Benjamin Mathers \ Mr. Volker

The less-empowered types, the undecided, the morally shifty and most mundanes who get slapped around by greater powers go here by default.

Benjamin Mathers \ Mr. Volker

Postby IamLEAM1983 » Mon Jul 10, 2017 5:04 pm

Name: Benjamin Mathers \ Mister Volker \ Warrior
Age: body is 46 years old, demon is thousands of years old
Gender: male
Species: anthro wolf, incubus
 
Strengths: before being called Volker and long before defecting in order to better serve old mercenary leanings, Benjamin Mathers had stood as the product of two Middle Eastern campaigns with the USMC Special Forces stationed in the region. While highly efficient as a part of his squad, his personal record suggests a penchant for interrogative techniques bordering on coercion, and a general disregard for any incurred forms of collateral damage. Knowledge of urban and suburban combat paired with sabotage and espionage techniques have more or less confined him to
work lying outside of common political channels. As could be expected, this made the man a source of pointed interest for rival powers, and a prized asset once his defection was confirmed.
 
Before wholly going rogue, however,Mathers went through a few years as a private security consultant for various corporations, as well as Hong Kong’s then-newly-trained SCRT division. This enabled him to impart his mastery of Exosuit-assisted combat techniques to Marianna Jameson’s former peers, as well as to Jameson herself. With no suit, Volker is only as fast or as strong as his body’s natural strength reserves
allow. Once suited, Volker becomes able to survive otherwise crippling falls, can impart superhuman levels of torque to landed blows, and can generally expect to survive a confrontation with vampires aged anywhere between a hundred
to four or five hundred years old. Demons and angels of middling rank and of a decidedly martial nature would also meet their match in him. The body’s inhabiting demonic spirit also imparts it with supernatural resilience and stamina. He can be brought down with some work, but is hard to effectively terminate if he isn’t seriously crippled first.
 
Still, what the incubus nicknamed Warrior has primarily imprinted upon his new shell is a strangely ethics-driven commitment to sheer battlefield savagery. Where others feed their burden of lust by attempting to make meaningful connections or by sleeping with every
morsel available, he instead chooses to mercilessly slaughter whomsoever would choose to advance the Princes’ causes. Research suggests that his solo gauntlets through the plains of the Pit have lasted for much longer than his involvement with Tom Magnus indicates, with Pride’s stentorian Chronicler demons keeping a blood-soaked history of the Hellwalker’s previously endless campaign of destruction. Compared to the mortals’ time frame, Warrior has only been laying low and serving as bodyguard to the first of the Pit’s refugees for a few centuries. It would take the warlock’s project for him to accept to end his admittedly endless crusade and to turn his boundless hatred for those blind
Pitspawn in the wastes to more constructive ends.
 
Lastly, Volker’s globe-trotting experience has enabled him to contact a fairly wide selection of paramilitary groups or criminal elements, from Cuba’s modern juntas to the Sin Seven – and stretching back to a fairly elusive group he refers to as the Gentlemen. In that last respect, his contacts were mostly electronic in form. He remains ignorant that the Gentlemen stand as the modern-day incarnation of Dalarath’s
old insurgent group, the White Brotherhood.

Weaknesses: infernal willpower might enable Warrior to control Volker’s shell well past the point of normally applicable cessation of all bodily functions, there’s still a point where continuing to animate a twitching mass of fur, bioports and tactical webbing would be a waste of time. He might give the impression that he’s essentially a furry and pointy-eared version of the Terminator when the going gets tough – the fact remains that all flesh has its limits. Limits that are, for the most part, easily attainable for anyone with enough tactical wherewithal, firepower and patience. Warrior might be able to wade through the Pitspawn with nothing except boundless lust and his drawn claws, the Damned’s lowliest numbers usually don’t pack battlefield awareness or strategy-related considerations.
 
In short, Volker likes to compare himself to the Doom Guy: he’s a tornado of ceaseless torment and pure aggression when faced with enemies that only ever dash forward or stubbornly try and guard a point – but most trained soldiers prefer to go for protracted firefights. Doom Guy works wonders in Hell or in Hell-infested corners of the mortal plane, but needs to adapt to mortal tactics in other circumstances. The alternative, which consists of running blindly forward while running on pure rage and lust for battle, would very likely end Warrior’s ownership of this body. As he believes in Tom’s project, he understands he would better serve him and his allies by facing mortal, Fae or alien foes with a more deliberate approach.
 
No matter how notorious the Hellwalker might be down in the Pit, some modicum of responsibility applies in the mortal plane. There’s no mistaking the idea that Volker was primarily raised up to serve as a point-man in the advent of a large-scale Infernal invasion, however.
 
Past all this, he mirrors Tom, Melmoth, Naberius and most other reasonable demons in how ignorant faith or blind zeal hurts him far more than level-headed displays of spirituality. Preston Hauser’s belief in the Singularity wouldn’t bother him, and neither would Abraham Zahavi’s belief in his own capabilities, but chances are Cuthbert’s admittedly positive Catholic zeal might unsettle him. Even before reacting like a demon would, he’d likely admit that this level of commitment feels weird.
 
Of course, someone else could retort that his own belief in his right to punish those Hellspawn still loyal to the Princes counts as a form of faith. The pot calling the kettle black, more or less…
 
Appearance: at two hundred pounds of lean muscle and honed mass and five feet eight, the former jarhead-turned-international criminal usually manages to look merely professional when his brownish-grey fur is covered with a muscle tee and a jacket. His face has the marks of someone who had a gift for snark and somewhat of an arrogant streak, even if the demon now sometimes chooses to hide alien or somewhat disenfranchised stares behind a pair of sunglasses. The arrogance might have left and the snark stayed, but the fact remains that the man the Russian Brotherhood and the Chechens called “Mister Volker” is someone who turned bloodshed or its prevention into a very profitable business. With healthy fur, toned skin and a generous savings account saved from liquidation by the man’s apparent resurrection, he tends to give off the impression someone might have of what a warlord feels like in 2025. A smidgen of rugged sophistication, a generous dollop of earnestness and the pointed stares and glares of his fellow lupine brethren all combine to give him a fairly confident form of body language, well ahead of what his peers are displaying as of November of 2025.
 
As Club Ishtar’s Director of Security, you’ll find the wolf wearing purple muscle tees or turtlenecks under black jackets, a minimal tactical webbing usually slipped under the fabric. A hand Taser and a single basic Beretta nine-mil make up his immediate ordnance, while his office contains an electronically-locked and copiously warded firearms depot – most of which are enchanted in order to deal with otherworldly threats effectively. Day-to-day operations usually leave his gray eyes bare, but the club’s opening hours usually motivate the addition of a pair of sunglasses. Concealing his gaze makes it easier for him to intimidate any potentially rowdy Damned or Celestials, and to turn more alert expressions into falsely convincing looks of aloofness. His wearable tech is typically limited to an earpiece, one which his lupine ears effectively conceal.
 
Mathers does have off days, but even his grocery runs still involve some measure of cautiousness. The blacks and purples of the clubbing hours are usually preceded by tans and pastels during daytime; anything in order to look both nondescript and professional while taking care of his own needs. If his work needs some level of infiltration, he’ll be quick to slip on whatever uniform gets him closest to his target.
 
If you were to pull Warrior out ofhis body and imbue him with enough energy to force him to go corporeal, you’d essentially see an anthro take on Tom and Asmodeus’ overall motifs of decayed storefront beauty. As with the other two, his heart would look like a blazing furnace weakly contained by his ribcage, the heat of his own sadistic urges melting what would have otherwise been the pristine features of a flawless
example of canine anthro fitness.

Behaviour: before dying, Ben Mathers was a solidly-built sprig of arrogance and self-confidence, the type to liberally sprinkle his opinion wherever appropriate and to slather it in generous doses of bile. The same applies today, but the core of what drives him seems to have been fundamentally altered. Where filthy lucre used to matter, convictions have now taken its place. If the battlefield exposes the raging inferno on two legs that is actively piloting this husk, polite deliberation makes it clear that while Warrior isn’t one to take to florid wordings or metaphors, he definitely is the type to bluntly state what he feels. He doesn’t do it often, as though abnegation dictates he allows his weaker brethren to vent without his own grievances compounding any potential issues. When opinions are voiced, however, they’re usually very bluntly phrased. If Mister Volker says what he thinks of any given situation out of a sense of blithely-earned professional authority, Warrior tends to speak up out of shared convictions and of a developing sense of justice.
 
Of course, his lust for battle andfor the suffering of the deserving also motives some of his assumed positions, to the point where he likely won’t be against disobeying certain orders if his own course of action gives him the opportunity to put the thumbscrews on a lieutenant of the Goat’s or any willing collaborators. Mary could dubiously regale the Hall with stories of Mathers’ organized shakedown runs on Hong Kong’s abusive undead diaspora having served as catalysts for the Hong Kong Massacre. Of course, the wolf had already left for greener, more profitable
pastures by the time Jameson and her own team were forced to take a group of young and irresponsible undead down – and never had to face any direct blame for his own actions.
 
In essence, Volker thrives on being a monster to the monsters; a nightmarish Fiend for the demons to write scary stories about. This doesn’t grant the moral high ground to his approach, far from it. The only clear difference between the living Ben Mathers and the reanimated Mister Volker is that Volker is aware of that fact. His urges being what they are, however, he remains unable to simply stand back and allow the competent authorities to bag whatever target he might have acquired.
 
At least, Volker is genuinely attempting to swing his sadistic streak in a more beneficial direction and can rest easy in that attacking a living nadir of depravity or the embodied apex of Celestial arrogance happens to be excusable to a degree. He otherwise sees himself as a simple man, already freed from Tom and the others’ burden of sensuality and carnal urges. The truth isn’t so simple, but his own urges thankfully tend to involve situations that are hard to bump into naturally. Considering, he has an extra edge in terms of social stealth, in that many Damned in the past had no idea he was one of them until it was too late. The same could be said of any confrontational Celestials that might visit the club, as Volker lacks most other incubi and succubi’s aura of sexual magnetism.
 
He's hunky enough on his own terms,of course, but strangely seems like one of the rare incubi in town who might not need to up the ante with some supernatural pall of attraction.
 
Goals: Ben seeks to watch over hisand Tom’s flock as intently as possible, and to ensure that Club Ishtar remains a neutral place of respite and asylum for those who ask for it. On a short-to-medium term, this involves repelling and defeating the Black Goat. On a longer time period, other threats might arise or other groups might seek shelter in Tom’s Postmodern arcology-cum-wizard’s tower.
 
His official job description only mentions his keeping an eye over Club Ishtar, but the fact is the old Frost Tower is his to watch over in its entirety. He’s had to assemble a team of first-respondents from similarly-minded demons and angels, and to serve as the tower’s first line of defense before law enforcement is allowed to involve itself. Holden Hall’s employees are the one exception to the rule, with Magnus relying on Weasel Biggs and the Commission to ensure that any supernatural threat is passed on to himself or Volker first before being dispatched to the
HPD.
 
On a day-to-day basis, this doesn’t involve much. It means a few Fiends and independent angels of various ranks get to canvas the tower, looking for any disputes or problems to solve, along with any structural problems. If two store-owners start a tiff, they have to get involved. They’re also the ones to notify Tom of any plumbing of electrical issues, if need be.
 
In preparing for potentially cataclysmic events, the warlock has needed to ensure that those who live and work in his tower have access to everything they might need. Magnus’ more legislated and lawful take on Paradise also needs someone to make the rounds in the bunkers underground, along with the composting, hydroponic and engineering bays keeping this little village afloat.
 
History: born in Savannah in 1979, Benjamin Mathers comes from a troubled household located well away from the city’s opportunities. What should’ve been a story of small-town bliss involved copious amounts of abuse and a frankly criminal lack of care from his parents. A bit like Aidan Drake’s eventually would, Ben’s lack of direction landed him in the Army by the turn of the millennium, where he seemingly found his calling. Where others never rose above the rank of Private in the early millennium’s armed conflicts, Mathers’ skill and dedication were aptly noted.
 
Between 2002 and 2010, a slurry of commendations and increasingly troubling psych evaluations took place. He presented a number of classic Sociopathic traits and notably displayed no real attachment to the humanitarian or diplomatic roots of his missions. His initial lateral
promotion to the Navy SEALs turned into his being shoved back into one of the USMC’s Exosuit divisions stationed in Mosul, Iraq. There, his unit decimated several Elysium-led radical cells. While the locals were freed, the American tolerance they’d been promised failed to manifest. Mathers only really cared about ending lives as brutally as possible and ferreting out engagements wherever they might be. He also seemed to thrive in the resulting sense of validation and accomplishment that came out of his leading several missions successfully.
 
Still, by the time Aidan was about to be shipped out on his own adventures in the Middle East, Benjamin had returned home with his vaunted achievements crumbling in the face of an Iraqi dive bar incident. Disgraced, yet fairly careless of the reduced career prospects, he shifted his skills towards more larcenous ends. For five years, he canvassed America and Europe’s criminal spectrum, using underground connections to put a foot in corporate security and police force training. This allowed him to partially transition to a legitimate moneymaking scheme and to train several SWAT-esque outfits across China, Saudi Arabia, Russia and other smaller European markets. A friend to both repressive authoritarians and
sunny-eyed politicians blessed with a foot in several illegal trades as well as contract killing, Mathers was soon forced to go underground thanks to the relentless prying of the Russian Brotherhood. His initial alias became a fully-fledged cover by 2017, the American-born mercenary disappearing behind the persona of the somewhat hazier and deliberately Eurocentric character of Mister Volker.
 
Wealth followed, as planned, and so did relative ease. Deals opened in Johannesburg could close in Monaco, and his initially neglected flat in Boston joined luxurious Dubai and Tel Aviv apartments. With ease came a good sense of physical toning, and even a mild stretch of Instagram fame that would put the likes of Dan Bilzerian to shame. The more languages he partially mastered, the less easy his true origins were
to discern. Other sources of vapid fame and success followed along, such as a successful stint as a pro Poker player between 2018 and 2020, and the expected slew of superficial love interests that came along with a fat checkbook. It all came crashing down to a grinding halt in late 2024, where a spiked Singapore Sling was placed by a poolside table. Ease had already dulled his reflexes, and now crushed sleeping pills pushed him further away from safety. A pinprick in his neck carried something that sent his heart careening, a stroke soon following behind. It wasn’t hard for French agents of the Russian mob to pose as relatives of Volker’s and to plot in order to seize and liquidate the self-made warlord’s
assets. The wolf’s little empire collapsed and he, quite suitably, was sent to Hell.
 
Luckily for a particular incubus,however, Tom Magnus had already tracked Volker using a slew of temporarily influenced bodies and the occasional search online in the mortal plane. The warthog knew one of his allies would benefit from Volker’s connections, and was rather well used to the process of turning sworn enemies into reluctant allies. His first few hours as the man who had formerly been Thomas Quint enabled him to hijack the Russian mob’s own plans, which had been to make a tidy profit out of the wolf’s obsessively-maintained physical condition. What they considered to be a final and fitting insult ended up serving as Warrior’s springboard to a new lease on life.
 
As for the incubus proper, however,his story begins thousands of years ago, long before the rise of mortal civilizations. A son of Asmodeus, much like Tom, the man who would be Volker never honestly took to the seraglio’s imposed existence. He and his brothers and sisters were made to rip carnal pleasure and obscene pain alike from those mortal souls that joined them - and to offer it all to their endlessly lusting father. The incubus with the features of a flayed wolf quickly grew tired of his temporary suitors, and found the motions of forced intercourse to be unsatisfying at best. It took a long while for him to work up enough presence of mind and courage to dare to simply stop feasting on whatever morsel he’d just earned for himself – and the results weren’t pretty. One of the domain of Lust’s rare instances of violent altercations unfolded, ending with Asmodeus predictably raping his own son in order to coax obedience out of him.
 
The incubus was no fool, however.His father’s version of discipline had no value, as there was no care or dedication in those attempts to foster submissiveness. Several attempts at rebellion followed, until the canine incubus found himself possessed of enough strength, cunning and agility to manage to push back his family's attacks and to run away. Followed eons of hardship across all provinces and principalities of the Pit, the scraggly and initially endlessly-hounded errant incubus turning into a spirit of pure survival, dedication and purposeful savagery. It took a long time before he realized he now lusted not after flesh, but after the thrill of righteous bloodshed.
 
Long before Tom so much as began toperuse Iram’s libraries, the one who would be Volker had earned the title of Hellwalker from admittedly impressed Chronicler demons. Seemingly scraggly and barely more than man-sized, this… thing that had once been an incubus now tore through any horde of the Pit that came in contact with it, with its own suffered pain as well as what it inflicted seemingly serving as an endless source of fuel. While the Apostate conversed with the Nephilim of old, the Hellwalker engaged in the only form of dialog most Pitspawn understood. Most of those who crossed paths with the Hellwalker either died their final death or were forced to return to the demesne of their birth, where they’d be able to heal. If they couldn’t, their broken bodies served as emissaries to the Princes: someone was challenging their reign but had seemingly nothing else to offer in return. It allowed them to relegate the incubus’ best efforts to the status of a stubbornly-endured annoyance.
 
Then, as Tom’s plans matured, theneed to go looking for collaborators and early beneficiaries became clear. An initially-attempted raid on the seraglio failed, with the second one only succeeding thanks to Volker’s intercession as a diversionary element. That cemented the lupine incubus’ place in the refugees’ midst, the coldly repaid gratitude of the earlier days turning into a sense of nascent understanding over time. By the time Magnus was exposed to the Renaissance, Volker had sworn to protect their fellow refugees and to teach the more defenseless ones in their number to fight.
 
The centuries passed, Tom’s growingfamily remained carefully isolated – and the opportunity of a lifetime presented itself. Late in the summer of 2025, the Apostate was reborn as Tom Magnus, while the remainder of the group would follow behind a few months later. Thanks to Tom’s careful observation, Benjamin Mathers’ body became available for the Hellwalker to use – along with his alias of Volker. Being alive on the biological sense and having been able to have several of his assets frozen in the advent of his death, Volker was able to recover his contacts and to severely spook the local criminal Russian diaspora.
 
In essence, resurrection or the accession to carnal existence isn’t much more than a speed bump for the one formerly known as Warrior. With a cherry-picked brain to mine from, he doesn’t see much point in flushing the body’s old persona down the drain – not when it comes with so many perks for Tom and his friends to tap into… 
User avatar
IamLEAM1983
Site Admin
 
Posts: 3030
Joined: Tue Jan 08, 2013 12:54 am
Location: Quebec, Canada

Return to John Q. Public

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 1 guest

cron