil' Spooks. I didn't have any formal education.
We were quite poor, we lived in a small village out in the country. I'm not exactly certain how we afforded what little we had, I never saw my father
do much, except sit in his chair and then sometimes, when he had the courage, go out for long walks. My mother was usually in her kinky cult-room.
Never really saw the inside of the place, only a lamp-sized statuette, that I could see for the brief moments the door would be open. It was like a
trinity of some sort, had the face of a toad, a guy and a little kitten. It wasn't until I hit the age of 10, that my adventure would be set into gear ........

Yeah, I'm leaving you on a cliffhanger, fuck you.

APRIL 29TH, 2017, 23:48 PM


ORIGIN STORY PT. 2: LIFE WOULD BE WONDERFUL
.. God damn goat-fucking pieces of shit outside my window, making all this noise with their crickets and insects and shit. Anyways, where were I?

Right, my origin story. When I was 10, my parents suddenly decided that we were moving to some small country in the west called 'America'. That's right,
U.S. of A., greatest country on Earth. Unfortunately, both of my parents passed during a storm on our shitty boat-trip. To my surprise and, if it is not
too much, my relief, Mother went first. She lost her mind a few days prior. Hysterical. Like a, like a, uh, like a dog with rabies, that just wants to
break shit and cause havoc. She died of a sickness. Father died the morning after. Nobody's really sure why. I have my theories. Not gonna write them here.
I came to America, the boat arrived in New York, I managed to get through, with papers that I'd gotten from my parents. At the time I didn't know how they'd
gotten their hands on all this shit. I found out later. I'll get to it when it's appropriate. I had gotten a new, American, name. 'John'. 'John Matters'. Cute.
Didn't use it very much. Was just a formality. I don't think of myself as 'John'. or Ianco. Ended up getting taken in by an old lady up in Harlem. Her name
was Simona. I liked her.

Ianco young crayon.png



SpooksCRAYONline.png