Name: Diarmuid Dempsey
Gender: Male
Age: 20
Race: Halfling
Appearance: Standing at 3'6", Diarmuid has always been looked down on. As a result, he's attempted to slick his dark hair up into a pompadour to gain a few extra inches. Dressed for the job and representing his bar, Diarmuid wears a red dress shirt and black tie and a set of cream-colored vest with matching pants and suspenders.
His hands are rough and scarred from his frequent bouts in the alleyway when his patrons or rivals get a bit too rowdy with a jagged scar running along his cheek. His green eyes frequently darting around the room.
Personality: Diarmuid is short-tempered, so much so that the very joke about his temper being short provokes a bout of yelling, threats and overall nasty things that would make his mother ashamed. Along with this, Diarmuid is self-conscious about his height, attempting any trick in the book to gain a few inches. One of the few things that keep him on a leash is the establishment that he represents. Aside from this, he can be a bit of a Momma's Boy and frequently checks in with his parents, insisting that they treat him like an adult as he has his own job.
History:
Early Life: His parents had made a lengthy trek to make it to Riordan where he was born. Diarmuid was born from his parents: Bree & Duncan Dempsey. Duncan would go to work as a laborer for the city, helping in construction while Bree would raise Diarmuid. The family grew up in a smaller house until Duncan had earned enough to reach the dream that he and his wife shared: Owning a bakery.
Teen-Years: Growing up, Diarmuid would help his parents with baking during the day before stumbling around the city with his friends and finding trouble at night. While his parents would worry about his late night adventures out of love, he lashed out at his parents, seeing them as strict and trying to limit his fun.
On one of those nights, Diarmuid and his gang of friends had gotten swept up in a round of fisticuffs. It escalated swiftly when the gleam of steel could be seen - A knife had been drawn on Diarmuid. His assailant charged towards him - the pointed edge of his blade getting closer. Diarmuid's small hand reached out to attempt to stop it, thinking that his hand would need to be stronger than steel to actually stop it.
Tink.~
It was a bizarre sound and sensation that was quickly met with a yelp from Diarmuid. His hand had done more than catch the knife - his hand actually broke the knife. Diarmuid's cheek felt warm and burned as his once-armed assailant was left shocked that his knife broke. Lunging forward, Diarmuid grabbed the stunned man by his shirt. Diarmuid wanted to launch him as far as he could. To this day, Diarmuid could remember the sound of gasps and surprise as he picked the assailant up with ease. He felt as light as a feather to him! Throwing the poor fellow over his shoulder, Diarmuid was shocked when his make-shift projectile flew farther than he expected. The assailant's body careened into the window of a tavern, landing on a table as the sound of yelling could be heard. Touching his hand to his cheek, he felt something warm smear along his fingertips. The scent of iron and sigh of crimson rested on his finger tips as his hand trembled. When was he ever that strong?
Now: Nothing in life is ever free. Diarmuid refused to endanger his parent's fresh business to pay for his business and decided to work for the owner of that bar. When asked what he could do, his only reply was: " You saw who I threw into your bar. Imagine who I could throw out." Needless to say, he started as a bouncer for the business until he had finally repaid his debt and could leave. However, the patrons seemed to like him and he seemed to like them, so he was hired by his boss. To stretch out, he started to work as a barback and work his way up to a bartender. He became the esteemed employee of his manager and moved out of his parent's home to live at a small room on the bar's second floor.
Magic: Physical Augmentation/Enhancement.
What can he do?
What can he not do?
Does he even care to? Are his powers instinctual?
Yes
Misc.:
Skills: Smoker. Drinker. Plays the Trumpet. Bartender & Bouncer.
Gender: Male
Age: 20
Race: Halfling
Appearance: Standing at 3'6", Diarmuid has always been looked down on. As a result, he's attempted to slick his dark hair up into a pompadour to gain a few extra inches. Dressed for the job and representing his bar, Diarmuid wears a red dress shirt and black tie and a set of cream-colored vest with matching pants and suspenders.
His hands are rough and scarred from his frequent bouts in the alleyway when his patrons or rivals get a bit too rowdy with a jagged scar running along his cheek. His green eyes frequently darting around the room.
Personality: Diarmuid is short-tempered, so much so that the very joke about his temper being short provokes a bout of yelling, threats and overall nasty things that would make his mother ashamed. Along with this, Diarmuid is self-conscious about his height, attempting any trick in the book to gain a few inches. One of the few things that keep him on a leash is the establishment that he represents. Aside from this, he can be a bit of a Momma's Boy and frequently checks in with his parents, insisting that they treat him like an adult as he has his own job.
History:
Early Life: His parents had made a lengthy trek to make it to Riordan where he was born. Diarmuid was born from his parents: Bree & Duncan Dempsey. Duncan would go to work as a laborer for the city, helping in construction while Bree would raise Diarmuid. The family grew up in a smaller house until Duncan had earned enough to reach the dream that he and his wife shared: Owning a bakery.
Teen-Years: Growing up, Diarmuid would help his parents with baking during the day before stumbling around the city with his friends and finding trouble at night. While his parents would worry about his late night adventures out of love, he lashed out at his parents, seeing them as strict and trying to limit his fun.
On one of those nights, Diarmuid and his gang of friends had gotten swept up in a round of fisticuffs. It escalated swiftly when the gleam of steel could be seen - A knife had been drawn on Diarmuid. His assailant charged towards him - the pointed edge of his blade getting closer. Diarmuid's small hand reached out to attempt to stop it, thinking that his hand would need to be stronger than steel to actually stop it.
Tink.~
It was a bizarre sound and sensation that was quickly met with a yelp from Diarmuid. His hand had done more than catch the knife - his hand actually broke the knife. Diarmuid's cheek felt warm and burned as his once-armed assailant was left shocked that his knife broke. Lunging forward, Diarmuid grabbed the stunned man by his shirt. Diarmuid wanted to launch him as far as he could. To this day, Diarmuid could remember the sound of gasps and surprise as he picked the assailant up with ease. He felt as light as a feather to him! Throwing the poor fellow over his shoulder, Diarmuid was shocked when his make-shift projectile flew farther than he expected. The assailant's body careened into the window of a tavern, landing on a table as the sound of yelling could be heard. Touching his hand to his cheek, he felt something warm smear along his fingertips. The scent of iron and sigh of crimson rested on his finger tips as his hand trembled. When was he ever that strong?
Now: Nothing in life is ever free. Diarmuid refused to endanger his parent's fresh business to pay for his business and decided to work for the owner of that bar. When asked what he could do, his only reply was: " You saw who I threw into your bar. Imagine who I could throw out." Needless to say, he started as a bouncer for the business until he had finally repaid his debt and could leave. However, the patrons seemed to like him and he seemed to like them, so he was hired by his boss. To stretch out, he started to work as a barback and work his way up to a bartender. He became the esteemed employee of his manager and moved out of his parent's home to live at a small room on the bar's second floor.
Magic: Physical Augmentation/Enhancement.
What can he do?
- Harden portions of his skin. (E.g.: Hardening his hands/forearms)
- The ability to enhance his muscles/focus his strength? The best way to describe it is a "Super Strength-Lite".
What can he not do?
- Grow Taller.
- Shift his form at all.
- Self-imposed limits so that he doesn't start breaking his arm with each punch.
- Currently, he can only use one facet of his power at any moment.
Does he even care to? Are his powers instinctual?
Yes
Misc.:
Skills: Smoker. Drinker. Plays the Trumpet. Bartender & Bouncer.
