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Damien Rizzoli

I don't want this....

0 · 217 views · located in Atlas City

a character in “The Chronicles of Atlas City”, as played by Zombicide93


Name: Damien Rizzoli

Age: 23


Height: 5' 8''

Weight: 180 lbs

Hair color: Black (see picture)

Hair style: Wavy(see picture)

Eye color: Gray

Overall Damien doesn't look like much, he's got an average height with some muscle mass and tone but not a lot like one would expect.


Clothing: Typically, Damien wears a black leather jacket with a gray hoodie stitched to the inside of it, accompanied by a sleeveless shirt, or T-shirt as well as jeans and workboots.

Costume: (TBA)

Hero Name: (TBA)


Offensive Super Strength: The ability to lift, strike, and throw more than humanly possible, though not hulk or superman strong, Damien could lift and throw a car with little effort.

Defensive: Toughness: This ability takes inspiration from Superman. It's very hard to bruise or cut Damien's skin, as well as break his bones, but he is susceptible to magic, sound-based and strong mental attacks, and though he can take a lot of physical damage, it's hard for him to defend against quicker opponents.


Damien tends to keep to himself, and for good reason. He is quiet, pretty irritable, but is able to keep calm in a pinch. Living in his previous conditions has made Damien un-trusting and cautious as he attempts to keep away from Heroes and Villains alike, not wanting any part in the conflict. Though his childhood was hard, Damien is not completely void of humor or emotion, he finds some things funny, and might speak with you if you engage in conversation first, but you may only get one to three word responses until he grows warmer towards you.


Damien is the bastard child of an Atlas citizen and a super-villain. Lora, his mother, would never speak of Damien's father, except to tell him on his 13th birthday that his father was indeed a member of Arachnids forces, but even before then, she had let on that Damien's inherited strength and toughness were abilities his father had. After that conversation, Damien did not want to know anymore, and that was just-as-well, seeing as how his mother wasn't willing to spill anymore other then to let Damien know that his father had been dead for some time.
When he was 17, Damien's mother was killed in another Arachnos attack on Atlas park, leaving her son to fend for himself in the aftermath, dodging Heroes and Villains alike as he made his way to a safer location to wait out the coming battles.
After Arachnid and his forces were driven back, reconstruction began, and with it, some areas of Atlas were abandoned to gangs and minor villains on the rise, one such area was the new choice of home for young Damien, off the radar from those who wanted to recruit him for his abilities, not knowing how the Heroes would react if they found out he was the spawn of a Super Villain, and definitely not wanting to join Arachnos.
Damien now works at a metal yard in one of the poorer, blue-collar areas of Atlas, putting his abilities to good use discretely and juggling his job with a relationship, but little does he know his life is about to change dramatically....

So begins...

Damien Rizzoli's Story


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Christopher Coleson Character Portrait: Necrosis Character Portrait: Eric Haldane Character Portrait: Damien Rizzoli
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"Stop playing around, Necrosis. It's getting old."

The woman opened her eyes fully, a smirk spreading across her face. She wasn't fooling Abettor, that was for sure. Ordinarily, she would have refused his hand and got to her feet by herself, but she was still feeling a little light-headed. She reached up and gripped his hand, hoisting herself up again. The room rolled, and Necrosis stumbled slightly, using the hero beside her to hold herself upright until it passed. She touched her throat gently with one bloody hand, frowning as she noted the progress of the healing. It was closed now, but only just.

She flinched slightly as something rather large and heavy impacted on the pavement outside, peeking over Abettor's shoulder to see, lo and behold, Baldur. Norse god or not, he was walking freaking clichΓ©, in Lilith's own, haughty opinion. She would love to use her negating abilities on him, just once, to see what would happen to him. However, doing so at the moment would affect everyone, and she really didn't want the crowd see her getting shot to pieces, only for her to pull herself back together again. Another time, maybe.

"Thy villains would display such acts of barbarism before children!"
Lilith rolled her eyes behind her visor, looking up to the other hero. "Is it just me who can't take this guy seriously?" She muttered, just loud enough for Abettor to hear. At least his crassness was diverting attention away from her own set-back, and the fact she was still holding onto... She suddenly stepped away from the black-clad hero, turning pink under the helmet. When the hell did she turn into Lois freaking Lane?

Another person, a civilian by all appearances, came charging into the bank next. He went from panicking to a blind rage in seconds. "WHERE IS SHE?!"
Before anyone could stop him, he lost it, taking his rage out on one of the nearby thugs. The bullets... Necrosis frowned. He was one of them, but obviously not a vigilante. He was a threat not just to the robbers, but to the civilians and the vigilantes and maybe even himself if he did not let up.
"Fancy checking around back, big man?" She addressed the Abettor with a slight tilt of her head, quickly wiping her hands on the back of her skirt.

Walking calmly over to him, she reached out to touch his shoulder, eying the other 'villains'. They were wary of her, nervous. They'd just seen her die in front of their very eyes, yet here she was. She hoped that this man didn't try anything... He was powered-down, and she had a scalpel within easy reach. "How about you just calm down a little, mate?"


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Christopher Coleson Character Portrait: Necrosis Character Portrait: Eric Haldane Character Portrait: Tristan Aeol Character Portrait: Damien Rizzoli
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Tristan watched wide-eyed as, one by one, superhumans--or should he use the word the newspapers gave them?--landed, slammed, and barged into the bank. He soon realized that the young woman who had seemingly died was standing up with hardly a scratch (but plenty of blood splatter). He knew superhumans were a part of society, and there had been quite a few costumed ones in New York, but it still gave him a little bit of initial shock when he saw them. Shock that quickly turned into bitter distaste which morphed into mercilessly sarcastic inner-commentary.

There was the classic costumed hero. The Norse God who had somehow been demoted to mortal living quarters. The goth-looking heroine, too balance it out (there always had to be a female, but God forbid she be too feminine.) And the average, every-day non-hero driven mad by love.

Heroic antics were sure to follow. Much of it would appear in the papers the next day, an inspiring case of triumphant justice.

Inspiring indeed.

Most likely completely oblivious to yet another superhuman. One who had gained much of his abilities through an inspired man.

But enough of that. Tristan shook his head, ridding himself of those thoughts. Those belonged to a past Tristan. The one who was so steeped in grudges, he was too stubborn to move forward and heal. The present Tristan needed to be focused on this still dangerous situation at hand.

Although the "heroes" had arrived, Tristan was still wary of the gunman. The arrival of the last super had proved that the men weren't entirely scared into inactivity. They still had guns, and all but one was in perfect working condition.

Well, not if he could help it.

Within the next minute, he had all the firearms blocked. Should any of the men try to fire, it would either result in a jam, or even better, a backfire. There were a lot of guns, though, and spread about the room at that. He could already feel his body relaxing, and if he wasn't too careful, he'd be relaxed all over the floor. Taking a bit of a gamble--he was still new to this particular ability--he strengthened the gravity on himself so that he was effectively rooted to the ground. Hopefully it had only taken a hold on him. It wouldn't do well if the other normal civilians couldn't escape because the ground had taken a special liking to their undersides. Forcing his eyes to stay open--they had an annoying habit of closing when he wasn't completely within his body--he waited to see who would make the next move.