Vitale Demato De Cordoba [Character]
Jul 8, 2013 11:11:31 GMT -7
Post by Deleted on Jul 8, 2013 11:11:31 GMT -7
Vitale Demato De Cordoba
Adlai Stevenson
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Full Name - Vitale Demato De Cordoba
Nicknames/Alias - Tali, Val, Cordoba
Age - 30
Date of Birth - Jan 1st
Gender - Male
Sexual Orientation - Heterosexual
Affiliation - Hates all with Equal Opportunity
Occupation - Gunhand
Play-By - Karl Urban
Build - Muscularish/Average
Height & Weight - 6'1", 205lbs
Hair - Brown, and shorn on occasion. Usually some stubble.
Eyes - Brown
Unique Features - None other than scars. He has them across his body in different places, each comes with a tail of pain, and none are very entertaining.
Dressing Style - Vitale has but one item of clothing that he cares about, and that is his coat. He served as Alliance in the war and this is his way to 'Stick it to the man', though, I wouldn't bring that up.
Other - Vitale carries a Walther P99 with him morning, noon and night. He is never without it. He also keeps a highly customised G36c which he was given by his first gang leader, Skjalda Björn.
Likes -
Dislikes -
Quirks/Habits -
Fears -
Secrets -
Strengths -
- Vitale has impeccable aim both with handguns and rifles.
- He is trained for terrain association and land navigation.
- He is also trained in EVA fighting and shipboard combat.
Weaknesses -
- Vitale doesn't handle insults well. Not what you think either, it isn't a punch you if you take a stab at his confidence. He relies on other's opinions of himself for his own judgement. It's one of those third eye blind things.
- He's not much for taking orders from a woman, unless she is just the epitome of acrimony.
- Lastly, don't expect much in translations from this dude, vocabulary is not his strong suit.
Talents/Special Abilities -
Aspirations -
Overall Personality -
Father - Boras Demato
Mother - Candy (No other name on record)
Siblings - None that he knows of.
Other Significant People - Will update as character grows.
Pets - None
Your History -
Vitale was born in 2490 in the dead of winter in the town of Cordoba, Greenleaf to a whore who died during childbirth. Boras Demato was a smuggler who had no time for children, and so, Vitale was shipped off to an orphanage, luck really, to still have air in his little lungs. Life in an orphanage leaves pitifully little to talk about. It was a lot of routine, and keeping your mouth shut around adults, while keeping it prominent while amongst your peers. Vitale learned to stay under the radar, and how to bruise people, in ways that were not easily detected. In fact, the only thing of any interest to be said, is that when you're eighteen, you don't get to stay at the orphanage anymore, and Tali, was never adopted.
That life however, is but a poor memory these days. When Vitale turned eighteen, he enlisted with the volunteers to have a chance at some kind of life. He could read and write, and had a set of clothes when he went in, Vitale joined the Marines, and served on the frigate Opinicus as groundside strike crew. Most of the war was what you think, lots of fighting, lots of moving around. The 22nd had been moved to Aberdeen in the city of Sepheras, grand total they were responsible for killing somewhere between nineteen hundred and two thousand enemy troops who surrendered and/or were too lamed to fight.
The last night Vitale spent as an Alliance Staff Sergeant, he watched his team lead kill two women hiding in a closet, without cause. The men had become paid and legitimised killers. Nothing more. The war he'd joined to get away from the orphanage, had become the worst imaginable kind to him, and he could no longer sleep at night, or live with himself during the day. Tali waited until the push for the day ended, gathered his gear, and snuck out the back. It wasn't that simple, but in the end, he found a transport ran by pirates, and bartered his way off planet for the price of his military gear. Real uniforms went for high prices back then, as the Independents were buying identities to set moles and spies in the enemy lines. That was the price of Tali's freedom. So you might say that he payed with his life.
The ship dropped Tali off a few days later, where he stayed hopping one transport to the next, taking odd jobs that only required one skill. Vitale wasn't a murderer any more, but he was still a killer, and after the 22nd, his tolerance for a decent life had dropped considerably. He ended up on Persephone during the start of Minerva's problems. She was hiring out anyone with mercenary connections as muscle, and paying very well. Becoming a member of what was called the Íslendingur, otherwise known as Colt's thugs, which was led by Skjalda Björn.
In time, Björn proved to be less a tyrant, and more of a teacher for Cordoba, and showed him that his life was the result of an oppressive government, and weak citizenship accepting scraps as they came. Tali accepted all these things, and more. In time, Cordoba took to his mercenary calling more than he originally set out too, and became known as Cordoba rather than his namesake. He saw more actual shooting combat as a merc than as a professional soldier, and took real pleasure from it. In the end, all of the twisted crap Tali had seen in his life developed into a masochistic view of life, and how life should be. In fact, this new life was so tempting, with women, booze, drugs and money, that Vitale was as close to falling into the life of a bastard killer himself. Until the Syndicate moved into town.
The battle between the gangs was the bread and butter of every merc on Persephone, and there was no greater paying contracts, than killing the Syndicate grunts. Some new up and coming yuppies who thought they'd stay working into Colt's territory, and what should have been a fast contract, that ended in Tali getting to extort extra cash from the businesses in town, quickly turned into a bloody mess that carved out a stalemate on eighth street. It actually stood at the Houmine River which ran perpendicular to Eighth Street, but despite it's official name, it was called the Eighth Street Bridge by just about everybody. It was so misappropriated by so many people, that advertisements were improperly labeled by some media, and referred to the dress store off the bridge as, "Just off the Eighth Street Bridge." There were a few things like that.
The Syndicate eventually committed more resources than Íslendingur did, and Vitale got to see the new generation of enforcers. All earlier Enforcers(the Syndicates version of the Íslendingur) they had met had been young and inexperienced and worse. It really had been just kids pulled off the streets, and handed guns, and sent to die. But these new ones, they were dangerous, and never before had Vitale seen groups led so precisely. The rumored leader of the group, the mysterious Black Hand, was the tale of death itself, and none of Colt's Íslendingur seemed to know anything about him.
In the end, the Enforcers took the bridge and more. Vitale was held up in a restaurant, taking fire from all sides, when the last of his Íslendingur went down or left, and he was utterly alone. An old chinese man stuck his head out of the kitchen door in the back of the store, down low to the ground, on his hands and knees. He motioned Vitale to throw down his weapon, and hide in the back with him. It was a gamble on both parts, but Vitale made his choice in the seconds he was afforded, threw down his red bandana, vest and pistol belt, but kept his rifle. He was almost to the door when a blonde woman came through with a group. The old man frantically explained that this was his white cook, and not overly smart, but with a heart of gold. He covered for Vitale without knowing him. And it saved his life.
That was the turning of the tides for Cordoba. The old man's name was Mr, Huan and he gave Vitale exactly what he said, a job as a cook. It was also the part of Tali's life that he spent in total sobriety. No drugs, no whores, no fighting. Well, minimal fighting, there were some Íslendingur who remembered Vitale's name, and didn't remember him quitting, but that's another story. The old man got him off of a Red Peach addiction and showed him his first kind years in a lifetime of violence.
It wasn't some monk society, where he reformed and became a saint. Not at all. He was combative and constantly angry, but on a level he didn't show, he did form a bond to the man he hadn't previously known. Someone with no cause showing him favor and graciousness? It wasn't something Tali had looked for, and yet he'd received it blindly. In time, the life he'd been given changed again, Mister Huan started getting problems because he was hiding Tali, and the time for him to move on seemed close at hand. The problem was, Tali was a horrid cook, and the butt of many a joke from Huan, and his skill on a starship was near unusable on the ground. His only other trad was not only unsaleable, it was downright illegal. Unable to register as a mercenary anymore, branded a traitor to the Alliance, and hunted by Minerva's Íslendingur, all chances for a quiet or fruitful life seemed to be slipping away. Tali didn't want to leave Huan, but he couldn't stay. But he had nowhere to go.
But fate it seemed, had one last opportunity for him after all...
What should we call you? - Onas
Roleplaying Experience - Couple of years. Nothing compared to some of you
Where did you find us? - A long time ago, on a site far far away, there was this link. It was pretty, and shiny, and I pushed it. Then I found this awesome site, and these awesome people who changed my life in a very real and personal way. And they told me to leave and never come back, so I came here to ruin ya'lls lives!!
Prove Yourself - Shiny buttons...
Post Script - Vitale wants to blow something up with an orbital strike one day. Just a BIG ASS EXPLOSION!
Other characters - Onas
How we should contact you - Skype; Onasjknox No spaces. Pm ish fine too.
Roleplay Example -
Vitale fell away from people over the last few years. It wasn't really a choice, but more of a quirk of personality. The last thing he wanted was to be cut off from society, but he just seemed to reject the populace. Maybe he'd seen the light, maybe he was really beginning to understand that there was no such thing as winning. Maybe time simply wasn't on anyone's side, and dying was all people had left to look forward to. Maybe he was just an asshole...
Whatever the problem was, the older he got, the less he seemed to care about the universe as a whole, and the more he tended to lean on the few he knew personally. It wasn't always this way. Once upon a time, Tali believed in the greater good. He used to care about the world, and how it prospered and thrived, or the lack there of. How many people were destroyed by the Planet's Alliance's vision of the future. How many people were like him? Huan came out of the shop and interrupted his smoke break to pull him back inside for an order. He didn't actually turn around, or start moving, but he did sort of, turn his head to the side and acknowledge the job calling.
Down the alley, this kid was sitting against the building. Little fella with brown hair and dirt on his face. Why did all kids in the streets have dirt on their faces? Where was the dirt? Did they find it and pat their faces with it to make people like Vitale burn with some desire to help them? His brown eyes tracked across the walls and fell into Tali's gaze. He didn't look away, and the kid didn't either. Haun called again from the store, sounding more persistent than usual. Vi exhaled a full lung of smoke, and stood up, flinging his butt down on the grate. He wiped his hands on the apron at his waist, and stared at the homeless kid for another second, until the kid looked away. Haun wrapped his knuckles on the wood of the screen door, and Vitale finally turned to walk inside. Poor kid would never find scraps in this alley. Yep.
Definitely an asshole.
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SYR INTEGRA of CAUTION 2.0 created this and she will happily hunt you down, rip out your spinal cord, and beat you to death with it if you steal her hard work and claim it as your own. especially since she will gladly share it with any and all who wish to use it, provided they leave her nice, little credit attached.
