McClove
From Unofficial Handbook of the Virtue Universe
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| McClove | |
| Player: @Hazelwind | |
| Origin: | Natural |
|---|---|
| Archetype: | Blaster |
| Security Level: | 9 |
| Personal Data | |
| Real Name: | Carol McClove |
| Known Aliases: | Carol, Shorty (if you wish to quickly match her height) |
| Species: | Leprechaun |
| Age: | 309, appears to be in her early- to mid- twenties |
| Height: | 3'11" |
| Weight: | 97 lbs |
| Eye Color: | Emerald green |
| Hair Color: | Bright red |
| Biographical Data | |
| Nationality: | N/A |
| Occupation: | N/A |
| Place of Birth: | Mapleshire, a village in Lyndire, located in The Drifting Talescape |
| Base of Operations: | The Hollows |
| Marital Status: | Single |
| Known Relatives: | Sharon McClove (older sister, deceased), Gregory McClove (younger brother), Molly McClove (mother), Brian McClove (father) |
| Known Powers | |
| McClove's kind are innate to luck and magic. This includes storing objects in "hammer space," allowing her to pull them out of seemingly nowhere. The gold that serves her sustenance empowers magical energy she channels through her body, used for melee combat. Flight is also feasible by conjuring a physically flexible rainbow. Unfortunately, her pot of gold is securely locked in hammer space, and can only be unlocked by reaching into a perfectly arched rainbow path. | |
| Known Abilities | |
| With the ability to enchant certain objects, McClove takes extensive benefit from trinkets to grant herself and others various forms of luck. She is also skilled with handling large guns. Strength, agile evasiveness, and aim are her finest qualities. | |
| Equipment | |
| Solid gold blaster (enchanted to be 10 lbs to its designated wielder), MP3 grenades, gold pocket watch (enchanted to serve as a map, communicator, and alarm. There's an inscription on the back in cursive: "To my dear friend Carol. May your strong resolve guide you always. -Xeli"), several four leaf clovers for luck, and a wooden pipe. | |
| For now, trinkets are RP based only. Models used are Photoshop alterations of Elizabeth Vine. | |
Prologue
What a sad story. Is the Great Thought weaving this embarrassing tale fer us, or are we writin' it ourselves?
Don't ye sorry lads pass th' buck. This is our responsibility. Take it, an' listen now.
The lush rolling hills yer sons an' daughters played on look like a giant dog dug a hundred bones in it. Our blue skies're chokin' with grenade smoke an' blood. Goblin blood. Leprechaun blood. The blood o' yer husbands, wives, sisters, brothers, mums an' dads, drinkin' partners.
Torture will not kill our story friends, nor will war. Nor will murder, or rape, or tyranny. Whisk away every gun, sword and bomb an' our deep-rooted flaw would still grin evilly upon us. Gold will kill us. We need more than our neighbor.
An idiot will ask fer more gold. We foolish imperfects can't be wise enough t' be satisfied. Well, apparently, yer all idiots.
You, me own brothers, hunted m'down lookin' fer bloody justice. Ya banished me from my home to a world none o' ye know exists. I can never see me backyard, me parents, me brother, or me friends ever again.
Damn straight I'm not doin' this fer you. I do it fer them, and the wise innocent lurkin' in the gray, fiery mists o' yer gluttony. I damn well hope I succeed. Maybe then, brothers, you'll see a life without greed, and you will know peace.
More to come!
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