Timothy Grayson
Real Name: Timothy Grayson
Age: 16
Identity: Secret
Birthplace: Philadelphia, PA, United States
Date of Birth: January 2, 1994
Known Relatives: James Grayson (Uncle)
Height: 5'11"
Weight: 147lb
Eyes: Blue
Hair: Blond
Grade: Junior
Dorm: Astro


It's difficult to be afraid when you've already experienced your worst fear.

I was born to Louis and Esther Grayson, a pair of wealthy industrialists in Philadelphia. They were old money—my ancestors hobnobbed with the Carnegies. Grayson Technologies was a holding company in a variety of fields, dealing with everything from aerospace to military applications to toys. It was, at the time, one of the biggest companies in the world.

Not that I knew that at the time. I just knew my dad was the best dad around. He worked a lot, but he always made sure to spend time with me. I was a difficult son, as a child. Very intelligent, I didn't like attending school, because things were too easy for me. I eventually started having private tutors, which suited me very well indeed. Mom was a good woman too, she was a graphics artist, she worked in various mediums. If she were alive now, she'd be one of those people who designed stuff for video games, I guess.

When I was eight, I and my parents went to Rome for a vacation. I didn't like the entire trip. The museums were really interesting, but the opera just wasn't my thing. I was being a bit of a brat and pouting about having to go with them, when our hotel room was attacked. We were knocked unconscious by these men wearing odd, stylized outfits with a mandala etched into the fabric. Costumed villains of some sort.

We woke up in this strange circle. Everything was dark — except for us. The circle was lit with a pale light, creating strange arcane symbols. I could hear a woman chanting. The voice wasn't familiar, though it was Latin. I recognized that much. As the chanting continued, I started to feel odd. Weak. Something within me rebelled, and I stood up, and tried to leave the circle. It shimmered like a force field from a movie, or something, and I couldn't get through. Whatever was happening wasn't affecting me… not as much as others.

My parents died before my eyes. Their very life torn from them, their faces aging in seconds.

They turned to dust.

I screamed.

Perhaps it was luck, but some of my parents' dust managed to pierce the barrier, and it brought it down. I turned and ran. I still hate myself for running. I could have done something perhaps, to punish the woman for what she'd done. I was just a kid, I know that. But I could have done /something/.


My parents were dead. When I told the police, they just shook their heads. They didn't /tell/ me anything, but when I eavesdropped, I heard. I learned. The woman was some sort of Italian mystical villainess called The Strega. She used ritual magic for various purposes, from keeping herself young to gathering power. Their theory was she wanted to make a killing in some sort of finacial crime and she used my parents to power the ritual. I was going to be a part of it, but I managed to resist a few moments. Not long. But enough for my parents ashes to…

… excuse me a moment.

When I came home, my Uncle James took care of me. He was my mom's oldest brother. Good guy, though kinda old. Mom was a later child, he was born like two decades earlier'n her. Anyway. He tried to help me. It didn't workout too well. I didn't care much about school or sports or just about anything else then.

All I could think about was striking back. Taking a stand. My tutors wanted to wash their hands of me, but they were being paid enough that they really couldn't. I started to train. I took a great deal of martial arts courses. Kind of scared Uncle James a little. I was obsesed.

He didn't know the half of it.

I did a lot of research on the costumed heroes. Not all of them had weird powers. Some just had a strong heart and a need to do good. Or to punish the wicked. I wanted to punish them, too.

I trained. For years. I wasn't a normal kid. There was no mall, no sports, no games for me. Martial arts training. Hacking. Infiltration. Sciences. Forensics. Uncle James continued to worry, because I wasn't like other kids, but he didn't know what I was trying to do.

Or so I thought.

What I didn't know is Uncle James had a bit of experience in this. He had worked for the British Secret Service in his youth, and had worked with some costumed adventurers in that time. He also was really smart, and saw the signs. I was not just obsessed. I was beyond that. Even as I trained, he was making a few calls. Setting a few things up to make things esaier for me. Knives, some military-grade compounds. That sort of thing. Money talks. Money and connections talk even better.

The first few times I went out, I did okay. That was when I was fifteen. But while I'd prepared well, I didn't have all the equipment I needed. I wasn't sure how to /get/ some of it. That was when Uncle James showed me the cache he'd gathered. And told me what to do about it. But only on one condition. I'd go to this place down in Maryland that he'd heard about through a few contacts. Someplace called Steranko Academy.

We haggled a bit. Finally, I said I'd go after I made something of a name for myself in Philadelphia. He agreed. We discussed things, and he pointed out that me wearing tight black clothing isn't going to do much, and he suggested a psychological component. I remembered then my parents' death. Their bodies melting to skeletons before my eyes.

Revenant was born.

I took the things I'd designed, and the things Uncle James had helped me procure, and I redesigned them. Jet black, with bone-white blades and components. The inside of my cloak was also white. Not pure white. The gray-white of bleached human bones. To strike fear into the hearts of my enemies.

And I… I would have my revenge.


Driven. Focused. A bit of an asshole. This is Timothy Grayson in a nutshell. He's not really one to sit and relax. He doesn't go out for coffee. He doesn't go dancing. And if he is doing these things, be afraid, because he has an ulterior motive. He's kind of manipulative and everything falls on the altar of his mission. He's determined to save others from the pain that he experienced. Timothy has a sharp sense of humor and tends towards the sarcastic; he really dislikes it when someone seems to be missing an obvious point. He's not a /bad/ sort, really. He just hasn't been socialized as well as some. He can fake it pretty well, if he needs to, though.


  • Did I Say Something Wrong?: Revenant doesn't deal well with others. He's remarkably apt to blurt out something he shouldn't when talking to people. This doesn't happen so much (though it's possible) while he's trying to trick them or manipulate them. However, in other times? It's very likely that he'll say something he really shouldn't and get into trouble. He's almost painfully honest, and doesn't care if what he says annoys people. He'll tell the girl that yes, her hair looks horrible, he'll be snarky in a situation where he shouldn't be, and so on. And then shake his head, not understanding why people are upset. He's not antisocial as much as uncaring about /being/ social.
  • No Mercy: Revenant is not the most merciful of heroes. He's not likely to go on a killing streak, but to quote Batman Begins 'I won't kill you, but I don't have to save you.' He's likely to use harsh methods and is not often willing to work with villains or try to be diplomatic. Perhaps contrary to this, he's pretty obsessive about not letting normal people get hurt. All heroes are like that, but as a kind of parallel to his harsh manner towards villains, he's really hardcore about this. Basically, he'll fight or even use extreme methods like torture on a villain, but he won't let -anything- happen to anyone else. This can cause conflict, especially if he has to choose.


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