A Closer Look
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"The enemy is anybody who's going to get you killed, no matter which side he is on."
― Joseph Heller, Catch-22
MAXWELL
Masculine | Mack's stream | English
AMBROSE
Masculine | immortal | English
WARREN
Surname | sandy soil | English -
B a s i c s
◖BIRTH NAME◗
Maxwell Ambrose Warren, but he would never, ever introduce himself like that.
◖NICKNAME◗
He only goes by Max, only.
◖ALIAS◗
None.
◖BIRTH DATE◗
30th of March.
◖AGE◗
20 years old.
◖ZODIAC◗
Aries.
◖NATIONALITY◗
American.
◖BIRTHPLACE◗
Bayfield, Wisconsin.
◖OCCUPATION◗
Demigod-in-training.
◖RESIDENCE◗
Long Island, New York.
◖ALIGNMENT◗
Himself, only himself.
◖RACE◗
Demigod.
◖ABILITIES◗
Telumkinesis, odikinesis, physical enhancement.◖HEIGHT◗
1,77 m.
◖BODY TYPE◗
Muscular, yet less than one would assume, very defined, athletic and rather fit.
◖EYES◗
Blue, which can change to golden or scarily red at times.
◖HAIR◗
A blondish brown colour.
◖COMPLEXION◗
White.
◖TATTOOS◗
None, yet. He would like to have plenty.
◖SCARS◗
None that he cannot hide well. They are mainly located on his upper body.
◖HANDEDNESS◗
Right-handed.
◖TRADEMARKS◗
His habit of wearing his hands covered in bandages all the way up his wrists, his constant scowl.
◖SEXUALITY◗
Heterosexual.
◖RELATIONSHIP STATUS◗
Single.
◖STRENGTHS◗
His raw, physical power and strength, his independence and burning determination, sports and fighting, obtaining knowledge when it comes to weapons, as well as his scarily cunning nature and incredible skill of lying and putting on a facade.
◖WEAKNESSES◗
Commitment, not being able to trust others, opening up to others, his past, talking in general, any sign of affection.
◖LIKES◗
Fighting, physical training, getting stronger, even if it entails training for hours on end, hand-to-hand combat, though weapons are great as well. Even the bruises he gets for working himself too hard. There's a certain satisfaction in seeing others bleed by his hand, though he would never admit to it. He likes being alone, mainly because he often dislikes others. Cigarettes, not so much the taste as the feeling, running and just keeping on going, sleeping, being stroked across the hair, of course by the right person, the softness of a duvet, the closeness of others, certain people, though he would never, ever admit to that, as he has written off any closeness with anyone.
◖DISLIKES◗
Other people, most of the other children at the camp, showing any signs of weakness or softness from him or towards him, he does not need others to be kind to him, he can take care of himself. He hates the bonfire sessions, he hates being restricted, neither Chiron or mr. D are people he are very fond of either, his father and the gods alike in general.
◖FACECLAIM◗
Alexander Calvert.
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B a c k g r o u n d
"Only the dead have seen the end of war."
― Plato
FURY, WRATH, AND THE PATH OF WAR
FUELLED HIS MIND, BODY, AND SOUL
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Maxwell Ambrose Warren was born on the 30th of March 20 years ago to the young mother of Henrietta Warren. A single mother, she was completely ready for the child, supported by her otherwise conservative parents who were fishermen in the city of Bayfield, Wisconsin. He was the child that she had always wanted and even if she would never see his father, while he grew up fatherless, she was still overjoyed. She knew this from rather early on in the pregnancy if not even before, having figured it out herself, but she was fine. As long as she had her baby boy, she would be alright. She worked at a local fish restaurant, as she had grown up around them because of her parents. It was nothing fancy, but she made a living for herself. The house that she moved into was made possible by the help of her parents, but otherwise she made sure that she was as independent as possible, only taking exactly what she needed. Maternity leave was a blessed time, but still she had to go back to work, where she enjoyed living in close proximity to family.
Max grew up in a home filled with love. It was him and his mom against the world and it was great. At bedtime, she would tell stories about her father, the Greek god of war, Ares himself, and he grew up knowing his identity from a very early point. It was their little secret, something he could not tell anyone, which made it special to him. He would stare into the sky thinking about this mysterious god of a father and even if it felt like a fantastical story that she would simply tell him to fill the void of a missing parent, he did not care. He felt strong and powerful and since she portrayed this man as mighty strong and a force to be reckoned with, he had himself an idol in his father even if he had never met him; he was someone he strived to be, all because of how his mom would tell stories about him and especially the love that the two of them had shared, even if he had had to leave her. It was for the best, which was why he was mostly okay with it. Not that he did not have his outbursts of anger and sadness, it's impossible for a young boy to not miss his father, but his mom would always comfort him and give him the love that he needed. It was them against the world.
Until it wasn't. At the age of 9, the abilities that he had inherited from his father began to show, but he did not know what it was. He was beginning to enter an age of defiance like all the other boys, but it seemed that this was something else. There was another bubbling sensation within him, but he could not understand what it was. It started in school; fights would happen around him, when he felt under pressure or angry himself. Sometimes they would involve him, but it would mostly involve the people that he felt angry towards. It began as shouting and verbal disagreements out of nowhere, but it would quickly escalate ― and for some reason he felt that he had something to do with it. It did not feel real, though, until he got home after a day where he himself had been invovled in a fight. The school had called his mom and while he expected hugs and comfort from his ever-loving mom, it disappeared as soon as she laid her eyes on him. What started out as a regular smile, the one that would fill out her entire face, faded and before he knew it, she was yelling. He had never heard this before, never experienced her raising his voice. The shock and utter horror as well as the fear rushed over him ― and it only made it worse. Frustration kicked in and before he knew it, he was grounded in his room, lying on his bed gripping his own arms and curling up, asking himself what he had done wrong. He had never seen his mom look at him like that, let alone anyone else. But anger had taken over and soon this was all there was left.
Max felt powerless. Coming home was no longer something he looked forward to. He knew what waited at home, even if he constantly hoped that it would all be a bad dream and that he would wake up and see his mom smile at him once more; but now, she would simply stare at him, before the yelling started. It seemed like she herself did not understand it, but he angered her. Just his being angered her so much. It started out as yelling, cussing, reprimanding, and when he cried and yelled back, it would only escalate. The angrier, sadder, and more afraid he got, the more intense she got as well. It did not take long for it to truly escalate: For her to put her hands on her son. It would start as a slap to make him shut up or stop crying, but that was just the beginning. The older he got, the worse the abuse got, especially since his mom seemed to have breaks from the anger, especially when Max was not in the house. Then, the anger would wear off and she would realise the awful things she had said and done to the person she loved more than anything in the world. The unbearable pain it caused her led her to the bottle, an escape from the memories of what she was doing even if she didn't want to. Now, his mom was truly gone. He couldn't sneak up to the house and look through the window to see her calm before he would enter the house and ensure that hell would break loose. Instead, she would often be passed out, the bottles lying on the table and the floor around the couch; and all of this was his fault.
He did everything he could to stay out of the house to avoid the yelling, the names, the bruises, but it was still his home and she was still his mom ― and he did cling desperately onto the hope that she would one day return to herself. His own fear, though, seemed to keep her anger constant with no way out: And at the age of 12, it exploded. Max had tried to sneak in through the kitchen, when she emerged, drunk, angry. He tried to keep her away as she tried to get near him and since he kept avoiding her, she only got more and more angry. Before he knew it, he was cornered and at that moment he felt more afraid than he had ever felt. As she came for him, he screamed at her, begging her to stop: And she did. At that split second, the kitchen had come alive. Every metallic piece, every sharp object had left their place and hit Max' mother with an unbelievable force. She was dead on the spot, just lying there covered in knives and utensils, blood flowing from the wounds with her eyes locked on her mortified son. He just sat there, frozen in horror at what he had done. He had not only killed her, but tortured her for years. It took half an hour before he started to cry, hours before he even dared moving near her, but he couldn't do it, he couldn't take his eyes of off her, but he could not get over and try to help her ― he was too afraid.
As darkness came, hysteria and fear truly kicked in and not long after that their neighbours reacted. The sight that met them was despicable: The young boy in the corner crying his heart out, trying to get away from the pool of blood that was nearing him, while his mother was just lying there, cold on the floor, bloodied, cut open. He started to scream when they approached, afraid that he would harm them, but to his surprise nothing happened. No knives, no anger, nothing. They simply got him out of there as they called the police. He was never suspected by the police, even after questioning, simply because he lied. At this point, he had calmed down. The tears were edged into his cheeks, his eyes red and puffed, his voice silent from all the screams ― and he lied. They believed him, of course, and not long after he was realised into the custody of his grandparents, his mother's murder being investigated as a homicide. He no longer caused anger in others, but he felt it within himself. What he had put onto others was now all bottled up within himself. It hurt, it made him angry and sad, but he kept it within instead, even if he wanted to react as much as he could. He felt like screaming, like hurting others, letting others feel the pain that he felt inside. All the pain that he had caused was now within him, he hated himself and what he could do, what he had done. He would spend his time alone and people would often leave him, if they did not try and help him through the grief that he had put himself in.
That was until he was found. That out of all still feels the most like a dream, being picked up from school by satyrs with the message of a camp full of people like him: Demigods, the illegitimate children of the gods, a place to train and gain the control he needed. He had little choice and not long after he arrived at Camp Half-Blood. The realisation that he was not alone, that his father had many other children and that the other gods had too, did something to him; it angered him even further. The worst part was that some of these kids had been her for long. Same age as him, but found sooner ― spared of the horror that he had to go through all thanks to these powers that he never asked for. This was when it dawned on him: No. This was not his fault. It was his father's fault. The gods' fault. Thise so-called camp leaders' fault. Their recklessness and interference with the humans had put him, this horrible child, with his mother and caused her painful and prolonged death. Their indifference had ensured that he had not been found in time. If they had done their job, they would have found him sooner and taken him away before he could have done the harm that he did. He had no chance of controlling this godly power that had been bestowed on him without his own choice. They were the murderers of his mother. And they had to suffer. He just had to get strong enough and find the perfect plan, however long it would take ― he would make sure that they all suffered what he had felt in that kitchen. -
C o r e t r a i t s
“Rules are for children.
This is war, and in war the only crime is to lose.”
― Joe Abercrombie, Last Argument of Kings
○ W R A T H F U L
adj. | wrath·ful
Feeling or showing anger. Max is first and foremost angry. He feels this anger at all times, keeping at a minimum, but rarely, if ever, being entirely freed from it. He is used to it by now, this constant rush of fury that he is ready to unleash at any given moment if he feels like it. His temper is extreme and he needs practically nothing to go off. It can be a wrong look, a simple word, or a gesture that rubs him the wrong way. Most of the time, he acts with violence ― he reacts physically, not with words, and he rarely thinks twice about it. He has a ruthless reputation at the camp, since he has little to no morals, especially when he is angered enough. He views no one as his equal, no one as his friend, let's no one close to him. Deep within him, he knows that he harms others and that he should stop himself, but he hates the others for being spared what he felt, even if he has never stopped to hear their stories. This child hidden within him is still scared, though, scared of hurting people he cares about, which is why he keeps everyone at an arm's length. If he doesn't care about them, if they don't care about him, he can easily hurt them and that's all he knows, that's what his father's blood destined him for.○ D E T E R M I N E D
adj. | de·ter·mined
Showing no signs of slackening or yielding in one's purpose. Max has always been a fighter, even before discovering his abilities. He has always been eager to learn and where this was a juvenile desire to learn once, it's now a determined lust for power that he will stop at nothing to achieve. He has always given it his all, which has also made him one of the most dedicated fighters in the camp. While he might not be the most skilled, he is almost without a doubt the most ruthless, and this lack of scrupulousness makes him an extremely scary opponent. He has worked hard to get to where he is now. This determination leads him to be less fearful on the battlefield, making him more likely to run headfirst into battle. He does not care about the consequences as long as he reaches his goal, even if he has to take others out on the way, even the ones labelled as his siblings.
▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔○ C U N N I N G
adj. | cun·ning
Clever at attaining one's ends by indirect and often deceptive means. One of Max' most surprising traits, his cunning nature and ability to be extremely calculated. He was never like this when he was younger, this emerged fully as a side effect from the murder of his mother. He learnt to lie, learnt to deceive. While his anger is not just a facade, it also ensures that he can easily keep people believing in what they want instead of seeing him for what threat he actually is. Most see him as a fool with an axe, nothing but anger and raw force, but he is definitely not someone to be underestimated. While he is not good at manipulating others in terms of winning them over, he is definitely pulling strings behind the curtain that no one has yet to suspect. His lack of morals, deep hatred for others, and determination to make his plans come true really comes together in this. He does not care that others underestimate him as long as their opinion play into his plan.○ L O S T
adj. | lost
Unable to find the way, ruined or destroyed physically or morally. Max is fully blinded by his own hatred. He has forgotten the feeling that he had before the hatred, fear, and sorrow. Out of those, hatred grew strongest within him, so while the others have been repressed, they are still very much there, though he would never acknowledge that. In the end, he would never admit to the fact that he is still that broken boy who desperately needs help. Instead, he continues down this path completely led by this idea that others must pay. The person he once was is lost, buried deep within him to the point where it will suffocate completely if nothing is done ― and since he never lets anyone close to him, this is almost bound to happen. To him, he has simply found the path that he was destined to take, something he did not choose, but something that his father and the gods put him towards. They made him out to be who he is and he will fullfill it no matter what, not realising that he is truly, utterly lost. -
A b i l i t i e s
SON OF ARES
“He is a weapon, a killer. Do not forget it.
You can use a spear as a walking stick, but that will not change its nature.”
― Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles
Max is the son of Ares, the Greek God of War. This makes him a machine on the battlefield, a scary, aggressive force to challenge, one you do not want to anger. As the son of a war god, he has incredible martial abilities with an extensive knowledge of combat as well as superior strength and overall physical prowess. Besides the abilities inherited by his father, Max possesses a few general "abilities" common to all demigods alike, being ADHD and dyslexia.
| Physical Enhancement |
Besides being trained with the other demigods, making him skilled in hand-to-hand combat and one of the best at the camp, Max possesses physical enhancement because of his father. This simply means that he is incredibly strong on his own, fast and agile due to having the physical structure, upper body strength, and muscularity of a rugby player. He might not look at it with first glance, but he is definitely not someone to underestimate. His strength is scary and it only gets worse when he unleashes the anger that boils within him.
| Telumkinesis |
The ability to manipulate weaponry. Max is an expert in all weapon usage due to his parentage and even possesses some degree of magical control over them, He has shown to be skilled in both wielding sword, spears, bows, and knives, but his preferred weapon is his double-headed axe. He can conjure weapons or transform any object around him into any weapon or tool, even though this takes more concentration than simply controlling an already existing weapon, but it's definitely doable to him. Simply by looking at a weapon, he knows how to handle it, he can even incapacitate his enemies' weapons by transforming them into something far less threatening or easily disarming them either by making them unable to hold the weapon or by telekinetically tearing the weapons from their hands. Another strong power against his opponents is the ability to place curses on their weapons.
| Odikinesis |
Odikinesis is the ability to manipulate feelings and emotions of war, such as hate, rage, and fear. While it cannot be compared to the capacity of his father, he has shown to have a bigger grasp and influence over this ability than his half-siblings. While he first had no control over this and would unknowingly use it, he now has control over is, though it has been one of the most difficult abilities for him to master; but it was also the most important to master due to the danger that it holds. The effect of this ability becomes worse if he loses control over his own emotions of wrath and anger.
Another sub-ability of this, is Powerful Scream, which is the ability to generate a powerful scream capable of causing his opponents extreme pain and discomfort.
| Blessing of Ares |
Ares' Blessing is a magical blessing bestowed by Ares upon his demigod children, such as Max. It looks like a red fire around them and makes them temporarily invincible. This is not something that he can activate himself, but is bestowed on him by Ares when he deems it.
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S i g n a t u r e
