Post by Deleted on May 22, 2016 21:21:38 GMT
Player Alias: Faye
Character Name: Cyclonus of Tetrahex
Allegiance:
Appearance Description:
Cyclonus is an imposing figure. Not counting the horns atop his head, he stands at a impressive thirty feet, enough to reach Megatron's shoulder. His armor is thick, but maintains the shape of a proper Prince and Warrior. He maintains the royal purple coloring of his heritage, both as a nod to that, as well as a source of pride. He also refuses to change his alt mode to fit the human world, and instead continues to transform into a Cybertronian jet. This, of course, causes him to be grounded more often than not, but it is a price the mech is willing to pay to hold onto his heritage.
While Cyclonus' form is imposing, his facial features are even more so. His countenance is harsh, with rarely a smile gracing his lips. Instead, his jaw is often clenched, and the disgust is often compounded by the holes in his cheeks. (It is worth noting here that the holes are not completely open, but instead are covered by a very fine mesh, which is almost completely invisible to the naked optic/eye.) His helm is decorated by a horn and a half, one of which was broken off during a battle.
Personality:
Like most warriors, Cyclonus is a very hardened individual. Years of battle and hardships have left him apathetic to some, and angry to most. A single touch is enough to cause him to physically lash out and harm others; in fact, startling the prince in any way is probably not a smart idea. He is quick to defend himself, even if it's against a non-existent threat. However, what most people don't realize is that a number of his reactions are a result of his PTSD. Undiagnosed and untreated, Cyclonus' disorder causes him to react irrationally and to even hurt those he cares about (if he even has any of those left).
Although his PTSD takes the forefront of most of his actions, Cyclonus is much more than his disorder. Because of his position as a Prince and a Warrior, he was raised to defend the weak and protect those who cannot protect themselves. He has a soft spot for those he seems as "incapable" or "defenseless," though he would never admit it aloud. Instead, his protectiveness is often seen in his actions, as he is rather quick to attack those who touches anyone under his wing.
A apathetic warrior on the outside, Cyclonus is wary of strangers and commanders within. Because of the thousands of years he spent without the ability to consent or control his own body, he has a number of problems with people touching him. If he thinks someone is going to so much as brush against him, he moves away; or worse-- lashes out. Either way, he refuses to allow someone to touch him, even if they're medics.
Weaponry:
- Great Sword (1)
- Talons (10)
- Horns (2)
Strengths + Flaws:
Strengths:
- Loyal
- Protective of the Weak
- Honorable
- Tries to Do What's Right™ (but sometimes fails)
- Swordsmanship
- Hand-To-Hand Combat
Flaws:
- Hair-Trigger Temper
- Apathetic (or pretends to be)
- Emotionally Constipated
- Aggressively Protective
- Takes things Too Far™
- Violent (When Provoked)
History:
Cyclonus of Tetrahex was the first (and only) sparkling of his sire and carrier, the Prince Zircon of Tetrahex and Cumulus of Vos, respectively. From the time he was able to power on his optics, Cyclonus was bombarded with what it meant to be a soldier, a prince. He was taught the ways of royalty, of the warrior, and of a child of Primus. When he was very young, he was admitted into the Order of Clavis Aurea, a strict religious sect, and has since practiced their ordinances and adhered to their covenants.
When he was old enough to take the title of Prince himself, Cyclonus abstained for a few years in order to follow Galvatron. Unfortunately, Galvatron wasn't all that he had portrayed himself to be, and soon he became the leader of what was, essentially, a cult of Unicron. This went against everything that Cyclonus had ever been taught, and everything that he had ever believed in. He attempted to leave the cult, only for Galvatron, by the power of the Unmaker himself, to strip away every ounce of will from the warrior.
Years went by, years that Cyclonus wishes to forget. He served Galvatron as a loyal second in command, using both the skills passed onto him as a warrior and a prince. But as the years went by, Galvatron's sanity began to lessen. He desired Unicron's power. He desired his energon coursing through him. In a desperate attempt to be like his God, Galvatron attempted to bring about chaos. Instead of becoming the Unmaker, however, he simply destroyed most of his cult.
Cyclonus survived the explosion and, injured, made his way to the Decepticons. Though his actions and mind had not been his during the previous years, he had still been able to see everything. He knew of the war that was happening, and aligned himself accordingly. Unfortunately, much like Galvatron, Megatron also crumpled under his power and influence. On Earth he appeared to completely come undone and, in disgust, Cyclonus left him as well.
Without a leader, the warrior took the skies. Though he has no faction, he seems to find himself happier that way, and has taken to living out of a small cave in the Rockies. It is not an easy life, but it is his, and it is one that he has CHOSEN. No one is going to take that from him.
Roleplay/Writing Sample:
He woke to pressure on his chest.
He wanted to say he was used to it, that the crushing weight was typical. Between nightmares and flashbacks and hypervigilance, the weight was something he had grown accustomed to. It haunted his every night, crushing him until he either drifted off or left for a walk. It was his constant companion. Of course, that weight was less literal and more the result of everything he had endured, and, THAT, he was used to.
Waking up to the weight of a minibot, however, was still unexpected.
Red optics flickered briefly before powering on. To his surprise, it was not Tailgate, but Rewind who slept curled on his chest, like a content cat. He was silent, with only his shoulders moving in gentle vents. To his right, Swerve lay sprawled, his mouth open as quiet snores escaped his lips. At least he looked comfortable, even if his shoulder tire pressed into Cyclonus’ inner arm. Tailgate, though, was on Cyclonus’ left. His chubby form was curled, his arms wrapped around Cyclonus’ middle. Unlike Swerve, his head rested gently against his warrior’s shoulder, and he seemed quite content to purr in his sleep.
It was a sight that Cyclonus had not yet gotten used to, but one that still brought a smile to his face. Although he would protest to such a show of affection when the minibots awoke, he would indulge himself for now. The warrior himself wriggled, shifting his right arm to tug Swerve closer. The minibot flopped onto his side, his mouth closing, and the room became noticeably quieter.
Chuckling, he leaned over, pressed his lips to each minibot’s forehelm.
“My dearsparks,” he rumbled, and closed his optics once more.
Yes, he could definitely get used to this kind of weight on his chest.