Aww come on! If Myumi cant have an epic rivalry with John, then who with!? I'm sure you can squeeze in a post every now and again?Athol said:Well this is saddening....Im gonna have to drop out, Im not gonna have the time to do this
Drifters RP (Closed, Started)
- Thread starter Time Travelling Toaster
- Start date
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Fire indeed hot!Jav3lin said:
Obviously I will be posting fewer-to-no funny pictures while in-game.
Okay, Ill try but no promises. =)The Zango said:Aww come on! If Myumi cant have an epic rivalry with John, then who with!? I'm sure you can squeeze in a post every now and again?Athol said:Well this is saddening....Im gonna have to drop out, Im not gonna have the time to do this
Name: Vinny "Smiley" Mariano
Age: 28
Gender:Male
Warrior Race:1920s mobster
Appearance: Vinny has slicked back brown hair, green eyes and is 6'tall. He wears a gray pinstripe suit with matching fedora. Underneath he wears a bullet proof vest made of thick cotton and underneath that a white shirt button down shirt.
Personality: In battle Vinny ranges from quite and calm to taunting and sarcastic, often provoking his enemy's into getting closer then ambushing them. Outside of battle Vinny can be seen as unstable going from happy and carefree to infuriated and murderous the next.
Weapons: Browning 9mm pistol and switchblade knife.
Period of Origin: 1923 New York.
Background: Vinny was born in little Italy in 1895, his father was part of the local mob his mother was the sister of one of the other gang members. Vinny lived happily, ignorant of his fathers life until he was ten. In 1905 his father was killed in a shoot out with the cops. Vinny soon fell into a criminal streak, stealing from small time shops, fighting at school. After being expelled from school at 16 his mother talked to her brother to help her son, to get him an honest job. Vinny's uncle did get him a job but not an honest one.
Vinny began working with the gang and was overjoyed. He began to become good at his job, hunting down the Rats in the gang, thus earning his nickname "Smiley" for the grin he carved onto the face of the snitch imitating a rats grin. He was helping with a smuggling job when the cops burst into the warehouse they stored the goods. The gang members were killed but Vinny's body was nowhere to be found.
Age: 28
Gender:Male
Warrior Race:1920s mobster
Appearance: Vinny has slicked back brown hair, green eyes and is 6'tall. He wears a gray pinstripe suit with matching fedora. Underneath he wears a bullet proof vest made of thick cotton and underneath that a white shirt button down shirt.
Personality: In battle Vinny ranges from quite and calm to taunting and sarcastic, often provoking his enemy's into getting closer then ambushing them. Outside of battle Vinny can be seen as unstable going from happy and carefree to infuriated and murderous the next.
Weapons: Browning 9mm pistol and switchblade knife.
Period of Origin: 1923 New York.
Background: Vinny was born in little Italy in 1895, his father was part of the local mob his mother was the sister of one of the other gang members. Vinny lived happily, ignorant of his fathers life until he was ten. In 1905 his father was killed in a shoot out with the cops. Vinny soon fell into a criminal streak, stealing from small time shops, fighting at school. After being expelled from school at 16 his mother talked to her brother to help her son, to get him an honest job. Vinny's uncle did get him a job but not an honest one.
Vinny began working with the gang and was overjoyed. He began to become good at his job, hunting down the Rats in the gang, thus earning his nickname "Smiley" for the grin he carved onto the face of the snitch imitating a rats grin. He was helping with a smuggling job when the cops burst into the warehouse they stored the goods. The gang members were killed but Vinny's body was nowhere to be found.
Well here's my character hope you like him.
Name: Shade
Age: 32
Gender: Male
Warrior Race: Assassin
Apperance: Shade is 5'9" with short and untidy dark brown hair with matching eyes, despite the training his body has gone through Shade generally appears weak to most people, the lack of food has left him rather thin.
Shade's attire is generally dark so as to go unnoticed at night, apart from natural clothing Shade wears a pair of plated boots and matching gauntlets, these have been fitted with blades to improve combat ability should his swords be seperated from him, he also waers a sleeveless chain mail vest, lastly he has a steel mask hanging from his belt for use against ranged foes or when he needs to conceal his face, the mask is primarily designed to stop arrows but can stand to deflect a bullet or two, all of the metal equipment has been dulled to avoid reflections.
Personality: On and off the battlefield Shade has no knowledge of kindness, he is given a target and he kills it, regardless of age or gender, that is his purpose, he's usually quiet, choosing to keep to himself so he doesn't co-oporate well with a team, on certain occasions he's been known to save a team member if it is required to complete his mission, but he generally leaves others to die if they fall, on top of this, Shade has a single rule that overrides everything else, if he gets involved in a fight of any kind, one side will die, there are no stops, no retreats, no exceptions other than training and even then one side must be unable to stand.
Weapons: two silver shortswords, razorwire and a selection of poisons
Period of Origin: 13th century
Background: Shade was born a slave in 1287 in London and chosen to be raised as part of a group which would act as the shadow of the reigning monarch, assassins to erase those who's influence would oppose the country, he was raised under the ideals of loyalty to his master and taught the ways of the foreign assassins seen through the crusades, or at least what had been discovered about them, Shade's training tested him to the limits, sharpening his senses and strengthening his body as much as was humanly possible at the time, he was also taught to endure pain and adapt to different situations up until the age of 16, at which point he was given his first target.
Shade was the name given to him by the other assassins and some of the people that kept an eye on them while they weren't out on a mission, none of the assassins had proper names having been taken at birth, these slave assassins were kept in what was more of a dungeon than an underground training facility, it was damp, dark and cold, if you were lucky enough to be on the upper floors you'd have some light from a small hole at the top of the wall, each person waited quietly for their next assignment, if they were noisy they would either be shot through the bars or just ignored.
Most of Shade's targets were nobles or soldiers with a measure of influence that either broke the law in some way or showed signs of turning against the crown, however, some of the targets were other assassins who had tried to escape their forcibly sworn duty, Shade had to kill a number of fellow assassins and did so without hesitation, he continued his duty for 16 years, getting no recognition for his work and barely living off what was given to him, he didn't complain as he had long since decided that this was his purpose.
Shade died in 1319 with no regrets at the hands of another assassin, who followed suite soon after through blood loss.
Age: 32
Gender: Male
Warrior Race: Assassin
Apperance: Shade is 5'9" with short and untidy dark brown hair with matching eyes, despite the training his body has gone through Shade generally appears weak to most people, the lack of food has left him rather thin.
Shade's attire is generally dark so as to go unnoticed at night, apart from natural clothing Shade wears a pair of plated boots and matching gauntlets, these have been fitted with blades to improve combat ability should his swords be seperated from him, he also waers a sleeveless chain mail vest, lastly he has a steel mask hanging from his belt for use against ranged foes or when he needs to conceal his face, the mask is primarily designed to stop arrows but can stand to deflect a bullet or two, all of the metal equipment has been dulled to avoid reflections.
Personality: On and off the battlefield Shade has no knowledge of kindness, he is given a target and he kills it, regardless of age or gender, that is his purpose, he's usually quiet, choosing to keep to himself so he doesn't co-oporate well with a team, on certain occasions he's been known to save a team member if it is required to complete his mission, but he generally leaves others to die if they fall, on top of this, Shade has a single rule that overrides everything else, if he gets involved in a fight of any kind, one side will die, there are no stops, no retreats, no exceptions other than training and even then one side must be unable to stand.
Weapons: two silver shortswords, razorwire and a selection of poisons
Period of Origin: 13th century
Background: Shade was born a slave in 1287 in London and chosen to be raised as part of a group which would act as the shadow of the reigning monarch, assassins to erase those who's influence would oppose the country, he was raised under the ideals of loyalty to his master and taught the ways of the foreign assassins seen through the crusades, or at least what had been discovered about them, Shade's training tested him to the limits, sharpening his senses and strengthening his body as much as was humanly possible at the time, he was also taught to endure pain and adapt to different situations up until the age of 16, at which point he was given his first target.
Shade was the name given to him by the other assassins and some of the people that kept an eye on them while they weren't out on a mission, none of the assassins had proper names having been taken at birth, these slave assassins were kept in what was more of a dungeon than an underground training facility, it was damp, dark and cold, if you were lucky enough to be on the upper floors you'd have some light from a small hole at the top of the wall, each person waited quietly for their next assignment, if they were noisy they would either be shot through the bars or just ignored.
Most of Shade's targets were nobles or soldiers with a measure of influence that either broke the law in some way or showed signs of turning against the crown, however, some of the targets were other assassins who had tried to escape their forcibly sworn duty, Shade had to kill a number of fellow assassins and did so without hesitation, he continued his duty for 16 years, getting no recognition for his work and barely living off what was given to him, he didn't complain as he had long since decided that this was his purpose.
Shade died in 1319 with no regrets at the hands of another assassin, who followed suite soon after through blood loss.
Hope that's okay, I'm not usually good at going by limitations when it comes to background but I gave it a go.
EDIT: I realise that I've put more than 2 weapons but they would realistically fit on a belt.
Thats the spirit man!Athol said:Okay, Ill try but no promises. =)The Zango said:Aww come on! If Myumi cant have an epic rivalry with John, then who with!? I'm sure you can squeeze in a post every now and again?Athol said:Well this is saddening....Im gonna have to drop out, Im not gonna have the time to do this
@TTT: I'm unusually geared up for this RP, while I'm usually enthusiastic before an RP starts, I'm feeling a lot more get up and go with this. Can only be a good sign
Also, I've just started reading the manga the RP is based off of and tis looking pretty good, even after book 1.
Name: Yuan Hui
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Warrior Race: Chinese Officer
Apperance: Hui stands at a paltry 5?3? with a thin wiry build, toughened by the constant battles and marchs he partook in his life. He has deep brown eyes and black hair, in the queue style.
His body is a mess of scars he wrought during training, the worst of which is a scar that runs from his lower left ribs to his right shoulder, a wound that very nearly took his life while he was young.
He wears a set of thin plate armour, designed to improve mobility at the cost of defensive capabilities, over the armour he wears an officer uniform died in the Shu green. The trim of his uniform is white opposed to the gold that other officers choose to wear.
Personality: Hui is a shrewd man, rarely opening his mouth unless he feels it right to. When he does, he is very formal, addressing people that he respects without the utmost of care and those he feels as underlings well enough to keep them in trust. He is loyal to a fault to his leaders and still feels as if he had abandoned them by his death.
While fighting, Hui upholds his honour, he will not raise his weapon against an unarmed opponent nor strike down those he regards as children. Although he doesn?t expect honour from his foes, he enjoys a battle with another who shows honour in his fight.
Weapons:
Also carries a standard straight sword for use if seperated from his Guan Dao.
Background: Yuan Hui was born to a poor farming family in the year 193 BC, for the first 17 years of Hui?s life there was no real hardships, the family got by barely on the excess food produced. On Hui?s 18th birthday, in 211 BC he was taken by the Shu Han army as a standard infantry man, simply to fill the ranks that were being thinned by the various fights betweens the different warlords. Over the course of the next 5 years, Hui proved himself to be a strong warrior and was slowly promoted through the ranks to Officer where he again proved himself as a tactician.
During the proceeding two years, he faced various challenges before eventually being chosen by the General Guan Yu as an Officer to serve in his force. The thrill of the promotion made Hui over zealous as he felt that he was slightly better than others, this turned to his downfall in 219 at the Jing Province where much of Yu?s force was defeated by the invading Wu army.
He was last seen alive defending a fort with a small group from his own troops as the army poured through and the fort burned around them.
Notes: Hui has only ever lost his temper and went on a rampage once, this was against his own troops after he found them beating peasents from a village they conquered. None of the 4 troops was left alive.
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Warrior Race: Chinese Officer
Apperance: Hui stands at a paltry 5?3? with a thin wiry build, toughened by the constant battles and marchs he partook in his life. He has deep brown eyes and black hair, in the queue style.
His body is a mess of scars he wrought during training, the worst of which is a scar that runs from his lower left ribs to his right shoulder, a wound that very nearly took his life while he was young.
He wears a set of thin plate armour, designed to improve mobility at the cost of defensive capabilities, over the armour he wears an officer uniform died in the Shu green. The trim of his uniform is white opposed to the gold that other officers choose to wear.
Personality: Hui is a shrewd man, rarely opening his mouth unless he feels it right to. When he does, he is very formal, addressing people that he respects without the utmost of care and those he feels as underlings well enough to keep them in trust. He is loyal to a fault to his leaders and still feels as if he had abandoned them by his death.
While fighting, Hui upholds his honour, he will not raise his weapon against an unarmed opponent nor strike down those he regards as children. Although he doesn?t expect honour from his foes, he enjoys a battle with another who shows honour in his fight.
Weapons:
Background: Yuan Hui was born to a poor farming family in the year 193 BC, for the first 17 years of Hui?s life there was no real hardships, the family got by barely on the excess food produced. On Hui?s 18th birthday, in 211 BC he was taken by the Shu Han army as a standard infantry man, simply to fill the ranks that were being thinned by the various fights betweens the different warlords. Over the course of the next 5 years, Hui proved himself to be a strong warrior and was slowly promoted through the ranks to Officer where he again proved himself as a tactician.
During the proceeding two years, he faced various challenges before eventually being chosen by the General Guan Yu as an Officer to serve in his force. The thrill of the promotion made Hui over zealous as he felt that he was slightly better than others, this turned to his downfall in 219 at the Jing Province where much of Yu?s force was defeated by the invading Wu army.
He was last seen alive defending a fort with a small group from his own troops as the army poured through and the fort burned around them.
Notes: Hui has only ever lost his temper and went on a rampage once, this was against his own troops after he found them beating peasents from a village they conquered. None of the 4 troops was left alive.
Name: Myumi Gozen
Age:28
Gender:Female
Warrior Race: Samurai
Appearance: If one were to gaze upon the unarmored Myumi from afar, they could be forgiven for thinking that she was a Geisha, for her skin is as pale as snow and her shoulder length jet black hair is as fine and soft as silk. however if they were to draw closer to her, they would know the error of their ways, for her pristine beauty is shattered by a large, jagged scar that stems from the tip of her right eyebrow, under her mouth and finishes just short of the left side of her bottom lip.
In her armor she is a fierce sight to behold, not in the least because of her terrifying mask, whose appearance is made all the more frightening due to a large gash carved through it. Her armor is one of a kind, as instead of the traditional black monstrosities other Samurai wore, hers gleams as if it were silver.
Personality: In her early life Myumi was known to be rash and very lighthearted, she made herself the heart of the 'party' with her large, sometimes overbearing personality. However, once she was exposed to the horror of war, something seemed to change in the young warrior and she became bitter, rarely speaking a positive word. She has only gotten more dour since her death.
Weapons: One steel Katana, that is made from an incredibly light, sharp metal and a Hankyu (Japanese short bow)
Period of history: 13th century Japan
Background: Born on the southernmost Japanese island Kyūkoku, Myumi led a relativity normal (if not boring) childhood, helping her father in his work as a ship builder. The only thing that broke up the endless drudgery and made her stand out, was her immense talent and love for the bow. Whenever she had free time, one could always find her practicing with her bow out the back of her home. One would also notice that she was adapt at her 'hobby', just as the local Shogun did when he came to her father to commission a ship.
The Shogun was a cruel man and despite her fathers objections, he drafted the young prodigy and began having her trained as one of his Samurai. Despite the constant jibes made by her fellow Samurai at the fact she was an inferior woman, Myumi rose to become one of the most talented warriors at her Masters command.
She died in battle in 1274, when she and 40000 other Samurai were sent to repel the Mongol invasion of their fair land.
Notes: A short exert from the tale of Heike, that served as inspiration for Myumi
Tomoe was especially beautiful, with white skin, long hair, and charming features. She was also a remarkably strong archer, and as a swordswoman she was a warrior worth a thousand, ready to confront a demon or a god, mounted or on foot. She handled unbroken horses with superb skill; she rode unscathed down perilous descents. Whenever a battle was imminent, Yoshinaka sent her out as his first captain, equipped with strong armor, and sword, and a mighty bow; and she performed more deeds of valor than any of his other warriors.
Age:28
Gender:Female
Warrior Race: Samurai
Appearance: If one were to gaze upon the unarmored Myumi from afar, they could be forgiven for thinking that she was a Geisha, for her skin is as pale as snow and her shoulder length jet black hair is as fine and soft as silk. however if they were to draw closer to her, they would know the error of their ways, for her pristine beauty is shattered by a large, jagged scar that stems from the tip of her right eyebrow, under her mouth and finishes just short of the left side of her bottom lip.
In her armor she is a fierce sight to behold, not in the least because of her terrifying mask, whose appearance is made all the more frightening due to a large gash carved through it. Her armor is one of a kind, as instead of the traditional black monstrosities other Samurai wore, hers gleams as if it were silver.
Personality: In her early life Myumi was known to be rash and very lighthearted, she made herself the heart of the 'party' with her large, sometimes overbearing personality. However, once she was exposed to the horror of war, something seemed to change in the young warrior and she became bitter, rarely speaking a positive word. She has only gotten more dour since her death.
Weapons: One steel Katana, that is made from an incredibly light, sharp metal and a Hankyu (Japanese short bow)
Period of history: 13th century Japan
Background: Born on the southernmost Japanese island Kyūkoku, Myumi led a relativity normal (if not boring) childhood, helping her father in his work as a ship builder. The only thing that broke up the endless drudgery and made her stand out, was her immense talent and love for the bow. Whenever she had free time, one could always find her practicing with her bow out the back of her home. One would also notice that she was adapt at her 'hobby', just as the local Shogun did when he came to her father to commission a ship.
The Shogun was a cruel man and despite her fathers objections, he drafted the young prodigy and began having her trained as one of his Samurai. Despite the constant jibes made by her fellow Samurai at the fact she was an inferior woman, Myumi rose to become one of the most talented warriors at her Masters command.
She died in battle in 1274, when she and 40000 other Samurai were sent to repel the Mongol invasion of their fair land.
Notes: A short exert from the tale of Heike, that served as inspiration for Myumi
Tomoe was especially beautiful, with white skin, long hair, and charming features. She was also a remarkably strong archer, and as a swordswoman she was a warrior worth a thousand, ready to confront a demon or a god, mounted or on foot. She handled unbroken horses with superb skill; she rode unscathed down perilous descents. Whenever a battle was imminent, Yoshinaka sent her out as his first captain, equipped with strong armor, and sword, and a mighty bow; and she performed more deeds of valor than any of his other warriors.
Name: Cael Ó Fearadhaigh
Age:33
Gender:Male
Warrior Race: Celtic Lord
Apperance: Cael stands easily over 6 feet tall with black hair and piercing green eyes. He is well built and wears armour and trinkets that fit his station in life. A thick band of silver rings his neck and ornate armlets adorn his wrists. A chain mail shirt covered by a leather currias binds his chest, while leather padded trousers wrap his legs. Black leather boots embrace his feet, matching the rest of his leather armour. A wolf pelt adorns his shoulders.
Personality: Cael is sharp and bright, even for being a "savage" to those known to be more civilized to the modern realm. Though also a man of respect and honour. He does not tolerate disgrace to his clan, and on the battle field shows little mercy to his opponents that he may grant them a respectful death. While stern and proud, Cael also has a soft spot for those who's company he enjoys. Children also reduce the man the kindest of hearts, as he was once a father himself.
Weapons: Longsword and buckler
Period of Origin: 50 B.C.
Background: Cael was born to his clan in Southern Ireland, just west of what is now called Limerick. Born into a period of warring states, Cael's immediate family was at the head of his clan. His Father immediately began grooming him into a warrior, a tactician, and, to a lesser extent, a lord, should his brother ever prove childless and fall in battle.
At the age of 16 Cael's father rode into battle and didn't ride back. Instead his army marched back without their leader and with a quarter of their forces missing. A usurper had hidden himself within the clans midst and had taken a quarter of their force to serve another lord with him.
Outraged, Cael's brother became obsessed with revenge, leaving the mundane task of looking after the clan to his younger brother. For two years the older brother plotted revenge against the bit of excrement who had stolen his fathers life, and during this time Cael had become a peoples ruler. He had learned how to read and meet the needs of those under him.
Finally, the day arrived when Clan Fearadhaigh marched against the lord who took in the usurper and the same day they returned, utterly crushed. Only Cael and a force of 50 men returned home. And it was this day that Cael also plotted for this lord's downfall.
Cael led a very different approach to his problem though. Instead of fighting a larger force acquainted with his clans typical battle tactics, Cael decided to conquer smaller clans, acquiring more land and more troops. Initially, it began with stomping out the lesser lords who ruled their lands with an iron fist. Slowly, Cael's army grew and so too did his wisdom in battle. Cael had become much more than some fat, happy lord content on ruling from the walls of a castle. He led his men into battle, he fought in every one of his skirmishes, and he had one through deft manipulation of the field that no other lord could match.
Finally, the day had come to take conquer his mortal enemy. The lord and clan that had almost stomped him out of existence. Their leader had grown fat and lax in his power. Cael had studied the small kingdom for years, its harvest seasons, its tax times, everything. He know when different periods would coincide, and thats when he made his move.
It was the peak of the harvest when Cael struck, when the lords castle would be empty and his armies out collecting food for his fat gob. Minor branches of Cael's army burned fields and pillaged villages, taking what was already a poor harvest from the peoples hands. Unrest festered among the people. Without knowing who had taken their food or why their fields burned, they began to resent the lord, who had now resorted to taking food stocks and a few women as payment. A few of the tiny villages began to attack soldiers and passers-by in order to survive. Cael's men didn't care now, however. The lords armies were now distracted with insurrection and left the castle near abandoned, ripe for Cael's forces to march upon it. The battle lasted less than 4 hours, and the fat happy lord and his right hand man, the man who had betrayed Clan Fearadhaigh, were now free of their heads.
Secure in his power and nearly doubling his own land, a new warlord set to rule the turmoil he had created to enact his revenge. He gave all of the previous lords stocks to the distraught people. He had effectively destroyed a lord and gained the trust of his people in little over a month, while expanding his own territory to double its size.
Cael now ruled a decent kingdom for his time. He settled down a bit, took a wife, and sired 3 children, 2 sons and a daughter. Each of them was taught what the man had learned in experience. To rule with an open hand, the iron fist was only fit to serve their enemies.
And while Cael's battles were no longer handed to him hand over fist, he did still fight to expand his borders. Often leading his men on the lines of battle. Ultimately, this led to his demise. He was taken by an archers arrow, knocked from his horse and as the world faded, he found himself waking in another. He woke in a narrow corridor, just in time to see an old man at a desk, only to fade into black yet again.
Age:33
Gender:Male
Warrior Race: Celtic Lord
Apperance: Cael stands easily over 6 feet tall with black hair and piercing green eyes. He is well built and wears armour and trinkets that fit his station in life. A thick band of silver rings his neck and ornate armlets adorn his wrists. A chain mail shirt covered by a leather currias binds his chest, while leather padded trousers wrap his legs. Black leather boots embrace his feet, matching the rest of his leather armour. A wolf pelt adorns his shoulders.
Personality: Cael is sharp and bright, even for being a "savage" to those known to be more civilized to the modern realm. Though also a man of respect and honour. He does not tolerate disgrace to his clan, and on the battle field shows little mercy to his opponents that he may grant them a respectful death. While stern and proud, Cael also has a soft spot for those who's company he enjoys. Children also reduce the man the kindest of hearts, as he was once a father himself.
Weapons: Longsword and buckler
Period of Origin: 50 B.C.
Background: Cael was born to his clan in Southern Ireland, just west of what is now called Limerick. Born into a period of warring states, Cael's immediate family was at the head of his clan. His Father immediately began grooming him into a warrior, a tactician, and, to a lesser extent, a lord, should his brother ever prove childless and fall in battle.
At the age of 16 Cael's father rode into battle and didn't ride back. Instead his army marched back without their leader and with a quarter of their forces missing. A usurper had hidden himself within the clans midst and had taken a quarter of their force to serve another lord with him.
Outraged, Cael's brother became obsessed with revenge, leaving the mundane task of looking after the clan to his younger brother. For two years the older brother plotted revenge against the bit of excrement who had stolen his fathers life, and during this time Cael had become a peoples ruler. He had learned how to read and meet the needs of those under him.
Finally, the day arrived when Clan Fearadhaigh marched against the lord who took in the usurper and the same day they returned, utterly crushed. Only Cael and a force of 50 men returned home. And it was this day that Cael also plotted for this lord's downfall.
Cael led a very different approach to his problem though. Instead of fighting a larger force acquainted with his clans typical battle tactics, Cael decided to conquer smaller clans, acquiring more land and more troops. Initially, it began with stomping out the lesser lords who ruled their lands with an iron fist. Slowly, Cael's army grew and so too did his wisdom in battle. Cael had become much more than some fat, happy lord content on ruling from the walls of a castle. He led his men into battle, he fought in every one of his skirmishes, and he had one through deft manipulation of the field that no other lord could match.
Finally, the day had come to take conquer his mortal enemy. The lord and clan that had almost stomped him out of existence. Their leader had grown fat and lax in his power. Cael had studied the small kingdom for years, its harvest seasons, its tax times, everything. He know when different periods would coincide, and thats when he made his move.
It was the peak of the harvest when Cael struck, when the lords castle would be empty and his armies out collecting food for his fat gob. Minor branches of Cael's army burned fields and pillaged villages, taking what was already a poor harvest from the peoples hands. Unrest festered among the people. Without knowing who had taken their food or why their fields burned, they began to resent the lord, who had now resorted to taking food stocks and a few women as payment. A few of the tiny villages began to attack soldiers and passers-by in order to survive. Cael's men didn't care now, however. The lords armies were now distracted with insurrection and left the castle near abandoned, ripe for Cael's forces to march upon it. The battle lasted less than 4 hours, and the fat happy lord and his right hand man, the man who had betrayed Clan Fearadhaigh, were now free of their heads.
Secure in his power and nearly doubling his own land, a new warlord set to rule the turmoil he had created to enact his revenge. He gave all of the previous lords stocks to the distraught people. He had effectively destroyed a lord and gained the trust of his people in little over a month, while expanding his own territory to double its size.
Cael now ruled a decent kingdom for his time. He settled down a bit, took a wife, and sired 3 children, 2 sons and a daughter. Each of them was taught what the man had learned in experience. To rule with an open hand, the iron fist was only fit to serve their enemies.
And while Cael's battles were no longer handed to him hand over fist, he did still fight to expand his borders. Often leading his men on the lines of battle. Ultimately, this led to his demise. He was taken by an archers arrow, knocked from his horse and as the world faded, he found himself waking in another. He woke in a narrow corridor, just in time to see an old man at a desk, only to fade into black yet again.
Name: Samuel Brown
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Warrior Race: British R.F.C. Pilot
Appearance: Standing tall at 6 feet exactly, Sam is a lean, muscular fellow with brown eyes, a roundish, clean-shaven face, and short blonde hair. Much like the other pilots of the time, he wears a leather flight coat, gloves, flying cap, goggles, and optional scarf. Underneath, he wears a white shirt, green pants with black suspenders, and brown boots. Around the outside of the coat is his belt, which carries the holster for his gun, and two pouches, one for extra ammunition, and the other for rations, and most people .
Personality: Sam is passionate, optimistic, and fiercely loyal to friends and allies. If he sees someone in trouble, he can't resist stepping in to lend a hand. He can be a bit reckless, which has gotten him into trouble a few times, and he is also quite stubborn. He understands that, in war, killing is sometimes necessary, but he doesn't really like the idea of taking a life, and if an enemy tries to retreat, Sam will normally be inclined to just let them go. He loves good food and the occasional joke.
Weapons: A Sopwith Camel and a Webley Revolver.
Background: The youngest of three boys, Sam was born on a farm outside a small British village. A nimble yet sturdy lad, he moved to London when he was 18 and became a professional boxer. When he wasn't training or in the ring, he worked as a grocer to pick up a bit of extra money. During the First World War, Sam enlisted in the air force, having become more and more fascinated with the world of aviation.
He was declared 'Missing, Presumed Dead' on the 15th of March, 1918, when his plane disappeared behind enemy lines.
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Warrior Race: British R.F.C. Pilot
Appearance: Standing tall at 6 feet exactly, Sam is a lean, muscular fellow with brown eyes, a roundish, clean-shaven face, and short blonde hair. Much like the other pilots of the time, he wears a leather flight coat, gloves, flying cap, goggles, and optional scarf. Underneath, he wears a white shirt, green pants with black suspenders, and brown boots. Around the outside of the coat is his belt, which carries the holster for his gun, and two pouches, one for extra ammunition, and the other for rations, and most people .
Personality: Sam is passionate, optimistic, and fiercely loyal to friends and allies. If he sees someone in trouble, he can't resist stepping in to lend a hand. He can be a bit reckless, which has gotten him into trouble a few times, and he is also quite stubborn. He understands that, in war, killing is sometimes necessary, but he doesn't really like the idea of taking a life, and if an enemy tries to retreat, Sam will normally be inclined to just let them go. He loves good food and the occasional joke.
Weapons: A Sopwith Camel and a Webley Revolver.
Background: The youngest of three boys, Sam was born on a farm outside a small British village. A nimble yet sturdy lad, he moved to London when he was 18 and became a professional boxer. When he wasn't training or in the ring, he worked as a grocer to pick up a bit of extra money. During the First World War, Sam enlisted in the air force, having become more and more fascinated with the world of aviation.
He was declared 'Missing, Presumed Dead' on the 15th of March, 1918, when his plane disappeared behind enemy lines.
Name: Keran Thedas.
Age: 42.
Gender: Male.
Warrior Race: Templar. (Religious fanatic brandishing sword and shield)
Apperance: Keran's face is aged and weathered. He has a beard across his face accompanied by light brown locks of hair that brandish three long braids down his neck, along with keeping some of his hair flowing along his shoulders, the braids actually mostly serve the purpose of keeping his hair out of his face in combat.
Having been stripped of his armor before his death, he only wears his plate sabatons, along with the plate leg armor. Across his waist he wears a colorful red and golden kilt over his leg armor. Other than that he wears a white tunic and brown leather cufflings stretching from his hands to his elbows.
Personality: Keran believes that everyone who wills it can repent for their sins and be forgiven, but those who walk the paths of darkness will only have themselves to rely on for salvation if the Maker deems them worthy.
He looks at civilians like innocent people and feels the urge to protect them from themselves. For that is what his Order has made him believe. For all his life he's had superior officers and he's always treated them with respect and well being.
In combat he thinks of his allies first, himself second. But before all else; the innocent.
Weapons: Keran carries a shortsword and an inward-curved plate kite shield which is both light but strong and brandishes the seal of his Order.
Period of Origin: 1200 AD.
Background: Keran was born in a holy chapel within his village of Tamreyl. He grew up at a foster home and begun his training into the Order at the age of 5. For his 13th birthday he received his first sword, and was tasked with taking another's life with it.
After his innitiation into the Order he continued his training until he was of age to marry. However, instead of gracing his family with a legacy of a son, he fathered a daughter instead, and if that wasn't bad enough, his wife lost her life in giving birth.
Distraught, he raised his daughter while keeping his place within the Order.
The years rolled by and he met both poverty and fortune through his many years away from his daughter.
By the time his daughter became of age to marry, she was betrothed to a young disciple of the Order and left home to start her own family.
Keran lost his life on an expedition with the Order a few months later. Ambushed at all sides, his fellow men lost their lives within minutes of the attack. Once Keran had been stripped of his armor and taken to their leader, he made an attempt to escape capture by knocking his captives away, grabbing his arms and fighting with tooth and nail until his last breath escaped his body.
Notes: The seal of the Order, which is embroidered on his kilt and shield, is an even scale of gold which represents justice, and over it a large sword that represents vengeance upon the unjust.
Age: 42.
Gender: Male.
Warrior Race: Templar. (Religious fanatic brandishing sword and shield)
Apperance: Keran's face is aged and weathered. He has a beard across his face accompanied by light brown locks of hair that brandish three long braids down his neck, along with keeping some of his hair flowing along his shoulders, the braids actually mostly serve the purpose of keeping his hair out of his face in combat.
Having been stripped of his armor before his death, he only wears his plate sabatons, along with the plate leg armor. Across his waist he wears a colorful red and golden kilt over his leg armor. Other than that he wears a white tunic and brown leather cufflings stretching from his hands to his elbows.
Personality: Keran believes that everyone who wills it can repent for their sins and be forgiven, but those who walk the paths of darkness will only have themselves to rely on for salvation if the Maker deems them worthy.
He looks at civilians like innocent people and feels the urge to protect them from themselves. For that is what his Order has made him believe. For all his life he's had superior officers and he's always treated them with respect and well being.
In combat he thinks of his allies first, himself second. But before all else; the innocent.
Weapons: Keran carries a shortsword and an inward-curved plate kite shield which is both light but strong and brandishes the seal of his Order.
Period of Origin: 1200 AD.
Background: Keran was born in a holy chapel within his village of Tamreyl. He grew up at a foster home and begun his training into the Order at the age of 5. For his 13th birthday he received his first sword, and was tasked with taking another's life with it.
After his innitiation into the Order he continued his training until he was of age to marry. However, instead of gracing his family with a legacy of a son, he fathered a daughter instead, and if that wasn't bad enough, his wife lost her life in giving birth.
Distraught, he raised his daughter while keeping his place within the Order.
The years rolled by and he met both poverty and fortune through his many years away from his daughter.
By the time his daughter became of age to marry, she was betrothed to a young disciple of the Order and left home to start her own family.
Keran lost his life on an expedition with the Order a few months later. Ambushed at all sides, his fellow men lost their lives within minutes of the attack. Once Keran had been stripped of his armor and taken to their leader, he made an attempt to escape capture by knocking his captives away, grabbing his arms and fighting with tooth and nail until his last breath escaped his body.
Notes: The seal of the Order, which is embroidered on his kilt and shield, is an even scale of gold which represents justice, and over it a large sword that represents vengeance upon the unjust.
Name:Titus Scribonius Otho.
Age:30
Gender:Male
Warrior Race:Roman Gladiator
Appearance:Titus stands at 6' 3", and weighs roughly 200 pound. Titus is a big guy with broad shoulders and very well developed muscles, adding to his general largeness. Is covered in scars in every place imaginable, more noticeably a large scar crossing diagonally down his chest, and another jagged looking one across his face, barely missing both eyes. Has short, but messy hair and dark brown eyes. Wears a large full helmet- smooth steel with two noticeable spikes on the front, jutting out like bulls horns would. Also wears plate armor, similar to a musketeers plate curiass, but more detailed and designed to look muscular. His legs and arms are wrapped with thick leather and tied with straps of thicker leather, to provide maximum mobility. Has a simple pair of boots, worn with age. Carries his whip in his right hand and his Gladius in his left.
Personality:Titus is killer at heart, but clever enough to know it. Will never assume an enemy is weak or strong, the true test is through battle, and has been known to let the enemy strike first, to measure there strength. Is a proud man, and only likes to have allies who are his equal, or stronger in battle. Strives for perfection, and trains whenever he can to achieve it.
Weapon:His gladius, A 34" sword made from steel, and a bullwhip, the handle being 1 foot long and the thong being 12 feet long.
Period of Origin: In the Roman Empire,Gladiators came about at 264 B.C
Background:Thracian born, Titus had an average childhood working on a farm, he would tend to the animals and help with the crops. Being the oldest of his four brothers, he took responsibility of that as a man, as his father was off fighting battles for the Roman army. When he was 16 years old, some armored men on horseback and a man with a wagon following, came to the farm. They had come to take him and his family into slavery, as his father made a grave error, and insulted the Ceaser, and the guards had him sent back to Rome, awaiting to be sold into slavery, and in turn, his family was to be brought in as well. Titus struggled as best he could, but he was still to young to fight back with any major force, and was soon subdued. His entire family was shackled and brought to be sold in Rome.
When they arrived they were stripped of their clothes and lined up on a stage, and judged based on defects or good traits. When it was all decided, his father was to be put to death in the arena, his mother was to become slave for some man, his brothers, being too young to fight, Were carted off elsewhere, While Titus was to be sold to a ludus in the countryside, to become a gladiator and fight for the entertainment of others. When he got there he was just turning 17, and was put to work as a fighter. He would train at all hours of the day, sometimes stretching into the night and bringing on exhaustion. His large stature helped him become stronger, and soon his skills grew as he was taught by the other men. Just a few years later, he was thrown into his first match as a full fledged gladiator. He was put into a small arena with another man, smaller than him by a long shot. He was given a Gladius and a shield, and they went at it quickly. In the end, Titus was the victor, with nary a scar to prove he had fought. It went on like this for a long time, and he had never lost a match, so driven to win he was. It turned him into a machine in the arena, quickly ending all opponents. He quickly threw down the shield, and grabbed up his other weapon, the whip, to the amusement of the crowd. He would train using both of these weapons together, making him a fluid, deadly force. He would sometimes crack the whip at an opponent, grabbing on by the neck, and with a great tug, would snap it, leaving his enemies dead.
One day, many years later, he was given a match that would change his life. He would fight Romes champion, another large man, and if he won, he would be free. He trained hard for the day, for it was only in a couple weeks that he would be fighting him. The weeks passed quickly, and before he knew it he was stepping into the ring for the last time, wether he died or lived, he would be free of his servitude. It was a long match, and both men were bloodied, Titus having a large gash across his chest and face, while the other mans left arm was cut off, and his leg severly slashed. Titus's breath became coming at a alarming rate, and it grew shallow very quickly, he was bleeding out and needed to end this. With his last bit of energy he cracked his whip forward, catching the mans right hand, and yanked him toward him, making him stumble on his bad leg. All he had to do was hold out his sword as the man ran himself through on it, a spurt of blood hitting the ground as the man layed dead. Titus fell to a knee, and grabbed his whip and rolled it up, then grabbing his gladius and holding it with a firm hand. He then collapsed to the ground, the wounds proved to be fatal as he was finally free, Or so he thought.
Notes: Has severe disliking to any sort of father figure.
Age:30
Gender:Male
Warrior Race:Roman Gladiator
Appearance:Titus stands at 6' 3", and weighs roughly 200 pound. Titus is a big guy with broad shoulders and very well developed muscles, adding to his general largeness. Is covered in scars in every place imaginable, more noticeably a large scar crossing diagonally down his chest, and another jagged looking one across his face, barely missing both eyes. Has short, but messy hair and dark brown eyes. Wears a large full helmet- smooth steel with two noticeable spikes on the front, jutting out like bulls horns would. Also wears plate armor, similar to a musketeers plate curiass, but more detailed and designed to look muscular. His legs and arms are wrapped with thick leather and tied with straps of thicker leather, to provide maximum mobility. Has a simple pair of boots, worn with age. Carries his whip in his right hand and his Gladius in his left.
Personality:Titus is killer at heart, but clever enough to know it. Will never assume an enemy is weak or strong, the true test is through battle, and has been known to let the enemy strike first, to measure there strength. Is a proud man, and only likes to have allies who are his equal, or stronger in battle. Strives for perfection, and trains whenever he can to achieve it.
Weapon:His gladius, A 34" sword made from steel, and a bullwhip, the handle being 1 foot long and the thong being 12 feet long.
Period of Origin: In the Roman Empire,Gladiators came about at 264 B.C
Background:Thracian born, Titus had an average childhood working on a farm, he would tend to the animals and help with the crops. Being the oldest of his four brothers, he took responsibility of that as a man, as his father was off fighting battles for the Roman army. When he was 16 years old, some armored men on horseback and a man with a wagon following, came to the farm. They had come to take him and his family into slavery, as his father made a grave error, and insulted the Ceaser, and the guards had him sent back to Rome, awaiting to be sold into slavery, and in turn, his family was to be brought in as well. Titus struggled as best he could, but he was still to young to fight back with any major force, and was soon subdued. His entire family was shackled and brought to be sold in Rome.
When they arrived they were stripped of their clothes and lined up on a stage, and judged based on defects or good traits. When it was all decided, his father was to be put to death in the arena, his mother was to become slave for some man, his brothers, being too young to fight, Were carted off elsewhere, While Titus was to be sold to a ludus in the countryside, to become a gladiator and fight for the entertainment of others. When he got there he was just turning 17, and was put to work as a fighter. He would train at all hours of the day, sometimes stretching into the night and bringing on exhaustion. His large stature helped him become stronger, and soon his skills grew as he was taught by the other men. Just a few years later, he was thrown into his first match as a full fledged gladiator. He was put into a small arena with another man, smaller than him by a long shot. He was given a Gladius and a shield, and they went at it quickly. In the end, Titus was the victor, with nary a scar to prove he had fought. It went on like this for a long time, and he had never lost a match, so driven to win he was. It turned him into a machine in the arena, quickly ending all opponents. He quickly threw down the shield, and grabbed up his other weapon, the whip, to the amusement of the crowd. He would train using both of these weapons together, making him a fluid, deadly force. He would sometimes crack the whip at an opponent, grabbing on by the neck, and with a great tug, would snap it, leaving his enemies dead.
One day, many years later, he was given a match that would change his life. He would fight Romes champion, another large man, and if he won, he would be free. He trained hard for the day, for it was only in a couple weeks that he would be fighting him. The weeks passed quickly, and before he knew it he was stepping into the ring for the last time, wether he died or lived, he would be free of his servitude. It was a long match, and both men were bloodied, Titus having a large gash across his chest and face, while the other mans left arm was cut off, and his leg severly slashed. Titus's breath became coming at a alarming rate, and it grew shallow very quickly, he was bleeding out and needed to end this. With his last bit of energy he cracked his whip forward, catching the mans right hand, and yanked him toward him, making him stumble on his bad leg. All he had to do was hold out his sword as the man ran himself through on it, a spurt of blood hitting the ground as the man layed dead. Titus fell to a knee, and grabbed his whip and rolled it up, then grabbing his gladius and holding it with a firm hand. He then collapsed to the ground, the wounds proved to be fatal as he was finally free, Or so he thought.
Notes: Has severe disliking to any sort of father figure.
Name: James "JJ" Johnson Digby
Age: 37
Gender: Male
Warrior Race: Vigilante Soldier/Detective
Appearance: Pronounced chin with a strong jawline and chisled nose, James is not the easiest to seek out in a crowd, but once noticed can be hard to miss because of his singularly remarkable facial profile. He's also slightly below average size, standing only a little over five feet tall. He has quite curly red hair hidden under a bowler hat, and his athletic physique is obscured by a brown trench coat and gloves. His boots are utilitarian and very well worn, but carefully maintained.
Personality: His words are crisp and biting, the blunt and frank meanings of the things he explains are never obfuscated with unnecessary cruft. James has an undeniable desire for justice and the rights and safety of others, determining for himself the ineffectiveness of Kingdoms and Armies. He fights by his subversive nature towards those who infringe on his idealogies of freedom and peace, and when forced into the situation, opportunistically for survival when it comes to violence. When it comes down to no words and straight fighting, James considers any means necessary and availible to defend himself and/or disable his attacker.
Weapons: Mind and memory as sharp as his nose, a leather-bound notebook, a Colt M1903 semi-automatic pistol, a pocketknife and an incredible amount of skill with his hands.
Period of Origin: 1900, died 1909
Background: An immigrant because of his parents, James grew up in the realm of poverty and injustice in a poorer part of Boston. His two older brothers died because of a criminal shootout at a bank when he was 8, which deeply affected him. He joined the US Army at 16 and served in several small conflicts in Asia during the Boxer rebellion, which solidified his mistrust of the American Military systems. He managed to escape from service by running away from a Military Base at the age of 22, and becoming self-educated on many matters political and criminal. He became his own vigilante crime-fighter, bringing down gangs and smuggling operations by leaving the calling card "Your friend, J.J. Justice" on a piece of paper. His efforts he preferred (and usually succeeded in doing) manipulating the contacts and messages between others to create infighting or other faults leading to the demise of their vices, but on occasion was forced into violent situations, for which his service in the Army assisted him greatly. James was an impeccable shot with a revolver or a pistol.
During an investigation of an illegal shipment ring operating over the Atlantic that he discovered evidence of in Georgia, he got into a violent confrontation with slavers as he neared the apex of being able to stop their operation. He was shot and killed by one of the slave drivers with a shotgun, being hit in the upper thigh, for which he bled out after only a few minutes. His body was dumped into the ocean and never found.
Notes: Has a fear of dogs and flying.
Age: 37
Gender: Male
Warrior Race: Vigilante Soldier/Detective
Appearance: Pronounced chin with a strong jawline and chisled nose, James is not the easiest to seek out in a crowd, but once noticed can be hard to miss because of his singularly remarkable facial profile. He's also slightly below average size, standing only a little over five feet tall. He has quite curly red hair hidden under a bowler hat, and his athletic physique is obscured by a brown trench coat and gloves. His boots are utilitarian and very well worn, but carefully maintained.
Personality: His words are crisp and biting, the blunt and frank meanings of the things he explains are never obfuscated with unnecessary cruft. James has an undeniable desire for justice and the rights and safety of others, determining for himself the ineffectiveness of Kingdoms and Armies. He fights by his subversive nature towards those who infringe on his idealogies of freedom and peace, and when forced into the situation, opportunistically for survival when it comes to violence. When it comes down to no words and straight fighting, James considers any means necessary and availible to defend himself and/or disable his attacker.
Weapons: Mind and memory as sharp as his nose, a leather-bound notebook, a Colt M1903 semi-automatic pistol, a pocketknife and an incredible amount of skill with his hands.
Period of Origin: 1900, died 1909
Background: An immigrant because of his parents, James grew up in the realm of poverty and injustice in a poorer part of Boston. His two older brothers died because of a criminal shootout at a bank when he was 8, which deeply affected him. He joined the US Army at 16 and served in several small conflicts in Asia during the Boxer rebellion, which solidified his mistrust of the American Military systems. He managed to escape from service by running away from a Military Base at the age of 22, and becoming self-educated on many matters political and criminal. He became his own vigilante crime-fighter, bringing down gangs and smuggling operations by leaving the calling card "Your friend, J.J. Justice" on a piece of paper. His efforts he preferred (and usually succeeded in doing) manipulating the contacts and messages between others to create infighting or other faults leading to the demise of their vices, but on occasion was forced into violent situations, for which his service in the Army assisted him greatly. James was an impeccable shot with a revolver or a pistol.
During an investigation of an illegal shipment ring operating over the Atlantic that he discovered evidence of in Georgia, he got into a violent confrontation with slavers as he neared the apex of being able to stop their operation. He was shot and killed by one of the slave drivers with a shotgun, being hit in the upper thigh, for which he bled out after only a few minutes. His body was dumped into the ocean and never found.
Notes: Has a fear of dogs and flying.
Name: John Athol
Age:27
Gender:Male
Warrior Race: Gunfighter/Brawler
Apperance: John is rather unremarkable a 5'10", and about 200 pounds. What makes him stand out are the scars and the eyes. One eye is a dark chestnut brown while the other is opaque with no iris, a long narrow scar runs across the left side of face running from jaw to hairline across left eye. The right side of his body, from collerbone to hip and down the arm is covered in an old burn. His clothing is simple and practical; a tan full length duster coat with a dark red tunic underneath and a black full brim hat to keep the weather off, as well as sturdy leather boots, and canvas riding pants. He also carries a large canvas bad in which he keeps a bedroll,tinder box, spare gear for making ammo and a sharpening stone. His hair and beard are a plain light brown, that he keeps to a pratical medium length.
Personality: Despite having lived a tough life and having a quick temper, he remains easy going and mostly cheerful. While being a mostly honourable man, he is not above fighting dirty if nessecary. If backed into a corner he will fight tooth and nail, regardless of his chances of survival.
Weapons: A 1877 S&W Model No. 3 single action revolver, in a right handed cross-draw holster (left hip) and a 7" single edged knife on his right hip.
Period of Origin: 1860s in the American West.
Background: Born in 1860 in Carson City, Nevada. He was orphaned at age 13 when his parents where killed in a building fire, where he was severly burned on his right side. Since he had no immediate family, he was placed in an orphanage where his temper got him into alot of fights with the other children. When he was 15 the priest who ran the orphanage tried to molest him, John severly beat the priest with a chair leg and left. After leaving he fell in with a small gang, and quickly gained a reputation as a quick hand with a knife and a skilled shooter. Five years later, after robbing a Wells Fargo stagecoach he got into an argument with his partner over the money, his partner attacked him with a knife catching the left side of his face and damaging his eye. Depite losing the sight in his left eye, his dextarity and accuracy seemed to improve. After leaving the gang life behind and starting to go straight, he was killed in Dodge City in 1887, when he was struck by a stray bullet during a failed bank robbery across the street from the saloon he was in.
Notes: Dislikes priests (especially Roman Catholics), terrified of heights
Age:27
Gender:Male
Warrior Race: Gunfighter/Brawler
Apperance: John is rather unremarkable a 5'10", and about 200 pounds. What makes him stand out are the scars and the eyes. One eye is a dark chestnut brown while the other is opaque with no iris, a long narrow scar runs across the left side of face running from jaw to hairline across left eye. The right side of his body, from collerbone to hip and down the arm is covered in an old burn. His clothing is simple and practical; a tan full length duster coat with a dark red tunic underneath and a black full brim hat to keep the weather off, as well as sturdy leather boots, and canvas riding pants. He also carries a large canvas bad in which he keeps a bedroll,tinder box, spare gear for making ammo and a sharpening stone. His hair and beard are a plain light brown, that he keeps to a pratical medium length.
Personality: Despite having lived a tough life and having a quick temper, he remains easy going and mostly cheerful. While being a mostly honourable man, he is not above fighting dirty if nessecary. If backed into a corner he will fight tooth and nail, regardless of his chances of survival.
Weapons: A 1877 S&W Model No. 3 single action revolver, in a right handed cross-draw holster (left hip) and a 7" single edged knife on his right hip.
Period of Origin: 1860s in the American West.
Background: Born in 1860 in Carson City, Nevada. He was orphaned at age 13 when his parents where killed in a building fire, where he was severly burned on his right side. Since he had no immediate family, he was placed in an orphanage where his temper got him into alot of fights with the other children. When he was 15 the priest who ran the orphanage tried to molest him, John severly beat the priest with a chair leg and left. After leaving he fell in with a small gang, and quickly gained a reputation as a quick hand with a knife and a skilled shooter. Five years later, after robbing a Wells Fargo stagecoach he got into an argument with his partner over the money, his partner attacked him with a knife catching the left side of his face and damaging his eye. Depite losing the sight in his left eye, his dextarity and accuracy seemed to improve. After leaving the gang life behind and starting to go straight, he was killed in Dodge City in 1887, when he was struck by a stray bullet during a failed bank robbery across the street from the saloon he was in.
Notes: Dislikes priests (especially Roman Catholics), terrified of heights
Name: Vinny "Smiley" Mariano
Age: 28
Gender:Male
Warrior Race:1920s mobster
Appearance: Vinny has slicked back brown hair, green eyes and is 6'tall. He wears a gray pinstripe suit with matching fedora. Underneath he wears a bullet proof vest made of thick cotton and underneath that a white shirt button down shirt.
Personality: In battle Vinny ranges from quite and calm to taunting and sarcastic, often provoking his enemy's into getting closer then ambushing them. Outside of battle Vinny can be seen as unstable going from happy and carefree to infuriated and murderous the next.
Weapons: Browning 9mm pistol and switchblade knife.
Period of Origin: 1923 New York.
Background: Vinny was born in little Italy in 1895, his father was part of the local mob his mother was the sister of one of the other gang members. Vinny lived happily, ignorant of his fathers life until he was ten. In 1905 his father was killed in a shoot out with the cops. Vinny soon fell into a criminal streak, stealing from small time shops, fighting at school. After being expelled from school at 16 his mother talked to her brother to help her son, to get him an honest job. Vinny's uncle did get him a job but not an honest one.
Vinny began working with the gang and was overjoyed. He began to become good at his job, hunting down the Rats in the gang, thus earning his nickname "Smiley" for the grin he carved onto the face of the snitch imitating a rats grin. He was helping with a smuggling job when the cops burst into the warehouse they stored the goods. The gang members were killed but Vinny's body was nowhere to be found.
Age: 28
Gender:Male
Warrior Race:1920s mobster
Appearance: Vinny has slicked back brown hair, green eyes and is 6'tall. He wears a gray pinstripe suit with matching fedora. Underneath he wears a bullet proof vest made of thick cotton and underneath that a white shirt button down shirt.
Personality: In battle Vinny ranges from quite and calm to taunting and sarcastic, often provoking his enemy's into getting closer then ambushing them. Outside of battle Vinny can be seen as unstable going from happy and carefree to infuriated and murderous the next.
Weapons: Browning 9mm pistol and switchblade knife.
Period of Origin: 1923 New York.
Background: Vinny was born in little Italy in 1895, his father was part of the local mob his mother was the sister of one of the other gang members. Vinny lived happily, ignorant of his fathers life until he was ten. In 1905 his father was killed in a shoot out with the cops. Vinny soon fell into a criminal streak, stealing from small time shops, fighting at school. After being expelled from school at 16 his mother talked to her brother to help her son, to get him an honest job. Vinny's uncle did get him a job but not an honest one.
Vinny began working with the gang and was overjoyed. He began to become good at his job, hunting down the Rats in the gang, thus earning his nickname "Smiley" for the grin he carved onto the face of the snitch imitating a rats grin. He was helping with a smuggling job when the cops burst into the warehouse they stored the goods. The gang members were killed but Vinny's body was nowhere to be found.
And that's our lot! To all those who weren't chosen, you'll be put up as reserves. And to those who were, the OP shall be up soon as I find it/re-write it if it never saved properly.
Sorry for the delay, but last night seemed to be a Sods Law marathon for me.
Anyway, here we go.
Ier ron ba? the short haired elf mutters to his older brother.
N'uma il am' he replies, touching the faces of the scattered bodies, feeling them still warm and breathing, a' i' Drifters! the elf shrieks, spurring the rest of the group into action, helping to move the 6 humans to the castle where the others resided.
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"Thank you Manwe," Hui bows to the eldest elf of the group, "we shall take them from you now," he motions towards the unconsicious bodies that the elvish group had carried to them.
Than...k you? Manwe struggles to say, resulting in a smile from Hui.
"You are learning well," he beams to the elf. Quickly the elves depart once more, leaving the humans to the new members that had appeared in the forest.
After the last of the elves had left, the other two Drifters that had arrived a few months ago, appeared joining Hui in the entrance to the ruined castle, looking down at the bodies. The various different uniforms that they wore.
"These are odd men," he mutters to himself before motioning for the other two, "help me disarm them. We have no gurantee they will be friendly."
-----------------------------------------
After a short while, all the weapons of the newcomers and they themselves were in the, what was once, the throne room of the castle. Weapons piled beside the three Drifters and their carriers sat at the opposite side, still out cold.
"Now, we wait," Hui sighs, staring across at the selection of people that had been chosen by the Keeper, "why them?" he asks quietly, idly playing with his guan dao while he waits.
Anyway, here we go.
***
Ier ron ba? the short haired elf mutters to his older brother.
N'uma il am' he replies, touching the faces of the scattered bodies, feeling them still warm and breathing, a' i' Drifters! the elf shrieks, spurring the rest of the group into action, helping to move the 6 humans to the castle where the others resided.
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"Thank you Manwe," Hui bows to the eldest elf of the group, "we shall take them from you now," he motions towards the unconsicious bodies that the elvish group had carried to them.
Than...k you? Manwe struggles to say, resulting in a smile from Hui.
"You are learning well," he beams to the elf. Quickly the elves depart once more, leaving the humans to the new members that had appeared in the forest.
After the last of the elves had left, the other two Drifters that had arrived a few months ago, appeared joining Hui in the entrance to the ruined castle, looking down at the bodies. The various different uniforms that they wore.
"These are odd men," he mutters to himself before motioning for the other two, "help me disarm them. We have no gurantee they will be friendly."
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After a short while, all the weapons of the newcomers and they themselves were in the, what was once, the throne room of the castle. Weapons piled beside the three Drifters and their carriers sat at the opposite side, still out cold.
"Now, we wait," Hui sighs, staring across at the selection of people that had been chosen by the Keeper, "why them?" he asks quietly, idly playing with his guan dao while he waits.
Right. I, in fact, did lose the original version of this, so this is a rough re-write but it gets the point across. The two co?' can wander about and chat. For everyone else, you?re disarmed and sitting in a group about 5 meters from your weapons. Your first post should be about you waking up and bits like that.
"Who knows? Only two amongst them appear to be fighters with any honor. The rest, bearers of dishonorable tools" said Myumi slowly and cynically, turning her head to her leader as she spoke. The Samurai was kneeling beside Hui in her full armor, her mask gently muffling her words as she spoke, while she didn't wear her armor or carry her sword all the time, she wanted to be prepared for if they were 'unfriendly' as Hui said. Besides, appearing in full armor would instill their respect for her early on.
"We shall see if they are worthy" continued Myumi, returning her unflinching, unmoving gaze to the unconscious newcomers in front of her.
"We shall see if they are worthy" continued Myumi, returning her unflinching, unmoving gaze to the unconscious newcomers in front of her.
"Mmmm.."
Keran started to grumble from the hard stone floor.
Opening his eyes, his vision was blurred and the last he remembered was being impaled by seven swords at the same time, meeting a strange man and falling through the wall to his side.
What the.... Tyrande!
His mind went racing as he remembered his daughter. Was she safe? Was she even alive? Where was he?! He needed to get to her. To save her!.
"Ty..rande"
Keran managed to sigh out before his body denied his mind awakening, and softly slumped his head down to the stone floor.
Keran started to grumble from the hard stone floor.
Opening his eyes, his vision was blurred and the last he remembered was being impaled by seven swords at the same time, meeting a strange man and falling through the wall to his side.
What the.... Tyrande!
His mind went racing as he remembered his daughter. Was she safe? Was she even alive? Where was he?! He needed to get to her. To save her!.
"Ty..rande"
Keran managed to sigh out before his body denied his mind awakening, and softly slumped his head down to the stone floor.
Vinny moaned as he opened his eye to darkness. He worried for a moment before he realized that his hat fell in front of his face. "Goddamn it, that hurt." He mumbled feeling where the bullets had hit him. "Fucking cops." He groaned as he sat forward. The memory returned, he was helping Tony load a crate into the truck, they heard sirens then the door burst open and the cops started firing. He saw Tony get gunned down, not a problem he was gonna go later that week anyway, and then he got shot in the shoulder and stomach. He ran around the truck for cover and then nothing.
He pushed his hat back on top of his head and looked around at those around him. Several other people were unconscious, some in what looked like armor, then the three in front of him. One held a giant spear and was dressed in a bulky green uniform of some sort, another dressed in armor with a mask that he guessed was supposed to look terrifying, the third was in the most bizarre outfit he had ever seen, the only way to describe it was ancient looking along with a sword at his side and a shield on his back.
Okay Vinny, you're outnumbered but you have a gun, if you're fast enough you should be able to...shit! He thought as he reached inside his jacket for his gun only to find it missing. Okay...new plan...SHIT! He thought once again as he reached for his knife only to find it gone too. Great outmatched and outgunned, I?m fucked.
"Who the hell are you? And who the hell ratted us out? Was it Pauli? Who the hell are the rest of these people? Where the hell is my gun and knife?? He asked in quick succession growing suspicious of the strangers.
He pushed his hat back on top of his head and looked around at those around him. Several other people were unconscious, some in what looked like armor, then the three in front of him. One held a giant spear and was dressed in a bulky green uniform of some sort, another dressed in armor with a mask that he guessed was supposed to look terrifying, the third was in the most bizarre outfit he had ever seen, the only way to describe it was ancient looking along with a sword at his side and a shield on his back.
Okay Vinny, you're outnumbered but you have a gun, if you're fast enough you should be able to...shit! He thought as he reached inside his jacket for his gun only to find it missing. Okay...new plan...SHIT! He thought once again as he reached for his knife only to find it gone too. Great outmatched and outgunned, I?m fucked.
"Who the hell are you? And who the hell ratted us out? Was it Pauli? Who the hell are the rest of these people? Where the hell is my gun and knife?? He asked in quick succession growing suspicious of the strangers.