Marine Name (so we know who you are; if you play alien mostly, state that here): Jose "Aztec" Tepale, Anatoly Andres, Francis Doyle, Christie Meeks, Anson Klein (I do play a whole lot of Alien rounds, and I understand the issue with that.)
Name of the character you want whitelisted (The name your predator will use. This must match your in-game predator name): Ta'juiel Ta'ytaan
Are you familiar with the Predator Code Of Honor?
Yes.
Character background (An ADEQUATE description and story of your predators background):
All children have that one thing in common, regardless of where they hail from, whether it be the crowded cities of modern planet earth, a backwater colony on the outskirts of our charted universe, or those who have been brought up long before we even had the technology allowing us to traverse the night skies. That craving to explore, understand and at times, even best the world around them. Caution, unfortunately, all too often an afterthought. It falls upon the parents to guide their offspring, to maneuver them past the more dangerous obstacles that lay before them.
Zuma, a young father and formerly uprising member of an amazon tribe hidden deep away in the jungle, had come to learn the above the hard way. Death from minor infection and sickness not uncommon in these less developed parts of the world, he found himself single-handedly raising a teenage boy after his wife had succumbed to illness. These circumstances alone, render the difficult task of preparing ones child for adulthood a nearly impossible one. However, this remote settlement, had more important things to worry about than the misfortunes of a single tribesman. It was the month of the blood-trial, as proclaimed by the current chieftain - and many before him. An old tradition, a ritual of sorts; little of its surrounding details were known to Zuma, or the other eligible men, for that matter. All he knew, was that every fifteen or so years, around three to five of the most capable warriors seemingly voluntarily leave the village - never to be seen again. It is said that these men embark on a long, troublesome journey, meant to garner the blessings of the gods and avert their wrath.
Zuma had once refused the honor. Not wanting to leave his infant child behind, another man went in his stead, and he was in turn branded unworthy, a coward even. He shall make up for it, now that his son stands on the brink of what the tribe considers adulthood, there is no circumventing it - lest the chieftain selects his son in spite. Xima, his son, naturally did not take well to his father's plans. The argument that life would be better, with the label of outcast set aside through the sacrifice of his father, he wanted none of it.
"I stay. They will make you go. I will not permit.", calmly addressing his son following the night of the gathering, Zuma was set to leave the village at dawn. They were seated beside a fireplace, just outside of their modest hut on the outskirts of the village. Final preparations in full stride, his knife in hand, chipping away at few off-pieces of wood on his arrows. Primitive weapons, no doubt, in the hands of a warrior such as Zuma however, deadly still.
"Can we not go together?", stirring up the fire with the sharp end of Zuma's spear, Xima looked at his father, hoping for the best, despite knowing the answer full well. He only received a pat on the shoulder in response, along with forced and half-hearted smile. Hanging his head in defeat, Xima retired to bed earlier than usual. Clicking his tongue, Zuma reassured himself that he'll get over it. One day. As for now, his mind was preoccupied with other things. Such as the events of the night before, when the leader of the tribe had summoned the participants to his hut. A burning torch in the old man's one hand, the only source of light, and a basket in the other. He briefly illuminated each tribesman's face, taking but a moment to stare into each ones eyes, and quite possibly, souls - scrutinizing. He meant to gather whether these men possessed the courage to save the village, as have their ancestors before them, have it prosper for yet another cycle. Exchanging short glances, they finally nodded and subsequently followed the old man below surface, descending via a small passage hidden away behind a wooden trap door in the floor.
In complete darkness, a stroll can seemingly turn into an eternity. And that it did, evidently so by the steadily declining temperature. By the time they had almost arrived at their destination, the men could already see clear traces of their breaths in the air. A freezing, dry environment, none of them were familiar with to this point. The men couldn't help but notice paintings on the walls, as they continued on their way down. Strange creatures were featured in these man-made tales, some of whom looked somewhat like the lizards in the jungle, albeit bigger in scale and much more vicious. Other creatures, appearing somewhat human, but taller and bulkier, with claws no less. Another one depicted people, or so he thought. A handful of them, sat around a rock of sorts.
They dared not asking. The bravado of the other two seemed to have faded along the way, Zuma noted in passing.
"Halt... Remain."
The chief whispered, a firm, urgent look emphasizing the utter importance of his words. The flickering light of the torch hobbled into a dark tunnel ahead, and finally disappeared behind, what appeared to be, a thick wall of fog. The tribesmen waited in total darkness, neither of them feeling quite brave enough to disrupt the silence. Luckily, for a lack of a better term, the old man returned shortly. Although not with empty hands - the chieftain carefully made his way toward the young warriors, the basket now carrying something fairly large wrapped in a blanket of sorts - strange material that. It was handed to Zuma.
"ZUMA!"
Awoken, the fireplace still crackles a little bit. The sun already on the horizon, with his two companions thankfully stepping into the sun's blinding rays of light. Feline-like steps, as he makes his way inside to retrieve the basket and his arms. A final look over his shoulder, Xima sleeps still - it's best not to wake him. He will not understand. Some of the villagers had gotten up early to see the men off to their undertaking, though this wasn't a joyful event. Far from it. Most glances shared between the party and their fellow tribes members were ones of concern and uneasiness. Alas, the trio knew, understood that there was no way around it. The duty had to be done, as was decreed by their chieftain:
They shall carry the basket, to a valley marked on the map they were given - looking at it, Zuma estimated it would take them around about 4 days to reach their destination. Marching throughout the entire day, and only resting at sunset. No one, absolutely no one is to touch the contents of the basket. Once arrived, they will come to find a temple of sorts, or rather its remnants. Their prized possession is to be unraveled, only then and at that particular time, and placed on a makeshift altar. Then they must sit and wait, until the gods themselves deem them worthy their time. In the meantime, and until they get there; they are never to quit. Not to stop, return, or stray from the path - no matter the costs, or else their actions would doom the village, along with all of its inhabitants.
Following half a day's worth of marching, with the village far from sight, the other two began sharing their thoughts on what this joint venture could possibly entail. Perhaps the gods had selected them to serve in some form or another, one surmised, after all, they are undeniably among the strongest, most capable warriors. Zuma stuck in between, the wiry Iuitl leading the way, and Mazazoh, a man of nigh on giant proportions a few paces behind them - he thought both of them rambling. Iuitl, clearly the clever one out of the two, almost immediately set Mazazoh back on track; whatever the "unworthy one" is carrying, he pointed at Zuma, would probably be inadequate as the sole gift. There is more to it than just that. Did they not see the inscriptions on the walls? They told tales of battles between men and beasts, bloody ones at that.
"What do you make of th- Zuma?"
Left behind, for what they thought was a moment to catch his breath, Zuma stood frozen, glaring into a far away portion of a tree line - waving them off abruptly, just in time as Mazazoh meant to raise his voice in frustration. Iuitl, far ahead of his brother, literally as he moved past him, creeping up besides Zuma in a predatory hunched stance and his bow in hand. Someone is watching them, Iuitl declared while squinting his eyes, and if it weren't for Mazazoh's loud, thumping foodsteps as he caught up with the others, they could've very well heard Zuma's heart beating so loud, damn near sounding like it intended to burst out of his chest.
► Show Spoiler
All the protest in the world probably wouldn't have stopped Zuma from confirming his suspicions, the bearer of the sacrificial gift had to be escorted, that much the others understood. As such they converged on their target, vigilant to their surroundings. Mazazoh wisely avoiding stray tree branches and sticks on his path this time around. As they draw closer, excruciating screams do away with their careful approach. Perking up, Iuitl and Mazazoh exchange a worried look. It was none other than Zuma himself who rendered their efforts in vain, as he charged through the jungle in mind-boggling haste. Zuma's well being a secondary concern, the common consensus appeared to be that it would be best to approach with caution, and arms at the ready. None of which could possibly prepare them for the gruesome sight they were about to see. Following the swath of one enraged man, the others entered, what appeared to be, a battlefield. Bits and pieces everywhere, guts and streams of blood covering nearly the entirety of the ravine. Zuma standing up to his ankles in the middle of all the gory muck, and to everyone's dismay, not alone. Carrying the body of a lifeless child.
Dusk approaching fast, the men saw themselves forced to set up camp for the night. For better or worse, the child was merely unconscious and while that served to keep Zuma from going over the proverbial edge, it also meant another burden upon their collective shoulders. They sought refuge underneath a ledge, not having made it too far from their horrific findings, they refrained from lighting a fire, it being the ultimate giveaway of their presence. Given their obligatory stop, Iuitl and Mazazoh took it upon themselves to recount the details surrounding the battlefield. Some of which, Iuitl had been deeply ruffled by. The heads of the victims, they were all missing, bar the child's of course. The corpses had been mutilated beyond belief, limbs covered in deep cuts and heavy bruises scattered around the moist, blood soaked jungle-ground. There was more; you would expect intestines to be scattered accordingly, upon closer inspection however, it had appeared that all corpses were cleanly stripped of them. Not as in ravaged by a wild animal of sorts, but sliced out and extracted, to what end, Iuitl would not surmise. Surprisingly, the worst, most foreboding part had yet to be addressed - he noted a basket laying some feet away from the center of where the battled appeared to have taken place. It was in near pristine condition, and the oddly shaped cover, much like the one Zuma's thing had been wrapped in, now laid astray.
A back and forth regarding the events leading up to the fight had ensued, the most probable conclusion being that the slain men were of another tribe, also set to take part in the trial. They must've not obeyed the rules of the ritual, and unraveled the gift ahead of time, curiosity getting the better of them. Resulting in a dreadful, fatal punishment elected by the gods. The coward's son had to have followed them when they left the village, stumbling right into the bloodbath of an almost otherworldly magnitude.
As Mazazoh departed, to empty his bladder, Iuitl took it upon himself to check up on the other two. Zuma was in a bad way, both mentally and physically. The son had not regained consciousness as of yet, none of which particularly worried Iuitl in itself. The prospect of having to drag two, more or less lively bodies to their designation, along with the repercussions of altering the conditions of the ritual - that's a whole other story. Just as the thought crossed his mind, the boy appeared to come back to his senses. Zuma, overwhelmed with relief pulled his son close. Strangely quiet, the boy, must be in shock, he presumed. Alas, nothing to dwell on, Iuitl would give them some time to themselves and return to his friend - speaking of which, he had been gone for a while now. Too long, in fact. The lanky man's eyes scanning the shrugs, the giant was nowhere to be seen, anxiety seething through his otherwise stoic demeanor.
"GET IT OFF! OFF WITH IT!", they pulled and jerked, tore and cursed, the damn thing just wouldn't come off. They found the mountain of a man slumped to the ground, curled up in a puddle of his own excrement. A creature attached to his head, clasping it with its long, menacing looking knuckles. The boy wanted no parts of this, understandably, it's not often that you see tried and tested warriors fall prone to utter panic. Sitting at an arguably safe distance, he clutched at his knees, pulling them close, as if they were a protective shield against all harm. Iuitl went as far as trying to chop the thing off of his brother's face, howling in pain when the acid-like blood shot out the wound, struck his hand. Staring at the knife as it fizzled and evaporated, they came to terms with the sentiment that their companion could not be saved. The creature let off from Mazazoh's face anyway, albeit in its own time. Half of his face burned so bad that parts of his jaw bone protruded through the ruptured skin. Assuming that all of the dreadful things leading up to the warrior's demise had to do with the other tribes' misguided efforts at partaking in the ritual, they burried Mazazoh and left to continue their journey, in an attempt to sway the gods' foul mood.
The events had everyone exhausted, the child seemed to have taken the blunt of it, too. As he regained his ability to speak, Iuitl overheard his tales of the single assailant who supposedly massacred the men. Towering, as tall as two of our people stacked on top of each other. His skin as black as a panther's furry coat, and bundled locks. Claiming that it was him, who had their heads bound to his waist in neat packages. Him, who robbed them of their innards using a short, double edged spear, reflecting the light as if it were the surface of the water. Not to mention that this thing possessed the ability to fade in and out of existence, like a ghost. The demon was said to have turned his head sideways, crackling to the treetops, before disappearing into thin air. Touched in the head, that boy.
With the sun setting, Iuitl had just about enough of the kid's fairy tales, deciding that they would set up camp. They all needed a break from marching, and talking. The party lit a bonfire to keep the predators away, father and son retreating to a large tree log, and the remaining tribesman on the opposite side. Little did they know that, while a bonfire may keep some predators at bay, others see it as an open invitation. It took him a little while until the uneasiness wore off, feeling his mind slipping Iuitl closed his eyes to the sounds of the jungle's animals chirping, croaking and crackling. Shooting up with his eyes wide open, he looked over towards the others, grasping at his bow. "Unworthy one. Unworthy one. Unworthy one.", Iuitl's shallow voice echoed through the jungle, but it wasn't Iuitl uttering the words. Crackling.
► Show Spoiler
The struggle in full effect, the seven feet tall creature held onto Zuma's throat, lifting his entire body off of the ground. The boy, terrified as you would expect doing his best to distract the demon. Flailing at it, to no avail. Hell, the rigid beast didn't even respond to Zuma's blows. The bow bent under the pressure of the string and arrow, Iuitl took aim at its head - only to turn on his heels, betraying the others in an effort to save his life. What's an arrow going to do? The question was of rhetorical nature. A final look over his shoulder as he dashed away, hopefully they would put up a good fight and buy him some time. Left behind, Zuma and his son were trapped fending for their lives.
The creature whipped out its spear, extending it, putting its sharp edges on full display. Zuma's vision already dimmed, he barely managed to see the reflection of his terrified self and beyond that, what appeared to be Iuitl, staggering to their rescue. Toppled over, he finally revealed that it was not a change of heart that brought him back, but a punctured, gaping rib cage. More importantly, he did not come alone. The demon-like creature had become aware to the four-legged beast's presence earlier, apparently, the grip loosening, it turned to face its adversary. The son's senses not attuned to the altered circumstances, still putting up a fuss, swatted to the side like an insect. Arching its back, the demon let go of the spear, dropped Zuma like a sack of meat, crossed its claws and let off a roar of mind-numbing proportions.
The two engaged each other with reckless abandon, soon becoming but a tumbling blur of entangled limbs, claws and tail. By the time Zuma had regained consciousness, the demon already towered over the fiend. The "coup de grace", a final blow, slicing the fiends skull in half. The demon didn't go unscathed though; gashes, and burns forever bearing witness to the battle at hand. A disgusting stench of other-worldly fluids mixed with the scent of human blood, and it was then when he recalled - the sight of his frail son's body being squashed. Clutching at his lower body, vulnerable and on all fours, the monster seemed to be intent on holding his innards in place. The spear, now or never! Zuma saw his chance and snapped out of his stupor, racing to the demon's earlier weapon of choice. Alas, whereas the human expected the demon to rear up and struggle, it appeared to be in a... state of lethargy. It was only now, that it finally revealed its true form. Crawling away on its back, slowly, but surely in an attempt to evade certain death. The creature's visage, no longer hidden behind the mask, made it quite clear that it had in fact sustained a vicious onslaught. Half its jaw gone, hanging only by a loose string of skin tissue.
Zuma brought the spear up, over his head, looking down at his prey with the will to kill on full display. Thunder, followed by lighting. The gods would bear witness to his victory. But what he saw in the creature's eyes shortly after, was not fear, it was relief? Could it be that even monsters know this emotion? The sky is so clear. He did not even remember laying down. Such were his final thoughts, right before the predator, Ta'juiel, caved his face in, firmly drilling it into the mud with his bare fist. Drips of saliva trickling out his exposed jaw and all over the kill. Thump, thump, thump - Ta'juiel mentor finally descended from the very crown of the tree. His plasma caster still irradiating from when it punched the hole into the human's torso moments ago.
"Administer first aid.", and so he did. Intent on collecting a trophy, he bent over the human. Only to be repelled by his master.
"THIS is mine, NOT yours.", the Xenomorph, Ta'juiel briefly considered the possibility. His master's mandibles flared.
"MINE.", the younger Yautja knew better than to question the claim. He knew very well that he would have not survived, had it not been for his mentor's timely intervention.
"You have achieved nothing. You are STILL nothing... Bested by a human, no less.", the older Yautja gathered his trophies, when headed for departure, they passed by the human youth. Ta'juiel cocked his reclaimed spear, aiming for the child's throat, when his master retracted the attempt.
"You have forfeit your right to kill."
"Unworthy one."
How do you intend to play your predator (as in, describe HOW you will act/play your predator)?
With the notion in mind that he himself would not be participating in the hunts to come at all, had it not been for the timely intervention of his elder clansman. This shameful loss to a human, a common one, would have stripped him of all honor and thereby the right to commit to the true purpose in Yauja life - the hunt. Realizing the magnitude of his defeat and subsequent failure, he burdened himself with a ritual of his own:
1.)
Rightful kills are not his own.
(Incidental ones aren't worthy of his elder.)
2.)
The prey will bear witness to the rightful kill, in absence of his elder.
(The victim must be informed of the fact that their death is not accredited to their executioner. Effectively this means that they are told that they are killed on behalf of U'steiar Ta'ytaan, preferably while they are still breathing. If Ta'juel fails at that, the mark's forehead must be inked with the Yautja's blood, while he recites the reason for his failure and to whom the kill belongs.)
3.)
Elaborate, slow deaths add meaning to the kill.
4.)
This Yautja was defeated in melee combat. Ranged combat renders a kill meaningless.
(This only applies to Ta'juel's arsenal. Effectively this means that, while yes, he may use ranged arms to defend himself, it does nothing to further his cause. Leading to a reluctance to using them at all.)
5.)
The right to claim his prey is only restored under one condition; being recognized as an elite hunter, not only by his peers and elders, but more importantly, by the Yautja that bestowed upon him another chance at life.
My predator holds a particular grudge towards human kind, longing for worthy opponents in their ranks, who's deaths will serve to the ends of redeeming himself. Having witnessed their arrogance, he not only wishes to slay them, but to break them beforehand. By all means necessary. Due to the above stipulations, Ta'jueil will primarily attempt to stalk and capture humans alive, in order to take them to a secluded area, in which he can perform his sacrificial ritual without interruptions.
Xenomorphs, on the other hand - they're fair game. Having learned his lesson in regards to underestimating his opponent, caution would prevail against these fierce creatures. He would strike decisively and death would come quick.
Why should we whitelist you?
I'm an avid roleplayer, well-versed in both forum-based and game-based roleplay. I make a clear distinction between out of character and in character events and keep the two separated at all times, while maintaining a habit to address and respond to issues pertaining to either aspects accordingly and in a mature, courteous manner. I try to project as little of my OOC persona onto my characters, and instead do my best to make my characters motivations the driving factor behind their actions.
To give an example of what I mean:
As a player, I would generally prefer to remain active and in action in a round for as long as humanly possible. However, when I slot as PFC Christie Meeks (a notorious coward) or Lieutenant Klein (egoist par excellence), I tend to make a desperate break for salvation, at just about whatever the costs. If that means departing from a round prematurely via pod, then so be it.
That aside, I'm also a fairly patient guy. I don't need to jump onto every sprite in a murder-boning fashion, don't need to be first one to charge headfirst into the fray. This seems to coincide with some of what's expected of the predator playstyle, namely showing restraint in favor of the round, as opposed to recklessly utilizing their potential resulting in an overly imbalanced round. As far as robustness goes, well, I'll be honest: I'm probably not the most robust guy out there. Neither do I aim to be that guy. I expect the predators to be a group of players, more focused on roleplay as opposed to the combat gameplay mechanics. That's what I'm interested in, and that's what I excel at (arguably, naturally).
I also realize I have a "modest" post count, if that will, among other things, play a key factor in why I may be denied, it's cool. I understand.
Have you been banned from CM in the last month for any reason (we will check, and lies may result in immediate denial)?
No.
Are you currently banned from any other servers and if so, why?
No. I have never been banned or officially reprimanded. On any platform, for what it's worth.
Do you understand that any player - donor or otherwise - can have their whitelist status revoked should they break our rules or disobey the Predator Code of Honor?
I understand that every whitelisted player has been granted a privilege, which is subject to immediate withdrawal should they fail to uphold the standard.
