Sett - LimeLight Info

[themightybosstone]

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Brocade

TEAM
Sun Sign

AGE
35

HEIGHT
8' (with ears)

PRONOUNS
he/him

Appearance + Pings

Brocade is a brick shithouse. Dude is built and has made his life around BODY IMPROVEMENT. He moves like a fighter for those that can tell. All offense, no defense.

He has cat ears, sharp teeth, claws (retractable) and a long fluffy tail. Eventually will have golden, slitted eyes.

He will ping as half cat spirit as that unlocks.

Limelight Info

Powers

Power 1: Scenses
Has a heightened sense of smell. If he concentrates hard on a specific point, he can narrow it to just that scent and heighten it further, but it does require some willpower. Otherwise it's blessing AND a curse!! OPT IN!! He can detect vague emotions with it, but must be close and probably vaguely familiar with the person.

Power 2: Eye of the Tiger
Brocade can turn into a cat! This is a variable level depending on his mood and interest. He can either grow out his fangs or claws. He can sharpen his hearing or vision. Or turn entirely into a cat. This can be an ORANGE LONGHAIR HOUSECAT or a SETT SIZED TIGER. He's WAY faster in cat form.

Power 3: Telekittynesis
Can move any object he sets his sight on by WILL ALONE. For smaller objects, he can move several of the same type/size at a time. For anything moving, it takes a lot more concentration, and someone who struggles hard enough can break free (battle of the wills basically). Yeet and yoink, basically.

Limelight AU

Sett had a bit of a time doing some MMA prize fighting, but got out of it after a few title fights (and their delicious prize monies) under his belt. He took his winnings and actually invested them, starting a little coffee shop that eventually became a cat cafe. It is called Little Meowcenaries. (He keeps taking in strays and renovated the place after a while.) CAT LIST. THANK YOU ASH!

It's in a little boutique and trendy area of Manteau City. Makes a mean latte, a divine milkshake and the sandwich options are pretty good too.

He's divorced. Thanks Ruan Mei. His sister is Purrpurra. Plotting thread here.

Permissions

SHIPPING
yes

SMUT
yes/FTB welcome!

VIOLENCE
yes!!!!!!

KILLING
yes hmu

Player Comfort Notes

Squicks: Please no non-con or pregnancy plots. No loving descriptions of joint breaks, emeto (Simple action okay!! don't like, describe smell and texture), NO pet death/animal torture at all thanks.
Okay: Gore, death, most difficult topics not covered above. Negative CR. If you need a villain rope me in! Threadjumping is always welcome! Comedy!! Fourth walling. All good.

code by puddings

Character Canon
League of Legends

Player
Nishi

Contact
YourOverlord (Plurk & Discord)

DM Policy
chat anytime!!!

Inbox/Extras
IC Inbox | Permissions

Comments

Memory 12. The Dealer. Card deck. Risk taking.

[themightybosstone]

The crowd thundered and roared. The man at your feet was a bloody, beaten mess but the chest your feet were planted on still struggled for breath. The box hadn't called for a kill, so you weren't gonna do more than you were paid for.

Coins hit the sand around you, glittering in arcs from the benches. A tradition from the Noxian nobles, and you could make out in the corner of your eyes the scramble of the lower class sections when a coin's arc didn't quite make it to the arena.

You didn't scrape the sand. Someone else was out, scrambling for the coins.

Some would even make it to your pocket.

But not all of them.

Lately, you've been thinking: That's a problem.

Sure, as you swagger back to the double gates, you were making top coin. Drums built a fever beat behind you as money changed hands at the tills. You kept your momma in good clothes. You have an actual home now, instead of a stinking mat with 30 other workers. You ate whatever the hell you wanted, fresh and not stolen.

But... it's only a cut.

Those crowds were yours. They came to see you. Beast Man Bastard. Everyone hoping today would be the day you'd go down in blood and bruises, choking in the dirt and sand.

Sure. Keep betting.

But the real money was in the betting. In the drinks. The food. The tickets. The merch. The kickbacks from the local vendors. The skim from the gambling. The take from setting the matches.

You could be doing better.

Your momma would never have to work shit jobs again. Never come back home, hungry and bruised.

You could own the place where you'll kill your old man. Consecrate it in his blood.

So today, you're feeling it. The match didn't take that much out of you. Nah, you were just sore enough. The beating you'd taken had been devoured by your magic, and now surged in your blood, set your eyes alight and gave your fur an otherworldly golden glow.

You looked as dangerous as you are. That was going to be important. He'd seen a lot of this kind of attempt go sideways.

You slam open the door to the organizers' room. They look up and read the mood, the pressure coming off you. You grin as they give you a set of slimy, nervous smiles. One motions for their meatheads to close the door behind you. Sure. Can't say you aren't fair about it now.

They offer you your cut. It's a lil bag of coin. Barely the size of your fist.

You knew the room behind them was nothing but gold and finery. The REAL take. Most of it? YOU made.

"Nah. I want half."

"Half? Half this bag?"

"Half the take. This is me bein' nice."

They laugh. They go to have you thrown out. Say you aren't working for them no more. They can't have a hothead around. The meathead goes to drag you out.

You drive your fist nearly halfway through the guy's head. Shame. Folla wasn't a bad dude. But he shoulda left. He knew what you could do. He collapses and you step over his body.

They cower. They promise you half. They promise you death. They say they're gonna kill your momma and everyone who ever knew you.

You weren't feeling too generous anymore.

The thing about pit fighting is a good 75% of the shows? You aren't aiming to kill the other guy. Maim a lil bit? Sure. That's a show. But you never know who you can salvage. And a good comeback narrative fills the seats. You don't do near as much neck breaking as you could. Or even as much as you used to as the up and coming fighter.

So you know how to pull your punches these days.

You break some ribs instead. Shatter some cheekbones. Throw a few of em around. You know, kids glove stuff. You need em alive.

Then, while the crowd is still there, still cashing in chips and enjoying the exhibition matches, you throw them all out into the ring.

You watch, arms folded, as they slur a new truth around whatever teeth the poor bastards got left.

You were the boss now. It was your pit.

And it was just going to be the beginning. You had PLANS.

Taken

[themightybosstone]

Increase in confidence and swagger
Increase risk taking
Increase violence as an Answer