My Villain Academy: Infamy Reigns

Any chance for a late transfer student? I'm rather curious about trying out role playing again...

If you make a sheet we can see about including you.

Uhh Lord Xana...

(I would appreciate any help in formatting if needed...not familiar with it yet, I'm afraid...)

Real Name: Beatrice Rinkhals

Villain Name: Vishkanya

Age: 17

Course: Enforcer

Appearance: Stands straight at 5'8", dark brown minutely scaly skin with several green blotches of larger scales. Slim athletic build evidently shown through self-repairing, light green unitard used as body temperature regulator. Has bare hands and feet with oval, sharp scales in place of nails, will don toe shoes and thin gloves should the weather prove cold enough. Rose patterned head scarf covers her ears as well as part of her black waist-long "dreadlocks": ropes of built-up dead scales that can break off painlessly with a simple twist at the roots. Clear swimming goggles display eyes with bright yellow reflective irises surrounded by black scleras. Wears surgical mask to conceal her fang-like teeth.

Villain uniform: Wears nothing but a deep red bikini swimsuit on top of a sheer bodystocking customized with the same capabilities as her unitard. Gives her the opportunity to show off her serpent-like features mainly as an intimidation tactic.

Personality: The first impression she gives to everyone she meets can be summed up in one word: meek. In all senses of the word. This mild, submissive, moderate persona though is very much a survival tactic developed for working with others. She even tries to keep as quiet as possible in order not to break the facade. Even so, she has let slip at times through her rare vocalizations hints of her high intelligence and strong willfulness along with a passion for knowledge, freedom and privacy. Should any of these values be threatened too close for her comfort, she will fight like a cornered wild animal for them: using her well-toned instincts and creative use of her surroundings to defend herself until death.

Powers:

Partial Serpentine Physiology: Abnormally agile and flexible, bestowing fast, efficient and effortless body movement in addition to hypermobile joints. Owns an heightened sense of smell to help her to track down targets and sensing others' emotions to a small extent.

Scaled Armor: Possesses scales in place of her outer skin hair and nails. They grant her enhanced durability to the level of only being stunned by blows that would kill normal people. Hits will still hurt as much for her as it would for them. Scales don't produce any sweat or oils, giving some freedom in closer social interaction while removing her voluntary control of body temperature.

Seismic Sense: For night navigation, she utilizes the slight vibrations she picks up through physical contact with the ground to perceive her surroundings as precisely as her normal sight. Can sense the structure and materials of solid substances, including the presence of caves, material changes, structural weaknesses, etc.

Venom Secretion: Biofluids contain a constantly shifting composition of hundreds of neurotoxins that can cause varying kinds of death within 5 minutes of entering the bloodstream. Makes the mix untraceable and applicable to most organic creatures but it gives no leeway for others besides herself building up a resistance or creating an antidote. Only three of the toxins have been successfully identified, extracted and diluted for non-lethal applications, such as the injection pens on her gear belt.

Once diluted, the effects of the poisons her body has been known to create thus far have been: muscular paralysis, painkiller and sleepiness, hyperactivity and muscle tremors. At 3 doses, they can cause death by respiratory failure, total organ shutdown, and heart attacks respectively.

Gear: She's never seen without her gear belt with pouches containing these items:

3 custom injection pens with 7 doses each of the diluted toxins

small box of 25 disposable needles,

3 special absorbent towels to mop up body fluid spills

small sprayer of bleach to properly dissolve the toxins before cleanup

Backstory:

Beatrice's earlier years are not easy for her to divulge to anyone, even if proven consistently trustworthy. Understandable given that most of it was spent under glaring lab lights, being constantly observed and painfully modified through needles and surgeon's knives. What little respite she did get was when they let a 'handler' come in to take her for field testing. She still had to be on her best behavior on these excursions for she quickly learned that any sign of rebellion shoved her straight back under the scrutiny of the people in white coats to be worked on until she was more willing to obey.

It wasn't to last long. The handlers arrived less frequently, the lights dimmed and flickered more, and the scientists began to arrive with bags under their eyes. At the time, she didn't understand but in hindsight, she remembered all the whispers that took place behind closed doors back then. She managed to piece together once she was older that when she was created as a prototype for the ultimate assassin, they rushed the process due to pressure from a rival company that was working on a similar product. The result was a 'woefully incomplete hack job' as they put it, chock-full of flaws that were increasingly slow to iron out. This had recently frustrated their sponsors enough to pull back their funding for the continuation of the project, hence the gradual lack of maintenance and care taking place at the time.

Eventually when she turned 12, she did hear talks about terminating the lab entirely once the money ran out. Coincidentally, a mysterious businessman by the alias of D. Fang suddenly appeared to offer a rather interesting deal: he would provide the entire funding for research and experiments on Beatrice as long as he was given a percentage of the profits made, regular samples of venom as well as the rights over Beatrice's complete care. The change to a more luxurious environment gave Beatrice quite the shock. The strange man assigned her to work in an intensive but solid education program right from the comfort of her enormous quarters. He even gave the choice to pursue a hobby, which she declined in order to focus on learning more about the world outside.

She grew to enjoy and even indulge in her newfound freedoms...until about 2 years ago when he commenced regularly introducing her to his business 'partners'. She could see the polite smiles and the attentive looks as D. Fang lovingly describing her capabilities, but the thickening scent of tense fear combined with her caretaker's unsettling pleasure rising in reaction all but nauseated her. It keep reminding of the all too familiar fact that she was being used once again as a tool for everyone else and her patience finally snapped. She no longer wanted to solely exist for others' selfish desire anymore; she just wanted to choose her way of living with no dependence on anyone who could take advantage of her. But first she had to get out and find a cure for her poisonous condition.

She was still tempted to lash out at Mr. D sometimes but she held back, knowing that it would ruin her escape from the gilded cage he provided. It took a while to work out a plan of action suitable for eluding Fang temporarily but once she did, it was all a matter of execution. To her relief, her act of gratitude for his 'charity' towards her by arranging assassin training to help further her usefulness was greedily lapped up. Then it was only a matter of time before he found the academy with training and connections necessary for her career choice. She prepared herself cautiously for this for she knew that if D. Fang ever found out her true goal, she may lose every chance of reaching it...

Miscellaneous: During her time with D.Fang, she's obtained quite the appetite for literature combined with some experimentation with wordplay as her main source of humor. At the moment, she is teaching herself how to create poetry now that she has a better hold on her writing skills.

Funnily enough, she has a distinct aversion of clothing so once given the privacy of her rooms, she will strip down as soon as possible. Those who accidentally caught her at it, however, have most certainly felt the consequences shortly afterwards...

I too have interest in participating, should there be any activity at present.

Also interested.

ayamketimun: Vishkanya, welcome to My Villain Academy

That being said join the discord, there was a temp break do to outside factors so far beyond my control that it is a bit hilarious, but we will get you joined in at the nearest possible point.

Also we are still accepting new villains, especially since we have some players rotating out in order to pursue different works.

This cretin is based off a concept I had as a teenager. As such, I can only apologise, and I'll be happy to rework whatever needs reworking.

• Real Name: Taylan Doyle
• Villain Name: Professor Malicious
• Age: 17
• Course: Mastermind
• Appearance: Not currently known, but if the past is any indicator, then it's pretty damn harrowing Malicious refused to take off his mask and armour for anything. The most he'll do is throw on a dark blue dress shirt and black chinos, and take off the top of his mask, revealing a head of stringy and slimy black hair (even more stringy and slimy than most teenager's hairdos.) He stands well above five feet tall, though this owes more to his armour than to his original height.
• Villain uniform: Imagine if Darth Vader was redesigned by an edgy twelve year old and you've got the basics of the Prof's costume. A cobbled-together armour with a few conspicuous lights, buttons, cables and other such bells-and-whistles across his abdomen and the sides of his arms, over which is a long black lab coat and a very distinctive mask. The crown part can be detached, as mentioned above, and the blue lights over his eyes and mouth shift to indicate his current expression, though without syncing lips.
• Personality: In conversation, Malicious carries himself with a calculated air of menace- imperious, yet steady, with a constant undercurrent of anger. Scratch the surface, and you'll find this kid's got issues for days. He's entirely driven by misdirected rage, paired with the special kind of arrogance built on both talent and deeply buried self loathing. The only thing in the world that matters to him is his own hurt, and everyone and everything else is a means to the end of making the entire world suffer as he has suffered.
• Powers:
  • Slime Physiology: All of his organs, and some of his bones, are to some degree transmuted into a viscous black slime. Not a slime that he can move or manipulate, just a slime. Still, in this state he only needs a short period of sleep, and he doesn't need to eat or drink. If he does consume anything, it'll just get converted straight into slime, or into a gas (don't let him catch you laughing) that he bottles as fuel to power his armour.
  • Minion Spawning: Certain small bits of his slime can group together into lumps and gain a brain of sorts. It's ambiguous how these lumps think or how intelligent they can be, but it seems that the bigger they are, the smarter they are. Malicious can detach these lumps and let them ooze and roll around on their own, but they need to be fed more slime to grow.
  • Engineering Skills: Malicious is a mechanical genius, able to quickly get to grips with all kinds of machinery, and innovate their construction on the fly. He's memorised the layouts of a few big machineries the government never wanted anyone to know about, and has plenty of ideas for future projects. Obviously, however, he needs the proper resources to make the thing work. He can't simply make an astral projector or a trans dimensional portal just out of the innards of a monster truck.
• Gear: Mal's weapon of choice is an electrified whip with a metal blade at the end, and he's working on making the end an opposable claw (Like I said, issues for days.) However, his biggest strength is his workforce, and to that end, he's spawned a few little blobs and constructed mechanical armour for them to pilot. For design, think something along the lines of deviantartist ChasingArtwork's pieces: big and spiky, bristling with armour plates. All of them run on tanks of the same gas that powers his armour, as well as a coupling of battery and alternator. At the moment, he only has one of each of these, and requires resources to make more.
  • Leaper Class: A bronze coloured mech, patterned after four legged creatures, particularly frogs and salamanders. Roughly the size of an alsatian, it looks vaguely reptilian, with sharp claws and a long tail. While it usually runs on all fours, it's capable of leaping fifty feet through the air, though this tends to drain the fuel somewhat. It also has the best waterproofing of the mechs, clamping its metal plates together to secure its innards before swimming, but only up to ten bar resistance. Folds up into a suitcase sized box when inactive. Requires a pilot blob about the mass of a tea kettle, and currently has one named Smallweed.
  • Hover Class: A deep blue mech, about the size of an eagle, patterned after pterodactyls, with helicopter rotors under its fabric gliding wings to enable flight. Its 'claws' form a harness that can lift an average man off the ground by the armpits, and its 'head' contains a camera and a sniper rifle that can be adjusted to fit all kinds of ammo. Folds into an umbrella guise when inactive. Requires a pilot blob about the mass of a fist and currently has one named Scroop. Can also deploy two far smaller versions of itself, each piloted by a grape-sized blob receiving signals from the prime pilot, that more closely resemble apple-sized mosquitos and are equipped with cameras and tasers.
  • Pounder Class: An eight foot scarlet mech patterned after gorillas and bears, with a small head and tremendous arm muscles. This thing is built for brute force, and has little finesse when charging on all fours at a foe. It's capable of at least seven times the strength of the average man, and has the greatest fire resistance, letting next to nothing stand in its way. Folds into a closet sized box when inactive. Requires a pilot blob about the mass of a large bowling ball, and currently has one named Blun.
  • Fixer Class: Something of an afterthought that soon became essential to the minion crew. This green, starfish shaped mech, taking up about the width of an office deck, tends to flop about on the ground, but is deceptively agile and can scale walls and branches like a monkey. Each of its arms bristles with repair tools- wrenches, screwdrivers, forceps, soldering irons, the works -so it can patch up a broken mech on the fly. Its central body contains a surplus solar battery, spare fuel tanks, a sealed slime container and a digital/radio communicator. Folds into a tubular shape when inactive, which makes a good umbrella stand for an inactive Hover. Requires a pilot blob that could be held in a large cereal bowl, and currently has one named Scrimshaw.
• Backstory: Taylan Doyle was born in the small town of Capetewks in Middle America, to a mother that died shortly thereafter. His father, a man named Keane, ran a successful local business, and had a very distant relationship to his son. He often went out early and came back late, leaving a younger Taylan to a revolving roster of babysitters. The most interaction Taylan got with him was when Keane was making sure he looked and acted presentable for school, church, boy scout meetings and occasional trips out. Keeping up appearances was everything to that man, and what little of a relationship they had got worse as Taylan got older and surlier. Beyond that, though, Taylan lived a comfortable enough life- reading books, passing grades at school, crushing on the girl down the street. Plus, his aptitude in Physics and Design-and-Technology started turning teacher's heads, and it seemed he was meant for a bright future in Engineering... Then, at the age of fourteen, his mutation kicked in.
• Being born with an inborn power is a challenging time for most kids, especially when discovering it around puberty. Still, those kids usually adapt fairly quickly, and get a real kick out of the many applications of their powers. Taylan couldn't see any application for his powers. All he saw was that his body was slowly turning black, melting away, falling to pieces right before his eyes. It was a horrifying time to live through, made worse when at times he swore he could feel the black parts moving on their own, and muttering in the night. Suffice to say, this didn't exactly help his mental state, nor his social life. For almost two years, he tried to keep it under wraps as best he could. His father found out eventually, and spared no expense trying to find a doctor to cure his boy, with no success. Eventually, it got to the point where Taylan was bandaging up his half-melted face, and inevitably one day the bandages got loose, and panicked ensued amongst the onlookers. Furious and ashamed, Keane all but tossed his son into the basement, bound him to the wall with a tether, and locked him inside for good. Until some miracle presented itself, Keane Doyle had no son.
• Taylan wiled out his days in the dark, occasionally lit by the light filtering through the hatch, with nothing to do but eat the occasional bucket of gruel and leftovers his father might remember to lower down. But in time, Taylan made a few important discoveries. One of them was that the occasional moving lumps in the slime that made his being could be broken off, and were genuinely alive on their own. They made for decent enough companions, once Taylan got a few of a good size and intelligence. But then came the second biggest discovery. One patch of wall on his cell was more hollow than the rest, and with days of ramming against it, Taylan eventually broke through. What he found on the other side was a sprawling cavern, filled with nameless waste and broken machinery as far as the eye could see. As luck would have it, his house, and indeed his town, was built on top of a dumping ground for Cold War experiments. Taylan ventured down, finding a glowing thing as a light source, and amongst the pools of questionable liquid and the occasional wriggling creature, he found the hulking metal and cables that would form the pillars for the rest of his life. The first thing he constructed, over many days and weeks, was an armour to preserve what little was left of his body. From underground, he could tunnel up into buildings across town and scavenge some proper food, which at this stage was only really good for creating more blob creatures. As he scanned the hulking wrecks and dreamt up schematics for androids and devastation, his worldview hardened into a single unerring philosophy: He was no longer human. Humans were evil. Ergo, he was better than humans, and it was his sworn duty to wipe them off the face of the earth.
• Many months later, Keane Doyle was getting up, ready for a routine work day morning, when without any warning his living room exploded. This was followed by a couple of hulking robots stepping out of the flames, then a dark stranger looking like some strange mishmash of Darth Vader and Sauron. It took him a moment or two to even recognise his son's voice under the modulated pitch, but once he did...what happened next is best left unsaid. This was only the beginning of a rampage that ravaged the town entirely. Rocket thrusters inside the cavern tore up holes in the ground, and a substantial gang of mechanised minions did the rest. Just under a third of the town evacuated in one piece, as the home they knew was reduced to rubble. The self-dubbed Professor Malicious intended to use Capetewks as the staging ground of a wider assault on America. However, this plan was suppered by the advance of the National Guard. Not even his biggest minions were well-constructed enough to stand against war machines, and his reach was pushed back further and further. As the might of the government grew inescapable, and professional superheroes began to make the scene, Prof. Malicious received a message from the Dark Bank, offering him a place at the so-called Villain Academy. Malicious assessed his options, and then stole away into the night, taking only a handful of his remaining minions with him. His remaining machines were remotely detonated, and Capetewks, now a scorch mark on the face of Middle America, was abandoned to government coverups. Now, the king of steel and slime is bound for academia once more, but this time, it forms only a means to an end for his true goal, a campaign of vengeance upon all mankind.
• Miscellaneous: As mentioned, he's studied a few experimental Cold War era machines, and come up with ideas for future machines based off of them. What those machines were and could be can be discussed via PM whenever the plot calls for it.