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Leon Frandrich

"Death doesn't like to be cheated. When someone tries to pull one over, he sends me to collect..."

0 · 427 views · located in Hell

a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by TheNoremac42

Description

____________________
Leon Frandrich
____________________
The Highwayman
____________________


Image
Art by nosprings@Deviantart.com

Theme Song

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Personal Information
____________________




Full Name
Leon Frandrich

Description
For many centuries The Highwayman has wandered the world. Long ago he made a deal with Death - in exchange for immortality, he would hunt those who sought to cheat their way out of the inevitable conclusion... Death.

Age:
Unknown, appears late thirties

Gender:
Male

Race/Main:
Human

Race/Sub:
Immortal

Honorifics|Titles|Nicknames
The Highwayman
Death's Bounty Hunter

Sexual Orientation:
Heterosexual

Birthplace:
Northwestern Europe
.
Date of Birth:
Mid-first millennium AD

Marking|Tattoos|Piercings:

Height:
6'2"

Weight

Physical Condition:
Fit

Current Residence
Abandoned Slums, Wing City

Former Residence
Numerous

Family/Relatives:
None

Friends/Comrades:
Death

Enemies
Liches, necromancers, and those who cheat Death

Rivals
None

Organizations/Tribes/Clans:
Himself, Death, and none else.

Former Affiliations:
Unknown

Disabilities:
None

Personality:
Leon is the epitome of indifference. He cares for little except his job and does not allow anything to get in his way. However, when he is not doing a job, he tends to be a tad more bearable and may consider helping someone in need.

Likes:
Whiskey, cigarettes, and guns.

Dislikes:
Touchy-feely stuff

Psychological Condition:
Mild sociopath

Alignment:
Neutral Good



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Equipment
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:Attire:
A long dark brown duster, wide brimmed hat, bandana, cowboy boots (with spurs), blue jeans, and black shades.

:Protection:
The Highwayman can only be permanently killed by Death's Scythe.

:Weapon(s):
Twin Mortis .454 Casull revolvers
1216 Shotgun
Bowie knife
Twin machetes
Cheytac .408 cal sniper rifle
The Chains of Death

:Accessories/Misc:
The Highwayman's Lasso
Pocket watch
Cigarettes
Lighter


____________________
|Abilities|Traits|Racial|
____________________


Traits

Marksmanship
Endurance
Fearlessness
Immortality


Powers

Death's Reflexes
Chains of Death
Wrath of Thanatos


(More to be added)


©2011 Wolven[OC] (BBC Coding/Design) - Roleplay Gateway. All Rights Reserved

So begins...

Leon Frandrich's Story

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Rumbling down the road came the puttering of a rather rugged motorcycle. It's frame was encrusted with a layer of dust, as if it had just ridden through a parched desert. Molded at the front was the visage of a grinning skull. Two headlights flickered off in its eye sockets. The mechanical groan ended with a spurt and hiccup.

The door of the infamous bar opened with a creak and was held open with a gloved hand. Standing in the doorway was a man clad in a dark brown duster. Cowboy boots thudded across the floorboards - their spurs glistening in the dim light. Concealing his face in shadow was a wide-brimmed almond brown hat and a pair of black shades. Black stubble adorned his square jaw that was rigid enough to crush diamonds.

Leon Frandrich trudged to the counter. His hands hung loosely yet firmly at his sides with his fingers slightly clenched. His duster trailed behind him, briefly revealing a glimpse of metallic glint in the deep darkness. He slid onto a stool and placed one gloved hand on the counter.

"Whiskey." he stated in a rough voice.

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When the shots came, Leon pushed them back with slow determination. He was in no hurry. After the second shot he reached into his coat and retrieved a box of cigarettes. The man, who looked like a bounty hunter from the old west, popped a cig' in his mouth. With a lighter bearing a skull and crossbones, he ignited the tip.

If he heard the television, the man made no motion to lend a care. It wasn't his job to care.

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Leon took a few puffs of the cig before downing the next shot. It was then that he heard the faint sound of chanting. Right on time. The man slammed the glass down with an audible clack and released a sigh.

Time to get to work.

The Highwayman reached into his duster and emerged with a black bandana. With steady fingers he methodically tied it around his neck so the lower half of his face was concealed by the cloth. He rose to his feet, causing the stool to creak in anticipation.

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"Doc Smathers..." he uttered monotonously in his rough voice. "You have been accused of seeking out the forbidden knowledge of necromancy and practicing said forbidden arts." The Highwayman said as he reached into his coat. His gloved hand emerged with a large .454 Casull revolver. With a thumb he spun the cylinder until it halted with a sinister click. He extended his arm, brought the weapon to eye level, and aimed it directly between Doc's eyes. "You have been charged with theft against Death. How do you plead?"

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"Your crimes have been recorded, Mr. Smathers," he replied, completely ignoring Rave's outburst. " and Death does not like to be cheated." The Highwayman glanced at Bex. "My employer's authority surpasses all boundaries." he replied before returning his attention to Doc. "As Light and Darkness, Life and Death, as my witnesses, I sentence you to death."

His finger clenched around the trigger. The hammer reared back to strike.

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"Make peace with your gods."

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The laser blast collided with the man's back, jerking him forward and sending the shot into a nearby chair. Jagged splinters exploded across the floor as the silver-infused holy round smashed into the furniture. Growling in frustration, the Highwayman braced his boot against the floor to steady himself, only to be knocked against the counter by a round to the cranium.

He laid there for a moment, half sprawled over the wooden surface. However, there was no blood that trickled from his wounds. Instead, there was a low groan as bones, muscle fibers, arteries, and skin cells rapidly reformed and sealed.

His head jerked as he spat the bullet onto the floor.

The Highwayman growled.

With blurring movement, quick as Death, he dove into his jacket and removed a reflection of his first revolver. He aimed the first at Doc's chest and the second at Bex's torso. Smoke and fire raged from the chamber as several rounds exploded from both barrels.

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The Highwayman caught Rave's movement in the corner of his eye. He attempted to sidestep his thrust and grab his wrist. If successful, he would rotate him into an arm bar and attempt to smash his face into the counter.

His free hand continued to empty out his revolver's cylinder into the necromancer.

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Seeing that his blessed silver-infused bullets were not getting the job done as quickly as he hoped, The Highwayman thrust his revolvers into their holsters and darted out the door in a blur of brown.

He would be back.

No one ever escaped Death's Bounty Hunter.

He would follow his target to the farthest reaches of the Universe.

And beyond.

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Rumbling down the road came the puttering of a rather rugged motorcycle. It's frame was encrusted with a layer of dust, as if it had just ridden through a parched desert. Molded at the front was the visage of a grinning skull. Two headlights flickered off in its eye sockets. The mechanical groan ended with a spurt and hiccup.

The door of the infamous bar opened with a creak and was held open with a gloved hand. Standing in the doorway was a man clad in a dark brown duster. Cowboy boots thudded across the floorboards - their spurs glistening in the dim light. Concealing his face in shadow was a wide-brimmed almond brown hat and a pair of black shades. Black stubble adorned his square jaw that was rigid enough to crush diamonds.

Leon Frandrich trudged to the counter. His hands hung loosely yet firmly at his sides with his fingers slightly clenched. His duster trailed behind him, briefly revealing a glimpse of metallic glint in the deep darkness. He slid onto a stool and placed one gloved hand on the counter.

"Whiskey." he grunted.

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When the shots came, Leon pushed them back with slow determination. He was in no hurry. After the second shot he reached into his coat and retrieved a box of cigarettes. The man, who looked like a bounty hunter from the old west, popped a cig' in his mouth. With a lighter bearing a skull and crossbones, he ignited the tip.

A puff of smoke sighed from beneath his hat.

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Leon took another drag from his cigarette and took a side glance at the woman who sat beside him. The man smirked at the irony. Just a few days ago she was only collateral damage. Now they were apparently having a drink.

He removed the cigarette from his mouth, pinched between his index and middle fingers, and tapped it against the rim of an adjacent ash tray. His free hand brought the next shot to his lips.

"Make that two." he commented. "On me."

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"Leon." he retorted as he firmly gripped her hand. His own was wrapped in black leather biker gloves. The movement exposed the metallic glisten of an assortment of blades and firearms beneath his duster. This guy went to the bathroom armed to the teeth.

"Just my version of apologies. Collateral damage can be a bitch, amiright?" he smirked. "Nothing personal. Just business."

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"Forty-five-four casulls..." Leon replied as he removed one of the over-sized revolvers with a flip of his wrist. He rested it on the encounter. Barrel, cylinder, handled, and all, it was the length of his forearm. "Custom ammunition. Some may call it overkill, but in this line of work you can never be too prepared." the man took another drag from the cigarette.

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"For now we'll just say that my employer is in a very high place." he smiled beneath the shadow of his hat. "He has ties everywhere, and is deeply yet subtly involved in day-to-day life. Unfortunately, some people get the nerve to pull one over on him. My employer doesn't like to be cheated out of what's his. So when that happens, he sends me to collect." Leon picked up the revolver, gave it a spin, and thrust it back into his holster.

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Leon smirked. "Maybe... I have been doing this for a long time, and if there is anything I have learned, is that a conscience will only slow you down. Sometimes you have to do things a normal man would find detestable, and without a second thought or hesitation.." he took another shot of whiskey.

"The thing about what my employer does... He doesn't really need a conscience. He deals with people from all walks of life - from an infamous kingpin to a run of the mill priest. Good or bad - don't matter to him. We're all the same in his eyes."

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Leon nodded. "Who knows... Maybe if and when my quota is met, he'll come knockin' for ya. In the meantime though, I have a debt to pay back." the man rose from his stool before slapping a twenty dollar bill on the counter. He walked towards the door, his leather boots thudding against the floor, and looked back at Bex.

"Word of advice..." he began. "Live your life to the fullest. Don' regret nothin' and do it the way you want. Get that bucket list out of the way. Death comes for all of us eventually, and he doesn't wait for us to finish our lunch."

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With that, Leon Frandrich, The Highwayman, exited the bar. A moment later the rumble of his motorcycle faded away as he speed down the street. He was off to find his next target - some mobster that was getting into the cloning business.

The setting changes from Gambit's Bar to The Observatory

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The Highwayman had tread silently up the stairwell. Despite the thick cowboy boots that adorned his feet, his footfalls made very little sound as he ascended in a half crouch. He was clad in a thick dark brown duster that trailed behind him. A wide brown cowboy hat, dark shades, and a dusty black bandana shrouded his face. Gripped firmly in his gloved hands and tucked in his armpit was a black 1216 shotgun.

The target had escaped from him once, but that didn't matter. He had come for him, and will keep coming for him, until his debt to Death had been paid in full. Leon stood directly outside the wooden door that led into his lab, back pressed against the adjacent wall and his gun at a forty-five degree angle. With an experienced eye he inspected the frame, door handle, and locking mechanism. Probably a deadbolt or two. Nothing he couldn't handle.

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His body tensed in anticipation. He could hear his voice from beyond the door. This was going to be easier than he thought. With a steady rhythmic tap, he counted down his fingers against the detachable magazine.

Three. Two. One.

BO-BO-BOOM!

The two deadbolts and door handle exploded in a shower of splinters as three rounds of shot tore through the door. It was followed by a crack as the door flew open and slammed into the adjacent wall. A thick boot planted firmly on the floor beyond, accompanied by the muzzle of a shotgun.

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The Highwayman swung his shotgun around and aimed it at Doc's chest. A stream of shot flared from the muzzle. Despite being a heavy-duty gauge, the shot that propelled towards the shield was also enhanced with blessed silver-arcanium - primarily designed for undead or dark magic.

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"It's nothing personal." he grunted as he twisted his magazine, switching to another chamber. "I'm just following orders. You've stolen from my employer - something that belongs to him and him alone. Consider this your sins catching up with you." he finished before firing off two more rounds at the man's feet and one at the hand holding the scalpel. The expended casings tumbled onto the floor.

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The Highwayman acted in a blur. With two quick strides he attempted to slam his toe into Doc's face, breaking his concentration. "You are a thief of knowledge." he replied. "You have stolen forbidden knowledge from Death. It is not the many deaths you caused that has brought me here, for Death came for them. You were merely his instrument. However... Your crimes still stand." the man rested the shotgun on his shoulder and removed one of his enormous Cassul revolvers. He pressed it against Doc's head. "One cannot simply return knowledge, so you are left with one alternative."

The Highwayman pulled back the hammer. The chamber clicked.

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"You, sir..." the man snarled. His voice took on a much darker and unnatural tone. "... are starting to annoy me." The Highwayman pointed the revolver and shotgun at Doc and released a short barrage of shot and .454 rounds. He took a step forward. Then another step. The bounty hunter was going to end this - here and now.

The ghostly rattling of chains echoed through the room.

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"You were the one that dabbled in things you were told not to..." his multilayered voice snarled as he dropped his shotgun. The free hand shot above his hand and snapped in a circle. From the darkness of his sleeve emerged a long stiff rope. Its end was tied in a large circle like a lasso - or a noose.

The lasso swiftly extended from his sleeve, and with a flip of his wrist sent it twirling towards a group of spirits. This was the Highwayman's Lasso, given to him by Death himself to bring in those who have escaped.

A bone-tingling ghastly screech reverberated from The Highwayman as he leveled his revolver with Doc's head.

BOOM!