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Thinking Out Loud


A Harry Potter Mystery RPG Crusader Citadel
The Kill Factor Legends - An Original Shifter RP

Archer Purtalis

Active Stats
Total Cumulative Posts 15
( 0.62% of total forum posts )
Posts per day 0
Joined 20-August 14
User's local time Jul 17 2018, 03:19 AM
Status (Offline)
Email Private
Integrity Messenger No Information
AIM Name No Information
GTalk Identity No Information
Yahoo Identity No Information
MSN Identity No Information
Personal Message Click Here
Home Page: No Information
Birthday: 14 December 1992
Location: No Information
Interests: No Information
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Last Post: Oct 17 2014, 10:18 AM
Last Activity: Oct 17 2014, 10:18 AM
Player's Alias Ben
GIF link
Shipper Link No Information
Application Link No Information
Nicknames Bear
Character Age 25
Class/Usergroup Class E
Occupation Military-Advanced Scout
Sexuality Heterosexual
Marital Status Single
Mother Belladona Purtalis, B
Father Richard Comfrey, B
Siblings None
Bio Archer’s body spasmed violently as the charge bit into his body; his body shook uncontrollably, shaking the chains and ropes that bound him, the constraints actually groaning under the strains of his prodigious strength. His head was thrown back by the strength of the electrical discharge, his muscles locking as the electricity coursed through his body, it was an intimate thing this pain, seemingly coming from within and without at the same time. It was as if the charge were a living, breathing thing that caressed him, it knew his form completely and it’s every caress caused torrents of the sharp, agonizing pain. The charge stopped, and Archer’s head slumped back onto his chest again, he was unable to keep it up; his mind reeling from the intensity of the torture. He shouldn’t have been awake at all; it was a testament to the capabilities of those who had made him that his physiology had kept him alive this long.

The high-pitched ringing that deafened him stopped him from hearing a question it appeared because suddenly someone was laying into his chest and stomach. The blows were strong and cruelly placed, one to the sternum driving the air clean out of Archer’s body and causing him to drool thick strands of bloody saliva. The other blows landed on his stomach around kidneys and liver, they were designed to cause the most pain possible and his muscles screamed as the blows landed on them, already on the point of near tearing from the paroxysm’s they had suffered only moments before. Archer coughed violently, a mixture of his body trying to suck in as much oxygen as possible after it had been driven from his body and caused by the instinctive wish to draw in breath to stifle the pain. A light mist fell back onto his face; he could smell the sharp copper scent of his blood and his mind slowly clearing fixated on the sensation, it meant internal haemorrhaging. His body was a gift, a creation of some of the brightest minds in Jericho; it could heal and survive wounds that would kill another man twice or thrice over, he was designed to be resilient, to survive where others would crumble and to resist anything thrown at him, but even it had limits. Catastrophic injuries could be healed but not if they were compounded upon. His body simply didn’t have the facilities to heal everything at once and whilst it followed the basic principle of self-healing, focusing on the things that would keep it alive longer, Archer knew that those attentions wouldn’t be focussed upon his lungs and the tears within them whilst electricity was tearing through his body.

Another blow flew into his side, and Archer felt something break under the impact in his chest. He coughed violently, spraying more bloody sputum from his lips; the rib would be an issue he realised despite the fogginess of his head, bones were difficult injuries to heal for anyone, even with Archer’s increased curative abilities. The bone would have to be set in place, only then could his body begin to heal it. His face was grabbed roughly and with a violent jerk, pulled towards his captor. He was being asked something over and again, but his mind was still cataloguing the injuries and hazy from the electricity and the huge dopamine release in an attempt to handle the pain and couldn’t focus on the question. He forced himself to listen to the question, shaking his head to clear it or at least trying but the person’s grip was strong and held it in place.

“Who sent you?”
“ Where are you from?”
“How many of you are there?”
As if to punctuate each of the questions, his captor threw another blow into Archer’s body; the man kept on asking the questions over. Archer said nothing, he held his jaw together even as the pain overloaded his mind and blackness enveloped him, his mind fleeing into unconsciousness in order to protect itself.

The water was freezing; chunks of half-formed ice struck Archer as the water slapped him as surely as any of the blows he’d undergone. Archer gasped at the temperature, the cold reaching deep into his core and snuffing out any heat that his naked form had left. The cold was needles of agony to his abused body, for a few moments Archer could not even draw a breath, his body shocked into being awake by the water and then held in that shock. Slowly, the icy cold that clutched his mind began to rescind, he was still sopping wet with half frozen water but his body was beginning to go numb, shutting down the pain from the torture and the water. He began coughing again, feeling the rib grinding inside him as his body was once again wracked by involuntary spasms. The cloth that was tied around his eyes was torn away, allowing unfiltered light from a single light bulb to streak into them and causing Archer to screw his eyes shut again. He blinked a few times, allowing his eyes to respond and get used to the sudden change in light intensity and then looked around at the room. It had probably once been a domestic residence, but his captors had since torn out everything bar the walls and floor. All that was left a small cube of crumbling concrete, cramped between himself, the man in front of him and the painting table covered in various instruments that Archer recognised as crude but effective torture devices.

Archer turned his attentions back to the man. His captor was busying himself with the tools, he held the unhurried pace of someone doing something they had done multiple times, someone practiced in the art of harming another person. There were no questions now; that would come after Archer knew; the man wasn’t interested in the answers, which were the interest of the people he worked for, this man was only interested in one thing, and that was Archer’s suffering.

Archer hung from the ceiling of the cell; his arms and legs were bound with ropes and loops of chains. He vaguely remembered having broken the last restraints that his captors had used to secure him; he’d shattered the jaw of one of the guards and close to torn off the arm of another. In the end there had been too many of them to make good upon his escape. His shoulders had long ago given up on complaining about the agony of supporting Archer’s entire mass, and Archer was grateful for that. His eyes returned to the man again, he’d stepped away from the tools now clearly satisfied with this checks and was putting on a leather apron of sorts. It looked like it had once had a pattern of some sorts but instead all Archer could make out was the stains of viscera and body fluids. Deciding it was now or never, Archer gripped the chains from which he was suspended, he pulled sharply, dragging his body up vertical so that he was now upside down, and his feet were pressed to the ceiling. If his body had screamed before at the pains inside him, now it was ravening, crazed by the pain that filled him at the manoeuvre. Archer gritted his teeth hard enough that he heard the ceramic of his teeth creak and pulled with all the strength his body possessed.

For a moment there was a test between the man and the metal bindings that the chain was attached to and then Archer was falling, the moorings torn clean from the cement of the ceiling. The torturer turned around, startled at the noise and looked momentarily aghast as the huge man landed on the floor. Archer moved quickly, wasting no time in seizing the initiative, the chains may have held his hands but that simply gave him a whip to wield. He whirled the length of chain and concrete above his head and loosed it; the connection was solid, the concrete and thick metal driving into the man, sending him sprawling across the room. There was no time to check if the blow had been lethal or not; the landing had been good but everything else had been a series of highly suspect noises, and Archer knew it was only a matter of time before someone stepped in to check on the situation.

His legs were bound together, but Archer could see that the chain was held together by a weaker lock, half rusted with age and exposure. It would have been enough to stop him from freeing his legs under the strength they possessed alone, but coupled with his arms the lock soon snapped open. Standing up properly, Archer dashed over to the unconscious or dead torturer; exposure could just as easily kill as a knife or bullet, and he was naked. The torture was a rotund man, the scavenged trousers easily fitting Archer, as on inspection, would his boots and socks. Getting the clothing on wasn’t the easiest of tasks to do quickly, not with his hands still bound together, but Archer managed none the less, tying up the loose material with a length of the rope that had bound his legs together.

Finding nothing in the fatter man’s pockets that could help him, Archer moved over to the table. He grabbed a few of the items, a long bladed scalpel, a hammer and a pair of bolt cutters all went into the torturer’s tee-shirt which he then folded and tied onto his belt. He bundled the metal up into his hands, ready to swing it at the sign of trouble. The whip would be less useful in the tight corridors he was sure he’d have to move through but until he could be certain that he had the time it would take to get the chains off his hands he would have to deal with it. Crouching and ignoring the pains that filled his body, Archer moved quickly to the door. Placing an ear to it he listened for signs of activity outside the door, he could hear little movement and more on instinct than anything threw himself bodily away from the door which splintered behind him as the shot tore through it. Archer slid across the floor, bumping into the body of the torturer; the shot had come from a shotgun of some sorts and had obliterated a chunk of the door near to where Archer’s head had been. The gun was just visible from Archer’s vantage point on the floor, it was a crude weapon, weaponsmiths were a real rarity in the wastes of the world and this weapon looked equally as likely to kill the wielder as whoever it was pointed at.

Archer sized up his options and saw none better; launched himself into a roll, bringing himself up to the wall on the opposite side of the gun. Counting to one he turned and kicked the door with all the strength his leg contained. The wood flew back, carrying the person hiding behind it with it into the wall behind it, wasting no time Archer sprinted out of the gap and grabbed a second sentry that had begun to turn into the room by the face and smashed him into the wall. Immediately he heard shouts being raised and grabbed the door, ignoring the broken form and the gurgle that came from it. Unable to spread his hands to either side of the door, he cinched the metal of his whip around it instead, supporting the door by the single point of both hands. It wasn’t comfortable and too long would produce some horrible friction burns from the metal’s pull on his skin but in that moment it present the best option of cover.

Archer began to run; a barricade given motion. The corridor stretched out in front of him with no offshoots that he could see except for closed doors, the place had probably once been a series of tenement flats but he paid no attention to anything bar his escape. Dashing out to the end of the corridor, Archer came to a stairwell; he could hear the sounds of boots ringing on the naked concrete and so he went down instead. The stairwell had windows in it which let in a small amount of light from the moon outside and the chill of the night, Archer could hear the men above him; they were shouting something but he was just too far away to take much notice of what it was. He rounded another corner of the stairwell and stopped himself, in front of him the floor had given away under the test of time, the encampment and its people had made a sort of ropeladder that swayed slightly under the breeze that was let in. Archer looked back the way he’d come and heard the boots getting closer. The rope ladder down to the floor beneath him looked frail at best and Archer wondered if he'd missed a way that he’d been brought into the building. It was possible that the flats had been connected to another building that remained from before the crisis. Seeing no other option, Archer dropped the door down the hole and grabbed one side of the ladder with both his hands and began to climb down to the next floor.

The ladder was old; Archer could smell the ropes age as he pressed his face against it, holding himself on as he attempted to climb down another rung. He had moments before the men were above him and then they only had to shoot down at him, the proverbial fish in a barrel. The floor of the stairwell beneath him had almost entirely crumbled away too, showing ancient metal support spars and an open doorframe to the floor. Looking about Archer realised his only option was to get onto the floor, he’d be protected from the guns by the overhang and could try and find a way out. He swung the ladder, feeling the ropes rub against the concrete above him, his weight providing a tension that would eat through the old rope. He swung again feeling the ladder beginning to give slightly, this time he got closer still, the open doorway looming a few metres below him. With one final jerk of his body the ladder snapped, flinging him towards the open expanse. Archer swing was short and he hit a little low, his body folding around the concrete of the floor and sliding backwards. Scrabbling for purchase Archer began to slip down towards the stairwell’s gaping maw as if sliding down the throat of some great beast.

Panic gripped Archer and he cycled his legs trying to find something to support him underneath the ledge. His hands dug into the concrete, his nails splintering under the forces applied to them but Archer was too panicked to care, he slipped further and this time his hands found purchase on a support spar leaving him hanging almost as he had been in the interrogation room. His face screwed up tight as he fought to keep himself from screaming, his weight causing his shoulders to almost pop out of their sockets. Summoning the last reserves of his strength Archer slowly pulled himself back up so that he was level the strip of solid ground and then pulled his legs up and rolled into the doorway. He lay there for a minute listening to the sounds of people above him but too ecstatic at simply being alive to worry about them. He’d slowed their response in getting to him with the loss of the ladder and for now he was simply too tired to do anything but lay there. He would need food soon, his bodies healing process taking huge amount of calories to maintain, such was the payoff for his increased strength and durability. He lay there, knowing he had to move but simply too exhausted to even begin, rather than waste the time he ran through a checklist of things he would need, it would be a long road back to the extraction point, water and food being high on the list of essentials. He would also need to find some means of sheltering himself from the elements, the desert got cold at night and there was a large expanse of it between where ever here was and Jericho.

He was emaciated and badly dehydrated when the pick-up team found his signal fire, it had taken him three weeks to make it back to the accepted fly zone area, and another week of waiting before a “buzzard” carrier had flown overhead. He didn’t accept the crews aid, however, and stepped onto the helicopter under his power; he sat down in the harness and allowed himself to be checked over by the medic. He focused instead upon the voice that came in over the headset that was slapped down over his ears.

“Complete?” It said a single word in the unconcerned tones of a commander who sent their men to die often.

“Complete.” Archer said back, his throat a rasp of sand paper. The voice said nothing else to him, and Archer let his head sink back into the neck support, another mission completed, another training exercise passed. Happy 15th Birthday me; he thought to himself as the carrier took off and an IV was plunged into his arm.

Happy 15th birthday me.
Extras Archer Purtalis: Mutant Classification "Bear"

Archer is the creation of the advanced research that has gone into Project X, designed to recreate the findings of Project RAITH and also to research means of ensuring protection against Raith and Councilman Bishop should they ever be deemed threats to Jericho itself. As a mutant Archer has developed none of the mental powers like many of his brothers and sisters but has instead gained impressive physical powers.

Strength: Archer's strength is above that of any normal person of an equivalent size. Archer is a muscular man but not built like professional body builders, despite being capable of dead lifting weights up to 1,300lbs.

Resilience: Archer has a natural predisposition to incredible resilience to infection and disease. His body is more than capable of withstanding and holding out against diseases and wounds that might kill another person.

Healing: Archer's body is capable of highly advanced feats of healing. Wounds that would take weeks of healing can take days, however, this like all Archer's powers require a drastically increased metabolism. Archer's healing will only function when he is capable of ingesting enough calories to maintain the healing.

Hand to hand combat specialist: Whilst capable of wielding a firearm, Archer's scores have always sat at the low end of the necessary pass rate when using a firearm. In hand to hand combat, however, Archer is in his element, using his increased strength, speed and resilience to easily out class most foes.

Silly old bear; Archer is perhaps one of the most capable of the mutants at interacting with others. Despite the peculiar nature of their upbringing, Archer has shown an easy ability to get along with other people, though generally says very little to others, relying on body language and facial expression more than words. When Archer does choose to speak. he is an unusually deep soul, offering rare insight to an issue or situation.

Personality; Archer is an easy going soul, he is generally genial and not at all quick to anger.Despite his rather prodigious strength, Archer is a gentle giant who due to the very strength he posses, acts with consideration and care that often makes others often think of him as slow.
Age 21
Timezone GMT
Playby Armie Hammer
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Thinking Out Loud


A Harry Potter Mystery RPG Crusader Citadel
The Kill Factor Legends - An Original Shifter RP