Viewing profile - Atlan Andalusia

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Username:
Atlan Andalusia
Groups:
Age:
17
Gender Identity:
Male
Race:
Faunus; Lion Ears
Nationality:
Beacon Dorms
Character Picture:
https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/ ... 349457.png
Personal Emblem Image:
https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/ ... 603825.png
Height:
7'0"
Aura Color:
Deep Green [Semblance Colored Silver]
Physical Description:
A strong-bodied male faunus in his late teens with a wild mane of silver hair peaked by a pair of feline ears. His musculature is intimidating, and he isn't afraid to show it off, often having trouble finding shirts his size in modern stores. He's built like a linebacker, with broad shoulders and hips which are narrow by comparison, but are still generally wider than his peers'. He is unusually tall, and due to his proportions, he is considered 'huge' by human standards. He has light pink skin, and emerald green eyes.
Outfit Description:
Atlan's outfit is largely inspired by bullfighters. In favor of its ease of wearing, colors which don't clash with his weapon, and general lack of anything else to wear, he has adopted his outfit from his underground bloodsport days. It consists of a short-cut jacket, somewhat baggy pants with a sash decorating his hips, deceptively stylish shoes, and oftimes a flamboyantly-plumed tricorne hat. His color scheme is a baseline of black with golden trim, with accents in his sash and amongst his hat's plumes.
Personality Description:
Atlan is a challenge-oriented huntsman-in-training who has spent his life seeking the next big achievement he could tuck under his belt. It isn't enough that he succeeds, he has to do so under the most strenuous circumstances. Some would call him a glutton for punishment, but in all actuality, he's just always been obsessed with bragging rights and clout among his peers. Respect is something that is earned, and he intends to earn *all* the respect. He's got street smarts, and knows when people are trying to play at his weaknesses, or trying to dangle some fake sort of achievement over his head like bait... albeit, he's definitely a show-off, so there's still a good chance he'll bite, or purposefully spring a trap just to avoid it. After he calls it out, of course.

He's not an altruist by any means, some could say he doesn't even have *his* best interests in mind. Atlan isn't concerned with the matters of the people, matters of his peers, at least not particularly concerned. Even his own team would likely have to drag him into their personal matters, perhaps physically at that. He just seeks the challenge, the conversation starters. He chases this idea that he becomes an interesting person through achievement, and believes that he is nobody without doing anything worth talking about.

Romantically he only cares about appearances and status, at least at first. Specifically, he only cares about a partner who is viewed as 'hard to get' for one reason or another, and the relationship would be almost entirely for the novelty of it. He has never experienced a genuine moment of emotional attachment to somebody, and wouldn't know how to deal with such feelings. Especially if they were directed towards somebody who doesn't meet his romantic 'standards'. In the same vein, he also doesn't tend to reciprocate the feelings of anybody who approaches him unless they meet those standards of his. He wants others to think highly of him, and so he can't be easy to get either.

As a friend he's not necessarily forthright, but there's no overt negativity to his disposition. He's like a spare lightbulb – always there when you need somebody to brighten up your day. He's not the kind of guy to trouble others with his problems or negative feelings. He comes across as jock-ish and bro-like, and doesn't do too well during those heart-to-hearts. At best, he can repeat some motivational lines he stole from his coach, and that guy's advice tends to be pretty grim and edgy. But he's also a good guy in his heart of hearts, and can't just leave a buddy feeling down, and even if they can't be consoled on the subject of their blues, he knows the right kind of trouble they can get into to drown those sorrows away.

He has a handful of overtly animalistic tendencies and habits which he developed back in his days in the underground fighting circuits. When he's angry he can let out a furious lion-like roar, and tends to growl at an intimidating volume and frequency. He's also quite sensitive to purfumes and can usually pick out the brand. When being affectionate, he tends to lick whoever he's getting tender with, though usually just on the ear or something. He used to do full-on doggy kisses, but apparently that's gross, and nobody taught the ladies he was with in the old days.
Backstory Highlights:
Atlan didn't have a name. Such was the situation he was born into. He was bred purposefully using the genes of the greatest pitfighters in the underworld of Mistral. Once born, he was given up to an up-and-coming underboss who was just then accumulating sway in the underworld. There were big expectations for him, but he wasn't treated like a person. He was a faunus, after all, and if the White Fang thinks the systemic discrimination in the legal channels were bad, they probably didn't start from less than zero like he did.

In some ways he was lucky to survive. Standing in the wrong spot would get him kicked aside. When a rat was detected in the dungeon he was raised in, meals were cancelled, and the only thing there was to eat would be that rat. By the time he was five, he was able to kill and skin a rat on sight without a second thought, like picking an orange from a tree and peeling it. His food was cooked if and only if it was necessary for survival. If he got sick, fighting it off without medicine was called training. So on and so forth, the abusiveness was nigh bottomless. He was less than nothing, an inconvenience tolerated only because of his parents, the promise he held because of his genetics.

His supposed 'payoff' was started when he was put into some illicit fighting circuits between young gladiators. Brawling matches, generally not to the death though on occassion it didn't get called until one side was 'unconscious', and some of the scrappier youths didn't have an off-button before 'dead'. Atlan wasn't raised to have feelings like regrets or pity. When he won, he got more food, and that was enough to keep him fighting.

A few years of this and he'd caught the attention of one of the older pit fighters, after he'd bested the man's own son. Not everyone in the pits was a slave, some were in it for money. Gods know that the man who raised him was, but others were just following a family tradition. A peaceful kingdom was no place to ply one's trade as a warrior, in the eyes of many such warriors. Atlan began training with weapons at age 8. A simple weapon was all he needed, nothing fancy just yet; No, he had a good ways to go before he'd become a main event.

As a faunus slave, he was never respected, but the relationship between this older gladiator, his son, the nameless child (at that time his arena designation 'Gray' after his hair) was largely professional. There wasn't necessarily respect, but it was a mutual: the old man would teach him to swing a blade, shoot a gun, throw a knife, and generally operate transforming weapons; and that was all that was needed from him. The arrangement was to his profit, the underboss paid him quite well. Physical training was included but was not strictly necessary, and the Spartan accomadations suddenly became his very own gym and nutrition plan. He learned to better himself and his body, he learned to deploy and sustain his aura even while he was sleeping. By the time he was 9, he was beginning to show those dividends that the underboss had been promised.

His very first bout against a grimm was around that time. 'Gray' was furnished with an extending dagger pike, and he was pitted against a creep in a dirt arena. Its digging abilities made it especially tricksy in those circumstances, but with a little creativity himself, the grimm was skewered thoroughly and perished at the hands of a small child, not even close to puberty yet. It wasn't like he gained any respect overnight, but the money his handler earned for that fight made the man quite happy. He could spend more money on luxuries, and that kind of thing trickled down in the underworld. Even a slave like 'Gray' felt the fruits of his success in some small way. Laughter from above that used to be quite rare became much more common. Maybe fighting was something to enjoy. He started to consider smiling when in combat. The man laughed and was wealthy, so perhaps he could get some of that himself.

The next time he faced off against a grimm, a young Boarbatusk, he did it with a calm smile on his face. When he dodged its rolling charges, the crowd seemed to roar in excitement. The people laughed and applauded. So he did it a few more times, and that's when he learned that grimm had limited stamina, which gave him an idea after he finished the grimm off. Prior to that he'd never had the audacity to speak to his handler more than pleasantries like 'yes', 'no' and 'thank you'. That night, he asked his handler how he did. The underboss was in a good mood and gave him an honest review, it was clumsy, he was obviously winging it, but it excited the crowd, so more people would bet. It was good for business.

A couple weeks later he was officially an upstart gladiator, and started being introduced as 'The Gray Matador'. His training picked up once again with a few of the more experienced gladiators. He got a feel for the dynamics of combat, the ebb and flow of attrition and how to best use it to entertain the crowd. It wasn't about winning, though losing meant his life would be in jeopardy, it was always about pleasing the criminals that bet on the matches. The better the reputation the more money got funneled into his handler's pockets. That's all he was, a cash cow.

It wasn't until his sixth official deathmatch against a grimm when he was 11 that he unlocked his semblance, against an Alpha Ursa that was overwhelming him with its size and mass. It was a huge turnabout that really earned him his name and place in the limelight, after he slammed that giant grimm into the sands for the finishing blow out of almost nowhere.

Officially speaking, he was finally given the name he clung to at around age 12. Atlan Andalusia, a true pit fighter. His success made him popular, his success gave him a name. His success gave him character. Around that time he got the earliest prototype of Tercio Muerte, his usual dagger-pike with a muleta tethered to it. The design inspired excitement, and was useful for distracting the grimm he faced, doubling his success yet again. The panache he built up over years was becoming insurmountable, even as they sent bigger and bigger grimm his way.

With his success came more freedom. First a name, then an identity, and then a life. People wanted to associate with him. Ladies loved him, men wanted to be him. He even went on to help a few aspiring pit fighters himself. The years ticked by, until his last fight at age 16. His foe was a giant bull-type grimm known as El Torero, and not merely one, but four of them. It was an epic battle, probably the most difficult of his life, as it entailed multidirectional awareness and dodging at almost all times. Even as they passed him narrowly he delivered debilitating stab wounds to their flanks, tiring them out for his big finish which entailed using them to strike eachother. This was the introduction of the current version of Tercio Muerte which came with more than one dagger pike, in fact, several more than one, a veritable armory of them was stored on hand. With this tool he was sure to become the biggest name in the underground pit fighting community.

But then it all ended, when some amateurs led the law into their midsts and the entire underground gladiatorial fighting ring was taken down in a matter of days. As a slave, which was all sorts of illegal to own, he was released without any repercussions for his alleged crimes, into the custody of the Mistral Government, who gave him a place to live and the necessities to survive. He was back to square one, knowing nothing about the world, being nobody worth mentioning.

When he saught out the assistance of old contacts who were trying to stay low, he was told to keep his head down and stay out of trouble if he didn't want to end up in a real prison. He was lost. Atlan kept his stage name as a legal name, and even the weapon that served him so well in his final bout. There was no doubt that he was a capable fighter, but that didn't matter. He spent a while helping fend off grimm and bandits from a village where he was made to live. In that time he learned about the most respected individuals in the world, Huntsmen and Huntresses. While he was somewhat respected, though mostly feared by the people around him at the time, he could never settle for that low level of acclaim. He needed something more, he needed to be somebody big, somebody worth talking about. An icon, a celebrity, a truly great person.

So he left to join the Huntsman Academy, acing the practical exam to get in, and though he's a year late for first years, he's certainly no slouch with a weapon. Perhaps all he wants is the license, but it is not enough that he succeeds. He has to be the best, somebody lauded as the best. If nobody talks about him, does he truly even exist?
Occupation:
Education:
Approximately 10 years of illegal pit fighting experience, primarily focusing on difficult grimm combinations in a fairly small area. Some experience fighting people from his gladiator training. 16 years of mental fortitude and survival training as a slave to a neglectful handler.
Semblance Name:
True Grasp
Semblance Description:
By grabbing onto something with at least one hand in a subtantial manner (i.e. gets his fingers in a position that can rightly oppose outside forces), and said thing is not (or is no longer) rooted to the ground he can hoist and move whatever he is grabbing as though it weighs nothing. While living targets may try to thrash about to dislodge his grip, so long as his grip is maintained he can lift the thing. This ability temporarily negates the subject's weight property in relation to him, but whatever he lifts does still have mass for the sake of comparing to targets. For instance, while he can easily hold up a large vehicle provided a good grip, the ground beneath his two small feet where that weight is now focused might not be so agreeable. Also for instance, if he swings a recently felled tree at a Beowolf, that Beowolf is probably dead.

Things that weigh more will require more aura to achieve this effect, but the upper limit is only limited to how much aura he can generate, as the effect sustains continually with no drain until he lets go, and thusly by grabbing onto something and hanging on while he replenishes his aura supply, he will eventually be able to lift it, assuming it's not bolted to the ground. Anybody or anything which is on top of, hanging onto, or contained in something he is lifting this way adds its weight to what he is negating and will be lifted along with it. If they leave the thing and land back on top of it, his semblance recompensates. As far as how much he can lift at a moment's notice, it's been clocked in at several tons without breaking his aura, and this amount only stands to increase with proficiency.

True Grasp does not have a partial effect at this time, and thusly he can only negate the weight of an object once he's funneled enough total aura into his semblance to negate the entire value and no less. This means he cannot cut the weight of something in half and then lift it with his normal physical might in order to conserve aura.
Weapon Name:
Tercio Muerte
Weapon Image:
https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/ ... 552487.png
Weapon Description:
Atlan brandishes a stylish gladiatorial weapon designed for goading and harassing grimm until their stamina eventually depletes and he may go for the finishing strike, Tercio Muerte (Pneumatic Dagger Pike Muleta). Its form at rest simply appears to be a garish capote which acts as part of his ensemble, but when activated he triggers wind dust stored in a telescopic pike woven inside the capote to extend a stiff muleta (a rod with cloth hanging off it) to hide behind. The pike is flexible enough to not break when he bends the capote around his body, but is sturdy enough to allow him to stab and slash grimm with the spearhead.

While this form appears to be heavily restrictive, since once activated the pike cannot change hands so easily and leaving one side unguarded, he actually possesses a mechanism within his garishly fluttering cape, tucked against his back shoulder, which contains several knives, and dispenses them at multiple angles. These knives are bellota styled, leaf-shaped on the half towards the tip, approximately 12.5 cms of blade with a dense handle. The wind dust in these knives can be activated to extend the handle pneumatically so that they are pikes, and can done so as to enhance the throwing power of the knife substantially by throwing it like a javelin instead. Alternatively they can be activated remotely so as to give Atlan a large grabbing point with which to leverage his considerable physical might.
Fighting Style:
Atlan is a fairly reactive fighter who uses his stylish Pike Muleta to goad his foes into attacking by feigning a perceived blind spot or weakness in his defenses, and skillfully parrying or dodging with it. He is not limited to waiting for the foe to step into his range, as the muleta can also be used to stab or swipe at his foes, but it will rarely be used to perform any significant attacks outside of when he's dealing with many grimm.

More typically, he will subtly draw one of Tercio Muerte's many daggers and plunge them into his foes while they least expect it, typically shrouding the attack altogether with a flourish of his muleta. In the case of an enemy grimm and their lack of aura defenses, he will usually wait to extend the daggers into a pike until after he's successfully stabbed one. After he's done this to a grimm, he has essentially given himself a handle with which to hang onto his foe by, and will usually finish them off with a climactic slamming attack, using the grimm like a hammerhead on the end of his haft.

When dealing with people and their aura defenses, he usually just sticks to the one knife as a main arm unless he finds himself at a range where he may as well throw a bunch as means to trade blows from afar. He will often fluctuate the length of the dagger by extending and retracting the handle to suit the distance he needs to attack from. Pairing this with the flourishing defenses of his muleta, and the fact that if he so much as grabs somebody by the wrist, he can throw them like a baseball, and one may find that Atlan is a masterful close combatant.

Additionally, while one may think him to be a battle bruiser with little in the way of feats of agility, they might be surprised to learn that he is actually very light on his feet, and regularly performs feats of acrobatics in order to avoid attacks from larger enemies. In particular, he is known to use his weapon to pole vault, as well as to provide himself footholds in situations where he can get an advantage this way. As a former entertainer, illicit as it were, he likes to perform these dramatic dodges in order to get a read on his opponent's attack patterns, and then slowly shrink the margin of avoidance until he is barely moving at all to avoid attacks, hitting the minimum required distance to bolster the dramatic tension while maintaining control of the fight. Once a foe is no longer entertaining him or any onlookers, either due to being tired or due to being boring and predictable, he will usually go for the finishing blow.

In group fights, especially against grimm, he gets a lot more liberal with the act of throwing his knives, and tends to abuse the wind dust that is stored inside of them to give them additional propulsion and reach. The reason for this is so that he can distract them long enough to get some distance and keep an eye on the many. If possible he likes to tangle up enemy attacks so that they weaken eachother, but he mostly tries to break their formation and pick them off one by one. In a team fight where he has the numerical advantage, he likes to take the center stage as the 'main event' while his allies provide various forms of support, and thusly he works best in those circumstances, though he is usually well aware of the circumstances where his allies are better suited to the spotlight. In those circumstances, he typically tries to find something else he can do to play the showstopper, or perhaps even skips the fight altogether to find something more suited to his skill set.
Strengths:
Physical Juggernaut (His Strength, Agility, and Endurance are all honed over a lifetime of hardship, training, and combat), Immense Willpower, Panache for Days
Weaknesses:
Fairly Dumb, Socially Inept, Low Dust Versatility, One-Trick Semblance, Tendency to Showboat Unnecessarily (even when he knows it's unnecessary), Arrogance
Likes:
Mattering, Showing Off, Attention and Affection
Dislikes:
Playing Second Fiddle, Academic Testing, Being Ignored

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