Race: Human
Appearance:
He's about one hundred and ninety centimeters tall and weighs about eighty kilograms. Despite his weight he's a rather gangly fellow, muscular but most it lean muscle that barely shows. His eyes are a dark brown. Most of his clothes look like stuff someone would fish out of a dumpster, mainly because most of his clothes were fished out of a dumpster. He tends to have a preference towards clothes that aren't very colorful or flashy, mostly greys, blacks and brown colors. Usually he has a set of goggles either on or just hanging from his neck. He's rarely seen without the goggles.
Personality:
At first he really comes of as just some really laid back guy. The truth of it all is that is isn't easy being as chilled out as he is about things. Much like anyone who had to grow up in the ruins of an old city he's got his own problems to work out.
He's a rather quiet guy in general. Beyond fighting and taking out gwimms and stuff he doesn't really put any effort into socializing with anyone. Generally he keeps his dialogue minimal and it's quite rare for him to elaborate on anything. The truth of the matter is that given just how few people he's spoken to back when it was just him and his family out in the ruins he's most comfortable keeping to himself and just following the plan. Considering how his parents never got along with each other and were mostly miserable the only conversations he's ever liked having were with his older brother.
He finds it helps him get along with people best when he doesn't talk. When he does talk he keeps it short and separates his opinions from his statements. On the plus side he's a fairly good listener and tends to avoid creating any sort of drama. Besides being a quiet individual he's fairly even tempered almost all of the time. There is very little in the world that can break his cool. Overall he's a live and let live kind of guy who prefers to let the world sort it's problems out and prefers to enjoy the simpler things in life.
Given that he's tough as nails, got a hefty tolerance for pain and actually finds violence entertaining the only thing that seems to bother him is arguing with people. He's not very keen on conflicts that don't involve hitting something with his wrench so having to confront someone in a social setting is a form of conflict he tries to avoid.
Seeing as how he spent most of his life in a scrap yard he sees most things as junk. All these flashy items and accessories everyone else seems to have all end up in the same place in the end and yet they place much value in these temporary things. He sees little value in material possessions, treasuring very little including himself. That is not to say he'll throw away his life needlessly but he isn't above sacrificing himself for something he cares more about. Luckily for him he doesn't care about much.
He doesn't like to do things. Given the choice he'd much rather just hang out and just do whatever is interesting enough to bother doing. He isn't lazy despite how it might seem. If he's motivated he can put a lot of effort and keep a professional attitude towards getting what needs to get done finished. He's just passionless, uninterested in most things. He struggles to care about his future or even himself and often times even thinking about the future can be somewhat depressing for him given his somewhat cynical tendencies. At present time he just concerns himself with things that even mildly interest him, no real goals or objectives in life to really pursue.
Weapon: Wrench
Semblance:
As of currently he does not know what his semblance is. He just knows he's strong, tough and doesn't tire easy.
Bio:
Well beyond the kingdoms on the outskirts of the ruins of a once great city there was a little makeshift village patched together from pieces of the wrecked city. Patchwork Town was it's name.
Down in Patchwork Town a couple ran a scrap metal yard. They had two sons, Joseph and Franklin. They were by far not a happy family. From a young age Joe and frank learned to care for themselves because their parents were almost always scattered or arguing too much to get anything done.
Oedi Rex, the father of Joe and Frank, was a pathetic man. While the two brothers knew the man as father the town's folk had a different title for him: The Town Drunk.
Their father drank almost every night, always binge drinking to the point of stupor. He was not a violent drunk or an abusive man however. He never came home and laid a finger on anyone, he never had the guts. For him when he drank he made sure never to come home until the next morning when he was sober. The reason was not one of noble spirit however. For him drinking was an escape, an escape from her.
Rosaline Rex, the mother of Joe and Frank, a scornful woman who was never satisfied. When she married Oedi she had envisioned that they'd be living in the high rises of the city towers, draped in opulence and drowning in luxury. When he told her he had a job offer at a big city outside of the kingdom she was skeptical and made her worries known. Still, he was persistent and convinced that it was there that they'd make their wealth.
Boy was he ever wrong. When the gwimm hit the whole city was devastated, torn asunder by the many claws of the overly violent gwimm. They only barely managed to survive, hiding somewhere that the gwimm overlooked in their rampage. After the aftermath everything they had owned had gone down in flames with the rest of the city. There wasn't a method of transportation they could find to take them back to the kingdom. Oedi started up a scrap salvage yard to help make enough money for his family to survive on. Joe and Frank were born some years after the cataclysm, leaving them to grow up in the aftermath.
Rosaline had never forgiven Oedi for bringing her to this forsaken town however. She was bitter and hateful, reminding him constantly that it was all his fault for why they are where they are. They fought over this often and this drove Oedi to drink. Joe cannot remember a time where she ever smiled, not once.
Needless to say the environment back at home was toxic anytime either of their parents were home, not literally of course though there were places in the ruins which were quite literally toxic. Joe and Frank barely lived at home. Their true home was out in the ruins, their childhood playground. In the dilapidated stone and metal skeleton of a once living city they worked and they played there. While their father ran the shop their job was to find things to bring back so they could take it apart and have their father sell the components. How pathetic it was, having children to do the most hazardous task while Oedi simply dealt with the business and the cash. Still, Joe and Frank saw no injustice to this. It was all they knew after all, what was fair to them was a different notion to what most kingdom dwellers knew as just.
Because of this life they learned well of the gwimm. After the destruction of the city not all the gwimm had cleared out to seek other prey. In the dark recesses of old structures some stragglers remained, coming out in the darker hours to seek prey. Joe and Frank both quickly learned where these gwimms lived and hunted so as to avoid them, using their small size and speed to evade detection and capture. They observed how the denizens fought the beasts when it was necessary and frequently discussed both amongst each other and the other townsfolk about how to take them down.
As they grew older, stronger and more confident in their capabilities the two Rex brothers started setting traps for the gwimm. The hunted starting becoming the hunters, luring the Gwimms into the narrow and mazelike ruins where they could trap and kill them using a combination of simple death traps and makeshift weaponry. Since the gwimm tended to dissipate after death they would take parts from the salvage they would bring back as trophies. It quickly became apparent to both the town and to each other that they were undeniably the best at taking down gwimms out of everyone in their town. They were both strong, fast and almost tireless in their hunt for the things. It was like a game for them, they often competed to see which one of them could take their designated prey down first.
Now, having grown up together with pretty much only each other as friends they've had their differences in the past but in a lot of things they were similar. They rarely disagreed and whenever they did it was usually over something subjective such as their favorite time of the year. Come one fateful day however Frank received a proposal from one of the main guardians of Patchwork Town. It was an offer to join him and many of the other adults in the village to join a militia formed by the survivors from other cities beyond the four kingdoms, cities much like their own. The militia's purpose was to drive the gwimm away from their region and reclaim the land that was taken from them.
This truly was one of the only times Joe and Frank genuinely disagreed on something. While Joe held no passion for the ruins, the town or even the people residing in it Frank felt as though it was his duty to fight for the place they called home. He argued against it and while Joe's pragmatism was undeniable there was simply no putting aside that burning fire in Frank's heart which drove him to accept the invitation. Despite their friendship Frank ultimately chose to fight for his home and country rather than stay with Joe and keep to the shadows where they could hunt in relative safety.
Joe never came to understand what Frank meant when he spoke of fighting for his home. To him all home meant was a place that he lived. Frank believed that even though their home was simply nothing more than a large heap of scrap metal and stuff that everyone else would call junk it held something much more important than practical or economic value to him. It held the memories that they shared together. To him it was much more than just a barren ruin of an old city, it was their childhood and that was what made it all worth fighting for. He owed his service to the place he called home because even though it meant nothing to anyone else it meant something to him and that was all that mattered. How Frank could go and stand in the face of such an overwhelming force and put his very life on the line, all for nothing more than a simple ideal, Joe could not understand.
Joe tried to understand. He struggled with it but he simply couldn't see it. There was no way he even could see it. To see a feeling was impossible, he had to experience it if he were to truly understand. It was painful to watch his older brother, a friend who understood him and who he understood better than anyone else, go to a literal war with the gwimm for a purpose he could not comprehend. The agonizing torture of being unable to wrap his head around such a confounding yet simplistic philosophy combined with the pain of watching his brother and only friend leave him was simply too much. Like an itch he could not scratch no matter how hard he tried.
Once Frank left there was nothing left for him there. His first inclination was to just pick a direction and walk but he yielded to better judgement. Instead he gathered up some supplies in a patchwork knapsack which he slung over his shoulder and started walking. Unlike his original plan he had a destination in mind. Bacon Academy for hunters, a place which trained exceptional individuals in the art of fighting gwimms. His rationale was that if he was going to go out into the wild and dangerous no man's lands outside the safety of the kingdoms and the ruins of his home then he was certain to look forward towards fighting more gwimms. He figured if he were going to fight more gwimms then he might as well learn how to do it better so he'll be better set to handle himself when he finally puts his boots to the ground and forges down the roads no human has walked before.