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Anarchy in England :: Before the party starts :: Registered Documents :: Male Characters :: Ragnar Fenris Magnusson

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Topic: Ragnar Fenris Magnusson (Read 128 times)

Ragnar Fenris Magnusson
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Ragnar Fenris Magnusson
« Thread Started on Feb 7, 2009, 2:28pm »

Ragnar Fenris Magnusson
[image]

No explanation will matter after we begin
Name:Ragnar Fenris Magnusson
Nickname(s):none. He will answer to any of his three names, however.
Day of Birth:A cold day in January, 1821
Age(then and now if different):Yes, that makes him 200.
Current Residence:Scotland
Sexual Orientation:Heterosexual
Détruisez la fiction?(Put yes or no. If yes put position):No
Family:Five brothers, Five sisters, all killed by his own hand over the years, along with his mother and father, due to dominance struggles.
Creature(Look under the plot):Lycan

Unlock the dark destroyer that's buried within
Weight:220 lbs
Height:6'4"
Eyes:blue
Hair:red, with some blonde highlights, due to sun-bleaching
Attire:Usually shirtless, commonly seen in rather torn jeans or shorts. He is also often barefoot, or in battered combat boots.
Other:
Celebrity:Techno Viking. (Yes, seriously, that's how he's known on the internet. Search him on youtube. He's full of WTF goodness.)

My true vocation and now my unfortunate friend
Strengths/Powers/Weapons:Ragnar is quite fit for fighting, showing an expertise towards close combat in particular. His full werewolf form is large, even for a lycan. He projects an aura of dominance, able to be noticed by anyone, commonly cowing humans into submission without him having to do much more.

Weaknesses:He's prone to extreme fits of temper, and finding everything to be a dominance challenge, leading to him assault friend and foe alike. These fits only increase when he's drinking, which is practically every night. He's also somewhat superstitious, often making irrational decisions based on what appear to be almost random "omens". Females also find him somewhat able to be manipulated, particularly if they sing to him. Men tend to find him little more than a poorly-caged beast, ready to turn on them at a moment's notice.

Habits:He fights at the drop of a hat, and is constantly asserting dominance. He's also a frequent drinker. Many times he's seen casting runes before a major decision.

Fears:Betrayal by packmates or other associates. (This usually causes him to lose his temper.) He also fears his grand war will never happen, and is taking steps to make sure that it will.

Likes:A pretty woman, an aggressive woman (he thinks of them as valkyries), he'd probably REALLY love an aggressive and powerful pretty woman, fighting and battling in general, a stiff drink, turning humans into lycans, heavy metal, black metal, any aggressive music (he thinks of them as battle hymns.)

Dislikes:Weakness in allies, weakness in lycans, realizing he's been manipulated. He dislikes the more light-oriented supernaturals and humans, but only regards them as potential enemies, rather than oath-sworn blood enemies universally.

Personality:Beyond what's been mentioned above, Ragnar is forceful, often uncouth, and aggressive. He's also spiritual, to some degree.

Bio:Ragnar was born in a cave in Scotland, to lycan parents, as part of a larger pack. This pack was quite inbred and insane, descended from a combination of Viking berserker blood and the occasional highlander. The pack had been firmly entrenched since the mid 1500's, and could all trace at least some lineage back to notorious mass murderer (and Lycan) Sawney Bean. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sawney_Bean)

Ragnar was born in 1821 to a pack that had dwindled somewhat, but was still of decent size, especially considering the industrial revolution was occurring, and expansion of mankind in general was forcing lycans to either hide more effectively, or assimilate into human society.

Ragnar was unusually aggressive to packmates shortly after he was first able to change, and as he matured, his temper and tendencies toward violence only increased. Eventually, he took control of the pack at the young age of 35, having killed his father in a vicious dominance battle. By the time he was 70, he'd killed off all the original pack members, commonly over trivial arguments.

For nearly a century more, he went into virtual isolation, killing travellers when possible, livestock when no fresh human meat was available. In the 1980's, he reentered the world, beginning to investigate small communities, looking for new packmates, eventually moving on to larger cities as well.

He'd had a revelation in the caves, during his years of solitude. He was no ordinary lycan; he was chosen by Loki himself to wage war on humanity,and then on the gods in the name of the great wolf, Fenris, who he had been named for. He just needed a pack to lead in the great war.

In 2021, his pack had grown only slightly, to a whopping six, including himself. But all the omens were there. It was time to start the war. It was time to grow the pack further. It was time to take to the cities and cull the herd. It was time for Ragnarok.

You will discover a war you're unable to win
Rules Phrase:Anarchy in the U.K.
RP Sample:Donovan was positively giddy. He'd posted an ad for his dj'ing services in the Louisiana area, and had gotten an invite. It was only a temp job, the responder had told him, but it had the chance to be a permanent position. Even better, it was at a new club in New Orleans, and a goth club, no less.

The stresses of his training had taken a toll on Don, and he was looking forward to getting out and cutting loose. He dug out his fishnet shirt, putting it on, enjoying how it felt on his skin. He pulled out his vinyl pants, sliding them on, admiring how they hugged his figure. "You're a sexy goth boi,"he thought to himself as he applied just a hint of eyeliner, designed purely to bring out the blue in them.

He hopped in his Envoy, driving to the club at eight. He knew he didn't have to be there until nine, when the music was set to start, but he wanted to be early. He found the club at roughly 8:15, getting a parking spot without a problem.

"Mina's Embrace," he laughed, reading the club's name. "I wonder how many of the people who go here have actually even read Dracula?"

He went into the club, noting that it actually seemed to be lit by gaslight. There were only a handful of people inside, all smoking in pairs, or sitting alone at the bar.

"Ten dollars," said a man in a security t-shirt.

"I'm the dj for tonight," Donovan replied, handing the guard a printout of the email from the manager.

"The DJ booth is over there," the man pointed to the far back wall, where there was an elevated platform with a couple of digital turntables. Let me just tag ya."

Donovan stuck out a wrist, expecting either a stamp on the hand, or a band to be wrapped around it. Instead, the man slapped a black bandaid on the side of his neck.

"Cute," Donovan said, "Nice touch."

The man just stared blankly at him, like Donovan had just farted.

"The band-aid..." Donovan said, slightly uncomfortable, "It's a cute way to say 'oh, hey, we're vampires!'"

"Just don't pull it off," the man growled.

"Freak,"Donovan thought. He headed over to the dj booth to get his cd's set up.