Rhinox
Jan 12, 2012 7:19:41 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Jan 12, 2012 7:19:41 GMT -5
-Player Info-
Name/Alias: Moogle
IM/Email: literati.knight@gmail.com / SunstoneWEAPON on AIM
-Character Info-
Name: Rhinox
Age (or human equivalent): early 40s maturity-wise, old enough to remember the beginning of the war
Gender (or human equivalent): Male, but not hung up about it
Species: Cybertronian
Faction: Autobot
Occupation/Specialization: Mechanic/engineer by trade, with a secondary interest in organic biology/ecology
Appearance/Altmode: Dull gold pickup truck with a covered back, with green accents when he transforms. His armor is visibly thick and solid, with round shoulders, large arms, and a sort of 'skirt' around his thighs. He's a bit shorter than Ratchet, but broad and stocky. His chainguns are stored underneath a pair of tires that sit at the small of his back, just above his hips; his other two tires sit behind his ankles, where they provide something to brace against when he's doing the Chainguns of Doom thing.
History: Rhinox tried not to get involved in the war. He wanted no part of a conflict that pitted worker against noble, caste against caste, Cybertronian against Cybertronian. If change must come, he thought, and of course it must, then let it come peacefully, embraced by all.
He was, he thinks now, a fool, but when the time came to choose, he chose his side and never regretted it.
Rhinox was a member of the doomed Axalon mission, and when it all went pear-shaped he was separated from his squadmates and left for dead. He managed to survive his wounds due to some creative self-repair, and has been roughing it ever since, building, repairing, using every trick he can think of to keep himself alive and moving until he could reunite with the Autobots. He's stumbled on Earth purely by accident, and has landed hoping to gather materials to repair himself and the jury-rigged pile of scrap that he's convinced to think it's a ship; and perhaps scope out an honest-to-Primus alien organic civilization while he's at it. He has no idea he's not the only visitor to this world...
Personality: Very laid-back most of the time; a 'gentle giant' who can handle even the most fragile organic without harming it. A bit of a loner, not because he minds company but he doesn't actively seek it out. Insatiably curious, but methodical in his work. Lives inside his own head. It is very difficult to make him lose his temper - harming defenseless organics is the best way to do it, if you have a death wish. Rhinox doesn't "Hulk out" and lose his mind when he gets angry - just applies his keen mind and great strength in new and creative ways to make the object of his ire have a Very Bad Day.
Likes: flowers, reading, relaxing, building and fixing things, learning about organics
Dislikes: bullies, fighting when it's not necessary, malfunctions, people who interrupt him when he's reading or working, the big swaths of destruction he creates when he fights
Strengths/Weapons: Two rotating chainguns, affectionately nicknamed the Chainguns o' Doom, which can fire metal rounds at a rate of approximately Buttloads/sec. Sustained fire from this can bore through rock or metal, even a ship's hull. Rhinox is also very strong for his size and has a high armor stat, fully capable of winning slugfests with larger Decepticons.
Weaknesses: He doesn't turn or corner well. He has a tendency to get hyper-focused on whatever he's doing, and when he's in that state he's easy to sneak up on. He also hasn't had an antivirus update in a while, making him vulnerable to virus attacks.
Special skills (that are not weapon related): Can repair pretty much any mechanical object, and is a skilled medic both in the field and in a proper medbay. He's a creative engineer, having kept himself going for nearly a century with jury-rigged systems and a box of scraps.
Sample RP (only for first accepted characters): The ship was wheezing and shuddering around him, every bolt and weld threatening to fail at once. Its single occupant gripped the steering column and listened to the cacophony of rattling metal around him. In a low mutter, growing steadily louder, he added his voice to the unconventional music.
"Slag slagging slaggified Primus-bitten sorry-aft Pit-spawned 'Con-fragging slag slag slag..."
Rhinox's litany of invective continued, becoming more and more creatively filthy, as he forced the rickety craft's nose down into the thick, turbulent atmosphere of the third planet out from the system's sun. He'd managed to glean some needed trace elements from the system's asteroid belt, soaked in geothermal energy on one of the gas giant's moons, and marveled at the beauty of the living planet from a high orbit. A watery world, gleaming blue in the light of its sun, showing signs of an emergent organic civilization taking its first shaky steps into space. It was the most wonderful thing he had seen in a long time.
He didn't think it was so wonderful once he was in freefall, trying desperately to keep his ship together long enough to survive the atmospheric entry burn.
"Oxygenated slagging atmospheres, Primus-friggit," he growled, "slagging headed for a meltdown..." He wrenched the steering, pulling his craft away from a watery landing - rusting in saltwater was not how he intended to go out, not after having come this far, not after all the slag he'd been through. "Screaming in a slagpile - now!"
He hit the throttle, and the ship's engines screamed to life, slowing his descent as solid, tawny-gold ground loomed below. If Rhinox's calculations were correct, there would be just enough fuel to slow his descent to survivable levels. Rhinox's calculations were usually correct.
Any landing you can walk away from, Big Green, an old friend's voice said in the back of his processor. Rhinox dismissed it; he did not have the luxury of regret now.
The nameless ship plowed into the desert, sending plumes of golden sand flying in all directions. Rhinox roared defiance at the fates as the ship bucked in his hold, half shredding itself on the ground, half-melted from atmosphere-burn, and all falling apart around his audials - until with a processor-rattling bump, everything stopped, and there was no noise but the hiss and ping of cooling metal.
Rhinox sat back heavily in his chair with a groan. One hand lifted languidly, pointing at the bulkhead overhead.
"I take back," he panted, a broad smile plastered all over his face, "everything bad I ever said about you."
Name/Alias: Moogle
IM/Email: literati.knight@gmail.com / SunstoneWEAPON on AIM
-Character Info-
Name: Rhinox
Age (or human equivalent): early 40s maturity-wise, old enough to remember the beginning of the war
Gender (or human equivalent): Male, but not hung up about it
Species: Cybertronian
Faction: Autobot
Occupation/Specialization: Mechanic/engineer by trade, with a secondary interest in organic biology/ecology
Appearance/Altmode: Dull gold pickup truck with a covered back, with green accents when he transforms. His armor is visibly thick and solid, with round shoulders, large arms, and a sort of 'skirt' around his thighs. He's a bit shorter than Ratchet, but broad and stocky. His chainguns are stored underneath a pair of tires that sit at the small of his back, just above his hips; his other two tires sit behind his ankles, where they provide something to brace against when he's doing the Chainguns of Doom thing.
History: Rhinox tried not to get involved in the war. He wanted no part of a conflict that pitted worker against noble, caste against caste, Cybertronian against Cybertronian. If change must come, he thought, and of course it must, then let it come peacefully, embraced by all.
He was, he thinks now, a fool, but when the time came to choose, he chose his side and never regretted it.
Rhinox was a member of the doomed Axalon mission, and when it all went pear-shaped he was separated from his squadmates and left for dead. He managed to survive his wounds due to some creative self-repair, and has been roughing it ever since, building, repairing, using every trick he can think of to keep himself alive and moving until he could reunite with the Autobots. He's stumbled on Earth purely by accident, and has landed hoping to gather materials to repair himself and the jury-rigged pile of scrap that he's convinced to think it's a ship; and perhaps scope out an honest-to-Primus alien organic civilization while he's at it. He has no idea he's not the only visitor to this world...
Personality: Very laid-back most of the time; a 'gentle giant' who can handle even the most fragile organic without harming it. A bit of a loner, not because he minds company but he doesn't actively seek it out. Insatiably curious, but methodical in his work. Lives inside his own head. It is very difficult to make him lose his temper - harming defenseless organics is the best way to do it, if you have a death wish. Rhinox doesn't "Hulk out" and lose his mind when he gets angry - just applies his keen mind and great strength in new and creative ways to make the object of his ire have a Very Bad Day.
Likes: flowers, reading, relaxing, building and fixing things, learning about organics
Dislikes: bullies, fighting when it's not necessary, malfunctions, people who interrupt him when he's reading or working, the big swaths of destruction he creates when he fights
Strengths/Weapons: Two rotating chainguns, affectionately nicknamed the Chainguns o' Doom, which can fire metal rounds at a rate of approximately Buttloads/sec. Sustained fire from this can bore through rock or metal, even a ship's hull. Rhinox is also very strong for his size and has a high armor stat, fully capable of winning slugfests with larger Decepticons.
Weaknesses: He doesn't turn or corner well. He has a tendency to get hyper-focused on whatever he's doing, and when he's in that state he's easy to sneak up on. He also hasn't had an antivirus update in a while, making him vulnerable to virus attacks.
Special skills (that are not weapon related): Can repair pretty much any mechanical object, and is a skilled medic both in the field and in a proper medbay. He's a creative engineer, having kept himself going for nearly a century with jury-rigged systems and a box of scraps.
Sample RP (only for first accepted characters): The ship was wheezing and shuddering around him, every bolt and weld threatening to fail at once. Its single occupant gripped the steering column and listened to the cacophony of rattling metal around him. In a low mutter, growing steadily louder, he added his voice to the unconventional music.
"Slag slagging slaggified Primus-bitten sorry-aft Pit-spawned 'Con-fragging slag slag slag..."
Rhinox's litany of invective continued, becoming more and more creatively filthy, as he forced the rickety craft's nose down into the thick, turbulent atmosphere of the third planet out from the system's sun. He'd managed to glean some needed trace elements from the system's asteroid belt, soaked in geothermal energy on one of the gas giant's moons, and marveled at the beauty of the living planet from a high orbit. A watery world, gleaming blue in the light of its sun, showing signs of an emergent organic civilization taking its first shaky steps into space. It was the most wonderful thing he had seen in a long time.
He didn't think it was so wonderful once he was in freefall, trying desperately to keep his ship together long enough to survive the atmospheric entry burn.
"Oxygenated slagging atmospheres, Primus-friggit," he growled, "slagging headed for a meltdown..." He wrenched the steering, pulling his craft away from a watery landing - rusting in saltwater was not how he intended to go out, not after having come this far, not after all the slag he'd been through. "Screaming in a slagpile - now!"
He hit the throttle, and the ship's engines screamed to life, slowing his descent as solid, tawny-gold ground loomed below. If Rhinox's calculations were correct, there would be just enough fuel to slow his descent to survivable levels. Rhinox's calculations were usually correct.
Any landing you can walk away from, Big Green, an old friend's voice said in the back of his processor. Rhinox dismissed it; he did not have the luxury of regret now.
The nameless ship plowed into the desert, sending plumes of golden sand flying in all directions. Rhinox roared defiance at the fates as the ship bucked in his hold, half shredding itself on the ground, half-melted from atmosphere-burn, and all falling apart around his audials - until with a processor-rattling bump, everything stopped, and there was no noise but the hiss and ping of cooling metal.
Rhinox sat back heavily in his chair with a groan. One hand lifted languidly, pointing at the bulkhead overhead.
"I take back," he panted, a broad smile plastered all over his face, "everything bad I ever said about you."