Post by Dr. Strange on Jun 24, 2008 14:11:21 GMT -5
The Character
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Cannon or your own: Canon
Copyright (Marvel/DC/ect): Marvel
Characters civilian name: Dr. Stephen Strange
Code names/Aliases: Dr. Strange
Class [Superhero, Vigilante, Mercenary..ect]: Neutral
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Gender: Male
Age: 78
Apparent Age: 38
Hair: Black with white at the temples
Eyes: Grey
Height and weight: 6’2”, 185
Appearance:
Tall and very slim, Stephen Strange is built like a whippet. In fact, when he fights it seems almost impossible for the thin man to put the power behind the blows that he does. He is handsome in an arrogant way. His high cheek bones, thin nose, and cold grey eyes give off the sharp conveyance of aloofness with which he surrounds himself. His hair is always neat, always impeccable, a sweep of dark hair on his head marked by white at the temples, and a pointed, trimmed goatee which suffers no such discoloration. He has a solid look about him, and every one of his moves are deliberate save for the slight tremor in his hands, noticeable only with close observation and occasionally halted through magical means.
As far as his clothing goes, at most times, within his Sanctum and occupying his duties as Sorcerer Supreme, Dr. Strange wears an odd combination of neatly pressed pants and white shirts usually beneath a red or gold vest. Over this he’ll drape a cape of some sort, usually his red Cloak of Levitation, whose high collar reaches well past his ears. However, he also owns a few sets of “Normal” clothes, for going out of the Sanctum and appearing to be a normal person, these mostly consist of plain black suits, and casual attire for the sorcerer is mostly non-existent... Though he might occasionally be found in a set of scarlet flannel pajamas should one interrupt him very late into the night.
Picture [if available]:
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Super Powers:
Dr. Strange was born with the ability to shift and manipulate matter and energy, in short, he can perform magic.
Learned Abilities:
Spell casting
Martial arts
Neurosurgery
Equipment:
The Eye of Agamotto, a gem that allows him to see past lies and illusion as well as increasingly his own telepathic abilities exponentially.
The Cloak of Levitation, which allows him to fly and can function as an additional pair of hands should he need it to.
The Orb of Agamotto, which allows him to see into other dimensions.
Wand of Watoomb, which amplifies his power
The Book of Vishanti, a book of the world’s most powerful spells and counterspells.
Weaknesses (Must Have):
Dr. Strange is only human, and despite being effectively immortal and immune to medical diseases he is just as susceptible to violent injury as anyone else. Additionally, his magic requires both concentration and either movement or spoken word. As such, tying and gagging can prove to be quite effective against him.
Background:
Stephen Strange was born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, one sunny afternoon in November to Eugene and Beverly Strange. His birth was one of the reasons the family elected to move away from this congested metropolis and purchase a small country home in Nebraska where, over the next three years, Stephen’s younger brother Victor, and sister April were to be born. His childhood was normal, albeit very quiet, until he turned eight. For the last year, since his parents had begun to allow him to wander out of their sight alone, he had taken to exploring the pine forest that clung to a part of the property. It was on one of these little voyages that he had his first taste of magic. It wasn’t a pleasant taste.
Sensing something in the boy that no one else had yet considered, the sorcerer Mordo beset the small child with demons, intending to kill him before he discovered his power. The child was saved by the Ancient One, the Sorcerer Supreme at the time, and set to sleep. When he awoke he believed it had simply been a most unusual dream and went on his way. He didn’t go back into the woods for almost ten years though; he could never really bring himself to do it. It was three years before another incident reared its ugly head, however, and his childhood progressed on amid its natural course, marred only by the occasional terrifying recollection of the demons he had once seen.
At the age of eleven he began his career in medicine by helping his injured sister. At the age of 18 he began pre-med and was thrilled about it, to say the least. Not only thrilled, but quite brilliant as well, and almost madly idealistic. Things changed, though, that summer. His parents’ property sat on the edge of a decent sized lake, shared by many other families nearby, and he and his sister went out swimming one unbearably hot day in August. Just as Stephen was getting out his sister (Some way out, still, having been sunbathing on a raft) fell victim to a cramp and ended up drowning. It took the rest of the day for Strange, along with his family and their neighbors, to find her body, and the nineteen year old was struck by a profound sense of failure. Though he likely couldn’t have saved her, he felt that had he tried a little harder, he would have been able to.
He returned to school, finished in record time, and began a three year residency in New York, far away from Nebraska and the lake. Time passed, his successes made him arrogant and his time spent with his family was ever decreasing. But, at the end of his residency, his mother became ill, and he was pulled into the family circle and the home in Nebraska for the last time. If her illness was difficult (He worked as hard as possible to help her, he really did) her death was unbearable. He grew distant from his work, but remained a brilliant doctor. Before he was thirty he was one of the most celebrated neurosurgeons in the world.
Two years after his mother died, Stephen’s father followed, and the weight was so unbearable that he refused to attend the funeral. This was how he lost his brother as well, When Victor Strange came to New York to berate his elder sibling the two argued and Victor stormed off, right into the path of an oncoming car. Stephen Strange’s life continued as it had, but he grew more distant, more materialistic, more selfish. And then came the accident.
Driving home at night from the hospital he took a turn too fast on a slick night, the car rolled, and Dr. Strange, the celebrated neurosurgeon, whose hands hadn’t trembled since he was eight and he’d sat on the forest floor in front of an army of dark things, suffered severe nerve damage in his hands. He could barely hold the delicate instruments of his trade, let alone perform, and he spent his fortune on every cure, legitimate or not, to try to restore his fine motor functions. Within a year he was on the street, performing sketchy procedures for little pay. Time passed, he barely had the money to pay off his bar tabs, he couldn’t have sunk any lower.
And then he heard of the Ancient One, a Tibetan mystic, he pawned his last possessions, bought a plane ticket to Tibet, and went in search of the man. It was his last hope, and for the first time in nearly twenty years, the good doctor prayed. He reached the monastery where the man lived, but was to be given no help, he turned to leave and was astounded by what he saw. The old man was attacked by spirits of darkness and defended himself easily, as Strange staggered from the room he saw the conjurer, a sorcerer named Mordo, one of the Ancient One’s companions. Intending to warn the Ancient One of who was doing these things, Strange was magically silenced by the sorcerer. At that moment, he vowed to learn magic to fight Mordo on his own terms, it was his first unselfish act in decades. The Ancient One freed him from the constraints and took him as an apprentice, for seven years Strange studied in Tibet, his power was astounding.
Time passed and he served the Ancient One, but when a demon attempted to enter Earth through the Ancient One’s mind, Strange killed his mentor, saving Earth from the cruel monster. It was in this way he ascended to the rank of Sorcerer Supreme and, after a battle with Death, received a greatly elongated lifespan befitting his new station. And now, never aging, helped by his servant Wong, the Sorcerer Supreme has lived in quiet solitude at the Sanctum Sanctorum in Greenwich Village. He practices avoidance behavior of the ills of the world, seeing his duty mainly to combat the supernatural forces that occasionally invade.
Personality :
Dr. Strange has been shaped by two things in his life, his training and his difficult time as a young adult. As such, he as a remarkable aptitude for acting very oddly, and is often seen by people as either aloof or far too meddling.
Since his time in medical school, he has always been rather arrogant, often with good reason, and this mindset has since been compounded by his rising to the rank of Sorcerer Supreme. Additionally, his time in medical school and the family problems that occurred in that time, left in him a desire to avoid making solid, long-term relationships, his love life is almost non-existent, his friends are few and far between. He has an odd sense of humor, usually very dry, but delivered with impeccable timing and delivery. This humor tends to show up the most at times that do not call for it, and he’s less apt to joke in times of peace than in times of trouble.
His aloof personality and irrationally calm demeanor are the result of his training as sorcerer. He is generally quite balanced, and avoids becoming involved in the affairs of normal people unless they involve himself or his work directly, though he has been known to occasionally become involved if asked directly by a friend. For the most part he is not easily upset, though he’s quickly angered over incompetence or treachery. Sadness can occur when he has spent time reminiscing, which is a rare thing indeed.
Other:
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Brief Sample Roleplay
The Sanctum Sanctorum. The very words seemed to leach magic like water from a sponge, just as the building leached it. Still a street away and he could feel it hanging in the air, bleeding into the water that ran beneath the streets, cracking along with the dry thunder in the distance. When he had first come across it the feeling had nearly stopped his heart, the shock of such unadulterated power had been a surprise. Now, though, it had become a welcome companion, like a security blanket he could wrap himself in, like the dark cloak that hung fluttering from his shoulders despite the lack of wind on the street. It was dark out, the quiet time just before dawn when the world was dead and silent; it was the best time to go out on these little jaunts, the movement of the day not yet started and the monsters that hung about in the darkness safely tucked away.
The good doctor, Dr. Strange, the Sorcerer Supreme, was out this morning, moving back toward home after an hour of traveling the empty streets. He was not walking. Instead, relishing the time he could spend to do this so near home, he hung a foot off the ground, held up by his cloak and propelled forward at a meandering speed. He held his arms clasped behind his back, his feet pointed downward and obviously unsupported, his vision focused on the ground that he passed over and seeing something completely different. He had been working to memorize one of the spell forms listed in the Book of Vishtani and now it clung in his mind. He drew it over and over in his mind and when he was content with it he reached out and pulled his cape around him, a moment later he felt the ground below him, his feet on the solid pavement for the first time in an hour. The feeling was marginally disconcerting for a moment.
He walked the rest of the way to his home, passing by the silent Greenwich Village homes, still deep in thought. Now confronted by the front gate he waved his hand in front of him, still preoccupied by that book. The gate creaked open and he stepped through, closing it behind him with another subtle hand motion. He got into the house the same way removing his cape as he stepped in and hanging it near the door. Neat black pants and a white shirt under a scarlet vest could now be seen, the gleaming gold eye of Agamotto flashing in the lights of the front hall. The house was silent as well though he thought that Wong was likely awake, meditating in his room. Moving quietly so as not to disturb him he made his way up the stairs and into his study, forced the lights to glow with a wave and settled down in a winged chair beside a newly roaring fire. A book flew from his desk into a raised hand, he let it fall open, flicked through the pages until he found where he’d left off and read until the sun had risen and a knock sounded at the door.
