Sullivan. He might’ve had a last name at some point in his life, but now, it’s simply Sullivan.Age:
Well, he was about 47 when he died (going through the whole midlife crisis thing), and that was about twenty odd years ago. So really, he’s something around the age of 67, poor fellow!Height:
In life, he used to be around 190cms, but with all the corrosion of his bones and legs and that kind of stuff, he’s now closer to 170cms. Being dead doesn’t really do a lot of good for people now, does it?Build:
Once again, things changed somewhat in Sullivan’s death. He used to be a large, slow, sad middle aged man with a big beer gut, but now he’s a skinny, little sad middle aged zombie. Things haven’t exactly improved much!Power:
Behold the mighty and unstoppable power of…. FALLING OVER! That’s right! When Sullivan goes to ground, you better be far away! All right, so it’s a little, shall we say, ridiculously embarrassing? But hell, it sure does its job!
So here’s the gist of it: when little zombie Sullivan falls over, something… happens… As his body connects with the earth, or concrete or whatever happens to be below him, and as his various limbs fall off due to poor attachment, something, and he’s not sure what, creates a kind of a… ripple… At first, that’s all it is- a ripple traveling through the ground. But then, it slowly begins to escalate. The ripples become larger and lager until the ground, water or whatever (within a 100 meter radius) shakes so violently that cracks begin to appear, buildings can sometimes collapse if they are not built well enough and all manner of things of the sort. Now, the thing about this power is that it is so incredibly humiliating
for Sullivan that he never uses it on purpose! The only times you’ll ever see him falling over is when he’s tripped or been pushed (which actually serves as quite the advantage point in battle, so long as none of Sullivan’s allies are within a hundred meter radius of him, which is most likely true- He doesn’t have many allies). But you see, in all one-on-one battles, the main objective is to either kill your opponent, or push them over so that you can. So when Sullivan’s opponents have trouble killing him (because he’s a zombie, obviously) they push him over, thus triggering the incredible powers of the falling over earthquake thing… Yeah, he still hasn’t come up with a name for this ability of his…
Now, many of Sullivan’s enemies were at the time or at least used to be a scientist of some sort when they were fighting our zombie friend. So, of course, if they lived (which they usually did- it’s not exactly a lethal power unless you’re quite unlucky), they were eager to find the source and form in which this… thing, worked. So, after a few strange processes and tests these scientific men and women discovered something that was really, quite amazing, but still incredibly odd and humiliating for Sullivan. You see, as Sullivan’s body whooshes down towards the ground, his small, shriveled brain realizes that he’s falling. And so, it releases a small, I suppose wave of energy (which depletes Sullivan’s own mental capacity, unfortunately for him) which is designed to manipulate the earth and bounce him back to his feet with minimal damage. However, whichever necromancer it was who rose Sullivan and gave him this strange ability, they didn’t really do it very well. So, most likely, Sullivan was like a zombie guinea pig, but don’t tell him that! He’s already pretty down as it is!
So really, whenever Sullivan falls over, it’s like when a human is hit in the head really hard- they lose quite a few brain cells. So, for every time Sullivan has fallen over, he’s gotten dumber. No wonder he thinks he can take over the world!
So there you have it! When Sullivan falls down, the earth goes BLARGH! Or something like that…Looks:
Sullivan is, really, one big mess. From head to toe, he is the reason why so many adults and children alike are afraid of clowns. You see, in life, Sullivan earned a living as a children’s’ clown, and decided to keep some of that image in death. His hair is a writhing mess of bright blue and dull brown-reds, all tangled together and sticking up as if he constantly has static electricity coursing through his body.
His pale blue skin is deeply flawed on his face, with many cracks, scratches and scars. He has just one, piercing blue eye- the other lost to a scavenger bird upon the day of his death. His nose is mangled, and so too is his mouth- slightly slanting upwards in one corner, his teeth yellow and crooked, his lip covered in ulcers and constantly letting forth a small trickle of gruesome blood. Where his ears once were can only be found two bloody holes- these hearing devices also lost to him at some point.
His neck, too, is covered in bleeding scratches and scars.
He wears deep red-brown clothes- a loose, tattered shirt, covered in his own blood stains, and long baggy and tattered pants, also covered in gruesome things. The shirt rips in several places, revealing scars and bleeding scratches and his pale blue flesh, gruesomely thin and revealing his ribs beneath itself.
His left sleeve stops halfway down his forearm, giving way to his same pale blue skin, and is then covered up by a tattered brown glove, which covers his mangled hand.
From his left shoulder protrudes two different blades, possibly the only thing keeping this limb attached to the rest of his body. His sleeve then travels all the way down his body and is wrapped around the stump where his hand once was. This stump, too, is always dripping blood.
His trousers travel all the way down his two legs, covering the many bleeding scratches and scars beneath them. His left leg has no capability to move, and so must be dragged behind Sullivan when he walks.
All-in-all, he looks, and is, bloody horrible!
For those of you who, because of some obviously sad affliction, cannot mentally picture what has been expertly described to you (if I do say so myself), here is an actual picture:
Mm, don’t you just love pictures!History:
All his life, Sullivan had been a useless wreck and attempted clown, usually scaring the children away rather then make them smile and laugh. Then, the day he discovered he had cancer and was to die within a month, he rejoiced, hugging his doctor and skipping down the street. Finally, the mess of his bothersome life could end at the ripe young age of 31!
But, of course, that bloody cheap doctor got it wrong, and Sullivan had to go through another sixteen bloody years of bloody life before he could permanently knock off for the bloody afternoon, so to speak. (Oh yes, he’s from Yorkshire- says bloody a lot)
But then, of course, as his lifeless corpse was resting in the ground, a no good bloody useless necromancer had to come and raise him
- a 47 year-old midlife crisis-central male clown (who, by the way, had just been dumped in the ground, without anyone even being bothered to take off his clown suit!) to begin his ‘zombie army which would slowly infest civilization, beginning at the Nether City and working its way across the world’!
And as the once-lifeless corpse of Sullivan rose from the depths, swearing colorfully whilst begging someone for a good cup of tea, this necromancer fellow hit him on the head with a rather large stick and began to speak.
“Welcome, my minion, to the earth once again. You will begin my zombie army which will slowly infest civilization, beginning at the Nether City and then working its way across the world! Bahaha!”
“Oh, bloody hell,” Sullivan replied. “This is just brilliant, aint it? Well, I’ll tell you what. Gimmee a nice cup o’ tea and I’ll consider it.”
“But, you are my minion! You must obey my every command!” The necromancer pleaded.
But Sullivan cut him off, “Abap- tea.”
“Err, umm, I’m sorry. I haven’t got any tea…”
“Then take over the world with someone else.”
And with that, Sullivan stormed off in search of a nice cuppa, leaving the necromancer completely flabbergasted.
Sullivan never did find his tea.
A year later, after searching a quarter of the Nether city for a cup of tea (I know, all that ground in only a year? Wow, he’s quick!) Sullivan finally gave up. There was just no way he was going to find a decent cup, or even pot, of tea in post-apocalyptic earth. What was the world coming to, if a Yorkshire bloke couldn’t drink tea? Why, he was suffering severe withdrawal symptoms!
Now, it may have been a result of these withdrawal symptoms, or perhaps the necromancer had actually gotten a little of what he had planned with Sullivan, but on the fifth of March, at exactly 3:45 in the afternoon (give or take a couple of seconds, milliseconds, nanoseconds, etc., etc.), just over a year since he was raised from the dead, Sullivan decided that he would indeed begin a zombie army which would slowly infect civilization, beginning at the Nether City and then working its way across the world (bahaha!, to quote the necromancer), and then, once he had taken over the world, Sullivan would reinvent tea drinking in the world, forcing everyone to drink tea every day! Mwahahahaa!
Five years later, Sullivan had amassed a truly massive force! They went for the scientists first, planning to take out the brains, and then deal with the brawn.
So, one warm summer morning- a perfectly lovely day, actually- an army amassed at the gates of the most prestigious school of science in the city and broke through. After a fierce battle lasting a whole two minutes, the scientists just managed to overpower the force of three, capturing their idiotic, tea-seeking leader, Sullivan.
As they shepherded him towards the temporary enclosure which would be housing him for the next few weeks, one of them bumped him a little too hard and Sullivan tumbled the short distance to the ground below him. The whole building was rocked to its core, but the expert stone masonry held firm. But it wasn’t just the building that this falling over had an affect on- these scientists instantly set to work on Sullivan, trying to discover the strange source of this mysterious power… ability… thing…
After intense hours of studying, the scientists virtually pissed themselves laughing, and so Sullivan keenly took advantage of this and left the building, planning to establish his army once again.
Sixteen years later, Sullivan is still amassing his mighty force of zombie minions, cherishing the day when he will be able to drink a nice cup of tea once again…Race:
A zombie, the poor fellow. Religion:
Sullivan doesn’t exactly follow any particular religion. He claims it’s because he hasn’t the time, nor deems any of them worthy of his following, however it’s more because his little zombie brain can’t deal with all the complications of religion! Aww, it makes you want to pity him! But then you think, ‘wait, if I pitied him he’d eat my brains or something then declare he was going to take over the world before falling over, shaking my cat out of the tree. I’d then thank him for saving my cat, but then he’d just fall over again and wreck my house. Bloody bastard.’ Well, at least, that’s what I think… :PFriends:
Seriously, who would want to be friends with a depressed middle aged zombie who thinks he can take over the world but really has no hope? Exactly: no one.Weapons:
Unfortunately, Sullivan is just a little too uncoordinated to use a weapon of any sorts. He just kind of walks around, threatening to eat people’s brains and hoping that they run away from him, rather than putting up a fight which will probably end in him falling over and losing several of his limbs which he will then have to spend the rest of the day looking for. Bloody zombie.