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7,000 | 194 | 2 | 323 | 3,236 | Huang Kung-wang, who never mastered the art of thinking of himself as Hanley Wang, was saddle sore. Very saddle sore. But apart from his restless shifting he didn't complain. Mary was on her own horse just a little further ahead on the road. If such a rutted dirt track could be called a road. His lover wasn't sidesaddle now that they were on the run. Instead she sat like a man with trousers and everything. Her long brown hair left loose trailing out behind her. From the tilt of her shoulders Kung-wang could tell she was deep in thought. According to the map they were using they should have reached the town of Iron Hills yesterday. They didn't. Kung-wang sighed. They were lost.
"We're not lost." Mary snapped out at his sigh. "We're just..." She struggled for a word. "Not where we're supposed to be."
Mary then sighed and hunched over. Kung-wang spurred his horse up to hers and wrapped an arm around her. "Will be fine." Kung-wang told her. Despite the years he had spent in America he still had a hard time with speaking the language. Hus comprehension of the spoken language was far better. Of course his literacy for English was non existent which was why Mary was navigating.
"Road is highly used." Kung-wang pointed out. "And very recently. Must be people around somewhere."
The small thankful smile Mary sent him warmed him from the inside. Kung-wang feel back as they continued. He wanted to ride side by side with Mary but it wasn't practical. If anyone knew they were together they just might not stop at killing Kung-wang like Mary's father. They might decide to kill her too, or worse. So the two rode on as if they were near strangers. Him her manservant and her very much a lady on hard times.
The hot sun continued to rise as the two continued their long journey across the harsh desert. The two stopped frequently to water their horses and themselves. Neither voiced what would happen if their water supply ran out. Dying alone in the desert might sound romantic but it wasn't. They needed to find a town by nightfall or they'd have to turn back and hope they had enough rations to make it back to the last town they passed.
Hope. That was what everything was riding on now. | Huang Kung-wang* (黃公望)
"Hanley Wang"Alias - Hanley Wang
Age - 22
Gender - Male
Occupation - Former thief, Shoe Shiner, Scalper, Ruffian, Servant and now Unemployed
Height - 5'5"
Weight - 120lbs
Apparel - Kung-Wang wears traditional Chinese clothes. Or he did. He still has one outfit left but mostly he wears just a pair of trousers and a shirt (that he stole while on the run)
Weaponry - 1873 Buntline (A Henry repeating rifle used by Mary)
Equipment - Two horses, a map, a compass, Mary's jewelry, clothing, food and water.
Skills - Thievery, skulking, horsemanship, hunting, and Bilingual (Cantonese and English).
Flaws - He's Chinese who loves a white woman. He's young and kind of stupid. He doesn't believe he's inferior to any white man which sometimes causes him to loose his temper.
Personality - Kung-Wang is an angry young man. His history of loss and hardship has shaped him cruelly. He resents those who have wealth and do nothing to help those around them. He's angry at the world for not saving his family. He's angry at himself for the same thing. He hates the world for thinking that he's lesser somehow than white people. Because he knows he's not. But with his upbringing Kung-Wang bottles it all in. He doesn't show his anger until he loses it completely. The only light in his miserable life is Mary. She keeps him sane and makes him want to be a better person. He loves her more than anything and he would do anything to keep her happy. Anything.
Backstory - Chinese Immigrants started coming to the United States at the beginning of the 19th century. Though that wasn't the earliest immigration. The Chinese (in low numbers) already lived in what was to become California (then Mexico). These individuals were largely laborers. Their poor fate not much better than what they immigrated from in China. Those who immigrated in the early 1800s were mainly men. They left their families behind in hopes to find work and hopefully a better life. But there was no better life to be found. Only more hardship, discrimination and abuse. Those lucky enough to find jobs quickly found themselves in indentured servitude.
My father was one of these workers. When he left China it was during the Manchu*+ Dynasty. The isolationist policies were in full swing. But largely ignored in favor of making money through trade. My father had lived through the First and Second Opium wars and even fought in the Second. He doesn't talk about it but my mother said that he had been stationed in Nanking*. When the Burlingame Treaty was signed in 1868 my father immigrated to the United States. That was the last time I ever saw the man for years. I was just a young boy of seven. But I still remember the hope we felt when we saw him off. We were poor. I remember my mother counting rice grains to save on money. We couldn't cover all the costs but we were able to use the 'Credit-Ticket' system.
What we didn't know was that he signed up for indentured servitude. He never paid off his debt to Pacific Mail Steamship Company and those who bought his debt. We only heard from him twice, when he first arrived he sent us a letter. After that we didn't hear from him again for ten years.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. After my father departed for America life was even harder at home. Without my father my mother had to work twice as hard to feed all her children. Since I was eldest it fell to me to try to find another source of income. I'm not ashamed that I worked as a beggar, shinning shoes or even resorting to thievery to make sure my family ate. Still, despite my best efforts we didn't always have food on the table. The aftermath of the wars had left the economy crippled with a firm bias to the foreigners. Our jobs were the menial and dangerous tasks that no one else wanted and we weren't paid enough for even basic survival for one person.
In the ensuing years as hope faded that America might take us in, my two sisters died of illness. I watched my mother waste away and finally succumb to death when I was in my 16th** year. In the worst twist of fate not even a day after my mother's passing my father's second letter reached me. He had enclosed a small amount of money. But it was American and with the conversion I'd had nearly enough to get myself to America. When I sold the house and everything in it I had just enough to gain passage to America. The year was 1878.
Price for a boat ride of America had decreased in the ensuing years. We had all heard that the Gold Rush was no longer a Rush. The Transcontinental Rail road was pretty much built. Work was harder to find, but I was sure with my father I could do it. After all there was nothing left for me in China.
The steam ship ride to America was pretty uneventful. The poor souls on the ship, myself included, didn't talk to each other. We all knew that our fate in America was probably to be no better than in China. We would die in a land far from home without any hope. But if there was any chance at all, we had to take it. It made for a quiet ride. None of us talked to each other. There was no reason at all. We'd never see each other again. Or at the worst we'd have to watch each other die. In that case it was better to see a stranger die than a friend.
After the ship deposited us we had to register with the government. They asked us so many questions with their rapid fire English I couldn't even understand most of it. When they asked me for my name (I understood the word 'Name') I just repeated Huang Kung-wang. The man who questioned me just shook his head every time. Finally he said: Hanley Wang and wrote that on the paper. Or so I figured out later. I was quite illiterate at the time when it came to English.
When I finally paid the man off with my remaining money I gained by papers. And a intense foreboding. I know I'd receive no welcome in America but I didn't expect the outright hatred and hostility. I received hateful stares. People whispered and shouted and pointed at me. I didn't understand what they said but their tone made it quite clear. Fear had settled in. I was penniless. I was in a strange country where I barely spoke the language. All my preparations with English were for naught now that I was confronted with it. The desire to get back on the ship and leave was strong but there was nothing to go back to. My mother was dead. My sisters were dead. Only down the path ahead of me laid my father. That was what kept me going. I clutched the letter in my hand and steadfastly made my way to the address my father provided. His letter had told us not to come. But I had to see him. I had to.
My father worked in a field with a lot of other Chinese men. They were all filthy and under feed. Much like myself. It was hard to stop a man I hadn't see in ten years. I didn't recognize him at all. I had to go around individually and ask each man if he was my father. I was chased off once by a white man with a gun but I returned after hours to continue my search.
My father turned out to be a dead eyed man by the same of Albert. He asked me not to call him by his name. When I pressed he just said that that man was dead. I stopped pressing. We sat in silence for a long time before I worked up the courage to tell him about my mother, his wife. He stared at me for a while then nodded his head.
"Here." He said after he stood and grabbed a box to press into my hands. "You'll need this if you are to survive."
He went on to tell me that north there was another home that was looking for a servant. Someone who was good with manual labor. He told me to look for employment there. Before I left I asked why he didn't leave if work here was so terrible. I was so naive then. The man my father had become just smiled sadly at me. But new life entered his eyes.
"Now that I've seen you I am." He told me. I didn't understand what he meant at that point. I just took the chest and left at his bidding. When I returned in the morning I discovered that he had hanged himself. Suicide***. I was aghast and confused. But after asking around I discovered that my father was a slave to these white men in all but name. And that instead of choosing to remain a slave he had set himself free and restored his honor. I could not fault him for that. He was a brave man. My mother was right, as always.
So I traveled north to find work. My father was correct that a home was hiring laborers. I was the last hired and got the worst jobs. But it was work which meant I could feed myself for the first time in days. I worked all sorts of off jobs at the large house. The head of the house a Marshall Reagan was a stern but fair man. He didn't abuse his servants but he wasn't nice either. I learned to jump when he called Hanley.
After a few days of working for Mr. Reagan I spotted his daughter. She was a lovely little girl and I fell in love at first sight. She had lovely white skin and raven black hair. The first sighting I had of her was on a horse. Her long hair streaming out behind her. I made it a point to work in the stables after that and became quite proficient with the horses. Unlike everyone in America they didn't care that I was Chinese.
Due to my new position as a stable hand I had many meetings with Miss Reagan. Eventually as the years progressed we became quite close. When I was nineteen years I stole my first kiss from her. Over the next year and a half we were successful in keeping our illicit relationship a secret. She was not only beautiful but she was smart. Her father was educating her to take over the house hold. She could read, write, do maths and even sing. Best of all she didn't look at me and see Hanley Wang a yellowfaced man. But she saw Huang Kung-wang. She saw all that I was and she wasn't afraid nor did she pity me. Instead she loved me.
When I was twenty-one years Mr. Reagan caught Mary and I in a compromising situation. He was livid. Angrier than I had even seen the man. He shouted obscenities at me and then ran back to his house to grab his gun. At Mary's urging I fled the Reagan lands and hid away in the desert. Later that night Mary hailed me from her window and tossed me bags. The first was heavy and the second and the third were not much lighter. Then Mary climbed down from her room. Her legs clad in only breaches. I should have adverted my eyes, but I couldn't.
Together the two of us stole a set of horses from her father's stables and rode off. According to Mary we'd be safe in Mexico. But we couldn't take a direct route or else her father would find us. Which saw us heading East first then South later. Our route finally took us to a small town named Soursprings where a new chapter in our life opened.
*To keep with the Wild West theme I'm using the Wade-Giles spelling of Chinese Words. Despite the fact it was designed for Mandarin and my character will speak Cantonese. There was no official Anglicized writing system for Cantonese during the time period. But that's not to say there was no such system. Just none that were as widely recognized or even taught than Wade-Giles. Because of this I've made the decision to keep using Wade-Giles even though it is a convoluted and outdated system that quite frankly made it very difficult for westerners to learn Mandarin.
*+The Manchu Dynasty or the Qing Dynasty (Under Wade-Giles it was the Ch'ing Dynasty) is the last Chinese Dynasty where China was ruled by an Emperor. It ruled from 1644 to 1912.
**To keep with the Chinese way of counting age, my character would technically be 17.
***Suicide wasn't only a Japanese way of restoring honor. Nor only for Samurai. But many places in Asia practiced ritual suicide. In fact in some more conservative places in Asia it is still a practice. But ritual suicide is romanced in their culture. It's a way to restore lost honor and that is very important. I could write a whole discourse on Honor and the importance thereof, but all you need to know is that by killing himself Kung-wang's father restored his honor (and that if his family) that had been lost, stripped away by slavery. Kung-wang himself respected his father for that decision even though it meant he'd never see the man again. |
7,001 | 194 | 3 | 1,244 | 9,385 | It has two days of traveling. Silently riding on the back of Cassius as the hooves clacked on the hard clay. Two days ago, Monty was helping in a free slave town, New Porter, where he was offered a position as town sheriff since he stayed for about two weeks and have defended the town, keeping riff-raffs from causing problems.
Yeah he had to straighten out some of his own people, telling them to have better pride in themselves but the biggest trouble were some of the criminals who came through thinking that the blacks will keep their mouths shut and let them do as they pleased. The only reason why he stayed as long as he did was not because of just defending but a fine piece of tail who was just too irresistible to pass up.
Getting his fill of New Porter, entertaining the people with his guitar skills and joining other musicians while there, helping and scaring off any trouble makers, and time and time again...laying his pipe down on sweet Matilda, Monty went on his way to travel to another town to make his money.
The sun was cooking, seeing that there were no clouds out, looking into the horizon, hoping that his eyes weren't playing tricks on him, Monty saw what looked to be a town up ahead. If this was indeed a town he could rest at, it would be grand but...the thing about coming into small or large towns if it's not a free slave town, Monty was usually not well welcomed in them. In fact, some didn't like that fact that they witness a "n*gger on a horse", as they say.
It wasn't long until he and Cassius made it into the town of Soursprings. He looked around while coming in slowly, chewing his sugarcane straw while a few people looked up and giving the same reaction he always get when he comes into a town with white people, stares. This wasn't new to him, he'd watch as a carpenter stopped what he was doing to watch and follow Monty's movements. He gained stares from two white guys who were talking. Even the guy who was shoveling shit, stopped to look at this n*gger on a horse.
Still looking around, Monty saw three nooses ready for anyone who crossed the people in this town or any criminal that caused mischief...or any n*gger they felt needed to be made an example out of. The whores looked out the window at this big black man who seemingly unfazed by the stares, come through like he belonged in that town.
Monty stopped Cassius the moment he saw the saloon and got off to tie his horse up so that he could hopefully get a temporary job as a musician. He had his guns in his holsters but....if he was to bring his guitar in, all he could hope is for these people not to be too alarmed with his presence. he grabbed the guitar off the back of Cassius, taking it and strapping it on himself as the guitar hung from his back.
Looking around once more, he saw a man and woman looking at him and the man spoke to the woman D-...Did that n*gger just get off that horse? he asked her, looking surprised. Monty ignored it and walked into the saloon looking round. It wouldn't surprise him if the whole place stopped their activities to look at him, it's happened before but even so, he walked quietly to the bar while giving a courteous nod to ones who looked at him. | Monty Sharp
Alias - Black Cloud
Age - 33
Gender - Male
Occupation - Traveling Musician and Part time Bounty Hunter/ gun for hire. Former slave
Appearance - He's a solid build muscular man that sports low cut hair, a goatee, and a golden tooth. His size and image can be a little intimidating, making him a little rough.
Height - 6'3
Weight - 220 lbs
Apparel - besides what you see on the picture, he wears dark brown slacks with brown boots.
Weaponry - He carries a 1878 Hartford Coach Gun. on his holster he carries 2 1873 Colt single action army revolvers. If need be...he'll use his fists.
Equipment - He has a dark brown and white stallion named Cassius. Canteen of water, an acoustic guitar, wallet with cash, and sleeping bag.
Skills -
~ Skilled and accurate with his revolvers and coach gun
~ Stronger than an average man and a bit skilled in fighting from hard labor and mandingo fights.
~ Quite proficient in playing the guitar.
Flaws -
~ Monty have limited education do to not being taught to read and write during his time as a slave and just started learning a bit after gaining freedom but still have much more to learn..
~ He's at a disadvantage at getting treated equally because of him being of African descent and former slave.
~ He tends to have a hard time restraining himself when a white person insults him and usually he gets into more trouble upon harming an individual.
Personality - Since youth, Monty was known to have been a gentle soul but deep inside, he's had much hatred for slave owners and others who hated his kind. Usually he's to himself and loves the sweet sound of music. He's a bit reserved but he has a temper when someone crosses him. He's usually friendly to those who are friendly and respectful to him. He is fond of helping other former slaves if they've come into trouble.
He does not tolerate crime, disrespect, killing of innocent people, which is why he became a Bounty hunter/gun for hire.
Backstory -
Monty was born to a mandingo fighting slave and a breeding type comfort girl slave. Being born into slavery in the Evans Plantation, Monty was raised there until he was bought at age 5 to be property of Eustace Ward. Eustace was considered what other slaves called, a slave breaker, making them do inhumane things for entertainment. Monty from the age of 8 started off in the Jr. Mandingo fighting to earn his master some betting money to which he was quite proficient in doing.
Throughout his years of being part of the Ward plantation, not only did he handle labor and fight, his taste of music piqued when he noticed another slave playing a guitar, in which he wanted to learn to play himself. Having such talent helped him to gain more favor with his master but his family made his life difficult with set ups and lies that cost him privileges and earned him beatings.
later when the civil war started and the fact that Monty couldn't handle being part of the Ward plantation anymore, he ran away to get free and looked to go to the north. While Monty was being searched for by Ward's men, Monty ran into a Quaker and former bounty hunter, George Sharp, who hid and and took care of Monty from age 13 on up.
George taught Monty a little of reading a writing and when the time came, shooting. After a few years living with George and his family, increasing his skills of music and learning to defend himself, Monty later when to travel to make a living. The Civil war was over and there were many changes. Running into a small town that the now, free slaves own, Monty witnessed one night, terror with a group of men wearing white bags on their heads, shooting the people and burning the town down.
Because of the war ending, many southern former slave owner have taken it upon themselves to cause as much pain and terror to former slaves to put them back in their places but that was until Monty decided to do something about it when a woman he liked was hung. From what he learned from his teacher, George, he took it upon himself to find these men and to make them pay for what they've done.
Monty did manage to find them in another town and took justice in his own hands to not just kill off but to scare the others to not come back. He nearly got himself killed but after doing so, Monty thought about getting into the line of work including bounty hunting. Since then, Monty have been traveling and making money either by his music or killing. |
7,002 | 194 | 4 | 498 | 26 | Ellis Braddock leaned against the wall of a small shop, puffing on a cigar. He was standing on the boardwalk in the shade of an awning. He wore a dusty black business suit with a black bow-tie and a bowler hat. He had a bushy beard and mustache that largely covered the bow-tie and his face bore its usual sour expression. Beside him sat a small wooden box.
He was trying to enjoy the weather, hot as it may be. He listened to the pastor's sermon through an open window in the Church next door. He took the cigar out of his mouth and spit on the boards by his feet. Already there were many spit stains on the boards in front of him. He puffed again on his cigar.
The pastor was talking about the Ten Commandments. Now he was talking about the sin of murder. Ellis frowned slightly and pulled himself away from the spot he had settled in. He picked up the wooden box and walked slowly down the boards, puffing and spitting as he went. He left the church behind him as he made his way slowly to the saloon. Two ladies passed him and he tipped his hat. He pulled the cigar out of his mouth and had a short fit of coughing, followed by spitting and cussing. Then he continued on his way.
As he approached the saloon, he saw a black man riding up on a horse. As the man approached the door, Ellis nodded to him, without easing his sour expression. "Excuse me Sir," he spoke with a voice that had no noticeable accent. "Would you be interested in purchasing a cee-gar? Perhaps some tobacco?" Ellis took the cigar out of his mouth and spit. | Ellis Braddock
Age - 42
Gender - Male
Occupation - Tobacco salesman
Height - 5'6"
Weight - 170 lbs.
Apparel - Business suit, suspenders and a vest, old Union uniform. Bowler hat, Union Kepi.
Weaponry - Sharps carbine (1867), Colt Revolver 1860 Army model. Bayonet. Bowie knife.
Equipment - Grey horse named Snodgrass. Map. Fishing net. Rations and water. Whiskey. Many cigars/chewing tobacco/pipes.
Skills - Fighting, farming.
Flaws - Stubborn, prideful, easily annoyed, smoking, drinking, PTSD, racist against Indians.
Personality - Ellis Braddock likes to smoke cigars and drink whiskey. He keeps his emotions to himself and expects the same of others. He is stubborn and prideful, and doesn't tolerate insolence or rudeness. He likes wilderness and towns equally. To most people he seems stiff and humorless.
Ellis believes in suffrage for black men if not equal rights. This is largely because he wants to think that something good came from the war. He is, however, racist against Indians due to his time fighting them and the cultural differences. He is a Christian, but doesn't talk much about religion or go to church enough. He is a moderate Republican, and bears a strong grudge against the South and Democrats because of the war. He enjoys a good political debate, but few enjoy debating with him. He suffers from post-traumatic-stress disorder due to the many battles he has fought in.
Backstory - Ellis Braddock was raised on a farm in Ohio. In 1861, at the age of 22, he volunteered to serve in the Union Army in the Civil War. He served in many engagements, including the Battle of Chickamauga. At Chickamauga he served under General Thomas who held out a stubborn rearguard defense of Snodgrass Hill. After the war he remained in the army, serving in the Indian Wars. In 1874, he retired from the military and moved out west. He has bounced from town to town as a travelling tobacco salesman, as well as occasionally a hired gun. He has made a decent amount of wealth, but still travels constantly to keep his mind off of his bloody past. He has owned his horse for three years, and named it Snodgrass after the hill where he fought at Chickamauga. |
7,003 | 194 | 5 | 365 | 1,200 | If my ears and notes don't deceive me then we might have another sheriff in town, Monty or somethin' like that isn't it? Have a story for us? If it's good you'd win whatever's on the board... Joshua asks, trying to get Monty's attention, a porter then enters, heading towards Joshua. "Only one replacement boss, they ran out of Athena's Ale and replaced it with Greek Great Gin." The porter reports. "It'll be alright for now, tell them to firstly go with the scheme and secondly send double the shipment for half as much next time or we cancel the arrangement." Joshua replies with a rather annoyed tone in his voice, jotting something down in his notebook as the porter walks off with a thick booklet of records. | Warning- My app contains racism, death, rape, abuse, pedophilia, etc. etc. Don't read this if you don't have a spine.
Charles O’Malley
Alias - Formerly “Master”, or, “Sir”. Nowadays he just has his friends call him Charlie if they so desire.
Age - 44
Gender - Male
Occupation - Ex Slave Master, now behaves like something of a principled loan shark. The interest rates are fair if a bit high, but anyone unable to pay up after given reasonable time to do so is privy to Charles’ group of hired “help”.
Appearance - Charles is well muscled beneath all of that suit, and quite the athlete for his age. His hair is dark brown with a reddish tinge.
Height - 5’11
Weight - 160 pounds
Apparel - Charles likes to be well dressed anywhere he goes, favoring a suit but often foregoing an accompanying hat.
Weaponry - Charles carries both a .45 Colt revolver on his hip and a Burgess rifle slung over his back. For trickier engagements his hidden sleeve pistol is also available.
Equipment - The man is rich, so he accordingly brings a considerable sum of money around during most occasions. He has a fine steed of a deep chocolate brown that he affectionately calls “Big Negro”.
Skills -
Charles is a professional rider, having spent all of his years since childhood on horseback.
He’s a decent shot with rifle and revolver.
He’s got a way with words when he wants to, and many people seem to feel naturally more comfortable whilst hearing his educated southern accent.
Flaws -
It’s no secret that Charles is a racist. Anyone not of caucasian descent is free game for his prejudice. He finds working with people of color particularly difficult.
Personality - Picture a snake. Those who truly know Charles would find that there is little difference between the two. He can make friends, and he truly cares for the real ones, but he is cunning. His personal gain will almost always come first, regardless of the circumstance. Charles enjoys a bit of banter with anyone, even blacks. Though they can expect to be treated with thinly veiled derision without fail. He’s truly at home when deep into a good conversation or debate, where he’s made most of his allies and enemies. Always the prideful sort, Charles will fiercely defend the honor of both himself and the South from where his origins lie.
Backstory - Charles was born as the only child of Clementine and Deacon O’Malley, two parents more concerned with running their wealthy plantation than taking care of their own son. He was essentially raised by his white tutors, hired by his parents, of course. He spent the first three years of his life inside the large manor house of his family’s farm, never having any reason or desire to go outside. At the age of four yet another tutor was hired to teach Charles horseback riding. This became one of his great passions, and he avidly took to the sport.
A few months after his sixth birthday, Charles began to look at all of the blacks picking cotton in that farm clearly for the first time. He saw a few young boys about his age at one end of the field and figured that it was unfair of them to be working out there in the hot sun while he rested in the shade of the house. It took only a few moments to strip down to nothing but his pants like the black children before running over to help them pick cotton. He didn’t quite understand why they would never meet his eyes and constantly called him “sir”, but at least they let him help. Then his father showed up.
Deacon O’Malley was a cruel man. He regarded all of the dirty n*ggers around him as subhuman, and was almost ashamed to even own such lowly creatures. So when he saw his own son amongst the n*ggers, dressed like the n*ggers, and picking cotton with the n*ggers, Deacon O’Malley did not hesitate to drag his son away from the field by the roots of his hair and whip him so hard that he would have scars to rival those of the n*ggers. Charles never went near the fields during his youth ever again.
As Charles grew older, he began to behave more and more like his father, despising the slaves for what they were as animals whilst swelling with pride at the glory of his home in the wondrous South. Often during his teen years he would foray into the wilderness on horseback before finding a pleasant spot to hunt game for sport. During Charles’ seventeenth year on Earth, a new and particularly attractive Mammie was appointed to the O’Malley household. He saw to it himself that Catherine was always garbed in something promiscuous. Many a night Charles gave her the privilege of bedding with him.
Five years later, the death of his father would place Charles as the heir to the O’Malley Plantation. Deacon O’Malley was found lying dead near the manor, his head bent at an odd angle and angry bleeding whip marks across his bare back. Two slaves that were also discovered to be conspicuously missing was enough to draw suspicion away from the true perpetrator. Charles was regrettably unable to attend the funeral, having been away at a neighboring plantation to watch a mandingo fight.
Charles ran the plantation with an even crueler manner than Deacon. A single mistake and he would whip the offending negro within an inch of their life. And that was only if he allowed them to get off easy. Not a single man, woman, or child was safe from his lust. He handed Catherine over to the men to rape and beat her to death as he watched after he declared her no longer pretty enough. Any slave chosen but refusing to partake in the exercise joined Catherine on her hands and knees as Charles himself chose to partake in the twisted orgy. Events like these were commonplace during Charles’ time as head of the O’Malley Plantation.
When the Civil War broke out in 1861, Charles was not afraid. When the initial vigor the South had felt from their victory at Bull Run began to die down, still he was not afraid. When the Union forces began to push down into the South and defile his beloved homeland, he was not afraid. When William Tecumseh Sherman began his infamous “March to the Sea”, Charles grew fearful. Reality hit him that the South simply could not win this war, and as slavery would no doubt become illegal after the war ended, he, Charles, would be a lawbreaker. This led him to make the wild decision of selling all of his assets off to the highest bidder. All of the slaves, the cotton, the manor and everything inside of it, everything. All that was left to Charles was a wagon, a stylish wardrobe, a few good horses, and a lot of money. So Charles took his money and his clothing, packed it all up in that single wagon, and fled to Texas.
It was here in Texas where Charles would settle and spend the next fourteen years of life, living away in relative comfort in the town of Soursprings. |
7,004 | 194 | 6 | 1,244 | 9,385 | As soon as Monty walked in, assuming he was going to be questioned as to why he came in such a place and if he was in his right mind, he was approached by a gentleman who asked him as question about purchasing a cigar and tobacco. Now....Monty have had a few run-ins with some decent white men, if there ever was one he could speak of. And with this man approaching him like a common customer, Monty froze for a moment and slightly tilted his head to this new approach. He could tell this man didn't sound like he was from the south but, he was a ittle pleased this man was kind enough to offer him something.
Monty responded "No thank ya, suh(sir). No disrespeck...but I's mo' of ah drinkah than ah smokah". Tipping his hat and was about to ask him about something until, someone called his name. Monty looked over to notice a man behind the bar and talking with the unusual accent. Monty have heard it before but he couldn't put his finger on who that was just yet. he walked closer to the man at the bar and stared on. We's met befo' right?" he asked the man. with his guitar still strapped to his back and trying to kid the view of the guns on his holsters, Monty wanted to get down to the bottom of how this man knew him. | Monty Sharp
Alias - Black Cloud
Age - 33
Gender - Male
Occupation - Traveling Musician and Part time Bounty Hunter/ gun for hire. Former slave
Appearance - He's a solid build muscular man that sports low cut hair, a goatee, and a golden tooth. His size and image can be a little intimidating, making him a little rough.
Height - 6'3
Weight - 220 lbs
Apparel - besides what you see on the picture, he wears dark brown slacks with brown boots.
Weaponry - He carries a 1878 Hartford Coach Gun. on his holster he carries 2 1873 Colt single action army revolvers. If need be...he'll use his fists.
Equipment - He has a dark brown and white stallion named Cassius. Canteen of water, an acoustic guitar, wallet with cash, and sleeping bag.
Skills -
~ Skilled and accurate with his revolvers and coach gun
~ Stronger than an average man and a bit skilled in fighting from hard labor and mandingo fights.
~ Quite proficient in playing the guitar.
Flaws -
~ Monty have limited education do to not being taught to read and write during his time as a slave and just started learning a bit after gaining freedom but still have much more to learn..
~ He's at a disadvantage at getting treated equally because of him being of African descent and former slave.
~ He tends to have a hard time restraining himself when a white person insults him and usually he gets into more trouble upon harming an individual.
Personality - Since youth, Monty was known to have been a gentle soul but deep inside, he's had much hatred for slave owners and others who hated his kind. Usually he's to himself and loves the sweet sound of music. He's a bit reserved but he has a temper when someone crosses him. He's usually friendly to those who are friendly and respectful to him. He is fond of helping other former slaves if they've come into trouble.
He does not tolerate crime, disrespect, killing of innocent people, which is why he became a Bounty hunter/gun for hire.
Backstory -
Monty was born to a mandingo fighting slave and a breeding type comfort girl slave. Being born into slavery in the Evans Plantation, Monty was raised there until he was bought at age 5 to be property of Eustace Ward. Eustace was considered what other slaves called, a slave breaker, making them do inhumane things for entertainment. Monty from the age of 8 started off in the Jr. Mandingo fighting to earn his master some betting money to which he was quite proficient in doing.
Throughout his years of being part of the Ward plantation, not only did he handle labor and fight, his taste of music piqued when he noticed another slave playing a guitar, in which he wanted to learn to play himself. Having such talent helped him to gain more favor with his master but his family made his life difficult with set ups and lies that cost him privileges and earned him beatings.
later when the civil war started and the fact that Monty couldn't handle being part of the Ward plantation anymore, he ran away to get free and looked to go to the north. While Monty was being searched for by Ward's men, Monty ran into a Quaker and former bounty hunter, George Sharp, who hid and and took care of Monty from age 13 on up.
George taught Monty a little of reading a writing and when the time came, shooting. After a few years living with George and his family, increasing his skills of music and learning to defend himself, Monty later when to travel to make a living. The Civil war was over and there were many changes. Running into a small town that the now, free slaves own, Monty witnessed one night, terror with a group of men wearing white bags on their heads, shooting the people and burning the town down.
Because of the war ending, many southern former slave owner have taken it upon themselves to cause as much pain and terror to former slaves to put them back in their places but that was until Monty decided to do something about it when a woman he liked was hung. From what he learned from his teacher, George, he took it upon himself to find these men and to make them pay for what they've done.
Monty did manage to find them in another town and took justice in his own hands to not just kill off but to scare the others to not come back. He nearly got himself killed but after doing so, Monty thought about getting into the line of work including bounty hunting. Since then, Monty have been traveling and making money either by his music or killing. |
7,005 | 194 | 7 | 2,529 | 75 | If you've been here before then you've been drinking in my establishment sheriff, the Burnside is owned by me, Joshua Darwall, I've heard the odd rumour of you, good work with New Porter... Think that's the place anyway. If you want to help with the story hour, just tell your best story aloud. Joshua replies in a reasonably compassionate and cheerful tone to Monty, looking through one of his notebooks to check if he got the name of the town correct.
"Mister O'Malley, we can provide champagne from many countries, and at a discount, I think you've dealt with a good number of the customers who don't pay us for the brilliant services here, least you deserve really for doing such a kind thing. Joshua answers Charles just as happily, again checking his notes as a wagon with the porters aboard journey elsewhere. | Joshua Darwall
Alias - The Magpie, The Dynamite Dancer.
Age - 33
Gender - Male
Occupation - Saloon Owner
Appearance -
A normally built man, Joshua has an almost completely faded scar from his left ear to the left corner of his mouth, apart from that the picture sums him up well, just tone down the moustache and add a bit more hair on his head. His trousers are a clean navy blue and he normally wears rather clean and fancy shoes.
Height - Six foot one.
Weight - Twelve stone.
Apparel - The picture sums it up, just replace the apron with a clean navy blue duster coat that is a little too big for him whenever he goes out.
Weaponry - One Colt Walker and a Burnside Carbine.
Equipment - A horse drawn wagon, one hip flask normally filled with a whiskey of some sort, a dowsing stick, two one-litre canteens of water, a wallet with the equivalent of fifty quid in it, normally the odd stick of dynamite on him and camping equipment on the wagon for three people.
Skills - A decent shot with only his Colt Walker and Burnside Carbine, a talented barroom brawler, expert in explosives and a decent cook.
Flaws - Bit too accepting of strangers, sometimes hard to understand with his odd blend of a Texan and British Northern accent, he cannot speak any other language but English, quite stubborn and not too fond of any government official above the sheriffs. He also averagely strong, not the most agile of people either.
Personality - He is incredibly intolerant of innocent people being put in danger and of guns being used indoors. Joshua has a very strong connection with his family's rules: No one uses a gun indoors and no one harms innocent people when he's around. However he is tolerant of newcomers making a show of dominance and good gestures to help, always willing to help the odd local of Soursprings with advice, shelter or a good drink.
Being well versed in travelling large areas of the world excluding America Joshua tends to tell newer patrons of his global travels, of the sights he has seen with a smug smile and a lot of time to spare. He tends to jot down rumors off passing patrons, spreading a few to the next patron on the way, he normally gives discounts if he hears good tales and stories. Or in exchange for interesting trinkets he will gladly accept them as substitutes to paying with money.
Backstory - Mister Darwall is from a family of pub owners in Liverpool, his kind and reasonably generous family taught him personally everything he knew, from his formal education to how to run a drinking establishment. Their family pub was failing but there was a new opportunity in the brewing industry, after his family decided to take the opportunity Joshua decided to set off to find somewhere new to settle at the age of 23, wanting to run and own a drinking establishment, not file paperwork for the rest of his life for an infinitely more dull brewery.
After ten years of searching a large chunk the world for a suitable home Joshua settled on Soursprings, taking over the saloon formerly known as the Dry Drinks he decided to refurbish his new home and workplace, calling it the Burnside after the rifle he was given by the old owner shortly after he died. Ever since Joshua has hired five other members of staff to help him run a rather successful saloon and regales visitors and travelling wagon hands of his journey searching for a new home, most of the tales being exaggerations to give them as much flavour and variety as the drinks he stockpiled from his travels and family brewery. He still writes to his family and tries to keep a friendly relationship with them. |
7,006 | 194 | 8 | 991 | 1,970 | On the edge of town four horse-riders had appeared, the one to the farthest left had a cigarette in his mouth, on his head was a stray hat and on his face was a crooked smile. One front tooth missed in the grin which could be seen as he opened his mouth to speak, the man's words coming out with a slight Southern drawl.
"This is the place alright, little ole' Soursprings. Nothin' here but old folks and nobodies. Easy pickings." He said as he used one gloved hand to push his hat up to shield his sunken eyes from the sun. His name was Foster, and he was a bad man. The baddest one in the group he'd contend if you asked him.
"Dewey is already there, I reckon he's laying low in the bar. Probably blue as a bum by now." Another man said, his long blonde hair was tied into a ponytail which hung below his cowboy hat. A scruff of facial hair smeared his mischievous face.
"You're right about that, Owen. Bet he's airing the paunch out a window by now." An eye-patched rider spoke, two glimmering steel revolvers hung off each of his sides. Both were cocked and loaded for trouble. An eyepatch sat over his left eye-socket. This was Horace, or 'One-Eye', though if you made the mistake of calling him that then he'd blast both his revolves in your arms. Well, if he was feeling merciful.
"Dillard's there too, ya' know how he likes to do it. He might be in that church over yonder. Sure ain't no man of God though." Foster added then removed the cigarette from his lips. With a flick of his hand he sent into into the dust as the wind blew it away into the underbrush.
The fourth horseman didn't speak, he was a little different from the others. A thick black beard covered his tanned skin, from the looks of it he was a man of Mexican descent. This was Rio, his English wasn't the best but he was as a part of the group as any of the others.
The quadruple of strangers slowed their horses stride as they moved into town. They breezed past the white church right as the father's sermon was finished. The small crowd had started on their way out of the holy house. Sure as stated, Dillard was the last one out the door. He locked eyes with one of his fellow strangers, then adjusted his cowboy hat as he strolled towards the saloon. The four riders pulled to the side and Dillard met them there.
"The lawman's office is the opposite side from where y'all strolled in. Ain't no one to be scared of here. Planted what you wanted where ya' wanted." He said with a quiet tone as each of them disembarked from their stallions. Then with a smirk at Rio the two newcomers to the small town walked towards the bank. They made showed no strain in their strides. Horace split off as well, letting out a whistle as he waltzed down the street towards the sheriff's office.
Foster and Owen then both entered into the saloon. Neither of them had weapons shown on their figure, but they were ready for action. The strangers entered in right as Sheriff William was telling a story. The older man sat leaned back in his chair while Billy paused his piano playing. The deputy next to his father wasn't paying attention to any of that, he was people watching. Though that couldn't be easily told as he smirked along to his daddy's rambling. Foster and Owen took seats at the opposite side of the bar from the scarred Dewey who didn't acknowledge them. To everyone not in their group they were strangers.
"Fine, fine. Guess I'd better entertain some of these here visitors. You been advertisin' this here grocery as one with free liquor or something?" William joked which made a few patrons smile. He then leaned back in his seat and let out a sigh before he raised his voice. Billy stopped the music and turned in his seat.
"So a long time ago, years it's gotta be, back when the deputy here wasn't even half his height. These two strangers wandered into town here. I still remember this cause it caused such a hellabaloo. The first one that came was some middle aged fellow, had a scar right below his left eye. Had the look of some poor lag, like he was in destined for the gallows or somethin'. He rode in on a lunkhead going lickety split. Damn near trampled some townsfolk on his way. I stroll out of the office and find him moving through town, asking anyone for shelter. I told him we had a perfectly good hotel he could stay in but he had as much money as a mumper." William paused to take a sip from his beer.
"So, while I'm chatting this feller up another visitor rolls into town. This one was the total opposite of the first lad, a mean lookin' Navy Model on his back, another on his belt. Look of pure determination on him, had that stare ya see on solders sometimes, like he's seen things. Right as the first bum catches sight of the second he gets real antsy, walks right away from me while I'm chatting him up. The other one spies him doin' this and whips out his lead-pusher quicker than I can blink and puts a shot right into the other's shoulder. Knocks him clean off his horse and sends it into a hoot."
"I pull out my own sidearm, point it at this fella', for all I know these are two troublemakers that wandered into my town to cause more dastardly deeds. Before I can say nothin' the one that blasted his gun speaks out. Says the other is a War deserter and that he had been tracking him from cross country. Pulls out official papers and all signed by the vice president. The lily livered bastard he just shot had stolen a buncha guns and ran west, where he was gonna sell them and make a new life. That bounty hunter had followed him for weeks."
"Within an hour we hung that deserter from the tallest tree. The bounty hunter was gone right after, barely said ten words to anyone. Left me his papers as a token, took the coward's corpse with him. Ain't seen nothin' like that since then." William finished as he took a drink of his beer and a couple patrons applauded. It wouldn't sound like much to most of them, but the sheriff remembered it like it was yesterday.
Then an unexpected commotion broke out as the scarred stranger launched himself at another patron, sending his glass to the floor in the process. One of his friends did the same as he threw a chair at another. Then a brawl broke out all of a sudden, people tossed over tables, chairs shattered all around. William had dashed to his feet as quickly as he could, Clayton doing the same. Both men trying to get piece as someone went down after taking a glass mug to the jaw. Foster and Owen threw punches on the other side of the room. | Clayton Beck
Alias - N/A
Age - 22
Gender - Male
Occupation - Deputy of Soursprings
Appearance - Clayton is a lean, clean shaven man. His brown hair is cut short and combed to one side. He appears younger than he actually is, often getting mistaken for a teenager. He's in decent shape with hints of muscles along his frame.
Height - 5'11 (180.34 cms)
Weight - 148 pounds
Apparel - Clayton typically wears a longsleeved white collared shirt, over that he wears a black vest. On colder days he'll wear a tan colored jacket. On the lower part of his body he wears black slacks and dark brown boots. To top it all off he often wears a dark brown cowboy hat which used to be his grandfather's.
Weaponry - Clayton carries a Model 1875 revolver, holstered on his hip. On his back is a sling for his Model 1873 lever action rifle. As a last ditch defense he carries a hunting knife on his belt.
Equipment - Clayton carries a leather two liter canteen of water, an old compass, a leather wallet with some money and a few scraps of cooked meat. He also has a dark grey horse named Archie.
Skills -
Clayton is a trained, talented shot with rifles and revolvers.
He's a decent hand to hand combatant, while not anything extraordinary he has been in fights in the past and can hold his own.
Clayton is pretty agile and quick, he can run for a decent period of time without getting exhausted.
Flaws -
Clayton is very weary of outsiders to Soursprings, he's spent his entire life in the town and has seen visitors to it cause trouble before. It's hard for him to trust anyone not from his hometown.
He doesn't know much of life outside of Soursprings, only has heard tales of it, some that frighten him.
He's never killed a person before, or even shot one with intent to kill.
His strong sense of justice and righteousness can get in the way, if he sees something that offends this sense then it is very hard for him to ignore it.
Personality - Clayton Beck embodies his father in many regards, who is the sheriff of Soursprings. He has a strong moral compass, often doing what he sees as right. He's very loyal to friends and family as well as the people of his town. He'll do almost anything to protect those close to him. He's naturally friendly to others and is well mannered. To strangers he appears shy and watchful, careful to make a good first impression and ensure they do the same for him.
He despises people that rob, steal, murder and commit other terrible crimes. 'Outlaws' are a type of people that he wholly disagrees with and will try his damned best to bring to justice. He hasn't really set foot outside of Soursprings, outside of a few hunting trips into the wilderness, he doesn't really know the world outside of his little town. He tries not to speak much of the 'outside world', often turning into a listener if the conversation goes in that direction.
Backstory - Clayton was born in the town of Soursprings, his family having routes in the place, with a supposed hand in its creation. He was named after his great grandfather who fought in the Revolutionary War. He was born to a small family, having one sister, Ethel, five years his junior. His mother died when he was eight, leaving his father William as his sole caretaker. The young Clayton has to take a more active way in keeping the household together, having to care for his sister when his father was away.
His early life was pretty quiet in Soursprings, there was not a lot to do other than working. There was a small school in the town which he went to for a few years, after that he got a job working on a farm near town. It was hard, laborious work that didn’t pay very much but his father encouraged. it He was also taught how to use guns during this time, occasionally going on hunting trips. It was during this time that William became the town sheriff after the previous one died. It was an easy job for the most part, there wasn’t very much crime other than the occasional brawl or drunkards misbehaving.
He began to raise his son to one day take the job from him, making him a deputy at the age of sixteen. William tried his best to instill good values in Clayton which reflected in the job. For the most part it was easy going for Clayton, the people knew him and respected him, the only trouble he ever encountered was with outsiders. One notable incident involving him on the receiving end of some punches after he had to break up a fight which sprawled into the streets. Those in the brawl were ordered out of Soursprings. Clayton has kept quiet since then as he’s watched people enter and leave Soursprings. |
7,007 | 194 | 9 | 365 | 1,200 | Just remember no one uses guns indoors! Now enjoy yourselves! Sheriff we're cutting story hour short so enjoy first prize with a free bottle from the shipment just in! Joshua shouts, just sipping a drink nearby and enjoying the bag of nails. Watching a few belly cheaters hit other patrons with pots and ladles as Joshua is trying to eye the biggest toad in the puddle, jotting a few notes down on them.
A glass hits the story hour sign from the crowd, a few reserve barkeeps trying to stash as much of the booze elsewhere as possible, trying to stop the waste of good alcohol. Joshua loving the carnage, thinking that the doctor wouldn't be lazing around any time soon and would be willing to give the Burnside a cut of the payment for such business about to flow in for the saloon brawl. | Warning- My app contains racism, death, rape, abuse, pedophilia, etc. etc. Don't read this if you don't have a spine.
Charles O’Malley
Alias - Formerly “Master”, or, “Sir”. Nowadays he just has his friends call him Charlie if they so desire.
Age - 44
Gender - Male
Occupation - Ex Slave Master, now behaves like something of a principled loan shark. The interest rates are fair if a bit high, but anyone unable to pay up after given reasonable time to do so is privy to Charles’ group of hired “help”.
Appearance - Charles is well muscled beneath all of that suit, and quite the athlete for his age. His hair is dark brown with a reddish tinge.
Height - 5’11
Weight - 160 pounds
Apparel - Charles likes to be well dressed anywhere he goes, favoring a suit but often foregoing an accompanying hat.
Weaponry - Charles carries both a .45 Colt revolver on his hip and a Burgess rifle slung over his back. For trickier engagements his hidden sleeve pistol is also available.
Equipment - The man is rich, so he accordingly brings a considerable sum of money around during most occasions. He has a fine steed of a deep chocolate brown that he affectionately calls “Big Negro”.
Skills -
Charles is a professional rider, having spent all of his years since childhood on horseback.
He’s a decent shot with rifle and revolver.
He’s got a way with words when he wants to, and many people seem to feel naturally more comfortable whilst hearing his educated southern accent.
Flaws -
It’s no secret that Charles is a racist. Anyone not of caucasian descent is free game for his prejudice. He finds working with people of color particularly difficult.
Personality - Picture a snake. Those who truly know Charles would find that there is little difference between the two. He can make friends, and he truly cares for the real ones, but he is cunning. His personal gain will almost always come first, regardless of the circumstance. Charles enjoys a bit of banter with anyone, even blacks. Though they can expect to be treated with thinly veiled derision without fail. He’s truly at home when deep into a good conversation or debate, where he’s made most of his allies and enemies. Always the prideful sort, Charles will fiercely defend the honor of both himself and the South from where his origins lie.
Backstory - Charles was born as the only child of Clementine and Deacon O’Malley, two parents more concerned with running their wealthy plantation than taking care of their own son. He was essentially raised by his white tutors, hired by his parents, of course. He spent the first three years of his life inside the large manor house of his family’s farm, never having any reason or desire to go outside. At the age of four yet another tutor was hired to teach Charles horseback riding. This became one of his great passions, and he avidly took to the sport.
A few months after his sixth birthday, Charles began to look at all of the blacks picking cotton in that farm clearly for the first time. He saw a few young boys about his age at one end of the field and figured that it was unfair of them to be working out there in the hot sun while he rested in the shade of the house. It took only a few moments to strip down to nothing but his pants like the black children before running over to help them pick cotton. He didn’t quite understand why they would never meet his eyes and constantly called him “sir”, but at least they let him help. Then his father showed up.
Deacon O’Malley was a cruel man. He regarded all of the dirty n*ggers around him as subhuman, and was almost ashamed to even own such lowly creatures. So when he saw his own son amongst the n*ggers, dressed like the n*ggers, and picking cotton with the n*ggers, Deacon O’Malley did not hesitate to drag his son away from the field by the roots of his hair and whip him so hard that he would have scars to rival those of the n*ggers. Charles never went near the fields during his youth ever again.
As Charles grew older, he began to behave more and more like his father, despising the slaves for what they were as animals whilst swelling with pride at the glory of his home in the wondrous South. Often during his teen years he would foray into the wilderness on horseback before finding a pleasant spot to hunt game for sport. During Charles’ seventeenth year on Earth, a new and particularly attractive Mammie was appointed to the O’Malley household. He saw to it himself that Catherine was always garbed in something promiscuous. Many a night Charles gave her the privilege of bedding with him.
Five years later, the death of his father would place Charles as the heir to the O’Malley Plantation. Deacon O’Malley was found lying dead near the manor, his head bent at an odd angle and angry bleeding whip marks across his bare back. Two slaves that were also discovered to be conspicuously missing was enough to draw suspicion away from the true perpetrator. Charles was regrettably unable to attend the funeral, having been away at a neighboring plantation to watch a mandingo fight.
Charles ran the plantation with an even crueler manner than Deacon. A single mistake and he would whip the offending negro within an inch of their life. And that was only if he allowed them to get off easy. Not a single man, woman, or child was safe from his lust. He handed Catherine over to the men to rape and beat her to death as he watched after he declared her no longer pretty enough. Any slave chosen but refusing to partake in the exercise joined Catherine on her hands and knees as Charles himself chose to partake in the twisted orgy. Events like these were commonplace during Charles’ time as head of the O’Malley Plantation.
When the Civil War broke out in 1861, Charles was not afraid. When the initial vigor the South had felt from their victory at Bull Run began to die down, still he was not afraid. When the Union forces began to push down into the South and defile his beloved homeland, he was not afraid. When William Tecumseh Sherman began his infamous “March to the Sea”, Charles grew fearful. Reality hit him that the South simply could not win this war, and as slavery would no doubt become illegal after the war ended, he, Charles, would be a lawbreaker. This led him to make the wild decision of selling all of his assets off to the highest bidder. All of the slaves, the cotton, the manor and everything inside of it, everything. All that was left to Charles was a wagon, a stylish wardrobe, a few good horses, and a lot of money. So Charles took his money and his clothing, packed it all up in that single wagon, and fled to Texas.
It was here in Texas where Charles would settle and spend the next fourteen years of life, living away in relative comfort in the town of Soursprings. |
7,008 | 194 | 10 | 323 | 3,236 | Smoke rising from the horizon nearly dead ahead kindled their failing hope into flames. Neither of them pointed out the obvious, each too afraid that it was just a mirage. Yet their horse's canters was a little faster as they urged them on. The sight of a farm was a blessing. Mary grabbed a hold of her necklace and started a prayer to her God. Kung-wang itched to reach out and hug her. But it was now even more dangerous for the two of them. So he slowed his horse and let his fiance get further ahead of him. His beautiful, brave woman rode with a straight back and a confident assurance.
The two followed the road, because it was now one instead of a beaten fading dirt track, into the humble town. Mary lead them to a saloon. The two tied their horses off out front and brushed them down. The thirsty horses drank happily from the water trough. Kung-Wang lingered by the horses to make sure they didn't drink too much. Once their horses were taken care of the two entered the saloon and stopped just inside the swinging doors.
Without hesitation at the sight of the brawl, Kung-Wang grabbed Mary's arm and hauled her back outside. Mary glared at him a little but he didn't let go until they were far enough away that the Chinese man felt it was safe.
"Really?" Mary hissed, more pleased with his actions than annoyed.
"Go back in when settled. Stupid to go now." Kung-Wang replied with a shrug. Mary just rolled her eyes and muttered something that sounded an awfully like a Chinese curse or the word men in English. Either would be fitting. | Huang Kung-wang* (黃公望)
"Hanley Wang"Alias - Hanley Wang
Age - 22
Gender - Male
Occupation - Former thief, Shoe Shiner, Scalper, Ruffian, Servant and now Unemployed
Height - 5'5"
Weight - 120lbs
Apparel - Kung-Wang wears traditional Chinese clothes. Or he did. He still has one outfit left but mostly he wears just a pair of trousers and a shirt (that he stole while on the run)
Weaponry - 1873 Buntline (A Henry repeating rifle used by Mary)
Equipment - Two horses, a map, a compass, Mary's jewelry, clothing, food and water.
Skills - Thievery, skulking, horsemanship, hunting, and Bilingual (Cantonese and English).
Flaws - He's Chinese who loves a white woman. He's young and kind of stupid. He doesn't believe he's inferior to any white man which sometimes causes him to loose his temper.
Personality - Kung-Wang is an angry young man. His history of loss and hardship has shaped him cruelly. He resents those who have wealth and do nothing to help those around them. He's angry at the world for not saving his family. He's angry at himself for the same thing. He hates the world for thinking that he's lesser somehow than white people. Because he knows he's not. But with his upbringing Kung-Wang bottles it all in. He doesn't show his anger until he loses it completely. The only light in his miserable life is Mary. She keeps him sane and makes him want to be a better person. He loves her more than anything and he would do anything to keep her happy. Anything.
Backstory - Chinese Immigrants started coming to the United States at the beginning of the 19th century. Though that wasn't the earliest immigration. The Chinese (in low numbers) already lived in what was to become California (then Mexico). These individuals were largely laborers. Their poor fate not much better than what they immigrated from in China. Those who immigrated in the early 1800s were mainly men. They left their families behind in hopes to find work and hopefully a better life. But there was no better life to be found. Only more hardship, discrimination and abuse. Those lucky enough to find jobs quickly found themselves in indentured servitude.
My father was one of these workers. When he left China it was during the Manchu*+ Dynasty. The isolationist policies were in full swing. But largely ignored in favor of making money through trade. My father had lived through the First and Second Opium wars and even fought in the Second. He doesn't talk about it but my mother said that he had been stationed in Nanking*. When the Burlingame Treaty was signed in 1868 my father immigrated to the United States. That was the last time I ever saw the man for years. I was just a young boy of seven. But I still remember the hope we felt when we saw him off. We were poor. I remember my mother counting rice grains to save on money. We couldn't cover all the costs but we were able to use the 'Credit-Ticket' system.
What we didn't know was that he signed up for indentured servitude. He never paid off his debt to Pacific Mail Steamship Company and those who bought his debt. We only heard from him twice, when he first arrived he sent us a letter. After that we didn't hear from him again for ten years.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. After my father departed for America life was even harder at home. Without my father my mother had to work twice as hard to feed all her children. Since I was eldest it fell to me to try to find another source of income. I'm not ashamed that I worked as a beggar, shinning shoes or even resorting to thievery to make sure my family ate. Still, despite my best efforts we didn't always have food on the table. The aftermath of the wars had left the economy crippled with a firm bias to the foreigners. Our jobs were the menial and dangerous tasks that no one else wanted and we weren't paid enough for even basic survival for one person.
In the ensuing years as hope faded that America might take us in, my two sisters died of illness. I watched my mother waste away and finally succumb to death when I was in my 16th** year. In the worst twist of fate not even a day after my mother's passing my father's second letter reached me. He had enclosed a small amount of money. But it was American and with the conversion I'd had nearly enough to get myself to America. When I sold the house and everything in it I had just enough to gain passage to America. The year was 1878.
Price for a boat ride of America had decreased in the ensuing years. We had all heard that the Gold Rush was no longer a Rush. The Transcontinental Rail road was pretty much built. Work was harder to find, but I was sure with my father I could do it. After all there was nothing left for me in China.
The steam ship ride to America was pretty uneventful. The poor souls on the ship, myself included, didn't talk to each other. We all knew that our fate in America was probably to be no better than in China. We would die in a land far from home without any hope. But if there was any chance at all, we had to take it. It made for a quiet ride. None of us talked to each other. There was no reason at all. We'd never see each other again. Or at the worst we'd have to watch each other die. In that case it was better to see a stranger die than a friend.
After the ship deposited us we had to register with the government. They asked us so many questions with their rapid fire English I couldn't even understand most of it. When they asked me for my name (I understood the word 'Name') I just repeated Huang Kung-wang. The man who questioned me just shook his head every time. Finally he said: Hanley Wang and wrote that on the paper. Or so I figured out later. I was quite illiterate at the time when it came to English.
When I finally paid the man off with my remaining money I gained by papers. And a intense foreboding. I know I'd receive no welcome in America but I didn't expect the outright hatred and hostility. I received hateful stares. People whispered and shouted and pointed at me. I didn't understand what they said but their tone made it quite clear. Fear had settled in. I was penniless. I was in a strange country where I barely spoke the language. All my preparations with English were for naught now that I was confronted with it. The desire to get back on the ship and leave was strong but there was nothing to go back to. My mother was dead. My sisters were dead. Only down the path ahead of me laid my father. That was what kept me going. I clutched the letter in my hand and steadfastly made my way to the address my father provided. His letter had told us not to come. But I had to see him. I had to.
My father worked in a field with a lot of other Chinese men. They were all filthy and under feed. Much like myself. It was hard to stop a man I hadn't see in ten years. I didn't recognize him at all. I had to go around individually and ask each man if he was my father. I was chased off once by a white man with a gun but I returned after hours to continue my search.
My father turned out to be a dead eyed man by the same of Albert. He asked me not to call him by his name. When I pressed he just said that that man was dead. I stopped pressing. We sat in silence for a long time before I worked up the courage to tell him about my mother, his wife. He stared at me for a while then nodded his head.
"Here." He said after he stood and grabbed a box to press into my hands. "You'll need this if you are to survive."
He went on to tell me that north there was another home that was looking for a servant. Someone who was good with manual labor. He told me to look for employment there. Before I left I asked why he didn't leave if work here was so terrible. I was so naive then. The man my father had become just smiled sadly at me. But new life entered his eyes.
"Now that I've seen you I am." He told me. I didn't understand what he meant at that point. I just took the chest and left at his bidding. When I returned in the morning I discovered that he had hanged himself. Suicide***. I was aghast and confused. But after asking around I discovered that my father was a slave to these white men in all but name. And that instead of choosing to remain a slave he had set himself free and restored his honor. I could not fault him for that. He was a brave man. My mother was right, as always.
So I traveled north to find work. My father was correct that a home was hiring laborers. I was the last hired and got the worst jobs. But it was work which meant I could feed myself for the first time in days. I worked all sorts of off jobs at the large house. The head of the house a Marshall Reagan was a stern but fair man. He didn't abuse his servants but he wasn't nice either. I learned to jump when he called Hanley.
After a few days of working for Mr. Reagan I spotted his daughter. She was a lovely little girl and I fell in love at first sight. She had lovely white skin and raven black hair. The first sighting I had of her was on a horse. Her long hair streaming out behind her. I made it a point to work in the stables after that and became quite proficient with the horses. Unlike everyone in America they didn't care that I was Chinese.
Due to my new position as a stable hand I had many meetings with Miss Reagan. Eventually as the years progressed we became quite close. When I was nineteen years I stole my first kiss from her. Over the next year and a half we were successful in keeping our illicit relationship a secret. She was not only beautiful but she was smart. Her father was educating her to take over the house hold. She could read, write, do maths and even sing. Best of all she didn't look at me and see Hanley Wang a yellowfaced man. But she saw Huang Kung-wang. She saw all that I was and she wasn't afraid nor did she pity me. Instead she loved me.
When I was twenty-one years Mr. Reagan caught Mary and I in a compromising situation. He was livid. Angrier than I had even seen the man. He shouted obscenities at me and then ran back to his house to grab his gun. At Mary's urging I fled the Reagan lands and hid away in the desert. Later that night Mary hailed me from her window and tossed me bags. The first was heavy and the second and the third were not much lighter. Then Mary climbed down from her room. Her legs clad in only breaches. I should have adverted my eyes, but I couldn't.
Together the two of us stole a set of horses from her father's stables and rode off. According to Mary we'd be safe in Mexico. But we couldn't take a direct route or else her father would find us. Which saw us heading East first then South later. Our route finally took us to a small town named Soursprings where a new chapter in our life opened.
*To keep with the Wild West theme I'm using the Wade-Giles spelling of Chinese Words. Despite the fact it was designed for Mandarin and my character will speak Cantonese. There was no official Anglicized writing system for Cantonese during the time period. But that's not to say there was no such system. Just none that were as widely recognized or even taught than Wade-Giles. Because of this I've made the decision to keep using Wade-Giles even though it is a convoluted and outdated system that quite frankly made it very difficult for westerners to learn Mandarin.
*+The Manchu Dynasty or the Qing Dynasty (Under Wade-Giles it was the Ch'ing Dynasty) is the last Chinese Dynasty where China was ruled by an Emperor. It ruled from 1644 to 1912.
**To keep with the Chinese way of counting age, my character would technically be 17.
***Suicide wasn't only a Japanese way of restoring honor. Nor only for Samurai. But many places in Asia practiced ritual suicide. In fact in some more conservative places in Asia it is still a practice. But ritual suicide is romanced in their culture. It's a way to restore lost honor and that is very important. I could write a whole discourse on Honor and the importance thereof, but all you need to know is that by killing himself Kung-wang's father restored his honor (and that if his family) that had been lost, stripped away by slavery. Kung-wang himself respected his father for that decision even though it meant he'd never see the man again. |
7,009 | 194 | 11 | 1,549 | 1,549 | Not too bad Charles! Drummah you say? He tried to steal from one of me shipments last week! Would have him hang upside down for a day if you didn't employ him! Joshua speaks loudly. "You might want to join me over here, got a nice bottle of champagne here! Not sure if it's the most expensive but it's safer here!" He shouts as two burly men are tackled past the corner by a woman, all falling into two farmers bludgeoning each other with what look like farming hoes.
Joshua manages to stifle his laughing at the irony of the tackling but a ladle and two pans land on the corner's table. "You mind throwing over some soup ingredients while you're at it?" Joshua muses, ducking as a glass flies from the main crowd, not shattering surprisingly enough, beginning to laugh at the situation. | Names: Amid and Kadir Karzai
Ages: 27
Genders: Male
Occupation: Horse salesmen?
Personalities: Amid and Kadir are twins. They have been together their whole lives, and as such, their personalities are very similar. They both have similar interest and goals. They're both young and eager to do something that they think matters.
However, the brothers vary in their own little ways.
Amid takes up the role of big brother. Possibly the smarter of the two, he takes pride in his ability to form strategies and plans. He has a certain foresight that his 'baby' brother lacks. Amid is less likely to take a risk, and more likely to sit back and think things through. He's often the cooler headed one of the two. He's a bit less emotional than his brother.
Kadir is the reckless one. Although not stupid reckless. He knows that, from watching his brother, strategy pays off. But while his brother plans, Kadir paces. He's a bit on the hyper active side, always wanting to move and do something. Sometimes, this comes as an advantage. Kadir's energy allows him to tame even the feistiest of stallions, and have the patience to do so.
Other: The Karzai twins were born in Afghanistan. Both speak English, but have fairly thick accents.
Height: 5'5"
Weight: Both are around 145 pounds.
Appearance: Amid and Kadir are identical twins, but it's easy enough to tell them apart. Both are of Arab nationality, with dark tan skin, dark brown hair, and dark brown eyes. They're both around 5'5" and have lean muscular builds. Their small stature is the butt of many jokes, but it pays off when riding small but fast Arabian horses. Both of the brothers have adopted the 'Wild West' fashion, ditching their robes for slacks, boots, and button up shirts.
Amid has a small scar on his left cheek, and wears his hair shorter than his brother. He can be seen wearing a brown coat, matching brown slacks, black boots, a cream colored button up shirt, and a hat.
Kadir has longer hair. His style of dress is a bit more unusual. He doesn't like the feel of the typical slacks and abrasive cotton, so he wears a loose buccaneer style shirt and flowy pants. This earns him a few odd looks and a couple jeers, but he's rich, so what does he care?
Weaponry: The Karzai brothers are no strangers to horse thieves. They've thwarted several efforts against them. Both carry Colt shotguns and a revolver, along with pouches of ammo.
Skills: The brothers are both renown horsemen. They offer riding skills, along with veterinary care.
Although they both are short of stature, the boys are much stronger than they look. They are good hand-to-hand fighters, often proving so after a long night at the bar goes south.
Flaws: Neither of them are too good with their aim, hence why they chose to carry shotguns. Although they've practiced a bit more upon reaching the rough west, neither of the brothers were taught how to handle a gun before they left Afghanistan.
Literally nobody can understand their accent.
History: The brothers were born in a small village in Afghanistan. For most of their childhood, their country was at war with the British. They were kept on a remote farm with their father and mother for their own protection. Their father, a well known horse breeder, took this opportunity to teach the boys any and everything about horses.
By the time the boys were teenagers, they were experts themselves. Their father, suffering from a bad back due a long life of labor, would send the boys out to sell horses to the army. They made good money doing this, and were allowed to pocket a generous portion to do with what they please. Luckily, the boys were smart enough to save it.
After their father passed away, their mother turned the farm over to them. The brothers had heard of the horse business in America; how those who sold fine Arabian horses made hundreds. They made a plan to save up a bunch of money and move their business there to be rich.
It took a few years to save up enough money, between keeping up the farm and taking care of their aging mother. By the time their mother passed, the brothers were ready to set sail. They made port in California, and drove their horses inland. They sold many off and kept the money to start their own farm. Upon reaching the border, just outside of Soursprings, they decided that this was a good place to set up shop.
The two brothers have been running their horse farm for three years now, and have already made enough money to retire on. Their horses are widely known as the fastest and most durable in the west. |
7,010 | 194 | 12 | 498 | 26 | Ellis Braddock frowned as the bar erupted in violence. He wanted nothing to do with such a pointless scuffle. Turning around, he walked back out the door he had just entered. He stood out front and waited for things to calm down. He tipped his hat to a lady that was talking to a Chinese man. It seemed odd to him but he didn't think much of it. He hadn't quite formulated an opinion of the Chinese. They seemed industrious enough, but he hadn't had much exposure. Ellis finally stomped out the nub of a cigar he had been smoking. He pulled out another one and lit it with a match. He didn't bother to offer some cigars to the Chinese man as they never seemed to smoke tobacco. The thought of selling cigars to the lady obviously never occurred to his mind. | Ellis Braddock
Age - 42
Gender - Male
Occupation - Tobacco salesman
Height - 5'6"
Weight - 170 lbs.
Apparel - Business suit, suspenders and a vest, old Union uniform. Bowler hat, Union Kepi.
Weaponry - Sharps carbine (1867), Colt Revolver 1860 Army model. Bayonet. Bowie knife.
Equipment - Grey horse named Snodgrass. Map. Fishing net. Rations and water. Whiskey. Many cigars/chewing tobacco/pipes.
Skills - Fighting, farming.
Flaws - Stubborn, prideful, easily annoyed, smoking, drinking, PTSD, racist against Indians.
Personality - Ellis Braddock likes to smoke cigars and drink whiskey. He keeps his emotions to himself and expects the same of others. He is stubborn and prideful, and doesn't tolerate insolence or rudeness. He likes wilderness and towns equally. To most people he seems stiff and humorless.
Ellis believes in suffrage for black men if not equal rights. This is largely because he wants to think that something good came from the war. He is, however, racist against Indians due to his time fighting them and the cultural differences. He is a Christian, but doesn't talk much about religion or go to church enough. He is a moderate Republican, and bears a strong grudge against the South and Democrats because of the war. He enjoys a good political debate, but few enjoy debating with him. He suffers from post-traumatic-stress disorder due to the many battles he has fought in.
Backstory - Ellis Braddock was raised on a farm in Ohio. In 1861, at the age of 22, he volunteered to serve in the Union Army in the Civil War. He served in many engagements, including the Battle of Chickamauga. At Chickamauga he served under General Thomas who held out a stubborn rearguard defense of Snodgrass Hill. After the war he remained in the army, serving in the Indian Wars. In 1874, he retired from the military and moved out west. He has bounced from town to town as a travelling tobacco salesman, as well as occasionally a hired gun. He has made a decent amount of wealth, but still travels constantly to keep his mind off of his bloody past. He has owned his horse for three years, and named it Snodgrass after the hill where he fought at Chickamauga. |
7,011 | 194 | 13 | 239 | 1,654 | Maria and Rosa, be nice to your brother! And don't forget to stir the stew! Isadora called out over her shoulder to her siblings. "Ma, I'm headin' out now," she said, giving her mother a quick kiss on the cheek before she walking out of her cramped but cozy home and into the blinding sun.
The sky was a merciless blue, with not a cloud in sight. The sun beat down relentlessly on the parched land and sparse patches of lifeless grass as Isadora Escalante strode down the street and walked into the Burnside saloon through the back door. She slipped past the kitchen and emerged into the dining area, where Joshua Darwall, the owner of the saloon, was hosting his usual story contest. Isadora glanced at the windows, making note if the various forms of transportation that had been left outside in the sun. Horses and wagons seemed to be the preferred mode of transportation, which was nothing out of the ordinary.
Isadora caught Joshua's eye and flashed him a bright smile in greeting before she began to wait tables. Most of the patrons' attention was fixated on the small stage that Joshua was standing on, introducing his story telling contest. Billy was playing the piano, and nothing seemed horribly out of the ordinary. Of course, there was the matter of three mean-looking men who had just walked in a few seconds ago, guns holstered at their hips, but so long as they didn't actually do anything, Isadora didn't count that as unusual. Strangers and travelers were always present in the saloon; even ones who were looking for trouble.
Out of the corner of her eye, Isadora glanced at the deputy and the sheriff as the story-telling contest started. If she knew anything about William and Clayton Beck, it was that both of them had zero tolerance for troublemakers. It would be interesting to see how things played out if the men decided to try something.
Isadora wiped down a few tables before stopping to survey the crowd once more. This time, she managed to pick out out two lean, dark-haired men who were sitting in the middle. She recognized them as Amid and Kadir, two horsemen who were damn good at their job if what the people said was true. A tall, dark-skinned man made his way into the saloon, getting a few surprised looks. Isadora watched, nonplussed. She'd seen her fair share of people of different races in her time working at the saloon, and besides, it'd be hypocritical of her to find racial diversity strange, considering that Isadora was half-Mexican herself. Charles O'Malley entered shortly after, clad in a suit. If the rumors were to be believed, he'd been a big-time slave owner before the war. Now, she knew that he loaned out money to people, and that he was notoriously brutal towards people who didn't repay their loans on time. He asked for champagne in a slow Southern drawl, and Isadora almost went over to help him, but Joshua beat her to it. Other people filtered in, some of whom Isadora didn't recall ever seeing before. She put down the rag she had been using to wipe down tables and brought drinks to the patrons, her periwinkle-colored skirts swishing around her ankles as she walked.
One of the other waitresses, Sophie, sidled up to Isadora as she returned to the area behind the bar to get more drinks. "Whatcha' doing, Isa? Any of the people from outta town look 'specially interesting to you?"
Isadora turned to face the blonde waitress, an easy grin on her lips. She was fond of the other girl. The two of them had started working at Burnside at around the same time, and they had quickly formed a bond in those first years when they were stuck doing the dishes together. "There's a mean-looking fella over there, the one with the scar. Whaddya think of him?"
Sophie's gaze flitted over to the man. "Oh, him? Clay just asked 'bout him, actually. Said that him and his friends stink of bad medicine or somethin' like that. I don't know. They haven't done anything to cause trouble, in any case."
"Hmm. Well, Mister Darwall's not gonna throw 'em out for just sitting there lookin' mean, I suppose," Isadora replied, shrugging. She grabbed two mugs and filled them up with beer before walking back out to the main area of the saloon and placing the mugs on a table in front of two patrons. They thanked her absentmindedly, more focused on the storytelling contest than on her or the drinks. Isadora listened in as Sheriff William recounted how he'd encountered a bounty hunter and a deserter right here in Soursprings many, many years ago. The front door opened, and two men walked in-one of them wore a hat, while the other one had long blonde hair tied in a ponytail away from his face.
Now, they're the ones that look like trouble, Isadora thought to herself, suddenly keenly aware of the blades hidden under her clothing. I shoulda' worn those sharp hairpins too. Elena says they're real handy if you don't got scissors with you. I don't see how they wouldn't be real handy in stabbin' some fella's eyes out either. Isadora couldn't say that she'd seen very much trouble in her days-in fact, most of the time it was pretty quiet in the saloon, despite what one might think-but she'd seen enough to recognize the signs of it. She cast a quick glance at the owner of the saloon, who appeared to be completely unworried by the new arrivals. Instead, he was paying rapt attention to Sheriff William's story. Isadora sighed and shook her head slightly, pouring another drink. She smiled politely at the man who'd ordered it and placed it on the table he was sitting behind.
Since most of the patrons were paying more attention to Sheriff William and his story than to their drinks, Isadora took a small break and set down her tray, leaning back against the counter next to Sophie. She turned to the other girl, eyes sparkling mischievously. "So, didja' hear?" she whispered conspiratorially. "The general store owner's wife, Sue. The one who taught me and Maria and Rosa how to embroider, the one who came over from the East. Y'know what she did?"
Sophie furrowed her brow in confusion. "No, I sure don't. What happened?"
Isadora grinned wickedy. "She found out her husband was cheatin' on her with some other woman for ten years. He cut it off a year ago, but that don't mean Sue wasn't damn furious when she realized."
Sophie's blue eyes widened. "No. Dear god, Isa, how'd she know?"
"To hear her neighbor Eliza tell it, she'd been goin' through old papers and stumbled upon a coupla' love letters. The latest one was from 1881 or so, and the earliest from just after the war ended." Isadora felt a small surge of delight at Sophie's shocked expression.
"And Sue talked to her husband about it?" Sophie asked.
Isadora nodded. "You betcha'. She stormed right on over to where he was helpin' out some customers and sent all of her anger at him right then and there, in front of everybody in the store." An angry Sue was a sight to behold. Red-haired and feisty, Sue was widely regarded as the true owner of the general store. She made all the important decisions and kept the books, while her husband was in charge of tending to the day-to-day affairs of the store.
Sophie let out a low whistle. "Good god, poor woman. And for ten years, no less."
"I know, bless her soul. If Elena's husband ever pulls somethin' like that on her I'll personally introduce him to Satan myself," Isadora said matter-of-factly, pushing a strand of her wavy brown hair out of her face. Sophie chuckled slightly at Isadora's comment. She opened her mouth to respond, and all the hell broke loose.
Goddammit, I knew that fella with the scar was trouble! Isadora thought as he launched himself at another patron. The saloon descended into chaos as the brawl started. Isadora rolled her eyes. "Men," she grumbled under her breath. "They're all the same-too damn prideful for their own good and always too damn drunk to do anythin' but start fights." Isadora was not overly concerned, however. If none of them drew a gun, then things would calm down pretty quickly. She noted that Joshua was calmly watching the fight, even making a few jokes here and there.
Out of the corner of her eye, Isadora saw the door open for a split second before closing again. Frowning, she almost went to investigate, but one of the dark-haired horsemen she'd noticed earlier-she couldn't recall if it was Amid or Kadir, which was strange, since she'd always had a knack for remembering names-walked up to the counter and asked the barman for another drink. His words were almost indecipherable above the racket caused by the brawl going on behind him.
Isadora leaned over the counter so she could talk to him without screaming at the top of her lungs. "I can help you out, though I'm not the barman," she offered, flashing him a teasing smile. "What would you like?" | Isadora Escalante
Alias - People who know her call her Isa
Age 22
Gender - Female
Occupation - Saloon worker
Appearance - Isadora is lightly tanned, with caramel-colored skin and warm brown eyes. She has dark, chocolate-colored hair that is naturally curly and falls in ringlets. Her thick hair ends just past her shoulder blades. Isadora is of an average height and is on the thinner side. She more often than not pulls her hair back into a high ponytail since it tends to get everywhere when left hanging loose. Isadora's hands are rough and calloused from years of scrubbing floors and washing dishes and doing the laundry. Her brown eyes are full of mirth and her lips are almost always quirked up in a playful smile.
Height - 5 feet and 5 inches
Weight - 115
Apparel - When she is not working, Isadora usually settles for a plain yet flattering dress made from linen or cotton. She favors lighter colors that go well with her skin tone and eyes/hair, especially a deep forest green that brings out her eyes. She also likes to add small ornamentation to her attire by embroidering hems and making something by herself. Isadora can also be seen in prairie skirts.
When she is working, Isadora likes to wear clothing that is brighter and more eye-catching, and on special occasions Isadora goes all-out. She likes getting all dolled up and jumps at any opportunity to wear something nice.
Weaponry - The only weapons that Isadora carries with her are a pair of plain, unadorned daggers-one is usually in the bodice of her dress, and the other one is concealed underneath her skirts. She decided when she first began working that it would be prudent to have some sort of weaponry with her in the case of more...unsavory patrons.
Equipment - Isadora usually carries a couple of needles and a bit of thread with her, as well as a scrap of cloth and a couple of plain hairpins that she typically ends up using to tie her hair back and to keep her curls out of her face. She also will have a couple of coins with her, just in case of an emergency.
Skills -
*Isadora is an expert in mending clothing, from silk dresses to roughspun aprons. She has plenty of experience with a needle and thread as well, and has a penchant for embroidery, although she does not frequently embroider due to her current circumstances
*Isadora grew up helping her oldest sister cook for three younger siblings and a handicapped mother. She can whip out a meal from anything and everything, granted that you don't mind the taste of it too much
*Some may call her sneaky, but Isadora thinks of it as having a "good sense of hearing". Isadora is a big eavesdropper and is quite skilled at remembering important tidbits of information and random rumors that she hears on the streets
*Isadora is able to clean and do laundry fairly well
*Although Isadora doesn't look like much at a first glance, she's quick and light on her feet-even in floor-length skirts
*One of Isadora's favorite past-times is dancing; not ballroom dancing, but spontaneous dances with fast music and faster steps.
Flaws -
*Despite what she might say, Isadora is downright nosy. Not only that, she is a gossip who couldn't keep her mouth shut if her life depended on it
*Isadora is rash and can be hot-tempered when provoked
*Isadora has never learned to ride a horse or shoot a gun properly. Her general knowledge of firearms amounts to "point the barrel away from you and press the trigger"
*Isadora is flighty and tends to have a very short attention span. People have also characterized her as "frivolous" and "shallow"
*Isadora hates being told what to do when it comes to her personal life. She can be headstrong and unyielding if she has set her mind on something, even if she sees how the other side could be logical
Personality - Isadora is generally an outgoing and friendly person. She always has a bright smile or cheerful greeting for people she knows. She can be rather impulsive and doesn't always think things through. Isadora lives life in the moment and would rather focus on the present than anticipate the future or brood on the past. She is lively and vivacious-she lives to laugh and loves to live. Isadora is quick to anger but she is also quick to forgive and forget, and she firmly believes that life is much too short to hold petty grudges. Isadora has a knack for remembering everything she hears, especially anything that she deems especially important. She is also quite the conversationalist, willing to talk to anyone and everyone-and she just can't seem to keep her big mouth shut. Isadora is an avid gossiper and knows the dirt on seemingly everyone in town, and she's not afraid to share the information she knows. Isadora can be witty and playfully teasing and even flirtatious and coy if the situation calls for it. Isadora is headstrong and willful and hates being told what to do when it comes to matters that concern her personal life, much to the vexation of her mother and older sister. She is perceptive and good at guessing the thoughts, feelings, and intentions of others, and Isadora is keenly aware of her surroundings.
At the core of her personality, Isadora is ferociously loyal to her family and friends. She may be blabbing about Jane cheating on John for all to hear, but you will never hear a word from her about her own mother and siblings if she doesn't want to talk about them.
Backstory - Isadora was born and raised in Soursprings. She has never been beyond five miles of the town. Her mother, Rita, was married to a white man who abandoned her not long after Isadora was born. Rita herself was born in Soursprings, although both of her parents were born in Mexico. Isadora never even got her father's name out of her mother, although according to her older sister who still vaguely remembered their father-Elena-he had blonde hair and brown eyes. Rita would always dismiss questions about her first husband with an impatient gesture and a "don't-you-have-anything-better-to-do?" glare. Rita married Manuel Escalante when Isadora was three, and Isadora soon had three younger siblings-twins Maria and Rosa, followed by Carlos. Unfortunately, Manuel died of a heart attack when Isadora was ten, and Rita succumbed to an unknown illness that left her crippled and unable to walk a year after Manuel died. It fell to fifteen-year-old Elena and eleven-year-old Isadora to raise their siblings.
Elena had always been the dutiful and obedient sibling. Isadora, on the other hand, was willful and wild. When they were younger, while Elena brushed her hair properly and followed all the rules like a proper young lady, Isadora was running through town barefoot with dirt streaked across her face and smashing the rules to pieces. After Rita fell ill, however, Isadora cleaned up her act. The Escalantes were far from wealthy, and with Manuel dead and Rita crippled, they had no steady income coming in. Rita took on whatever odd jobs she could to bring in some money. Elena herself soon got a job and spent most of her time working. Isadora, who was still too young to be hired, began to take over the household chores. She cooked, cleaned, and did laundry while yelling across the street for Maria and Rosa to "leave the poor horse alone, for Chrissake!".
It was not until Isadora was around fourteen or fifteen that she began to work herself. She very quickly found a job in the local saloon-Burnside-owned by a certain Joshua Darwall. At first, she was stuck in the kitchens washing dishes and scrubbing floors, but as she grew older Isadora was allowed to work in the dining area. That was when she became more conscious of her general appearance and began to take after Elena in her concern for her clothing. Isadora differed from Elena in that she found most of the "acceptable" clothing for her age and gender much too stuffy and boring. She was always looking for ways to spice things up a little, and she even managed to get the wife of the owner of the general store to teach her some basic embroidery.
The saloon was a whole new experience for Isadora. She had grown up living in a ramshackle house with cramped rooms and chaotic clutter and young children always underfoot. In the saloon, Isadora was faced for the first time with a sense of order. Isadora enjoyed working in the saloon-even if she did have to scrub floors and wash dishes and wipe down furniture, at least she could do it without small children running around willy nilly and getting in the way-and she especially enjoyed listening to random snatches of conversation as she poured drinks and collected empty glasses. She silently listened to stories of the fantastical and the mundane and the morbid, filing away anything particularly noteworthy for the future. She listened to soldiers talking about the war, young women discussing the latest fashions from England, deputies and sheriffs recounting feats of extreme daring and courage and farmers predicting how good the harvest would be for the upcoming year. Isadora listened and remembered, and if there was a subject that was of a special interest to her, she would sometimes interject with a few sentences herself.
In the last couple of years, Isadora has begun to converse with patrons a lot more, and the people in town know to go to Burnside if they want to catch up on the latest news. The saying goes that if Joshua Darwall doesn't know, Isa will be happy to help. Indeed, Isadora may know much and more about matters of actual importance, but she always enjoys regaling listeners with tales of how Mary had been cheating on her husband Joe for ten years with a man who lived in Chicago, or how Sue and Beth are no longer friends because Sue made a snide remark about Beth's expensive brand-new dress imported from New York.
Recently, Elena and Rita have been getting on Isadora's case about marrying a suitable man and settling down as well, especially after Elena married the older brother of a family friend-Pablo-and moved in with him. Isadora scoffs at that. She certainly has not had a lack of suitors with her infectious laugh and lively eyes, but Isadora is by no means ready to get married and have children. She would rather have a taste of everything before deciding, so to speak. |
7,012 | 194 | 14 | 2,529 | 75 | Thomas slowly approached the bar, At the time when he was close enough to hear the fight prevailing inside, flinched.
"Certainly life in this city should be interesting", he thought while tying his horse to the sloop stood beside the inn . He saw that one of the participants fight fled and stood at the entrance smoking cigar, he looked like some kind of merchant. Close to him two persons were talking to each other, one of them looked like chinese, the other person was certainly woman. Thomas had nothing to Chinese people. McCree decided that he will approach him and check on what he sells there. He began to walk , and after a while saw that the man apparently sells cigars. Well, in the end one cigar doesn't make me a smoker" he thought . He spoke to the peddler , "Hello, how are today's sale? I'd be happy to buy something from You. It seems that you sell cigars. How much money one of them cost?". While waiting for the respond he peeked thought saloon window, inside the brawl was raging on. One of the brawlers just smashed bootle into another's one head, Second one almost thrown one of fighters throught the window. "I will certainly don't enter there". "So, what's the price?" | Joshua Darwall
Alias - The Magpie, The Dynamite Dancer.
Age - 33
Gender - Male
Occupation - Saloon Owner
Appearance -
A normally built man, Joshua has an almost completely faded scar from his left ear to the left corner of his mouth, apart from that the picture sums him up well, just tone down the moustache and add a bit more hair on his head. His trousers are a clean navy blue and he normally wears rather clean and fancy shoes.
Height - Six foot one.
Weight - Twelve stone.
Apparel - The picture sums it up, just replace the apron with a clean navy blue duster coat that is a little too big for him whenever he goes out.
Weaponry - One Colt Walker and a Burnside Carbine.
Equipment - A horse drawn wagon, one hip flask normally filled with a whiskey of some sort, a dowsing stick, two one-litre canteens of water, a wallet with the equivalent of fifty quid in it, normally the odd stick of dynamite on him and camping equipment on the wagon for three people.
Skills - A decent shot with only his Colt Walker and Burnside Carbine, a talented barroom brawler, expert in explosives and a decent cook.
Flaws - Bit too accepting of strangers, sometimes hard to understand with his odd blend of a Texan and British Northern accent, he cannot speak any other language but English, quite stubborn and not too fond of any government official above the sheriffs. He also averagely strong, not the most agile of people either.
Personality - He is incredibly intolerant of innocent people being put in danger and of guns being used indoors. Joshua has a very strong connection with his family's rules: No one uses a gun indoors and no one harms innocent people when he's around. However he is tolerant of newcomers making a show of dominance and good gestures to help, always willing to help the odd local of Soursprings with advice, shelter or a good drink.
Being well versed in travelling large areas of the world excluding America Joshua tends to tell newer patrons of his global travels, of the sights he has seen with a smug smile and a lot of time to spare. He tends to jot down rumors off passing patrons, spreading a few to the next patron on the way, he normally gives discounts if he hears good tales and stories. Or in exchange for interesting trinkets he will gladly accept them as substitutes to paying with money.
Backstory - Mister Darwall is from a family of pub owners in Liverpool, his kind and reasonably generous family taught him personally everything he knew, from his formal education to how to run a drinking establishment. Their family pub was failing but there was a new opportunity in the brewing industry, after his family decided to take the opportunity Joshua decided to set off to find somewhere new to settle at the age of 23, wanting to run and own a drinking establishment, not file paperwork for the rest of his life for an infinitely more dull brewery.
After ten years of searching a large chunk the world for a suitable home Joshua settled on Soursprings, taking over the saloon formerly known as the Dry Drinks he decided to refurbish his new home and workplace, calling it the Burnside after the rifle he was given by the old owner shortly after he died. Ever since Joshua has hired five other members of staff to help him run a rather successful saloon and regales visitors and travelling wagon hands of his journey searching for a new home, most of the tales being exaggerations to give them as much flavour and variety as the drinks he stockpiled from his travels and family brewery. He still writes to his family and tries to keep a friendly relationship with them. |
7,013 | 194 | 15 | 498 | 26 | Hello, how are today's sales? I'd be happy to buy something from You. It seems that you sell cigars. How much money one of them cost?
Ellis watched casually as the newcomer hitched his horse and came closer. When he was greeted he put out his hand for a handshake. His grip was almost painfully tight. "What sales?" he chuckled. He opened the box and showed some rather fine cigars and well as chewing tobacco. "It's twenty-five cents apiece, or you can have six for only a dollar. What is your name, Sir?"
<Tag Treshan> | Ellis Braddock
Age - 42
Gender - Male
Occupation - Tobacco salesman
Height - 5'6"
Weight - 170 lbs.
Apparel - Business suit, suspenders and a vest, old Union uniform. Bowler hat, Union Kepi.
Weaponry - Sharps carbine (1867), Colt Revolver 1860 Army model. Bayonet. Bowie knife.
Equipment - Grey horse named Snodgrass. Map. Fishing net. Rations and water. Whiskey. Many cigars/chewing tobacco/pipes.
Skills - Fighting, farming.
Flaws - Stubborn, prideful, easily annoyed, smoking, drinking, PTSD, racist against Indians.
Personality - Ellis Braddock likes to smoke cigars and drink whiskey. He keeps his emotions to himself and expects the same of others. He is stubborn and prideful, and doesn't tolerate insolence or rudeness. He likes wilderness and towns equally. To most people he seems stiff and humorless.
Ellis believes in suffrage for black men if not equal rights. This is largely because he wants to think that something good came from the war. He is, however, racist against Indians due to his time fighting them and the cultural differences. He is a Christian, but doesn't talk much about religion or go to church enough. He is a moderate Republican, and bears a strong grudge against the South and Democrats because of the war. He enjoys a good political debate, but few enjoy debating with him. He suffers from post-traumatic-stress disorder due to the many battles he has fought in.
Backstory - Ellis Braddock was raised on a farm in Ohio. In 1861, at the age of 22, he volunteered to serve in the Union Army in the Civil War. He served in many engagements, including the Battle of Chickamauga. At Chickamauga he served under General Thomas who held out a stubborn rearguard defense of Snodgrass Hill. After the war he remained in the army, serving in the Indian Wars. In 1874, he retired from the military and moved out west. He has bounced from town to town as a travelling tobacco salesman, as well as occasionally a hired gun. He has made a decent amount of wealth, but still travels constantly to keep his mind off of his bloody past. He has owned his horse for three years, and named it Snodgrass after the hill where he fought at Chickamauga. |
7,014 | 194 | 16 | 991 | 1,970 | The ruckus continued as both the lawmen watched it unfold. William let out a deep sigh as he stood away from it, watchful for anyone that used a weapon. Fists and thrown chairs were one thing, but if a dagger or gun were drawn then there was a greater chance of a life being taken. Luckily he did not see any of the brawlers make that decision, just honest punches and kicks.
"These things tend to die quickly, son. Just watch if any of these drunks go beyond throwing punches." William exclaimed as a man was thrown to the ground to his left. Well if anyone decided to go after him or his kid then he'd be able to chuck them in the brig. Towards one side of the room the two strangers, Foster and Owen, had smirks on their faces. Owen had taken a right hook to the nose, and a bit of blood was leaking but it wasn't too bad. The situation was going just as they wanted.
As the fight dragged on noise came from outside the saloon. Horace sprinted out of a doorway, over one of his shoulders was a linen bag full of something. Guns, ammo, money, alcohol, tobacco, whatever valuable he had just gotten from the store he robbed. The sheriff's office had one deputy in it, some old fellow napping on the job. The robbed storekeeper had emerged a moment after Horace, a rifle in his hand.
"Ay! Stop that man, he just robbed my stock. Gonna give him a licking." The shopkeeper yelled, then rose his rifle up and aimed it towards Horace, the criminal kicking up dust with every boot that hit the ground. He squeezed the trigger and a bullet blasted out of the gun, it slammed into the ground just behind the thief. The gunshot drew the attention of everyone in the area, including many in the bar sober enough to realize it.
"Sheriff, someone robbed Smith's store! Look there!" Billy the pianist exclaimed as he pointed out one of the windows. Horace was still booking it away from the store as the shopkeeper fired another shot which went wide. The outlaw had drawn his revolver and returned fire as he ran, one of the two shots he fired had impacted into Smith's knee and sent him to the ground in pain. Horace kept on foot as townsfolk stared in surprise and shock.
William drew his own handgun and took one step towards the door, but another bullet rang out, this time from inside the saloon. The shard of metal slammed into the lawman's hand and exploded out the other side. William let out a scream and a loud profanity as his hand was punctured and his weapon bounced across the floor, far out of reach. He went down in pain, as blood oozed from the wound.
Foster's drawn revolver smoked as he watched the sheriff go down. Owen had dashed towards the back of the room and flipped over a table. He too had his piece drawn and cocked. As Foster aimed to fire another shot at William, and finish the elder lawman, a shot impacted inches away from his neck. It splintered the wood as Clayton Beck aimed towards his father's assailant, a look of intense rage on his face.
"Everyone, clear out of here! We got outlaws in Soursprings!" Clayton screamed as he squeezed the trigger of his iron once more. This time his shot made contact with Foster who yelped out in shock as he was hit in the left shoulder. The outlaw went to the floor behind an overturned table as Clayton fired another shot which sprang up more wood splinters but no blood. Many of the bar's patrons made for the exit, others laid on the floor with their hands over their heads.
"Owen, get outta here, go help Horace! Dewey you drunk fuck, kill that fucking kid!" Foster ordered from his position, Owen did as was ordered and launched himself out a nearby window. He landed in a heap of glass outside of the saloon but was one his feet as he sprinted after Horace who turned down an alleyway. The scarred Dewey and his three friends had drawn their pieces and taken cover around the saloon. One of them rose up and fired at the deputy.
Clayton grunted as he felt intense pain in his right leg. He had gotten nailed and it stung like nothing he'd ever felt before. He charged towards the bar and launched himself over it, glasses tumbled all over the place as he inadvertently knocked them off the counter. He clenched his revolver, his back to the thugs as they were zeroed in on him. Two bullets zinged over the bar and missed everything. He had his hands over his head as the situation continued to spiral out of control.
Total chaos continued outside of the saloon. Rio and Dillard emerged from the front entrance of the bank, each man with a bag of loot in one hand, and their revolver in the other. They rushed towards their horses as sweat poured down their faces. Inside the bank laid two dead townsfolk that tried to jump the bank-robbers. The bank teller was in tears at the carnage of it all. Behind the saloon a drawn carriage's cargo was revealed as the flap of fabric covering it was pushed away, five men emerged. Each one carried a revolver, several of them with their faces covered. They were more of the outlaws' assembled thugs.
The group rushed in through the back door of the saloon. In an instance they poured in from the back of the bar room. Three knocked over a large table then tucked behind it, one more stayed in the back doorway, and the fifth ducked low as he aimed to get the jump on poor Clayton. All of the outlaw's eyes were on the lawmen, there was opportunity for heroic civilians to help fend them off.
(Summary) | Clayton Beck
Alias - N/A
Age - 22
Gender - Male
Occupation - Deputy of Soursprings
Appearance - Clayton is a lean, clean shaven man. His brown hair is cut short and combed to one side. He appears younger than he actually is, often getting mistaken for a teenager. He's in decent shape with hints of muscles along his frame.
Height - 5'11 (180.34 cms)
Weight - 148 pounds
Apparel - Clayton typically wears a longsleeved white collared shirt, over that he wears a black vest. On colder days he'll wear a tan colored jacket. On the lower part of his body he wears black slacks and dark brown boots. To top it all off he often wears a dark brown cowboy hat which used to be his grandfather's.
Weaponry - Clayton carries a Model 1875 revolver, holstered on his hip. On his back is a sling for his Model 1873 lever action rifle. As a last ditch defense he carries a hunting knife on his belt.
Equipment - Clayton carries a leather two liter canteen of water, an old compass, a leather wallet with some money and a few scraps of cooked meat. He also has a dark grey horse named Archie.
Skills -
Clayton is a trained, talented shot with rifles and revolvers.
He's a decent hand to hand combatant, while not anything extraordinary he has been in fights in the past and can hold his own.
Clayton is pretty agile and quick, he can run for a decent period of time without getting exhausted.
Flaws -
Clayton is very weary of outsiders to Soursprings, he's spent his entire life in the town and has seen visitors to it cause trouble before. It's hard for him to trust anyone not from his hometown.
He doesn't know much of life outside of Soursprings, only has heard tales of it, some that frighten him.
He's never killed a person before, or even shot one with intent to kill.
His strong sense of justice and righteousness can get in the way, if he sees something that offends this sense then it is very hard for him to ignore it.
Personality - Clayton Beck embodies his father in many regards, who is the sheriff of Soursprings. He has a strong moral compass, often doing what he sees as right. He's very loyal to friends and family as well as the people of his town. He'll do almost anything to protect those close to him. He's naturally friendly to others and is well mannered. To strangers he appears shy and watchful, careful to make a good first impression and ensure they do the same for him.
He despises people that rob, steal, murder and commit other terrible crimes. 'Outlaws' are a type of people that he wholly disagrees with and will try his damned best to bring to justice. He hasn't really set foot outside of Soursprings, outside of a few hunting trips into the wilderness, he doesn't really know the world outside of his little town. He tries not to speak much of the 'outside world', often turning into a listener if the conversation goes in that direction.
Backstory - Clayton was born in the town of Soursprings, his family having routes in the place, with a supposed hand in its creation. He was named after his great grandfather who fought in the Revolutionary War. He was born to a small family, having one sister, Ethel, five years his junior. His mother died when he was eight, leaving his father William as his sole caretaker. The young Clayton has to take a more active way in keeping the household together, having to care for his sister when his father was away.
His early life was pretty quiet in Soursprings, there was not a lot to do other than working. There was a small school in the town which he went to for a few years, after that he got a job working on a farm near town. It was hard, laborious work that didn’t pay very much but his father encouraged. it He was also taught how to use guns during this time, occasionally going on hunting trips. It was during this time that William became the town sheriff after the previous one died. It was an easy job for the most part, there wasn’t very much crime other than the occasional brawl or drunkards misbehaving.
He began to raise his son to one day take the job from him, making him a deputy at the age of sixteen. William tried his best to instill good values in Clayton which reflected in the job. For the most part it was easy going for Clayton, the people knew him and respected him, the only trouble he ever encountered was with outsiders. One notable incident involving him on the receiving end of some punches after he had to break up a fight which sprawled into the streets. Those in the brawl were ordered out of Soursprings. Clayton has kept quiet since then as he’s watched people enter and leave Soursprings. |
7,015 | 194 | 17 | 498 | 26 | Ellis saw the thief emerge from the store across the way. He tucked the cigar box in his coat and drew his old army revolver. He stepped around his potential customer and took careful aim on the running man. He squeezed the trigger six times, sending a bunch of hot lead at Horace. To Ellis it was as matter-of-fact as tying his shoes, the look on his face did not change. Then he heard shots behind him in the bar, and he thought more shots somewhere else in town. Clearly the robbery was not an isolated incident. Ellis spit out his fresh cigar and turned away from his target, walking to one of the windows of the saloon. He crouched and looked through the shattered glass and saw the wounded sheriff. He sat down with his back to the wall and reloaded his six-shooter. Then he rose just enough to peek his head over the wall. Steadying his hands on the windowsill, he took aim on several of the criminals that he could see. He squeezed off two rounds then paused to assess the situation. He took aim on another one and fired two more rounds. | Ellis Braddock
Age - 42
Gender - Male
Occupation - Tobacco salesman
Height - 5'6"
Weight - 170 lbs.
Apparel - Business suit, suspenders and a vest, old Union uniform. Bowler hat, Union Kepi.
Weaponry - Sharps carbine (1867), Colt Revolver 1860 Army model. Bayonet. Bowie knife.
Equipment - Grey horse named Snodgrass. Map. Fishing net. Rations and water. Whiskey. Many cigars/chewing tobacco/pipes.
Skills - Fighting, farming.
Flaws - Stubborn, prideful, easily annoyed, smoking, drinking, PTSD, racist against Indians.
Personality - Ellis Braddock likes to smoke cigars and drink whiskey. He keeps his emotions to himself and expects the same of others. He is stubborn and prideful, and doesn't tolerate insolence or rudeness. He likes wilderness and towns equally. To most people he seems stiff and humorless.
Ellis believes in suffrage for black men if not equal rights. This is largely because he wants to think that something good came from the war. He is, however, racist against Indians due to his time fighting them and the cultural differences. He is a Christian, but doesn't talk much about religion or go to church enough. He is a moderate Republican, and bears a strong grudge against the South and Democrats because of the war. He enjoys a good political debate, but few enjoy debating with him. He suffers from post-traumatic-stress disorder due to the many battles he has fought in.
Backstory - Ellis Braddock was raised on a farm in Ohio. In 1861, at the age of 22, he volunteered to serve in the Union Army in the Civil War. He served in many engagements, including the Battle of Chickamauga. At Chickamauga he served under General Thomas who held out a stubborn rearguard defense of Snodgrass Hill. After the war he remained in the army, serving in the Indian Wars. In 1874, he retired from the military and moved out west. He has bounced from town to town as a travelling tobacco salesman, as well as occasionally a hired gun. He has made a decent amount of wealth, but still travels constantly to keep his mind off of his bloody past. He has owned his horse for three years, and named it Snodgrass after the hill where he fought at Chickamauga. |
7,016 | 194 | 18 | 2,119 | 866 | A typical trip into town. A typical stop in the general store, and a typical journey home. There would be no drama, no violence, and she could be home before sundown. That was what Kizzy Cottman had assured herself would take place, and she sincerely hoped would take place. But nothing had been typical since Landon had been shot, and on occasion, she wondered if anything ever would. That afternoon, it seemed, was no exception.
"Miss Cottman!" the shopkeep had greeted with a nod and a grin. He might have waved as well, had his hands not been otherwise occupied. In short, practiced motions, the man shuffled paper from one pile to another, mentally noting totals even as he continued to speak. "Allers a pleasure to see you, ma'am."
His enthusiasm, though endearing, was not returned. "Afternoon," Kizzy answered simply, fingertips politely kissing the brim of her hat before she tugged it off. Even in a mere shop, she had been raised better than to parade about with her head covered.
"What brings you in today?" he continued cheerfully.
"Just need some sugar."
"Doing some baking?"
Kizzy paused, her hand hovering over a small bag as she mused over his words. What, pray tell, would be another use for sugar? But the woman bit back the retort. He was a good man, and she would be wrong to take out her anger on him. It just is not a good time.
There was no time for her comment, even if she had chosen to say it. A man who had previously lurked in the back suddenly raced by, a cloth bag laden with goods over his shoulder. His motions were unusual, she noted with some urgency, as she nearly toppled as he shoved past her. What excuse did he have for such behavior? Her first thought was a robbery, and the shopkeep's subsequent shouts confirmed her suspicions.
Her own shopping list was forgotten as she lunged after the man. Her boots thudded dully across the wood floor, and then the creaking porch, and finally the hard-packed, dusty street. But it was not until the blonde burst into the center of town that she realized the gravity of the situation. Men and women ran all about, their paths criss-crossing and apparently random, a sure sign of panic. Shouts carried from numerous buildings, accompanied by the familiar thunder of guns being fired. Immediately, her hand dropped to her own pistol.
So much for a typical day. But in Soursprings, what did she expect? | Kizzie Cottman
Age - 35
Gender - Female
Occupation - Ranch Owner
Appearance - Kizzie's once round, soft features have grown hard. Lines of worry and exhaustion line her leathery face, and crows-feet spread from her blue eyes from squinting into the sun.
Height - Five Foot, Four Inches
Weight - 130 Pounds
Apparel - Always opting for comfort and durability over what is deemed appropriate, Kizzie's attire consists of slacks, boots, a collared shirt, and a vest. Much of what she wears once belonged to her husband. When appearances are a more pressing issue, she will wear the more acceptable riding skirt, or one of her few cotton dresses.
Weaponry - Kizzie carries her late husband's Kerr's Patent Revolver, a five-shot single-action weapon that he was issued during his time in the war. Back on the ranch, she also has a hunting rifle and a series of knives.
Equipment - Kizzie's mount is a buckskin mare named Windsor, who she nicknamed "Winny."
Skills -
Kizzie is an excellent shot. She and her husband often resorted to target practice when they needed a get-away from the demands of working on the ranch. After his death, she practiced religiously, growing especially skilled with his revolver.
After growing up around ranches, and eventually owning her own, Kizzie is an excellent horsewoman. Her skills are not limited to the saddle - she is perfectly capable when it comes to grooming, training, and general care. She also knows her way around cattle.
In the beginning, the ranch she shared with her husband was a pet project. After his death, she was forced to learn the ropes very quickly. As such, Kizzie has grown to be a skilled businesswoman. She knows what she needs, and how to get it.
Flaws -
The passing of her husband has left Kizzie a shell of the woman she once was. She has grown inverted, and moody, leaving a very bad taste in the mouths of those who knew her her whole life.
Forced with so many unexpected challenges, Kizzie has decided that she will never depend on anyone again. She is independent, sometimes painfully so, and refuses any sort of help.
Due to the nature of her husband's murder, Kizzie finds herself acting rashly when it comes to bounty hunters, sheriffs, or matters of death.
Personality - Once, the woman was a bundle of positive light and energy. She was kind to animals and humans alike, and she possessed a sense of humor that made everyone gravitate toward her. Because she grew up in town, the regulars were fortunate enough to watch her blossom into a lovable young lady. Even when her husband was away at war, she remained upbeat.
With his death, everything changed. Kizzie grew angry, lashing out at those around her. Most citizens of Soursprings felt for her, giving her space and understanding. But the years passed, and they realized that she would never return to the woman she once was. She hardly smiles, and prefers to keep to herself when possible. Her humor, on the rare occasion that it surfaces, is dry. Kizzie is intelligent, and will speak her mind when promoted. Her fuse is short and her temper is deadly, especially in matters concerning law, or her husband.
Backstory - Little Kizzie Braxton was a favorite among the people of Soursprings. With her mop of curly golden hair, and big, shimmering blue eyes, most doted upon her from an early age. After time, her good naturedness made her many friends. Eventually, it also found her a soulmate. She and Landon Cottman grew up together, and as they often did, their young friendship blossomed into something more. The pair was married at the ripe age of 17. Shortly after, Landon ventured off to join the Confederate cavalry. Though she worried about him terribly, the young lovers were reunited only a few years later. To celebrate their good fortune, Landon purchased a piece of land only a short ride from town. Together, they built a house, a barn, and a life.
The pair faced many hardships over the next decade. Kizzie's father, a shop owner in Soursprings, fell ill. Just as her mother had twenty years before, he slipped away in his sleep. Landon's mother and father, determining that business was better elsewhere, had moved across the state. Though they wrote often, their absence meant that Kizzie and Landon were entirely on their own. Despite all of this, they made the best of what they had.
The world was turned on its head one evening in November of 1878. On a routine trip into town, Landon had been shot in the back by a young, trigger-happy bounty hunter. The man had mistaken Landon for his intended target, and after realizing his error, he had fled town. The death of one-half of the Cottman sweethearts had left Soursprings stunned. A period of intense searching followed, but to no avail. Kizzie, who had been inconsolable throughout, believed that the sheriff had not done enough to bring her husband's killer to justice, and she would hold onto that opinion for the next five years. When the mourning period passed, and the people returned to their normal lives, Kizzie was left to pick up the pieces. She managed a sizable head of cattle, and looked after a small herd of horses, entirely on her own. And she never lost the desire to deal the punishment that her husband's killer had dodged. |
7,017 | 194 | 19 | 239 | 1,654 | Isadora stood off to the side as the chaos unfolded, not particularly keen on the idea of getting involved. "Too many men and too much alcohol," she muttered under her breath. Neither the sheriff nor the deputy seemed to be overly concerned either, although Isadora noted that they were watching the fighting carefully. Lookin' out for weapons being drawn, I'd reckon, Isadora mused silently. That's just as well, I suppose. Don't want anyone shootin' up the place here, now do we?
Soon enough, Sophie joined Isadora behind the bar counter. She leaned forward, redoing her long blonde ponytail before resting her elbows and on the polished wood. "How come you never see women getting into these brawls?" Sophie drawled, a hint of dry humor lacing her voice.
Isadora laughed. "Because we've got more sense than the whole lot of 'em," Isadora replied, making a vague gesture towards the main seating area of the saloon, where the fight raged on. "Jesus Christ, Soph, do you have any idea what even started this entire fucking thing? The man with the scar only tried to hit one guy, and suddenly everyone's tryin' to kill each other."
Sophie clicked her tongue. "Men," she answered. "You never know with goddamn men."
A sharp, sudden sound turned Isadora's attention towards outside of the saloon. "Sheriff, someone robbed Smith's store! Look there!" Billy cried out, sitting at his piano and gesturing towards the window.
"Someone's got a gun out there!" Sophie exclaimed, her sky-blue eyes as round as the moon. Isadora jumped out from behind the bar, intent on going outside to investigate, when another shot rang out. The sheriff let out a cry of pain and cursed, and Isadora's eyes widened as he fell to the ground with blood oozing from his hand. Isadora looked around wildly and spotted a man with a hat pulled down low over his face holding a gun, and a split second later she caught sight of another gun-this time in the hands of a man with long blonde hair pulled back from his face in a ponytail.
Shit. I saw 'em walk in earlier, didn't I?! Isadora recalled frantically. Isadora's train of thought was abruptly cut short when a third gunshot sounded, this time from the deputy's firearm. Isadora let out a startled shriek as Clayton's bullet struck the man in the hat, causing him to collapse and join the sheriff on the ground. Isadora crouched down behind the bar counter with Sophie, breathing heavily. She vaguely remembered Clay's shout-Did he say outlaws? Dear god, I think he did!
One of the outlaws screamed out an order, and Isadora heard a window shatter from the front of the saloon. Her heart was racing, and Isadora realized that she was pressing her nails into her palms hard enough to draw blood. Yet another gunshot rang out, and it was followed by shards of glass raining down around Isadora and Sophie while the deputy launched himself over the bar counter and landed behind it, just a foot away from where the two young women. Isadora saw blood leaking from a bullet wound he had taken to the leg. Bullets flew over the bar counter, and Isadora yelped and shielded her face with her hands.
There was a commotion from the back of the saloon. Isadora glimpsed more men-obviously from out of town-rushing in and taking aim at Clayton. "Jesus Christ," Isadora said in a breathless, panicked voice. She reached under her skirts for the dagger she kept concealed in a small pocket sewn onto the inside of her underskirts. Isadora's fingers closed around the hilt and pulled the blade out from under the cloth, her fingers clutching it tightly. Her hand was shaking uncontrollably, and for a second she was afraid that she'd accidentally cut herself. Isadora took a breath and pulled out her other dagger as well, pressing the hilt into Sophie's trembling hands.
"Isa? What am I supposed to do with this?" Sophie whispered, staring at the man who had a gun aimed at Clayton.
Isadora shook her head. "I don't know, Soph. I have no idea. It's better than nothing, though," she replied shakily. Never had Isadora felt so helpless. Outlaws. Outlaws, here in Soursprings! What in the world are we gonna do? Isadora thought. Would they try to hurt her mother or Elena or her siblings? What about Elena's husband? None of my family has done anythin' wrong. None of the people who live here have done anythin' wrong. Why can't the outlaws just leave us alone? Isadora wondered desperately. She swallowed hard, and suddenly there was anger swirling around her gut, clawing its way up her throat and into her mouth. Nobody here has fuckin' done anythin' to anyone. We just want to be left alone. Is that too damn much to ask?
Unfortunately, it did not seem like any of the outlaws would be especially open to giving Isadora an honest answer to her questions, considering the fact that they had guns drawn and aimed at the deputy, who was on the ground a mere foot away from her. Isadora was paralyzed with fear, her eyes glued to the barrel of the gun pointed directly at Clayton. Dear lord, what are we gonna do? | Isadora Escalante
Alias - People who know her call her Isa
Age 22
Gender - Female
Occupation - Saloon worker
Appearance - Isadora is lightly tanned, with caramel-colored skin and warm brown eyes. She has dark, chocolate-colored hair that is naturally curly and falls in ringlets. Her thick hair ends just past her shoulder blades. Isadora is of an average height and is on the thinner side. She more often than not pulls her hair back into a high ponytail since it tends to get everywhere when left hanging loose. Isadora's hands are rough and calloused from years of scrubbing floors and washing dishes and doing the laundry. Her brown eyes are full of mirth and her lips are almost always quirked up in a playful smile.
Height - 5 feet and 5 inches
Weight - 115
Apparel - When she is not working, Isadora usually settles for a plain yet flattering dress made from linen or cotton. She favors lighter colors that go well with her skin tone and eyes/hair, especially a deep forest green that brings out her eyes. She also likes to add small ornamentation to her attire by embroidering hems and making something by herself. Isadora can also be seen in prairie skirts.
When she is working, Isadora likes to wear clothing that is brighter and more eye-catching, and on special occasions Isadora goes all-out. She likes getting all dolled up and jumps at any opportunity to wear something nice.
Weaponry - The only weapons that Isadora carries with her are a pair of plain, unadorned daggers-one is usually in the bodice of her dress, and the other one is concealed underneath her skirts. She decided when she first began working that it would be prudent to have some sort of weaponry with her in the case of more...unsavory patrons.
Equipment - Isadora usually carries a couple of needles and a bit of thread with her, as well as a scrap of cloth and a couple of plain hairpins that she typically ends up using to tie her hair back and to keep her curls out of her face. She also will have a couple of coins with her, just in case of an emergency.
Skills -
*Isadora is an expert in mending clothing, from silk dresses to roughspun aprons. She has plenty of experience with a needle and thread as well, and has a penchant for embroidery, although she does not frequently embroider due to her current circumstances
*Isadora grew up helping her oldest sister cook for three younger siblings and a handicapped mother. She can whip out a meal from anything and everything, granted that you don't mind the taste of it too much
*Some may call her sneaky, but Isadora thinks of it as having a "good sense of hearing". Isadora is a big eavesdropper and is quite skilled at remembering important tidbits of information and random rumors that she hears on the streets
*Isadora is able to clean and do laundry fairly well
*Although Isadora doesn't look like much at a first glance, she's quick and light on her feet-even in floor-length skirts
*One of Isadora's favorite past-times is dancing; not ballroom dancing, but spontaneous dances with fast music and faster steps.
Flaws -
*Despite what she might say, Isadora is downright nosy. Not only that, she is a gossip who couldn't keep her mouth shut if her life depended on it
*Isadora is rash and can be hot-tempered when provoked
*Isadora has never learned to ride a horse or shoot a gun properly. Her general knowledge of firearms amounts to "point the barrel away from you and press the trigger"
*Isadora is flighty and tends to have a very short attention span. People have also characterized her as "frivolous" and "shallow"
*Isadora hates being told what to do when it comes to her personal life. She can be headstrong and unyielding if she has set her mind on something, even if she sees how the other side could be logical
Personality - Isadora is generally an outgoing and friendly person. She always has a bright smile or cheerful greeting for people she knows. She can be rather impulsive and doesn't always think things through. Isadora lives life in the moment and would rather focus on the present than anticipate the future or brood on the past. She is lively and vivacious-she lives to laugh and loves to live. Isadora is quick to anger but she is also quick to forgive and forget, and she firmly believes that life is much too short to hold petty grudges. Isadora has a knack for remembering everything she hears, especially anything that she deems especially important. She is also quite the conversationalist, willing to talk to anyone and everyone-and she just can't seem to keep her big mouth shut. Isadora is an avid gossiper and knows the dirt on seemingly everyone in town, and she's not afraid to share the information she knows. Isadora can be witty and playfully teasing and even flirtatious and coy if the situation calls for it. Isadora is headstrong and willful and hates being told what to do when it comes to matters that concern her personal life, much to the vexation of her mother and older sister. She is perceptive and good at guessing the thoughts, feelings, and intentions of others, and Isadora is keenly aware of her surroundings.
At the core of her personality, Isadora is ferociously loyal to her family and friends. She may be blabbing about Jane cheating on John for all to hear, but you will never hear a word from her about her own mother and siblings if she doesn't want to talk about them.
Backstory - Isadora was born and raised in Soursprings. She has never been beyond five miles of the town. Her mother, Rita, was married to a white man who abandoned her not long after Isadora was born. Rita herself was born in Soursprings, although both of her parents were born in Mexico. Isadora never even got her father's name out of her mother, although according to her older sister who still vaguely remembered their father-Elena-he had blonde hair and brown eyes. Rita would always dismiss questions about her first husband with an impatient gesture and a "don't-you-have-anything-better-to-do?" glare. Rita married Manuel Escalante when Isadora was three, and Isadora soon had three younger siblings-twins Maria and Rosa, followed by Carlos. Unfortunately, Manuel died of a heart attack when Isadora was ten, and Rita succumbed to an unknown illness that left her crippled and unable to walk a year after Manuel died. It fell to fifteen-year-old Elena and eleven-year-old Isadora to raise their siblings.
Elena had always been the dutiful and obedient sibling. Isadora, on the other hand, was willful and wild. When they were younger, while Elena brushed her hair properly and followed all the rules like a proper young lady, Isadora was running through town barefoot with dirt streaked across her face and smashing the rules to pieces. After Rita fell ill, however, Isadora cleaned up her act. The Escalantes were far from wealthy, and with Manuel dead and Rita crippled, they had no steady income coming in. Rita took on whatever odd jobs she could to bring in some money. Elena herself soon got a job and spent most of her time working. Isadora, who was still too young to be hired, began to take over the household chores. She cooked, cleaned, and did laundry while yelling across the street for Maria and Rosa to "leave the poor horse alone, for Chrissake!".
It was not until Isadora was around fourteen or fifteen that she began to work herself. She very quickly found a job in the local saloon-Burnside-owned by a certain Joshua Darwall. At first, she was stuck in the kitchens washing dishes and scrubbing floors, but as she grew older Isadora was allowed to work in the dining area. That was when she became more conscious of her general appearance and began to take after Elena in her concern for her clothing. Isadora differed from Elena in that she found most of the "acceptable" clothing for her age and gender much too stuffy and boring. She was always looking for ways to spice things up a little, and she even managed to get the wife of the owner of the general store to teach her some basic embroidery.
The saloon was a whole new experience for Isadora. She had grown up living in a ramshackle house with cramped rooms and chaotic clutter and young children always underfoot. In the saloon, Isadora was faced for the first time with a sense of order. Isadora enjoyed working in the saloon-even if she did have to scrub floors and wash dishes and wipe down furniture, at least she could do it without small children running around willy nilly and getting in the way-and she especially enjoyed listening to random snatches of conversation as she poured drinks and collected empty glasses. She silently listened to stories of the fantastical and the mundane and the morbid, filing away anything particularly noteworthy for the future. She listened to soldiers talking about the war, young women discussing the latest fashions from England, deputies and sheriffs recounting feats of extreme daring and courage and farmers predicting how good the harvest would be for the upcoming year. Isadora listened and remembered, and if there was a subject that was of a special interest to her, she would sometimes interject with a few sentences herself.
In the last couple of years, Isadora has begun to converse with patrons a lot more, and the people in town know to go to Burnside if they want to catch up on the latest news. The saying goes that if Joshua Darwall doesn't know, Isa will be happy to help. Indeed, Isadora may know much and more about matters of actual importance, but she always enjoys regaling listeners with tales of how Mary had been cheating on her husband Joe for ten years with a man who lived in Chicago, or how Sue and Beth are no longer friends because Sue made a snide remark about Beth's expensive brand-new dress imported from New York.
Recently, Elena and Rita have been getting on Isadora's case about marrying a suitable man and settling down as well, especially after Elena married the older brother of a family friend-Pablo-and moved in with him. Isadora scoffs at that. She certainly has not had a lack of suitors with her infectious laugh and lively eyes, but Isadora is by no means ready to get married and have children. She would rather have a taste of everything before deciding, so to speak. |
7,018 | 194 | 20 | 323 | 3,236 | Kung-Wang watched a man exit from the bar as the fight continued. He dropped his cigar on the wood decking and ground it out with his boot. Mary gave a small delicate sniff, obviously unhappy with his rude manner. Still she didn't say anything so it must not have offended her too much. Mary wasn't known for keeping a leash on her opinions. There was a moment of peace despite the ruckus going on inside. Kung-Wang took the moment to lean over and quietly speak to Mary.
"Could just head over to General Store." The Asian pointed out. But Mary tossed her head.
"No. We need information about this land and this will be the best place to get it without paying. The store keeper will charge us for information."
Kung-wang frowned. "And bar wont?" His brow furrowed.
Mary chimed a small tinkle of a laugh. "He would yes. But some of his less sober clientele might not."
The man who had ground his cigar out spoke causing both Kung-wang and Mary to step away. The two watched as the man spoke to another man. The first jumped right into a pitch about cigars. The second hadn't even finished tying off his horse to the post. Mary rolled her eyes and the Asian man struggled not to smile.
Then shouts run out down the street. From the very store Kung-Wang had just tried to convince Mary to go to. One man was fleeing with a bag strewn over his shoulder. The shopkeeper was shouting angrily, raised his gun and fired. Mary was to their horses in an instant grabbing their guns. From inside the saloon there was more yelling and gun fire. Something very bad was happening in there. Something the salesman also concluded. He shot the fleeing man with the bag before turning to the Saloon.
Kung-Wang caught the gun Mary tossed him and checked that it was still loaded. He looked up as there a commotion at the bank. He snapped the barrel shut. Mary already had her Henry rifle up against her shoulder as the two backed away from danger and around the side of the saloon.
"Seven." Mary snapped out as they crouched just out of sight. "No way in Hell we survive this. Shoot 'em only if they shoot first."
Kung-wang was more than happy to agree with those orders. Mary had grown up on a large ranch and her daddy had taken care of more than a few horse thieves and cattle rustlers. And her daddy had taught her what to do too. If she said it was stupid. It was stupid. | Huang Kung-wang* (黃公望)
"Hanley Wang"Alias - Hanley Wang
Age - 22
Gender - Male
Occupation - Former thief, Shoe Shiner, Scalper, Ruffian, Servant and now Unemployed
Height - 5'5"
Weight - 120lbs
Apparel - Kung-Wang wears traditional Chinese clothes. Or he did. He still has one outfit left but mostly he wears just a pair of trousers and a shirt (that he stole while on the run)
Weaponry - 1873 Buntline (A Henry repeating rifle used by Mary)
Equipment - Two horses, a map, a compass, Mary's jewelry, clothing, food and water.
Skills - Thievery, skulking, horsemanship, hunting, and Bilingual (Cantonese and English).
Flaws - He's Chinese who loves a white woman. He's young and kind of stupid. He doesn't believe he's inferior to any white man which sometimes causes him to loose his temper.
Personality - Kung-Wang is an angry young man. His history of loss and hardship has shaped him cruelly. He resents those who have wealth and do nothing to help those around them. He's angry at the world for not saving his family. He's angry at himself for the same thing. He hates the world for thinking that he's lesser somehow than white people. Because he knows he's not. But with his upbringing Kung-Wang bottles it all in. He doesn't show his anger until he loses it completely. The only light in his miserable life is Mary. She keeps him sane and makes him want to be a better person. He loves her more than anything and he would do anything to keep her happy. Anything.
Backstory - Chinese Immigrants started coming to the United States at the beginning of the 19th century. Though that wasn't the earliest immigration. The Chinese (in low numbers) already lived in what was to become California (then Mexico). These individuals were largely laborers. Their poor fate not much better than what they immigrated from in China. Those who immigrated in the early 1800s were mainly men. They left their families behind in hopes to find work and hopefully a better life. But there was no better life to be found. Only more hardship, discrimination and abuse. Those lucky enough to find jobs quickly found themselves in indentured servitude.
My father was one of these workers. When he left China it was during the Manchu*+ Dynasty. The isolationist policies were in full swing. But largely ignored in favor of making money through trade. My father had lived through the First and Second Opium wars and even fought in the Second. He doesn't talk about it but my mother said that he had been stationed in Nanking*. When the Burlingame Treaty was signed in 1868 my father immigrated to the United States. That was the last time I ever saw the man for years. I was just a young boy of seven. But I still remember the hope we felt when we saw him off. We were poor. I remember my mother counting rice grains to save on money. We couldn't cover all the costs but we were able to use the 'Credit-Ticket' system.
What we didn't know was that he signed up for indentured servitude. He never paid off his debt to Pacific Mail Steamship Company and those who bought his debt. We only heard from him twice, when he first arrived he sent us a letter. After that we didn't hear from him again for ten years.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. After my father departed for America life was even harder at home. Without my father my mother had to work twice as hard to feed all her children. Since I was eldest it fell to me to try to find another source of income. I'm not ashamed that I worked as a beggar, shinning shoes or even resorting to thievery to make sure my family ate. Still, despite my best efforts we didn't always have food on the table. The aftermath of the wars had left the economy crippled with a firm bias to the foreigners. Our jobs were the menial and dangerous tasks that no one else wanted and we weren't paid enough for even basic survival for one person.
In the ensuing years as hope faded that America might take us in, my two sisters died of illness. I watched my mother waste away and finally succumb to death when I was in my 16th** year. In the worst twist of fate not even a day after my mother's passing my father's second letter reached me. He had enclosed a small amount of money. But it was American and with the conversion I'd had nearly enough to get myself to America. When I sold the house and everything in it I had just enough to gain passage to America. The year was 1878.
Price for a boat ride of America had decreased in the ensuing years. We had all heard that the Gold Rush was no longer a Rush. The Transcontinental Rail road was pretty much built. Work was harder to find, but I was sure with my father I could do it. After all there was nothing left for me in China.
The steam ship ride to America was pretty uneventful. The poor souls on the ship, myself included, didn't talk to each other. We all knew that our fate in America was probably to be no better than in China. We would die in a land far from home without any hope. But if there was any chance at all, we had to take it. It made for a quiet ride. None of us talked to each other. There was no reason at all. We'd never see each other again. Or at the worst we'd have to watch each other die. In that case it was better to see a stranger die than a friend.
After the ship deposited us we had to register with the government. They asked us so many questions with their rapid fire English I couldn't even understand most of it. When they asked me for my name (I understood the word 'Name') I just repeated Huang Kung-wang. The man who questioned me just shook his head every time. Finally he said: Hanley Wang and wrote that on the paper. Or so I figured out later. I was quite illiterate at the time when it came to English.
When I finally paid the man off with my remaining money I gained by papers. And a intense foreboding. I know I'd receive no welcome in America but I didn't expect the outright hatred and hostility. I received hateful stares. People whispered and shouted and pointed at me. I didn't understand what they said but their tone made it quite clear. Fear had settled in. I was penniless. I was in a strange country where I barely spoke the language. All my preparations with English were for naught now that I was confronted with it. The desire to get back on the ship and leave was strong but there was nothing to go back to. My mother was dead. My sisters were dead. Only down the path ahead of me laid my father. That was what kept me going. I clutched the letter in my hand and steadfastly made my way to the address my father provided. His letter had told us not to come. But I had to see him. I had to.
My father worked in a field with a lot of other Chinese men. They were all filthy and under feed. Much like myself. It was hard to stop a man I hadn't see in ten years. I didn't recognize him at all. I had to go around individually and ask each man if he was my father. I was chased off once by a white man with a gun but I returned after hours to continue my search.
My father turned out to be a dead eyed man by the same of Albert. He asked me not to call him by his name. When I pressed he just said that that man was dead. I stopped pressing. We sat in silence for a long time before I worked up the courage to tell him about my mother, his wife. He stared at me for a while then nodded his head.
"Here." He said after he stood and grabbed a box to press into my hands. "You'll need this if you are to survive."
He went on to tell me that north there was another home that was looking for a servant. Someone who was good with manual labor. He told me to look for employment there. Before I left I asked why he didn't leave if work here was so terrible. I was so naive then. The man my father had become just smiled sadly at me. But new life entered his eyes.
"Now that I've seen you I am." He told me. I didn't understand what he meant at that point. I just took the chest and left at his bidding. When I returned in the morning I discovered that he had hanged himself. Suicide***. I was aghast and confused. But after asking around I discovered that my father was a slave to these white men in all but name. And that instead of choosing to remain a slave he had set himself free and restored his honor. I could not fault him for that. He was a brave man. My mother was right, as always.
So I traveled north to find work. My father was correct that a home was hiring laborers. I was the last hired and got the worst jobs. But it was work which meant I could feed myself for the first time in days. I worked all sorts of off jobs at the large house. The head of the house a Marshall Reagan was a stern but fair man. He didn't abuse his servants but he wasn't nice either. I learned to jump when he called Hanley.
After a few days of working for Mr. Reagan I spotted his daughter. She was a lovely little girl and I fell in love at first sight. She had lovely white skin and raven black hair. The first sighting I had of her was on a horse. Her long hair streaming out behind her. I made it a point to work in the stables after that and became quite proficient with the horses. Unlike everyone in America they didn't care that I was Chinese.
Due to my new position as a stable hand I had many meetings with Miss Reagan. Eventually as the years progressed we became quite close. When I was nineteen years I stole my first kiss from her. Over the next year and a half we were successful in keeping our illicit relationship a secret. She was not only beautiful but she was smart. Her father was educating her to take over the house hold. She could read, write, do maths and even sing. Best of all she didn't look at me and see Hanley Wang a yellowfaced man. But she saw Huang Kung-wang. She saw all that I was and she wasn't afraid nor did she pity me. Instead she loved me.
When I was twenty-one years Mr. Reagan caught Mary and I in a compromising situation. He was livid. Angrier than I had even seen the man. He shouted obscenities at me and then ran back to his house to grab his gun. At Mary's urging I fled the Reagan lands and hid away in the desert. Later that night Mary hailed me from her window and tossed me bags. The first was heavy and the second and the third were not much lighter. Then Mary climbed down from her room. Her legs clad in only breaches. I should have adverted my eyes, but I couldn't.
Together the two of us stole a set of horses from her father's stables and rode off. According to Mary we'd be safe in Mexico. But we couldn't take a direct route or else her father would find us. Which saw us heading East first then South later. Our route finally took us to a small town named Soursprings where a new chapter in our life opened.
*To keep with the Wild West theme I'm using the Wade-Giles spelling of Chinese Words. Despite the fact it was designed for Mandarin and my character will speak Cantonese. There was no official Anglicized writing system for Cantonese during the time period. But that's not to say there was no such system. Just none that were as widely recognized or even taught than Wade-Giles. Because of this I've made the decision to keep using Wade-Giles even though it is a convoluted and outdated system that quite frankly made it very difficult for westerners to learn Mandarin.
*+The Manchu Dynasty or the Qing Dynasty (Under Wade-Giles it was the Ch'ing Dynasty) is the last Chinese Dynasty where China was ruled by an Emperor. It ruled from 1644 to 1912.
**To keep with the Chinese way of counting age, my character would technically be 17.
***Suicide wasn't only a Japanese way of restoring honor. Nor only for Samurai. But many places in Asia practiced ritual suicide. In fact in some more conservative places in Asia it is still a practice. But ritual suicide is romanced in their culture. It's a way to restore lost honor and that is very important. I could write a whole discourse on Honor and the importance thereof, but all you need to know is that by killing himself Kung-wang's father restored his honor (and that if his family) that had been lost, stripped away by slavery. Kung-wang himself respected his father for that decision even though it meant he'd never see the man again. |
7,019 | 194 | 21 | 991 | 1,970 | Horace went down in a heap as three bullets slammed into him, two in his lower body and one right into his neck. He dropped the loot from the store which rolled in front of him. Some if it sprayed out of the bag as Owen watched his fellow outlaw and friend go down in a heap. He paused in his run to help Horace up when he noticed the pool of blood coming from his throat, he was a dead. With a look of rage Owen glared at Ellis then fired off three shots, two of them slammed into the outside of the building while the third knocked Ellis in the lower back. It was not life threatening but it would sting worse than a rattlesnake's bite. His shots fired inside the tavern took down two men, dropping on dead instantly and severely wounding another.
Back towards the store the shopkeeper had picked back up his gun, from his position on the ground he squeezed off a shot which hit Owen in the arm. The outlaw screamed in pain and shock before he grabbed the loot bag and dashed away, out of the sight from the main street. No need for two of them to die in this town.
Towards the bank Rio and Dillard sprinted to their horses, as one of them climbed on-board his steed the other one saw two townsfolk jog towards him. As Rio saddled in, one of the townsfolk rose a revolver at Dillard, the other one had a rifle. Each of them fired shots, the rifle wielder pulling the lever as their shot sailed wide from the outlaw duo. The six gun shooter fired three shots off, two of them impacted into the dirt while the third nailed Dillard in the right ear. He shrieked out in pain as a large chunk of his ear was shot off. He quickly jolted his horse forward, one hand clenching his fresh bullet wound. Rio pointed his revolver backwards, surprise on his face at his companion getting shot by one of the civilians. He squeezed the trigger twice, then dashed after Dillard. One of the townsfolk went down in a heap as a bullet hit them in the side of the head, the other beside him immediately dropped his weapon and tried to aid the injured man. It was no use, one more innocent death. Both outlaws darted out of town.
Meanwhile the action continued inside the tavern...
Clay was still behind the bar, though a few others pitched in aid, some were outsiders and others were locals. A mustached traveler who was chatting up the cigar salesman had drawn both of his Colts and fired off a couple of shots at some of the outlaws, taking down to one the side. He then went down in a heap with a shot to the neck. The two brothers had produced their own weapons and fired at the outlaws to the back, taking down two, but unfortunately they too both dropped dead as they were overwhelmed by the well armed thugs. Another mustached outsider fired at the outlaws, taking down the third of Dewey's friends but he too was brought down in a bloody heap. Another outsider, a black man had drawn his set of revolvers but went down as Dewey put two shots into his upper body. The outlaw ducked back into cover.
Clayton's eyes were wide open as his ears rang from so much gunfire, he glanced at Sophie and Isadora on the other side of the bar. He tried to catch his breath, then noticed the fifth outlaw approaching him. He quickly reloaded his revolver, only having enough time to place one bullet in the chamber, then he rose up his six-shooter towards the outlaw, his hand shaking. He seemed to catch the scoundrel by surprise as he slammed a bullet into the thug's chest, as the outlaw fell back with a scream.
"We're getting the hell out of here! Everyone out!" Foster shouted as he dashed towards the window Owen had gone through. But at that same moment William Beck showed signs of life as he grasped his revolver with his good hand, then emptied the rest of the bullets at Foster. The outlaw shrieked as one clipped him in the arm, another in back. He struggled to go through the window, then on pure adrenaline dashed away. As Clayton popped his head back up to see if any were left, he watched his own dad get shot down dead as Dewey put a bullet through William's neck.
Clayton in a fit of pure rage stuffed fresh bullets into his revolver, his hands were still shaking and he dropped two to the ground. By the time he had one jammed into the chamber Dewey was at the back door of the bar. Clayton screamed as he pulled the trigger and the bullet slammed into the door-frame. Dewey fled with a smirk. The deputy had half the mind to give chase, but his dad was in a terrible state. Clayton scrambled back over the bar, and slid to his dad. William gave his son one last look before he passed on, as tears formed in Clayton's eyes. The next sounds were of thunderous horse hooves against dirt as the remaining outlaws in town sped away, Soursprings was then eerily silent as everyone tried to comprehend what had just happened. | Clayton Beck
Alias - N/A
Age - 22
Gender - Male
Occupation - Deputy of Soursprings
Appearance - Clayton is a lean, clean shaven man. His brown hair is cut short and combed to one side. He appears younger than he actually is, often getting mistaken for a teenager. He's in decent shape with hints of muscles along his frame.
Height - 5'11 (180.34 cms)
Weight - 148 pounds
Apparel - Clayton typically wears a longsleeved white collared shirt, over that he wears a black vest. On colder days he'll wear a tan colored jacket. On the lower part of his body he wears black slacks and dark brown boots. To top it all off he often wears a dark brown cowboy hat which used to be his grandfather's.
Weaponry - Clayton carries a Model 1875 revolver, holstered on his hip. On his back is a sling for his Model 1873 lever action rifle. As a last ditch defense he carries a hunting knife on his belt.
Equipment - Clayton carries a leather two liter canteen of water, an old compass, a leather wallet with some money and a few scraps of cooked meat. He also has a dark grey horse named Archie.
Skills -
Clayton is a trained, talented shot with rifles and revolvers.
He's a decent hand to hand combatant, while not anything extraordinary he has been in fights in the past and can hold his own.
Clayton is pretty agile and quick, he can run for a decent period of time without getting exhausted.
Flaws -
Clayton is very weary of outsiders to Soursprings, he's spent his entire life in the town and has seen visitors to it cause trouble before. It's hard for him to trust anyone not from his hometown.
He doesn't know much of life outside of Soursprings, only has heard tales of it, some that frighten him.
He's never killed a person before, or even shot one with intent to kill.
His strong sense of justice and righteousness can get in the way, if he sees something that offends this sense then it is very hard for him to ignore it.
Personality - Clayton Beck embodies his father in many regards, who is the sheriff of Soursprings. He has a strong moral compass, often doing what he sees as right. He's very loyal to friends and family as well as the people of his town. He'll do almost anything to protect those close to him. He's naturally friendly to others and is well mannered. To strangers he appears shy and watchful, careful to make a good first impression and ensure they do the same for him.
He despises people that rob, steal, murder and commit other terrible crimes. 'Outlaws' are a type of people that he wholly disagrees with and will try his damned best to bring to justice. He hasn't really set foot outside of Soursprings, outside of a few hunting trips into the wilderness, he doesn't really know the world outside of his little town. He tries not to speak much of the 'outside world', often turning into a listener if the conversation goes in that direction.
Backstory - Clayton was born in the town of Soursprings, his family having routes in the place, with a supposed hand in its creation. He was named after his great grandfather who fought in the Revolutionary War. He was born to a small family, having one sister, Ethel, five years his junior. His mother died when he was eight, leaving his father William as his sole caretaker. The young Clayton has to take a more active way in keeping the household together, having to care for his sister when his father was away.
His early life was pretty quiet in Soursprings, there was not a lot to do other than working. There was a small school in the town which he went to for a few years, after that he got a job working on a farm near town. It was hard, laborious work that didn’t pay very much but his father encouraged. it He was also taught how to use guns during this time, occasionally going on hunting trips. It was during this time that William became the town sheriff after the previous one died. It was an easy job for the most part, there wasn’t very much crime other than the occasional brawl or drunkards misbehaving.
He began to raise his son to one day take the job from him, making him a deputy at the age of sixteen. William tried his best to instill good values in Clayton which reflected in the job. For the most part it was easy going for Clayton, the people knew him and respected him, the only trouble he ever encountered was with outsiders. One notable incident involving him on the receiving end of some punches after he had to break up a fight which sprawled into the streets. Those in the brawl were ordered out of Soursprings. Clayton has kept quiet since then as he’s watched people enter and leave Soursprings. |
7,020 | 194 | 22 | 498 | 26 | Ellis Braddock felt the sting of a bullet that he knew well. One of the outlaws had hit him. He felt around for the wound, and discovered blood on his coat. He groaned as he slumped back against the wall. Ellis prayed that he wasn't gut-shot. The pain was coursing through him but not from any specific point. He could hear guns firing all around him, and began to slowly reload his six-shooter. He kept dropping the bullets, and finally he gave up and lay back. The sounds of fighting were dying away, and all he could hear was the groans and other sounds from the wounded around him. "Doctor!" he called out, "I need a doctor!" | Ellis Braddock
Age - 42
Gender - Male
Occupation - Tobacco salesman
Height - 5'6"
Weight - 170 lbs.
Apparel - Business suit, suspenders and a vest, old Union uniform. Bowler hat, Union Kepi.
Weaponry - Sharps carbine (1867), Colt Revolver 1860 Army model. Bayonet. Bowie knife.
Equipment - Grey horse named Snodgrass. Map. Fishing net. Rations and water. Whiskey. Many cigars/chewing tobacco/pipes.
Skills - Fighting, farming.
Flaws - Stubborn, prideful, easily annoyed, smoking, drinking, PTSD, racist against Indians.
Personality - Ellis Braddock likes to smoke cigars and drink whiskey. He keeps his emotions to himself and expects the same of others. He is stubborn and prideful, and doesn't tolerate insolence or rudeness. He likes wilderness and towns equally. To most people he seems stiff and humorless.
Ellis believes in suffrage for black men if not equal rights. This is largely because he wants to think that something good came from the war. He is, however, racist against Indians due to his time fighting them and the cultural differences. He is a Christian, but doesn't talk much about religion or go to church enough. He is a moderate Republican, and bears a strong grudge against the South and Democrats because of the war. He enjoys a good political debate, but few enjoy debating with him. He suffers from post-traumatic-stress disorder due to the many battles he has fought in.
Backstory - Ellis Braddock was raised on a farm in Ohio. In 1861, at the age of 22, he volunteered to serve in the Union Army in the Civil War. He served in many engagements, including the Battle of Chickamauga. At Chickamauga he served under General Thomas who held out a stubborn rearguard defense of Snodgrass Hill. After the war he remained in the army, serving in the Indian Wars. In 1874, he retired from the military and moved out west. He has bounced from town to town as a travelling tobacco salesman, as well as occasionally a hired gun. He has made a decent amount of wealth, but still travels constantly to keep his mind off of his bloody past. He has owned his horse for three years, and named it Snodgrass after the hill where he fought at Chickamauga. |
7,021 | 195 | 0 | 1,664 | 553 | The van rattled, clunking along the road and jolting every now and then. Every time the vehicle went over a pothole, Leon's stomach lurched. He glanced around - there were eight other people crammed in to the back of the van. They were in David's van. David Waters. Leon didn't know him that well, but he knew that he was very good friends with his now deceased father. None of the teenagers knew why, but according to David, they were targets of the state. He told them if their lives meant anything to them, they would get in the van, shut up and wait for further. Most of them did as they were told - those that didn't would die, or so David said.
They had been sat in here for over an hour now. Around half an hour ago, the van had stopped and David had got out the van for a while. Fifteen minutes later he returned with a whole load of gear - a couple of tents, some sleeping bags, dozens of water bottles and several cans of food that would probably last two weeks between the group, if rationed. He threw all of this stuff in the back of the van beside the teenagers who were sat, silent. Nobody questioned him, for some reason. Maybe because they just didn't care anymore. He returned to the drivers seat without an explanation and continued driving.
As he sat there, the events of the night ran through his mind.
8:54 PM
Midcreek Park.
Leon was sat on a park bench beside Benjamin. They both had a view of the town from where they were sat. They could see the school, and the lights eminating from it. It was the prom today. They weren't saying anything, but they could tell both of them were thinking of school. After a while, Benjamin broke the silence. "I wouldn't have gone anyway. It's stupid." Leon shrugged, lighting a cigarette and placing it in his mouth. "I don't know. I would have probably went." Leon glanced back at his friend. "Don't know who with, though." Benjamin smirked. "I heard you-"
Benjamin's sentence was shattered by one of the loudest sounds that Leon had ever heard. He spun around and looked back to the school. Well, there wasn't a school anymore, just a huge cloud of smoke. It was a long distance away, but Leon could see the smoke was coming towards them at a rapid pace. "Holy fuck!" Benjamin and Leon leaped from the bench simultaneously.
They both stood still for several seconds, before Benjamin suddenly began running towards the flames. "What are... you..." Leon began to mumble. Benjamin spun around and glared at him. "My family, man! You're family." Leon stood still. Numb. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Minutes passed like they were hours. In the distance he heard a gun shot. He turned his head and looked over - it was Benjamin. He'd been shot by a soldier, who was running off in another direction. Leon ran over to Benjamin and leant down to see his friends face. Benjamin looked up at him with fearful eyes before taking one last action in his dying breath - yanking his chain from his neck and handing it to Leon.
Just then, a hand rested on Leon's shoulder. He looked up, it was a man - a man he vaguely recognised. "We need to get out of here... now." David said.
Leon sifted through his pockets. He hadn't checked what was in them, and although it was of no great significance, he thought he might as well, to pass the time. There was a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, naturally, as he always carried that sort of thing with him - there was his house key, which he no longer needed, so he dropped it to the ground. Finally, there was one last thing. The chain that Benjamin had worn on his neck. Of course he was completely torn apart from losing his brothers and his father, but, deep down, he missed Benjamin most of all. Leon took it and solenmly placed it around his own neck. He sighed and rested his head back, only to be jolted forward again as the van stopped.
Several seconds later, the back doors of the van burst open. "Alright, ok, everyone out!" David yelled, his throat clearly damaged from having to shout constantly. The teenagers all began to pile out of the van. Leon looked around and realised that it was now very dark, probably around 10PM. He couldn't quite tell where they were at first, but he soon realised they were in the heart of a forest. Probably one of the nature reserves. "Listen, I don't have time to explain..." David shook his head. "This is a mess..." he muttered to himself. "Okay," he snapped, when he had organised this thoughts. "Take these supplies, and go out in to the wilderness. Do not contact anyone... in fact, give me your phones, all of you." It was a little of a strange request, and at first, they were reluctant to hand them over. "Listen, if you have your phone, you can be tracked. There are soldiers hunting you down. Give them to me." After some time, and some convincing, they had all handed over their phones. One by one, David snapped them all.
"Okay... right..." David put his head in his hands, trying to figure the situation out. "Look," he threw a very simple-looking phone in Leon's direction, who caught it. "I'll be able to contact you on that phone. Turn it off, only check it once a day. It's not being tracked, but we have to be safe. Just- just stay in the woods and don't talk to anyone, okay?" He turned and ran back to his van. "I have to go, but I will contact you. Okay..." Soon, the van screeched off down the dirt road and left the teenagers dumbstruck.
Leon stood with the phone nestled in his hands and looked at the gear on the floor. "Right..." he said in the most controlled voice he could muster before lifting two of the rucksacks on to his shoulders. "We better get out of here." | Name: Bianca Lewis
Age : 17
Gender : Female
Sexuality : Bisexual
Personality : Bee is quiet and reserved due to years of bullying. She doesn't want to make friends, mostly preferring to be left alone. She tends to dislike most of her classmates, either for bullying her or ignoring her being bullied. She also has a tendency to envy people around her and has next to no self esteem. She tries to ignore people making fun of her therefore had a high tolerance regarding her anger, however the explosion has threatened to push her over the edge.
History : Ever since she could remember, Bee has been obese. It meant she was ostracized from everything in school. Nobody wanted to do anything with her, and once she got the reputation of the "unpopular kid" it was hard to shake. She found solace in things such as books and movies, and the Anime Club at her school, where she met one of her only friends, Sierra. One day she was being made fun of when staying after school by a guy named Vinny. He was harassing her and she tried to ignore him, but he followed her. He was making fun of her weight and her family, and when she got to the stairs, he pushed her. It was soft, but it set her off and Bee threw Vinny down the stairs. He broke his arm and blamed Bee, and the majority of the school took his side. She became even more ostracized as the girl who beat up one of the most popular kids in school.
Bee's family includes a mother who travels for business, and often leaves her with a nanny. Her mother was in town during the explosion, however. Bee herself was out at the old pond on the outskirts of town during the explosion, just getting away from it all.
Clothing : She tends to wear whatever she can find, including t-shirts, sweat pants and jeans.
Skills & Weaknessess: Bee is a very smart girl. She had applied to two Ivy League schools, Brown and UPenn, but hadn't heard a response back yet. She doesn't work well with people, however. She is very good at blending in to a crowd, ironically, and keeping her head down, therefore she has learned to eavesdrop on people and observe situations very well. |
7,022 | 195 | 1 | 156 | 2,749 | Raffy was exhausted, cold, and miserable. Not to mention a stirring of rage bubbling in her gut. Sticks and leaves crunched underfoot as she travelled away from her house and towards a small, insignificant gas station on the outskirts of town. It was a little, run-down building with absolutely no one there, not even a clerk to man the store. Almost all residents used the other gas station that was positioned conveniently in the town.
There the manipulative redhead waited, checking her phone every few seconds for a new message. The Cox heir was waiting for someone in particular, an anonymous enemy. She began to grow impatient when thirty minutes flew by. "If you're going to blackmail me, do it right." Raffy hissed to herself, polluted air filling her lungs in an exasperated gasp.
The sizzling rave began to boil in her stomach. She had had plans for tonight, important entertaining plans, that she had to put on hold for an amateur blackmailer who wasn't going to show! Raffy had prom with Derek, her friend's crush! This "date" was essential to her plans to put Selena in her place. Now, she won't be able to make it to prom.
Raffy was feeling a lot of things, but worry wasn't one of them. It wasn't the first time someone attempted to blackmail her. Every good businesswoman had their share of enemies, after all. Raphaela was prepared, though. She dug into her purse and felt the cool metal of her recorder. She flicked the rectangular on button and a moment of static crackles before all was silent. The Cox child grinned smugly, leaning on a grimy post as she continued to play the waiting game.
Her smile vanished, however, when the rickety gas station began to wobble and a too loud boom assaulted her eardrums. Worried that the roof would collapse, Raphaela Cox began to run. She didn't look to see what happened, she didn't wonder what could have happened, she just ran further and further away from the town. Muscles burning, lungs aching, and a sharp pain in her ribs prevented the redhead from running long. Hopeless and frightened, frustrated tears began to dribble down her face.
Then she heard the squealing wheels of a car. A van pulled up next to her and the windows rolled down smoothly. A man sat behind the wheel, an anxious and impatient scowl on his face. "Hurry, get in, we don't have much time."
Now Raffy wasn't stupid, but at this point there was not much that she could do: she climbed into the back. Seven teenagers, a stop, and an hour later, the van pulled into a forest. The whole ride there, Raffy didn't think or say much. She felt numb. She knew she should be more saddened by her parents' deaths, but the only thing she cared about was herself.
"Alright, ok, everyone out!" The voice jolted her out of whatever she was doing and she numbly, lethargically, squirmed out of the van. Raffy didn't bother listening to him and instead chose to blankly glare at a stepped on mushroom. When her phone was rudely grabbed from her hand, she snapped,
"What do you think you're doing?"
David, as she discovered his name was, repeated himself reluctantly. "Your phone can be racked." And then he broke in half.
"Oh." Raffy couldn't muster any other response. He then got into his crappy car and left, leaving them all alone.
Belatedly, Raffy realized she must be in shock. It was the only explanation for this numbed feeling. But she can't be numb right now, she won't allow it! Her survival is relying on her manipulative nature - that is the only thing that will keep her alive.
"Right...we better get out of here." Leon said and Raffy nodded in agreement.
"Yes, we need to find somewhere safe for the night." She muttered in faux care. | Name:
Raphaela “Raffy” Peony Cox
Age :
17
Gender :
Female
Sexuality :
Demisexual
Personality :
Raffy is a sweet girl with a friendly and loving approach to everybody…or so it seems. In truth, Raffy is a manipulative liar who loves to spin webs and cause chaos to benefit her or just to have fun. Ambitious and sly, she has placed herself in a position at high school where teachers and students trusted her. Those who didn’t trust her was because she had crossed them and the only thing keeping their mouths shut is Raffy blackmailing them. Many, if they knew the truth about Raffy, would consider her immoral – Raffy doesn’t care about rights and wrongs, just about self-preservation. If there is a possibility, in the end, she is on top, she will do whatever she can to make it a fact. The redhead would betray her own parents if it were to ensure her survival. Intelligent and charismatic, it is easy to fall into her trap and not many have been able to see through her – at least, none that she know of.
History :
Raffy was born to an ex-Politian, Katherine Cox, and a businessman, Jameson Cox. As she grew up, they prepared her for when she would take over Cox Industries and raised her to be a ruthless, smooth businesswoman. In the process, however, they created an independent nihilist whose only joy in life was herself. Her parents never showed an interest in Raffy’s life except for the one they created for her; when she was little, this caused great upset for Raffy, but now that she is older, she only finds it liberating. The Cox family never grew emotional attachments to each other and was more acquaintances than family, but they were all okay with it. The members of the dysfunctional family were too independent to be reliant.
Raffy was encouraged to do well in school and popularity – she easily became everyone’s friend - and was ushered to pick up a hobby. When her mother said hobby, she probably meant stamp-collecting and knitting; Raffy began to create unnecessary drama as a hobby. She would constantly be on the phone, talking to those whom needed her condolence. Raffy just used this to gain more hold. In the end, Raphaela had become what her parents wanted her to: a ruthless, independent woman.
Clothing:
On the night of the fire, Raffy was wearing jeans that came to just above her knees and a long-sleeved, cotton, plain grey shirt. On her feet were beat-up traditional vans that she didn’t typically wear, but decided to wear on that day.
Skills:
- Charismatic
- Sly
- Intelligence
- Great Liar
Weaknesses:
- Not athletic
- Her manipulation is a double-edged sword
- Storms scare her
- She is not inconspicuous
Other:
N/A |
7,023 | 195 | 2 | 1,228 | 2,386 | Lillah had been out for a jog. Another prom avoided and she honestly felt bad about it--if she only felt like she fit in better, she'd attend her last chance at prom night. However, she had no friends to go with nor even a date. She wasn't even asked, and she didn't have the courage to ask... So, with all the stress settling in as the sun set, she decided to run just as the doctor suggested. The cool sweat jumping off her figure with each stride and the loud rock music blasting into her wasn't exactly relaxing, but it gave her sore muscles to worry about instead. She wasn't thinking about her shitty high school experience--she was only lost in the run.
Then, among her music, she thought she heard thunder. She didn't give it much thought; though, when she glanced up at the clear sky, Lillah slowed to a stop. Breathing heavily, she pulled the ear buds from her ears and looked around. What was that? she thought, realizing she hadn't seen any lightening either. Just when she was allowing herself to think the boom had merely been a sound affect in her music, the foulness of smoke reached her nostrils and she breathed deeply to confirm her uneasiness. "What the hell?" she uttered and quickly turned to run back toward the stench, her ear buds swinging over her shoulder.
It was getting stronger, the smell of smoke. As she grew closer to her home, she could feel the temperature of the air rise. If it were possible, her heart-rate increased even further. "Shit!" she gasped aloud before following up within her head, What's going on? It was growing harder to breath and her eyes were stinging when she could finally see...what was left of her house being burned to the ground. She only slowed down when she saw a figure stumble out of the front door, doubled over and coughing. Oh thank God, was her first thought.
She opened her mouth to call to her father when a hand clamped over her mouth and pulled her back. Scared, she lashed out, but the man was ready for that and hugged her arms so she couldn't hit back. She could kick, though, and she stomped her heel into his foot and followed up by throwing her head back into his nose. With a groan, her captor released her and she ran for home--but he caught her by the wrist and pulled her back. "No, wait--" he had protested, his attention over her shoulder. She cursed at him, trying to pull away; she was ready to strike again when his next words had her stopped in her tracks. "They'll kill you."
Lillah had blinked at him, pausing in her struggle. "Wh-what do you mean?" she panted as she turned to look back at her home. Two men had appeared beside her father and...and they were dragging him back towards the flames. They had oxygen tanks or something, because they had a lot more energy than her father did. She gasped, forgetting about the grip on her wrist, and moved to run to his rescue. When she was pulled back, she gasped and shoved at the man. Between the run, the smoke, and the heat, though, much of her energy was gone. "Let me go!" she pleaded, fighting the dizziness. "I have to help him!"
"You can't--we need to leave," the man answered, though his command was drowned out by the terrifying screams of a grown man being burned to death.
"N-no," she fought weakly, gasping as if there suddenly wasn't enough oxygen in the air. She felt lightheaded--it was all too much. Gray dots danced in front of her eyes, growing bigger and darker...And then she was out.
-
The young woman awoke to a jolt. She was sitting against the cool metal of the inside of a van. There were other people--no, other students. At first, she opened her mouth to speak, but she stopped herself. They each had such pale, sober faces. Even the German Shepherd seemed down. She recognized most of them--particularly Henry and Raven. Her gaze lingered on the other girl's face for a moment before she looked down at the van's floor. She pursed her lips, recollecting the night's events.
Lillah wouldn't allow herself to bawl her eyes out in front of these people, but she couldn't stop the tears from welling up in her light eyes and silently rolling over her cheeks. No, no, no, she thought over and over again. She clasped her hands together tightly, her knuckles paling as she tried to stop herself from shaking. Every now and again, she'd draw in a long breath and just as slowly exhale. Otherwise, she was lost in her own angry clusterfuck of thoughts.
Eventually, she felt the van roll to a stop and after a delay, the doors opened to reveal the man who had probably saved her life. She quickly wiped at her eyes and gave herself a moment to collect herself as he ordered everyone off the van. She was on autopilot all of the sudden, which was common when her depression acted up. Apathy set in, replacing the anger momentarily and she found herself complying well enough. She handed over her phone, which her ear buds were still attached to and watched quietly as it was destroyed.
And then he recited some lines, and the man was gone and one of the students spoke up--taking charge for the moment. Lillah only remained quiet, standing there and looking bleakly at the supplies they were left. She didn't have the energy to protest or even voice her concerns. | Name: Raven Mc'Crossin
Age : 18
Gender : Female
Sexuality : Bisexual
Personality : Kind, Bitchy at times, Smart, Independent, Clever, Looks out for no-one but herself. If she trusts you though she will protect you.
History : She was born to a single father and older sister. Her father was a big shot police officer and her sister was in college. They lived a good life in a nice home. With a warm and comforting environment. Raven was happy. The only bad thing to mention was her school social life. She was known as the freak and outcast of the school due to her fashion sense and personality.
She was a beautiful girl but, people didn't care only pointing out her flaws. Though, she did gave 3 friends. Best friends. They were in a band together called 'Hardly Angels'. She was the lead singer and guitarist, her friend Brianna was the drummer and her other friend Caroline was the Keyboard player. It was due to not having a date to prom she didn't go.
Her lack of popularity saved her life.
Clothing : She wore black destroyed jeans with an Avenged Sevenfold shirt that was ripped so it revealed her stomach, also revealing her belly ring. She then had on a cropped black leather jacket with the initials H.A on it for her band. Then, black combat boots and a necklace that had multiple dog tags on it.
Skills & Weaknessess :
Skills:
1. Martial arts
2. Flexibility
3. Stamina
4. Photographic Memory
Weaknesses:
1. Water
2. Clowns
3. Temper
Other : Nope!~ |
7,024 | 195 | 3 | 1,820 | 96 | Raven was silent throughout the ride. Choosing to stare out the window blankly. Her eyes glassy with un-shed tears. Though she tried to focus on the fast moving scenery she couldn't. And against her will, she was driven into the past.
Raven had been over her friend's house. Caroline's to be specific. Brianna had gone to the prom because her dream guy, Drew Williams, asked her. Raven honestly didn't want her to go. Something about it didn't feel right. Probably because Raven just didn't like the thought of prom. She'd argued with a full heart about her feelings on Brianna's decision.
That's what drove Brianna actually. It was, after all, her decision. So, here they were. 2 girls sitting at the house watching horror movies and eating ice cream. Well, Caroline was smoking but you get the point. They'd been there for an hour watching the cheesy movie. Raven kept glancing at the wall clock every minute. Praying Brianna would just hurry up and leave.
Caroline's laugh interrupted her from, once again, looking at the clock. Raven glanced at her friend. "What?" She snapped. Her british accent thick with her anger and worry, all aimed at one person. Caroline tried to control her laughter before she took a drag managing to smother her giggles. "Your so worried about Brianna your about even watching the movie." She suddenly sobered up. "You love cheesy horror movies."
Raven rolled her eyes. "Of course I'm worried. Brianna is out with freaking Drew. The Drew Williams. School man whore and douchebag." She scoffed shaking her head in disbelief. "What the hell is she thinking? Why does she like him? So many guys to choose from but nooo, choose the douche." Caroline was silent while a Raven raged on. Listening while smoking.
After Raven was done Caroline took one last drag before putting out the cigarette. "Well....if it's bothering you so much then why don't we go piss her off? Ruin her little 'date'." She made air quotes at that word. Then, Raven made a terrible decision. "I'm in." The 2 girls left the house after changing from their pajamas. They took Caroline's shitty car and drove to the school.
Raven winced silently as she remembered the next part. The car having stopped as their 'saviour' went to get supplies. She barely noticed when he'd come back. Having gotten pulled into her next memory.
Raven and Caroline arrived in front of the school. As soon as it was in sight the car screeched to a halt. The school was in flames. Raven felt her heart stop and her stomach starting doing twists trying to escape the dark feeling that settled there. Holding on tight. The feeling of dread. Raven heard Caroline make a choking sound in the back out her throat. But, she was frozen, unable to move.
The feeling was gone quickly as Caroline, out of nowhere, jumped out of the car with a speed that Raven was honestly surprised by considering Caroline was pretty high at the moment. "Caroline!" Raven yelled out in fear and grief seeing Caroline running towards the school full speed. Raven, without a thought, ran after her."CAROLINE STOP PLEASE!" She screamed after her.
Tears were blurring her vision and this caused her to trip. Raven wiped her eyes quickly standing up only to see Caroline run into the school right as it blows up. "CAROLINE!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Raven screamed out in pure grief, sadness and pain. She fell to her knees, tears running down her red cheeks. She didn't know how long she was there, might have been a few minutes She wasn't sure.
She shakily rose to her feet and ran. She ran with all she had. Away from the school, away from civilization, away from everything. She doesn't remember what happens next. All she remembers after that was waking up in the van with other teens. She was thinking. 'If they're gonna kill me, bring it on. I'm not going down without a fight.'
That thought was quickly dispersed when none of the other teens seemed panicked about the fact they were kidnapped kinda. They were panicked and upset about the fire of course. They drove for a while until they reached the forest where they were told to get out. Raven then put on her poker face. The guy asked for their cellphones and Raven didn't hesitate to give it to him. She had no family she cared about and her only friends were dead. Who would she call?
She tuned everything out looking to the ground. Then, she heard the sound of the van leaving. Figures, of course he'd leave. I would, she thought. Then, one guy was over here trying to play leader. She eyed him with distrustful eyes. She then realized that to survive she had to stick with them.
For now. She had no-one, no-one to look out for except for herself. She wasn't gonna risk her life for no-one. Especially people she didn't even know really. | Name : Justine Christophe
Age : 18
Gender : Female
Sexuality : Bisexual
Personality : Justine is chatty, and friendly, but a little hesitant to talk to some of her peers, because of the language barrier between them, as her first language is French. She is strong willed, and quick to become defensive if she feels threatened, though she doesn't know enough English to argue well.
History : Born and raised near Nice, on the southern coast of France, her parents were vineyard owners just a few miles out of the city. Her three brothers all adored rugby, and Justine had little choice but to learn to love the sport. As her brothers grew older, only one managed to retain his talent for rugby, moving to Paris to train for the professional teams.
Justine emigrated with her parents and younger brother to California a year and a half ago, and settled on the edge of Midcreek to establish their new vineyard and business in America. She still feels rather like an outsider, because of the new language she has to cope with, as well as all of the new school and her different interests to her peers.
America, however, had less support for the sport than in Europe, which somewhat disappointed her. Still, she played with her younger brother on the hills beyond their home, which was where she was when the explosion happened. Her two older brothers, still in France, believe she is dead, along with the rest of their family.
Appearance :
Clothing :A French rugby jersey, dark blue v-neck jumper, grey jeans and brown boots
Skills & Weaknessess : She's very sporty, and quite strong after years of handling farming equipment. However, she isn't particularly good at communicating, tending to panic easily and then become unable to properly translate what she wants to say in to English so that others can understand her. |
7,025 | 195 | 4 | 2,203 | 58 | Spencer had had his fair share of weird and strange experiences in his life, but nothing came in comparison to this; sat in a van with eight other people, being told to do what he was told or die, essentially. The atmosphere in the back of the van was sober, to say the least. Some were on the verge of tears, others had clearly already cried, their puffy cheeks already stained with crystal tears. Spark, on the other hand, was surprisingly apathetic, or in shock, he wasn't quite sure. He sat, fingers obsessively playing with the lighter that he'd found in his pocket, a nervous habit he'd picked up years ago and never really gotten round to stopping, gaze drilling into the blank metal side of the van, unwilling to stray too far in case someone thought he was looking at them, maybe even judging. Not that he really had to, he'd known most of them in high school anyway, they just weren't very good friends. In fact, by the way everyone seemed to be looking around at each other, it seemed no one really knew anyone... Not that he planned on pointing that out any time soon. Honestly, he didn't even plan on speaking unless someone specifically spoke to him first, determined that he'd probably on drop himself into more shit by doing so, if it was even possible for the situation to get worse. Shaking his head, Spark resorted to thinking back of the events that had just happened, part of him determined that this was just some messed up dream and that he'd wake up tomorrow morning perfectly fine, the entire town still intact.
"Spencer Levi Small get your lazy butt down here right this instance!" His mother's southern twang rang through the tiny house, echoing from the kitchen all the way up to Spark's room, where he sat, lazily strumming the strings of his guitar as he hummed the tune to Cold Hard Bitch by Jet. With a lazy sigh, he pulled himself off the bed, dropping the guitar back on the bed as he ran his hand through his hair, brow furrowing as he tried to figure out exactly what his mother would want. He hadn't done anything wrong, and she'd already banned him from going to prom. What more could one woman want, really? He practically stumbled down the stairs, still not used to the way the carpet was starting to curl upwards at the corners, slowly revealing the old wooden floor underneath, and entered the kitchen where his mother stood with her hands on her hips, undersized shirt revealing just a little too much of her flat stomach for Spark's liking. "I thought we established that you are not allowed to play guitar whilst you are grounded!"
"Sorry ma," was all he could reply, not quite sure how he was expected to respond, other than to apologise and promise not to do it again.
"Sorry?! I'm very disappointed in you, y'know. If I can't trust you to follow simple rules what can I trust you to do? It's despicable! Just wait until I tell your father-"
"Until you tell his father what?" Another voice cut her off. It was his dad, stood tall in the doorway of the kitchen, arms folded defensively across his body as he leaned against the door, raising a curious eyebrow at the woman.
"He was playing guitar in his room again, Levi, what else I supposed to do? Can't think with that racket going on up-"
"Jesus, all this over him playing an instrument? Cut him some slack, Della, you've already grounded him on prom night."
"I am standing by what I-" Della began, face slowly going redder and redder as her husband continued to cut her off, until eventually she was as red as the lipstick she wore.
"Sparky, kiddo, why don't you go for a walk, get some air, yeah?" he paused, "this could go on for a while." He offered Spencer a small smile, which he meekly returned, slowly backing out of the kitchen before his mother could swing an insult in his direction, probably raving about how he was about as useful as tits on a bull, or something equally ridiculous. He quickly grabbed his hoodie and pulled it on, suddenly all too glad he'd never bothered to take his shoes off when he got home, and slammed the door shut behind him. Unsurprisingly, the shouting from the kitchen could still he heard from their pathetic excuse for a lawn, but what else could you expect when your walls were about as thick as paper?
Spencer shrugged it off, shoving his hands deep into his hoodie pockets as he made his way along the uneven sidewalk, trying not to think too much about what just happened when there was a loud bang and the ground below him shook, knocking him off his feet as he tumbled to the ground, turning just in time to see a cloud of black ash coming towards him, the tiny houses surrounding him quickly turning to rubble. Exactly what happened, he didn't know, nor did he really care. He'd already pulled himself off the ground, ignoring the stinging sensation in his leg as he pegged it away from the scene, natural instincts already deciding that, whatever the hell was going on, he wanted no part of it. He was coughing and spluttering, ash of the fallen houses clogging his senses, making him not even want to open his eyes in case he ended up blinded by some sort of debris.
It was only then that the van hurtled down the road towards him, and part of him was positive that it was just going keep driving and that he'd end up roadkill, but then it slowed down, and a man Spark didn't recognise told him to get in if he wanted to live and he didn't question it. He wanted to live, and, unfortunately, the stranger seemed like the only way to ensure it; he bailed in, only taking a second to glance around at all the other familiar faces before sinking back into a seat, the reality of what was going on only just hitting him.
Everyone was dead. That was the truth of it. His mother, who he'd argued constantly with since he was around five, was dead. His dad, who'd spent most of his life since Spencer was born defending him whenever he even did the slightest thing wrong, was dead. The few friends he'd actually managed to make during his time at school were, you guessed it, dead. And for some reason, he wasn't, and he intended to keep it that way.
When they finally all bailed out of the van, the dense foliage suggesting it was some kind of forest, Spark didn't even have a phone to hand over. His mother had taken it off him when he was initially grounded, claiming he could have it back when he 'learnt to have a little more respect', which clearly he'd never managed. With a tired sigh, he picked up one of the rucksacks off the ground, swinging it onto his back as he finally looked around at everyone else, even daring to offer Lillah a reassuring smile, or, as much of one as he could muster up. He wasn't very hopeful for their odds, truth be told, but he'd learn to get over it. | Name: Spencer "Spark" Small
Age: 17
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual, but he's never really thought about it.
------------
Personality: Spencer has somewhat of a nervous disposition, due to an uncomfortable amount of accidents that lead to people being hurt, and it all being his fault. He's friendly enough, and actually has a pretty decent sense of humor when he puts his mind to it... It just takes him a little while to adjust to new people, even when they've been life long acquaintances, or friends in the past. Once he gets used to people he tends to open up a lot more, with a tendency to become more talkative (some would say more annoying, too), when he actually bothers to try and make friends. His main problem, however, is his natural ability to get anxious very easily, working himself up over the smallest details and convincing himself that, if something goes wrong, it's most definitely his fault. His coping mechanism is less than adequate too, as since a young age, Spark has been known to set things on fire as a means of relieving tension and, as much as he would like to deny it, he's a bit of a pyromaniac.
----
History: Spencer's upbringing was unsurprisingly mundane. His dad worked in an office downtown and his mum, well, she liked to say her job was caring for people, but she was actually one of the worst stay at home mum's in town. Naturally bossy and lazy, she made it her duty to teach her kids the rights and wrongs of life, and, most importantly: how to survive. Or, that's what she claimed, anyway. She'd constantly have Spark doing the most mundane of tasks, like doing the washing up and hoovering, even if it was getting to the point where he couldn't balance chores and homework. He was taught that doing what he was told and obeying orders was always the best way to survive in life, and that talking things out or complaining would only make things worse. He couldn't talk things out, he couldn't do anything to a reaction out of his mother, apart from lighting things up, so that's what he did, and it all spiraled out of control from there.
Fire became Spencer's 'thing', if you will. A way of coping with the everyday stress that a mix of school and home brought onto him. If he ever got low or angry, he just had to set something on fire to feel better again. Well, for a while, anyway. It was this issue that brought more chaos into his life, his mother telling him that he 'had a problem and needed help', his dad telling him that it was 'just a phase'. Everything was just pilling up on top of him: end of year exams, his mother breathing down his neck every chance she got, and he couldn't take it anymore. That was the day he burnt the house down. Literally.
His mother almost kicked out for doing so, but by some miracle his dad talked her round. His home life had been rocky at best ever since. Not that he'd ever complain - the more his parents left him alone, the better he felt. He couldn't accidentally hurt anyone with fire if they weren't around him, right? And so he set to work distancing himself from people, something that wasn't particularly hard when you were are quiet as he was already.
------------
Clothing: White tank top with a dark grey zip up hoodie, black skinny jeans, once-white converse and a black beanie hat.
Skills & Weaknessess: Spark is a doer, not a talker. He's quick to act and follow orders, doing exactly what he's told to the exact letter, with no exceptions. Whilst he's no leader, he's one hell of a follower, and he's not unwilling to do the jobs everyone else is unwilling to do, as he's determined that a job is a job, and it has to be done for a reason. He's quite lean too, and what he may lack in strength he makes up for in speed and stamina, able to run happily for miles if he really had to... He just wouldn't enjoy it much.
Other: He has a lighter that he carries around with him obsessively, other than that I don't think so.
---
Okiedokie, I hope this fine - I'm also sorry it took so long. |
7,026 | 195 | 5 | 2,441 | 646 | Prom Night...LAME! was the Facebook status that Michael DeLorenzo posted as he shook his head. He said, "No you don't sound bitter; much." . Last year his then girlfriend Carrie not only dumped him during the prom, but she hooked up with his best friend Eric. Michael thought going to the Prom this year would've been like asking someone who just got divorced if they wanted to go to a wedding that weekend. His mom Ellen tried to convince him to go, but his father Robert said it was his decision. Besides his dad had his back on this one. Being the Sheriff he made sure Carrie, Eric, and their families had an interesting year when it came to traffic stops. Michael shook his head and said, "Only a few more months and I'm outta here anyway. A chance to start over and make my name on my terms. It's gonna be epic on so many levels."
Michael looked at his clock and said, "Why not? I got nothing else to do." Michael put on his brown leather jacket and headed downstairs. As he did he saw a very unusual sight. Robert was sitting in the living room in his recliner, in his Sheriff's uniform, with the police scanner on, and a shotgun in his lap. This stuck Michael as rather odd because his dad had been off work for over 4 hours, and one of the first things he did when he got home was get out of his uniform and into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. That was usually followed by at least two beers with the Lakers on in H-D. Not to mention the shotgun was a little unnerving, because one thing Robert always tried to do was protect his family from anything having to do with his work. Robert also just kept staring at the family picture taken about two years ago.
Michael approached his dad and asked, "Dad are you all right?"
This snapped Robert back into reality as he replied, "What? Oh yeah Mike I'm fine. Just a little nervous about Prom tonight with the usual fun and games."
Michael looked at him as if he was very uncertain and asked as he sat on the couch across from him, "Fun and games that involve a shotgun?"
Robert replied, "Well last year Denny and his boys got pretty hammered. Which led to them spending a 10 days in lock up after they did some damage downtown. I don't want to be caught off guard again. Call it old lawman's intuition. So where are you off to? I'm guessing by your attire you're not going to the Prom."
Michael shook his head not entirely convinced by his father's story and said, "Nah I'm heading down to The Daily Beacon. I've made friends with one of the staff photographers Brent Parker, and he's working on a photo-archive project for the town's 250th celebration this fall. He said I could come down whenever I wanted and help out with it. I don't get paid for it, but it gives me some experience and it's pretty interesting learning about the town."
Robert nodded and said, "Good for you son. Good for you." Robert exhaled and then just stared at Michael for a moment. Michael asked, "Dad what's going on? There's something you're not telling me what is it?"
Robert shook his head said, "Nothing Michael nothing. I guess I'm just getting a little nostalgic and sentimental that you're leaving soon."
Michael nodded and replied, "Okay well I'm not out of here for another few months, but in the meantime I got some work to do." He stood up and asked, "What time tonight?"
Robert replied, "Oh um you're 18 I trust you. Don't worry about it." This really sent Michael's radar off Robert had always given him a curfew.
Michael started to walk away and Robert said, "Son.." He set the shotgun down and crossed over to Michael and embraced him. Michael wasn't sure what was going on, but he returned the embrace as Robert said, "I love you son. Your mother and I love you very much and we've always been proud of you."
Michael asked, "I love you too Dad. Ah has the draft been brought back and did you just get my notice?"
Robert chuckled and replied, "No son no no. Like I said just getting sentimental." He broke the embrace and said, "Okay get going and have fun." Michael walked away slowly and took one last look at his father who looked as though he was about to breakdown.
Michael began to make his way down the street when suddenly it felt and looked like Hell itself had broken through. Explosions everywhere, the rumble was almost enough to knock Michael down, flames shooting up all over looking like a Michael Bay film on steroids. Michael had no idea what to do, but every instinct told him to run. Michael wasn't the fastest person in down, but his adrenaline rush made him feel he could beat Uslan Bolt.
Just then a van came out of nowhere and fishtailed to a stop right in front of him. The drive shouted, "Get in here if you want to live!" The last time Michael heard that line was in "The Terminator, " and under the circumstances Michael wasn't about to argue with him or ask if he knew Arnold Schwarzenegger. Michael jumped in the van which already had several other teenagers. Michael started to get out his phone to call his dad when he felt something rip it from his hands. A voice said, "It can be tracked" and with that Michael's beloved I-Phone was broken.
The rest of what happened next was a blur to Michael until he along with everyone else was told to get out. As the van sped off Michael looked around and said, "Any minute now I expect to see Rod Serling stroll out and to hear 'The Twilight Zone' theme." | Name: Joe Stark (Most people just call him 'Jojo' though)
Age: 18
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Personality: Normally quite cynical, Joe is that one guy who you don't mind having in your group but not when you're talking about happy memories. If, however, you have a strong craving for sarcasm, dry humour, and black comedy, Jojo is your guy. Typically classed as your average 'funny asshole', he's pretty infamous around the town for his verbal brutality and stunning pranks. People come to him for help in retribution due to his mischievous nature and relatively high intelligence, but is otherwise left to mix with his smallish group of very close friends.
History: Jojo is one of the most normal and average people around. His childhood was uneventful, and so no personality flaws were foreseen. However his pessimistic outlook and quick wits changed their perception of him when he managed to graffiti a piece of art depicting several teachers and head students in a Roman-style orgy whilst also managing to hack the school server and send a letter of concern to every email telling them how they've been 'naughty boys and girls' and parking every single one of the senior students' cars in the gymnasium. It's quite blatant he never managed it himself, but Jojo continues to restate he worked solo. He gained a small crew of loyal jokers who he would conduct smaller prankers with until January 31st, when he would perform his 'Annual Pranking Palava!' in which a prank of enormous proportions would be performed. The school and the police could never definitively tie him and his lackeys to the event, but they always watched him closely around that time of the year.
Appearance:
Clothing: Black and red checked shirt (same as in the photo),
,
Skills & Weaknesses: Jojo is clever and quick, however is not as honourable as others. Seeing no sense in injuring himself in order to save others, he will judge the odds on the battle to see if he most likely win. A man of strategic intelligence, Jojo would be almost entirely useless in a social situation relying on his people skills to advance.
Other: Jojo has a pet dog called Maxxy. Maxxy is Jojo's trusty companion, and has seen just about as much shit as Jojo has. A quiet dog who is quite shy, she will stick by his leg, gently rubbing against it to tell him she is still there.
Just let me know if you aren't happy with anything. |
7,027 | 195 | 6 | 2,528 | 277 | The Van.
Henry felt like he was floating as confusion and panic gnawed at him. It was painful enough trying to sort out the swirling cacophony of emotions and dark images clouding his mind. The strange exchange he's heard from his radio scanner, the explosion, and then this man who calls himself David showing up with his van, none of it made any sense.
"There's no time to explain, get in the van, or choose to die out here." David told him once the van was pulled over in front of Henry. He didnt know this man, which he found strange because he knew everyone in Midcreek or at least knew them by face.
"Who... who are you?" Was all Henry could manage to ask out of his confused mind, a huge lump was forming in his throat, making it hard to breathe, much less speak.
"Let's just say I'm either friend or enemy. David is what they call me, nice to meet you. Now get in the goddamn van!"
Henry sat at the back of the van, there were other kids who looked just as scared as him. Some of them he recognized, and some of them were oddly familiar but he's never really seen them before. And there was Bee, Bianca Lewis, whom he's been friends with for as long as he can remember. The familiar sight was welcomed, and it took away some of his fears, but that doesnt change anything. The whole town, his family, the people he'd known all his life, all gone, burned to ashes. Henry closed his eyes, hoping to blink back tears.
A storm of emotions wrenched his gut, twisted and pulled; he wanted to scream, cry, throw up. He wanted to get away from these people, from this van, from that man David. He wanted to run back home, and go back to his life, that by some dumb luck this was all just a bad prank. His face felt warm, and wet. His body shook slightly as he silently cried away all the confusion, and the fear inside of him.
***
Moments before the explosion.
Henry grabbed his school bag, he wasnt sure why but he felt he might need it later, and then he broke into a run. What you should know about Henry is that he can run fast. He's neither strong nor athletic, but he's got the speed and stamina of a professional runner. It was probably because since he was a kid, he's been running errands for his mother, delivering orders to town in a daily basis.
Although her mother offered to buy him his own bike, Henry had to refused her. He knew she's barely making money at the diner to pay for the house rent, and his education, so he couldnt burden her any more than she already was. Anyway, Henry likes to run, he likes to feel the wind in his hair, in his face, how the world turns into a vibrant blur of colors around him. It calmed him. Somehow it felt like his free just by running, that in a way he's leaving all his worries behind.
But Henry didnt feel any of that now as he run along West Street. Henry ran desperately towards the Diner. It must be the longest run he's ever done in his life, or so what it felt like to him. He has to reach his mother, he has to tell her what's going on, or what he thinks is going on. Every second felt like hours, and his feet felt like they're not moving at all. Please! Let me run faster!!
He's been trying to contact Bee, he tried calling her several times, but she's not answering her phone. So instead Henry sent her a message saying that she meet him at their usual place, hoping that she'll get it before its too late.
***
Back at Henry's room.
He decided to ditch prom, and instead, stayed at home. Listening to his radio scanner was Henry's favorite pastime. It has become his evening routine to listen to police reports, and there's this thing about listening to police officers exchange cuss with each other that piqued Henry's interest. At first it was hard to listen, there were too many unnecessary words and static, but after a while, he's learned to interpret each conversations. But there was nothing that could prepare him for the conversation he had heard this afternoon.
"H1 to V3, over... This is V3, H1, we copy..." The voices were not anyone from the Sheriff's office, Henry recognized, "Confirm positions, over... Roger that, confirming V3 positions... West and North exit, confirmed... #6 and #7 arriving at the local High School..." There was a long pause, "All positions confirmed, over... Roger that... H1, how long to engage the target?... Wait for the signal, it'll be up any minute now, over..." There was another pause, "H1, this is A1, we have something going on here, over... A1, what do you have? Over... We have a situation over at the local Diner near the school, over... Send in someone to handle it, A1 do you copy?... H1 there's a woman, over... What woman?... It appears that she owns the place, she's sending the package away, over... Stop her A1, do you copy? The package must not leave the point!... On a second thought, take her out, I repeat, take her out! A1 do you copy?... But H1... I repeat A1, Take. Her. Out! Do you copy?... Copy that...." and that's when Henry started to ran.
***
25th Street.
Henry kept on running. He didnt care if his feet started to hurt, or whether his lungs were struggling to get air, he just willed himself to move forward.
Henry can see twenty-fifth street ahead, he'll just have to turn that street to reach the Diner. But before he could make the turn he heard the gun shot. "No... No no no no no no no!" His feet gave in under him, Henry stumbled down face first, "No, please, please, please, no! Mom!!!" Henry called desperately, tears now streaming down his face. He tried to stand up, but his strength failed him. And then there was the loudest explosion he's ever heard in his life.
Right after the explosion was when all chaos broke free. Soldiers started to shoot anyone on sight, where they'd come from, he didnt know. Fire raged on to where the school originally stood, spreading quickly by the hour. It was like a scene from a movie he would watch, but this wasnt a movie. This was his town. Hit by a wave of confusion, blistered by panic, Henry stood up, and started to run again. He ran and ran and ran, until a van pulled in front of him, and told him get on it or die. | Name: Henry Knowles
Age: 17
Gender: Male
Sexuality: He's still trying to figure it out. Probably bicurious?
Personality: Most people in his school would easily label him as a nerd. He's usually found in a corner with a book, or a survivor magazine in hand, probably hanging out with his friends. He doesnt have many friend to begin with, may be except from a few close ones. He doesnt speak too much, although when he does speak up you can be sure its worth hearing. He's either shy or just intentionally avoiding people, or at least only those he thinks would cause him trouble later on.
History: His family owns a small diner a few blocks away from the local High School. His mum ran the business most of the time while his dad waste away in his beer. He is the youngest of the two children. His sister ran away after she finished High School, and never came back. All that he knew about her is that she hated it at Midcreek, she hated their family, how they come in so little, and how their father is a huge failure. She always argue that people in this town are insanely unimaginative. May be she's right. If its up to him, Henry would also choose to leave Midcreek. He often imagines himself some place else, somewhere far, and bigger, and livelier than his home town.
Appearance:
Clothing: His wearing a red-white striped button up shirt, topped with a brown cardigan, a pair of skinny jeans for his bottom, and an old pair of sneakers for his footwear.
Skills & Weaknessess: He has probably read tons of survival books in his life, and he's probably have enough knowledge to survive on his own out in the wild. But the problem is, they werent exactly tested in real life. Much of it were theories, and complex analysis of what to expect out there more or less.
Other: He has his own radio scanner set up in his room. Each night he listens to police reports, and sometimes he and his friends would actually go out in town and secretly help out on small town problems like getting homeless elderly people out of danger from the streets.
EDIT: Did I make it? |
7,028 | 195 | 7 | 1,664 | 553 | Leon felt as if he was going to throw up. This was all too much. He had never seen anything of this calibre before, on the news or otherwise. He walked over to the side of the road and peered in to the forest. "I... uh..." he looked back at the rest of the group and tried to figure out what to do. "So, Hannibal, what's the plan?" a voice spoke up. He recognised that it was Jojo, a guy who was pretty well known back in Midcreek for practical jokes, but even now, it surprised Leon that he was making humorous nicknames. "What, me?" Leon blinked. Jojo didn't have to reply for Leon to know the answer. "The plan? Well... you heard that guy, right? Move in to the forest, find somewhere secluded, and stay away from people... not much more to it." He was speaking with an air of confidence, but deep down, he was completely oblivious to what was going on.
Leon glanced up at the sky, the sun was falling rapidly, and soon, it would be pitch black. "I think we should get in there, find a safe place and set up camp... now. Before it gets freezing cold." Leon blinked and turned around, walking towards the forest at a slow pace. If they wanted to follow him, then good, but he wasn't about to stop any of them if they decided to run off in the other direction. Just because he had been handed a phone didn't mean he was responsible for these people's lives. As insensitive as it seemed, he had himself to worry about right now.
Moving silently, ignoring any conversation behind him, Leon began to meander through the forest. He walked for around five minutes, not once checking to look behind him to see if anyone had followed. Eventually, he reached an area that he considered to be adequate. It was a fairly large hill in a clearing of trees. On the side of the hill was a rocky outcropping upon which a stream ran down. The stream ended in a minature waterfall that would be perfect for drinking from. There was plenty of room beside the outcropping for several tents and sleeping bags, and it wasn't near any trees, so they wouldn't disturb any wildlife.
Leon turned around to see that the entire group was behind him in some way or another - some were perhaps not too happy that he had took charge, others looked relieved that they didn't have to. He shrugged off the thoughts and dropped the bags. "I think we should set up our tents here," he announced. Nobody seemed to disagree. "I'm going to get some firewood," he said quickly afterwards, realising that he, as well as a few of the others, would probably struggle to sleep tonight, and a campfire would be a good source of heat to sit around.
In the bags were five 2-man tents. They were only small, so they would only take a few minutes to set up between the group. By the time Leon had returned with firewood, they were pretty much all up. Leon knelt down and arranged the sticks in to a campfire, proceeding to take his lighter from his pocket and to ignite it. When he was done he sat down beside it and sighed deeply, glancing around at the rest of the survivors. There was nobody here he would consider a friend. He knew all of their faces, and he was pretty confident on their names, but some of them he had never spoken to. He pulled his hood up and glanced back at the fire. | Name: Bianca Lewis
Age : 17
Gender : Female
Sexuality : Bisexual
Personality : Bee is quiet and reserved due to years of bullying. She doesn't want to make friends, mostly preferring to be left alone. She tends to dislike most of her classmates, either for bullying her or ignoring her being bullied. She also has a tendency to envy people around her and has next to no self esteem. She tries to ignore people making fun of her therefore had a high tolerance regarding her anger, however the explosion has threatened to push her over the edge.
History : Ever since she could remember, Bee has been obese. It meant she was ostracized from everything in school. Nobody wanted to do anything with her, and once she got the reputation of the "unpopular kid" it was hard to shake. She found solace in things such as books and movies, and the Anime Club at her school, where she met one of her only friends, Sierra. One day she was being made fun of when staying after school by a guy named Vinny. He was harassing her and she tried to ignore him, but he followed her. He was making fun of her weight and her family, and when she got to the stairs, he pushed her. It was soft, but it set her off and Bee threw Vinny down the stairs. He broke his arm and blamed Bee, and the majority of the school took his side. She became even more ostracized as the girl who beat up one of the most popular kids in school.
Bee's family includes a mother who travels for business, and often leaves her with a nanny. Her mother was in town during the explosion, however. Bee herself was out at the old pond on the outskirts of town during the explosion, just getting away from it all.
Clothing : She tends to wear whatever she can find, including t-shirts, sweat pants and jeans.
Skills & Weaknessess: Bee is a very smart girl. She had applied to two Ivy League schools, Brown and UPenn, but hadn't heard a response back yet. She doesn't work well with people, however. She is very good at blending in to a crowd, ironically, and keeping her head down, therefore she has learned to eavesdrop on people and observe situations very well. |
7,029 | 195 | 8 | 2,441 | 646 | Jojo knew Hannibal knew he was being called Hannibal. Hannibal didn't have to know where Jojo's eyes were looking for Hannibal to know he was Hannibal. Hannibal lead the way. Man and dog followed immediately, knowing that the kid in front was the de facto leader (was the phone a symbol of power, much like Prospero's magical garments?) and that survival likely meant following that phone. Maxxy bounded around, doing whatever dogs did in forests, and sniffed around the other lucky campers. None were much too excited to be here, and the thought of an extended vacation in where-ever-the-fuck-we-areville put everyone else in an even more dire mood. "Does anyone know how to use a tree as a compass? Correct me if I'm wrong, but the moss grows on the North, right? And since our cozy little burning inferno is situated in this part of California, I vote to move away. Preferably north, to Canada," Jojo said, not necessarily to anyone, just to clarify his whirlwind thoughts.
Another 3 or 4 minutes later, the woods thinned a little to reveal a small clearing, with a nearby stream. Perfect for a camping spot, if Jojo were a boy scout. But he wasn't. Frankly, he didn't care, so he dropped his load on the thick mossy floor and went for a drink in the stream. It was lukewarm from the California heat, but soothing on his scorched throat nonetheless. All of his injuries were beginning to finally hit him now that his head had cleared and the adrenaline had ceased. A pounding headache like a parade drum, legs cut to shit from the flying debris in the explosion, dried blood from the ears. If only he had a toy gun and a beach, he could've been an extra in the D-Day landings scene from Saving Private Ryan. Maxxy lapped up the sweet relief and finally seated herself with her head on Jojo's lap. "What a day, gurl. What. A. Day," he said, absent minded. Jojo checked over Maxxy's body for any serious wounds, but found only light bruising and small cuts, all of which had healed near enough. "You're a lucky S.O.B, you know that?" he asked, kissing her head. Jojo grabbed a few sticks and lifted himself up, feeling the thick, viscous blood slowly fill his legs and they felt like lead, anchoring him to the very spot. The feeling wasn't going away, so he shut it out and grabbed some dry sticks to drop next to Leon's stack. "Here kiddo, make fire. Let's do it like the cavemen did." Just because it was a truly shit period, doesn't mean he could just stop being sarcastic, could it?
Awkwardly leveraging himself down, he noticed his tent had been set up. A thank you would be in order in a moment, but right now was just a moment for... for... what? Recollection? Mourning? The truth was, he didn't feel anything. Sure, he loved his mother and father, but he wasn't entirely sure, and no-one would ever be. Pretending they went on a surprise night-away and decided to leave Jojo to fend for himself was much easier to comprehend than an over-sized barbecue.
"Where's the food? This might be a bit quick, but I'm already tired of all your nasty-ass faces, I just want some chow, then I'm going to bed," Jojo said. Sitting around staring at a fire like a bunch of monkeys in jeans wasn't going to advance the situation any further than jumping into the school fire. According to the rucksack, there were x amount of beans, x amount of canned tomatoes, x amount of tinned tuna, and x amount of some unmarked tin. He sure as hell wasn't going to count. Jojo took an unmarked tin and peeled it back. "Corn beef. Thank God it wasn't apricots," he commented gleefully, spooning half into his mouth and half onto the ground where Maxxy devoured it like Cerberus on a human soul. "Delicious, I may say so myself. I'm gonna go catch some zed's now, so if anyone wants me -" Red Fox and Carrie received a wink "- I'll be in there," he said, leaving the cheery little campfire. Half-expecting them to burst out in 'She'll Be Coming Round The Mountain' at his departure, but if anything the silence got heavier and thicker and soon it swallowed the group like the sea and an over-board crew-member.
Jojo sat in the corner of his tent with Maxxy. She snuggled into his collarbone and rested there. And suddenly the full realisation of everything hit him like a tank shell. His parents were dead. Not getting kinky at a Motel 8, but holding hands together as burnt skeletons in amidst the bones of everyone who's name he ever knew. Tears welled like levees in a hurricane, but nothing lasts for long, and especially not levees in a hurricane. He wept and cried, sobbed and raged. Maxxy would lick away every tear which rolled onto his chin, and as Jojo hiccuped his way into stupor, Maxxy cradled the boys head in her paws and nested his head in her neck. | Name: Joe Stark (Most people just call him 'Jojo' though)
Age: 18
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Personality: Normally quite cynical, Joe is that one guy who you don't mind having in your group but not when you're talking about happy memories. If, however, you have a strong craving for sarcasm, dry humour, and black comedy, Jojo is your guy. Typically classed as your average 'funny asshole', he's pretty infamous around the town for his verbal brutality and stunning pranks. People come to him for help in retribution due to his mischievous nature and relatively high intelligence, but is otherwise left to mix with his smallish group of very close friends.
History: Jojo is one of the most normal and average people around. His childhood was uneventful, and so no personality flaws were foreseen. However his pessimistic outlook and quick wits changed their perception of him when he managed to graffiti a piece of art depicting several teachers and head students in a Roman-style orgy whilst also managing to hack the school server and send a letter of concern to every email telling them how they've been 'naughty boys and girls' and parking every single one of the senior students' cars in the gymnasium. It's quite blatant he never managed it himself, but Jojo continues to restate he worked solo. He gained a small crew of loyal jokers who he would conduct smaller prankers with until January 31st, when he would perform his 'Annual Pranking Palava!' in which a prank of enormous proportions would be performed. The school and the police could never definitively tie him and his lackeys to the event, but they always watched him closely around that time of the year.
Appearance:
Clothing: Black and red checked shirt (same as in the photo),
,
Skills & Weaknesses: Jojo is clever and quick, however is not as honourable as others. Seeing no sense in injuring himself in order to save others, he will judge the odds on the battle to see if he most likely win. A man of strategic intelligence, Jojo would be almost entirely useless in a social situation relying on his people skills to advance.
Other: Jojo has a pet dog called Maxxy. Maxxy is Jojo's trusty companion, and has seen just about as much shit as Jojo has. A quiet dog who is quite shy, she will stick by his leg, gently rubbing against it to tell him she is still there.
Just let me know if you aren't happy with anything. |
7,030 | 195 | 9 | 1,820 | 96 | Raven didn't really remember much, having decided to use the stealth approach. She saw a guy call the leader guy, who she dubbed Leonardo from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Hannibal or something like that. She was a bit distracted trying and luckily succeeding in making up a game plan on what to do. Mentally going through every movie and book she's ever been in contact with.
Yet, in all, there was one answer. Stick together. Your safer in a group. Or if your manipulative and a bad person you could throw someone under the bus. Luckily Raven is a pretty decent person. When you first know her.
Raven was torn out of her thoughts when Leonardo started leading the group through the forest. Everyone ended up following with Raven behind everyone else.
As she was walking she was stopping every once in a while to pick up sticks. For the fire. She used to go camping with Caroline's family on the weekend. It was fun and she learnt a lot of survival tips from Caroline's dad Frank.
When they arrived at a sort of clearing area Leonardo stated he'd go and get some wood. When he was gone everyone had put up the tents. Raven let them do that and worked on putting up her own tent. She says 'own' sarcastically because she is fully aware she'd have to share.
Then, Leonardo came back and made a fire. Isn't someone a trooper? She thought eyeing him with slight respect. That's all he's getting. Then, he sat down by the fire. Raven was cold, really regretting wearing a top that revealed her stomach.
So, she sat the sticks down nearby and sat on the opposite side of the fire from Leonardo sitting criss-cross. She then proceeded to stare into the flames. | Name : Justine Christophe
Age : 18
Gender : Female
Sexuality : Bisexual
Personality : Justine is chatty, and friendly, but a little hesitant to talk to some of her peers, because of the language barrier between them, as her first language is French. She is strong willed, and quick to become defensive if she feels threatened, though she doesn't know enough English to argue well.
History : Born and raised near Nice, on the southern coast of France, her parents were vineyard owners just a few miles out of the city. Her three brothers all adored rugby, and Justine had little choice but to learn to love the sport. As her brothers grew older, only one managed to retain his talent for rugby, moving to Paris to train for the professional teams.
Justine emigrated with her parents and younger brother to California a year and a half ago, and settled on the edge of Midcreek to establish their new vineyard and business in America. She still feels rather like an outsider, because of the new language she has to cope with, as well as all of the new school and her different interests to her peers.
America, however, had less support for the sport than in Europe, which somewhat disappointed her. Still, she played with her younger brother on the hills beyond their home, which was where she was when the explosion happened. Her two older brothers, still in France, believe she is dead, along with the rest of their family.
Appearance :
Clothing :A French rugby jersey, dark blue v-neck jumper, grey jeans and brown boots
Skills & Weaknessess : She's very sporty, and quite strong after years of handling farming equipment. However, she isn't particularly good at communicating, tending to panic easily and then become unable to properly translate what she wants to say in to English so that others can understand her. |
7,031 | 195 | 10 | 156 | 2,749 | Michael had no hesitation in following the guy with the phone. If he wanted to be the leader that was his gig Michael wasn't looking to usurp any kind of given or implied title from anyone. At this moment Michael was just grateful to still be alive, and even though he didn't really know the group Michael felt almost comfortable with them. Mainly because it seemed like no one really knew anyone that well. Michael had a feeling that dynamic was going to change over the next few hours.
Once the tents were set up Michael walked over to one of them and just stared at it for a moment. He felt around his jacket and pulled out a ticket stub from a Bruce Springsteen concert in L-A that was about two years ago. It was one of the best birthday surprises he ever got from his older brother Eric. Eric paid for a hotel room and for a shot at the front row for the two of them. Eric was far from a Bruce fan but he knew what it would mean to Michael so he made it happen for his little brother. Not only did they enjoy the show from the front row, but Bruce actually looked at Michael at one point and sang to him. Eric would never admit it to Michael but the look on Michael's face that night was something he would always cherish. Now though it was just a memory that would remind Michael of what he had lost. Michael dropped the ticket stub in the tent and said, "I claim this land for Spain."
Michael saw that a campfire was getting underway and that others were gathering around it. Except for one guy who was trying to hit on two of the young ladies. Michael just rolled his eyes and shook his head. Michael said, "I'll go get some more firewood. Looks like we're gonna be hanging around here for a while might as well make the most of it,"
Michael walked away and began to gather a few more pieces. When he returned he set them off to the side and joined the others at the campfire. There was an uneasiness in air as the smell of the place they all called home was in smoking ruins now. Michael said, "This evening at home finally makes sense."
He looked around and said, "My name is Michael DeLorenzo and my father is..." that is when it hit Michael like a thunderbolt. Michael closed his eyes for a second and took a deep breath as he said, "or was I should say the Sheriff, and yes my mom was Principal DeLorenzo. Anyway he came home tonight and usually the first thing he does when he gets home is get his uniform and into a t-shirt and shorts. Well this evening he just sat on the couch in his uniform with a shotgun on his lap and staring at a family portrait done about two years ago. I was going out and he told me not to worry about a curfew tonight."
Michael shook his head slowly and said, "The way he talked to me. It's like he knew something was gonna happen tonight and that this was his and my mom's last night on Earth. Whatever he knew or suspected he took it to the grave with him."
Michael closed his eyes again and said a silent prayer. When he was done Michael crossed himself and said, "Amen. Anyone else wanna share their first name? We appear to have plenty of time to get to know one another." | Name:
Raphaela “Raffy” Peony Cox
Age :
17
Gender :
Female
Sexuality :
Demisexual
Personality :
Raffy is a sweet girl with a friendly and loving approach to everybody…or so it seems. In truth, Raffy is a manipulative liar who loves to spin webs and cause chaos to benefit her or just to have fun. Ambitious and sly, she has placed herself in a position at high school where teachers and students trusted her. Those who didn’t trust her was because she had crossed them and the only thing keeping their mouths shut is Raffy blackmailing them. Many, if they knew the truth about Raffy, would consider her immoral – Raffy doesn’t care about rights and wrongs, just about self-preservation. If there is a possibility, in the end, she is on top, she will do whatever she can to make it a fact. The redhead would betray her own parents if it were to ensure her survival. Intelligent and charismatic, it is easy to fall into her trap and not many have been able to see through her – at least, none that she know of.
History :
Raffy was born to an ex-Politian, Katherine Cox, and a businessman, Jameson Cox. As she grew up, they prepared her for when she would take over Cox Industries and raised her to be a ruthless, smooth businesswoman. In the process, however, they created an independent nihilist whose only joy in life was herself. Her parents never showed an interest in Raffy’s life except for the one they created for her; when she was little, this caused great upset for Raffy, but now that she is older, she only finds it liberating. The Cox family never grew emotional attachments to each other and was more acquaintances than family, but they were all okay with it. The members of the dysfunctional family were too independent to be reliant.
Raffy was encouraged to do well in school and popularity – she easily became everyone’s friend - and was ushered to pick up a hobby. When her mother said hobby, she probably meant stamp-collecting and knitting; Raffy began to create unnecessary drama as a hobby. She would constantly be on the phone, talking to those whom needed her condolence. Raffy just used this to gain more hold. In the end, Raphaela had become what her parents wanted her to: a ruthless, independent woman.
Clothing:
On the night of the fire, Raffy was wearing jeans that came to just above her knees and a long-sleeved, cotton, plain grey shirt. On her feet were beat-up traditional vans that she didn’t typically wear, but decided to wear on that day.
Skills:
- Charismatic
- Sly
- Intelligence
- Great Liar
Weaknesses:
- Not athletic
- Her manipulation is a double-edged sword
- Storms scare her
- She is not inconspicuous
Other:
N/A |
7,032 | 195 | 11 | 1,664 | 553 | Raven was just minding her own business when Leonardo-nope, Michael-broke the ice and introduced himself telling a bit about his family. Even going into a bit of a prayer towards the end. Raven felt an foreign feeling settle in her stomach. She hasn't felt it in a long time. It was....pity,
Raven was the kind of girl to grab life by the balls. She was someone who was underestimated. Always quiet and in the shadows when you first meet her. Then, once you get to know her, you see she is a brave and loyal person. Yet, she doesn't like showing weakness. She doesn't like pity.
So, the fact that she's giving it to this guy Michael is strange to say the least.
Then, we have this other chick. Raphaela. Now, this girl was interesting. She introduced herself to everyone. Though, the thing was....she lied. You see, Raven is a manipulator. Lying is her second language. First being Italian. Raven was called the Mirror by her friends. Due to being double sided. 2 sides to her. Alike but one reveals the cruel truth.
Raven has learnt to master lying and she can very much tell when someone else is lying. So, this Rapheala chick was definitely on her 'Watch out for' list.
Raven then decided 'screw it', she'd go next.
"Well, I'm Raven. Not much to tell. No parents to speak of so nothing to really tell so yeah let's leave it at that." She said with a small grin and small wave. She never met her parents having jumped from foster home to foster home. Till eventually she was emancipated. Thank goddess.
Though, she did track her parents down. She was a talented hacker. Hacked medical files and fount them. They were actually wealthy politicians with 2 children already. Perfect family. Understandable if they wouldn't want another. As they probably wanted the whole Apple-Pie life. | Name: Bianca Lewis
Age : 17
Gender : Female
Sexuality : Bisexual
Personality : Bee is quiet and reserved due to years of bullying. She doesn't want to make friends, mostly preferring to be left alone. She tends to dislike most of her classmates, either for bullying her or ignoring her being bullied. She also has a tendency to envy people around her and has next to no self esteem. She tries to ignore people making fun of her therefore had a high tolerance regarding her anger, however the explosion has threatened to push her over the edge.
History : Ever since she could remember, Bee has been obese. It meant she was ostracized from everything in school. Nobody wanted to do anything with her, and once she got the reputation of the "unpopular kid" it was hard to shake. She found solace in things such as books and movies, and the Anime Club at her school, where she met one of her only friends, Sierra. One day she was being made fun of when staying after school by a guy named Vinny. He was harassing her and she tried to ignore him, but he followed her. He was making fun of her weight and her family, and when she got to the stairs, he pushed her. It was soft, but it set her off and Bee threw Vinny down the stairs. He broke his arm and blamed Bee, and the majority of the school took his side. She became even more ostracized as the girl who beat up one of the most popular kids in school.
Bee's family includes a mother who travels for business, and often leaves her with a nanny. Her mother was in town during the explosion, however. Bee herself was out at the old pond on the outskirts of town during the explosion, just getting away from it all.
Clothing : She tends to wear whatever she can find, including t-shirts, sweat pants and jeans.
Skills & Weaknessess: Bee is a very smart girl. She had applied to two Ivy League schools, Brown and UPenn, but hadn't heard a response back yet. She doesn't work well with people, however. She is very good at blending in to a crowd, ironically, and keeping her head down, therefore she has learned to eavesdrop on people and observe situations very well. |
7,033 | 195 | 12 | 1,228 | 2,386 | Lillah followed leader boy's example and took it upon herself to grab another couple of the bags left for them. She imagined her physical strength would come in handy out in the wilderness, but she didn't have much of anything else to offer. Already, the dark thoughts that had been becoming less and less frequent as she approached the end of the school year were coming back in rapid fire.
With a bleak gaze, she followed the group to the clearing by the stream. Her and her father had been camping once, the summer before her freshman year at Midcreek High School. They had been far much closer then than they were at the end. He had teased her about her dependence on technology: "you're not bringing your Gameboy either," he had decided, to which she explained that the DS wasn't a Gameboy. In response, he only added her phone to a list of things she wasn't allowed to have in the woods. Regardless, the trip was fun--disconnecting from the stress of everyday life had really helped curb her depression.
Now it was just amplifying it, and the memories of what once was only hurt.
She barely noticed when leader boy disappeared to gather firewood--otherwise she would've offered to help in order to blow off some of her steam. With her sweatshirt on, she probably looked rather slim; however, underneath the clothing she had toned, muscular arms that could rival the strength of a young man. Soon enough, tents were being set up, but she only dropped the bags she had carried and sat back, seeing but not really observing as the group worked. The guilt of not helping wouldn't set until much later if at all.
Soon enough, they had a fire going as well, and that gave her something else to stare at for the time being. The night was cool; however, she stayed where she was. She didn't want to bond with these people. I want to leave, she thought, though she had no where to go. Keeping her eyes on the fire, she wasn't too aware of the commotion going on around her.
Although she was trying to collect her thoughts, she soon gave up on that: anything she was thinking was a repeat of the night's events or how much she didn't want to be here in any sense of the word. Fuck, she thought, knowing she had to give herself a distraction. So she reluctantly got up from her seat against the tree and walked over to sit by the fire. She settled down just as the comedian retreated into his tent with his dog and a wink that she didn't catch--not that she was looking out for guys flirting with her anyway. She sat halfway between both Raven and leader boy, her eyes flickering to the Frenchie beside him.
She opened her mouth to speak to the young woman she knew to be Raven, but Mr. Michael DeLorenzo decided to declare a speech to the camp instead. She held in a sigh of annoyance, and managed to stare at him evenly as he spoke. It sounded like he was implying that whatever happened tonight was not some random act of terrorism. She couldn't find the strength to dwell on it in that moment, though, and was distracted by his gestures. Is he seriously crossing himself? she thought as his speech came to a close, feeling her anger flare up. She didn't have a problem with the religious types, but she did not enjoy the talkative religious types.
Jesus fucking Christ, just count to ten, she told herself as she looked back to the fire with furrowed eyebrows and her lips set into a straight line, angry that she was angry. So, she drew in a long breath and exhaled, counting up from one in her mind. When she finally reached ten, she licked her lips and allowed her gaze to wander over the other students. The red head called Raffy stepped up and introduced herself--she seemed to be doing her best to stay smiling. Raven went next. Then the leader boy--Leon--offered his name and that was it. The tomboy followed his example.
"Lillah," she finally offered in a flat tone, realizing that if she really didn't want to be dead by morning, she'd have to find for herself some reasons to live. | Name: Raven Mc'Crossin
Age : 18
Gender : Female
Sexuality : Bisexual
Personality : Kind, Bitchy at times, Smart, Independent, Clever, Looks out for no-one but herself. If she trusts you though she will protect you.
History : She was born to a single father and older sister. Her father was a big shot police officer and her sister was in college. They lived a good life in a nice home. With a warm and comforting environment. Raven was happy. The only bad thing to mention was her school social life. She was known as the freak and outcast of the school due to her fashion sense and personality.
She was a beautiful girl but, people didn't care only pointing out her flaws. Though, she did gave 3 friends. Best friends. They were in a band together called 'Hardly Angels'. She was the lead singer and guitarist, her friend Brianna was the drummer and her other friend Caroline was the Keyboard player. It was due to not having a date to prom she didn't go.
Her lack of popularity saved her life.
Clothing : She wore black destroyed jeans with an Avenged Sevenfold shirt that was ripped so it revealed her stomach, also revealing her belly ring. She then had on a cropped black leather jacket with the initials H.A on it for her band. Then, black combat boots and a necklace that had multiple dog tags on it.
Skills & Weaknessess :
Skills:
1. Martial arts
2. Flexibility
3. Stamina
4. Photographic Memory
Weaknesses:
1. Water
2. Clowns
3. Temper
Other : Nope!~ |
7,034 | 195 | 13 | 2,203 | 58 | Spark, as usual, just did what he was told, following Leon as he walked away up the hill, having no idea how to actually survive out in the forest. He'd never been much of a camper, and his parent's idea of a holiday was less fun filled adventures in the trees or sitting around campfires roasting marshmallows whilst someone told ghost stories, more wannabe five star hotels in the middle of the Tennessee, where the only planned activities were arguing with the extended family and wishing you were anywhere but there. He could handle the drunken Uncle that spent more time ranting to himself about how the spirit of real country music was lost than he did talking to his wife (who, by the way, may or may not have been sleeping with her ex husband for the past three months, but that's another story), but he couldn't handle the great big outdoors. He'd tried though, for everyone else's sake. He didn't want to be the useless guy that the group ended up looking after more than anything else. He couldn't stand not being useful, never had done.
When they walked, he's somehow managed to fall in somewhere in the middle, the black rucksack he'd picked up not heavy enough to slow him down. He doubted he'd even taken a bulk of the weight, other people's looking significantly worse than his, but strength wasn't exactly his forte. He'd managed to keep up, anyway, using the familiar crunch of the leaves below his feet as a reminder that he wasn't the only one there, and it wasn't a suicide mission. Not yet, anyway.
Quickly discarding his bag to the floor when they arrived at the clearing, he immediately got to work putting tents up, rolling the already creased sleeves of his hoodie up so it was easier to work, nimble fingers easily navigating the various poles and pull overs, managing to figure out the basic construction without bothering to read the instructions. Tents really weren't that hard, it turned out. It was only when all the tents were up that Leon returned, firewood in hand, and quickly made a fire that everyone gathered round again. Well, all but Jojo, who'd already retreated into a tent. throwing some mild invitation to the girls before disappearing, presumably for the night. Taking a seat roughly between Lillah and Leon, he looked around at the group, fingers drumming nervously against the pockets of his jeans.
Spencer waited until pretty much everyone had gone to even dare to speak up, spending most of his time questioning exactly why they were introducing themselves. It's not like they'd known each other all through high school, hell, maybe even been in the same year... Oh no wait. It didn't make much sense to him, truth be told, but he wasn't about to challenge the apparent social convention just because he was confused and in a bad mood. Besides, he wasn't about to attract attention to himself on the first day, he wasn't that ill tempered, so he just left it to a muttered side comment, "this makes no sense," the chances of anyone but Lillah or Leon hearing him were stupidly slim, impossible, even.
"Uh, Spencer, Spark - whatever you want, really..." He finally spoke up, lifting his hand to do a small, two fingered wave at everyone before dropping it back to his lap, not quite sure what they were all supposed to do now. His gaze flickered around the group once more, waiting for someone else to do or say something, anything, to stop the threat of the oncoming silence. | Name: Spencer "Spark" Small
Age: 17
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual, but he's never really thought about it.
------------
Personality: Spencer has somewhat of a nervous disposition, due to an uncomfortable amount of accidents that lead to people being hurt, and it all being his fault. He's friendly enough, and actually has a pretty decent sense of humor when he puts his mind to it... It just takes him a little while to adjust to new people, even when they've been life long acquaintances, or friends in the past. Once he gets used to people he tends to open up a lot more, with a tendency to become more talkative (some would say more annoying, too), when he actually bothers to try and make friends. His main problem, however, is his natural ability to get anxious very easily, working himself up over the smallest details and convincing himself that, if something goes wrong, it's most definitely his fault. His coping mechanism is less than adequate too, as since a young age, Spark has been known to set things on fire as a means of relieving tension and, as much as he would like to deny it, he's a bit of a pyromaniac.
----
History: Spencer's upbringing was unsurprisingly mundane. His dad worked in an office downtown and his mum, well, she liked to say her job was caring for people, but she was actually one of the worst stay at home mum's in town. Naturally bossy and lazy, she made it her duty to teach her kids the rights and wrongs of life, and, most importantly: how to survive. Or, that's what she claimed, anyway. She'd constantly have Spark doing the most mundane of tasks, like doing the washing up and hoovering, even if it was getting to the point where he couldn't balance chores and homework. He was taught that doing what he was told and obeying orders was always the best way to survive in life, and that talking things out or complaining would only make things worse. He couldn't talk things out, he couldn't do anything to a reaction out of his mother, apart from lighting things up, so that's what he did, and it all spiraled out of control from there.
Fire became Spencer's 'thing', if you will. A way of coping with the everyday stress that a mix of school and home brought onto him. If he ever got low or angry, he just had to set something on fire to feel better again. Well, for a while, anyway. It was this issue that brought more chaos into his life, his mother telling him that he 'had a problem and needed help', his dad telling him that it was 'just a phase'. Everything was just pilling up on top of him: end of year exams, his mother breathing down his neck every chance she got, and he couldn't take it anymore. That was the day he burnt the house down. Literally.
His mother almost kicked out for doing so, but by some miracle his dad talked her round. His home life had been rocky at best ever since. Not that he'd ever complain - the more his parents left him alone, the better he felt. He couldn't accidentally hurt anyone with fire if they weren't around him, right? And so he set to work distancing himself from people, something that wasn't particularly hard when you were are quiet as he was already.
------------
Clothing: White tank top with a dark grey zip up hoodie, black skinny jeans, once-white converse and a black beanie hat.
Skills & Weaknessess: Spark is a doer, not a talker. He's quick to act and follow orders, doing exactly what he's told to the exact letter, with no exceptions. Whilst he's no leader, he's one hell of a follower, and he's not unwilling to do the jobs everyone else is unwilling to do, as he's determined that a job is a job, and it has to be done for a reason. He's quite lean too, and what he may lack in strength he makes up for in speed and stamina, able to run happily for miles if he really had to... He just wouldn't enjoy it much.
Other: He has a lighter that he carries around with him obsessively, other than that I don't think so.
---
Okiedokie, I hope this fine - I'm also sorry it took so long. |
7,035 | 195 | 14 | 2,528 | 277 | The whole ride was shared in silence. Henry thought it was for the best... for now. Besides he didnt feel like talking at the moment. There were millions of things going on in his mind, good and bad things, and things that might probably best to keep for himself for awhile. He was too consumed in this grief that he hadnt even noticed the van stopped until David told them to get out. He handed them each of the same bags and then, just like that, sped away.
Henry followed the rest of the group, not really paying much attention to what they were doing, or where they were. He felt so hollowed inside he cant even start to describe. It doesn't matter what caused the emptiness, but that empty spot within himself stung so bad he wanted to find any kind of relief, or just wrap himself up so tight he cant feel it anymore.
Its as if his brain decided to turn itself off that he's willing to take anything just to get his body to function. So when a boy he only knew by face started to lead the group further within the forest, Henry didnt even thought twice to follow him. Other than feeling bad about the tragedy that happened to their town, he's got nothing else better to do. Besides, they could use someone who can lead, and whether that might be from the phone David gave him, Henry felt comfortable with idea of that boy leading the group.
He might not be as efficient as he used to be when he's not in his grieving self, but having nothing else to do, Henry tried his best to do what was asked, or what seemed logical to do at that moment. He joined the boy leader at picking up dried sticks for the fire. He would help with building the tents too, but he's too distracted and clumsy for that kind of work.
Soon enough there was a fire going, and the tents were all up. Henry saw some of the kids gathering near the fire, and around the 'leader', but as inviting the scene looked like, Henry thought otherwise to join them. The fire reminded him so much of what happened today, and that pain he couldnt still handle. So he went and sat a little further away, against a tree by the edge of the clearing, but just far enough to hear the conversations from the campfire.
Working at the diner taught him not to judge people by what they look like or by the things they do. Its what they say that matters the most. Because whatever it is, whether its the truth or a plain lie, what they say is a part of them. So he started observing everyone and made a mental note about who's potentially going to be on his "who to avoid" list.
That boy with his dog sure has his own way of expressing himself, a little rude for Henry's liking, but his instinct tells him that there is something more to that boy other than being, well, an asshole for one, so he's putting him on his "temporary avoiding" list. There wasnt much talking after his little antics, but after everyone was settled in around the fire, it was Michael DeLorenzo who broke the silence.
Henry knew him. How couldnt he? He's probably listened to Sheriff DeLorenzo tons of times talking about his son over his radio scanner that he probqably knew him more than anyone else in the group. Besides, who didnt know about the Sheriff's family anyway? Michael seem a nice guy, so he's not going in any of Henry's avoid lists. After him, some of the kids followed his step, and started introducing themselves.
Raphaela Cox. Henry's not sure about this one. She sound like a pretty tricky person, although what she only said was her name and what she was suppose to inherit like its really important for people to know. Henry personally didnt care. She goes to the temporary avoiding list.
The next who spoke up was Raven. Well, basing on her performance so far, she seem pretty at ease with her lonesome. It doesnt have to do with what happened with their home town, but she just prefers to be alone. She didnt said much aside from saying she doesnt have much to tell, so Henry's still not sure where to put her. Probably on the neutral list.
Leon didnt gave much about himself, but his name. Well, at least he knows his name now. Henry decided he'll know more about him soon enough. Not in any list.
And then, there's Lillah. Of course Henry knew her. She's been a regular customer at the diner. They had exchanged words a few times before, and she's been pretty nice to him. Although there's just something that he didnt trust about her, otherwise she's all good. Not going in any of his avoid lists either.
The last one who spoke up was Spencer. There's not much to be said about him aside from the fact that he looks a little nervous, or was that discomfort being in the group that Henry had seen in him? Well, whatever that was, he seem pretty harmless. He might even become a potential acquaintance, he used the word acquaintance because he's not ready to used the word friend yet. He's also not going to be in any list.
Henry wanted to wait for everyone to speak up first, but judging by the long pause, no one will probably be speaking for a while until someone breaks it again for them. Whatever. "Henry." Henry offered, mustering all his courage to speak up, "Its Henry." He said a little louder so they could hear him from the distance. "My family owns a small diner near the local High School. My mom runs the place most of the time." He said. Henry decided to leave everything else for himself. | Name: Henry Knowles
Age: 17
Gender: Male
Sexuality: He's still trying to figure it out. Probably bicurious?
Personality: Most people in his school would easily label him as a nerd. He's usually found in a corner with a book, or a survivor magazine in hand, probably hanging out with his friends. He doesnt have many friend to begin with, may be except from a few close ones. He doesnt speak too much, although when he does speak up you can be sure its worth hearing. He's either shy or just intentionally avoiding people, or at least only those he thinks would cause him trouble later on.
History: His family owns a small diner a few blocks away from the local High School. His mum ran the business most of the time while his dad waste away in his beer. He is the youngest of the two children. His sister ran away after she finished High School, and never came back. All that he knew about her is that she hated it at Midcreek, she hated their family, how they come in so little, and how their father is a huge failure. She always argue that people in this town are insanely unimaginative. May be she's right. If its up to him, Henry would also choose to leave Midcreek. He often imagines himself some place else, somewhere far, and bigger, and livelier than his home town.
Appearance:
Clothing: His wearing a red-white striped button up shirt, topped with a brown cardigan, a pair of skinny jeans for his bottom, and an old pair of sneakers for his footwear.
Skills & Weaknessess: He has probably read tons of survival books in his life, and he's probably have enough knowledge to survive on his own out in the wild. But the problem is, they werent exactly tested in real life. Much of it were theories, and complex analysis of what to expect out there more or less.
Other: He has his own radio scanner set up in his room. Each night he listens to police reports, and sometimes he and his friends would actually go out in town and secretly help out on small town problems like getting homeless elderly people out of danger from the streets.
EDIT: Did I make it? |
7,036 | 195 | 15 | 1,820 | 96 | Once everyone finished saying their first name, and saying whatever they wanted to say about themselves a hush settled in. It wasn't a welcomed hush either, but what more could realistically be said about their situation. There was still a tension within the group that Michael could feel, so much so that he could almost reach out and touch it. The tension was born of questions. Questions like: Can I trust the person next to me realistically? What happens when we run out of food? Why did this happen? Did it happen elsewhere in the world? When people starter to reveal their true colors were they gonna be like the clown who was in the tent? If that was the case things were gonna get ugly real fast.
The biggest question hanging over the group though was; what about tomorrow? A lot of questions and not any answers to go on either.
Michael let out an exhale and said, "Earlier I crossed myself as I said a prayer if that upset or offended anyone I'm sorry. I'm a practicing Roman Catholic, and I realize not everyone here is R-C or even believes in God." Michael nodded and said, "Fair enough. I will not force my religious or personal beliefs on anyone else. I will respect your point of view as long as you understand mine."
Michael stretched his legs out and crossed his feet and said, "I realize that we all come from different parts of the town, and from different places in life. Right now though we can either stand together and do what we can to survive, or we might as well march right back into town and wait to die. It's that simple we are all that each other has. We've lost family and friends and i will miss my family for the rest of my life, but my family would want me to do whatever it took to survive. This group is everything to our survival, and I will do whatever I can to help this group survive."
Michael looked around and said, "Sorry if I shot my mouth off a little too much, but this group it's all I've got left and I'm not ashamed to say it I'm more than a little worried about what tomorrow and the day after looks like. All that being said just because I'm afraid doesn't mean I'm not gonna act." Michael rolled his eyes and said, "Okay I'll shut up now, and I know most of you are thinking 'finally.'"
Michael stood up put another log on the fire and sat back down. He looked into the fire and thought about all those times he would see a fire in the fireplace at home. Seeing the fire going on Christmas morning was one of his sweetest memories. Michael smiled as he remembered the first Christmas Eric came home from college. Seeing him standing by the fire place and smiling as Michael came down the stairs made Michael's Christmas. Now fire would serve to remind him of what was lost to Michael and that it was time to move on. | Name : Justine Christophe
Age : 18
Gender : Female
Sexuality : Bisexual
Personality : Justine is chatty, and friendly, but a little hesitant to talk to some of her peers, because of the language barrier between them, as her first language is French. She is strong willed, and quick to become defensive if she feels threatened, though she doesn't know enough English to argue well.
History : Born and raised near Nice, on the southern coast of France, her parents were vineyard owners just a few miles out of the city. Her three brothers all adored rugby, and Justine had little choice but to learn to love the sport. As her brothers grew older, only one managed to retain his talent for rugby, moving to Paris to train for the professional teams.
Justine emigrated with her parents and younger brother to California a year and a half ago, and settled on the edge of Midcreek to establish their new vineyard and business in America. She still feels rather like an outsider, because of the new language she has to cope with, as well as all of the new school and her different interests to her peers.
America, however, had less support for the sport than in Europe, which somewhat disappointed her. Still, she played with her younger brother on the hills beyond their home, which was where she was when the explosion happened. Her two older brothers, still in France, believe she is dead, along with the rest of their family.
Appearance :
Clothing :A French rugby jersey, dark blue v-neck jumper, grey jeans and brown boots
Skills & Weaknessess : She's very sporty, and quite strong after years of handling farming equipment. However, she isn't particularly good at communicating, tending to panic easily and then become unable to properly translate what she wants to say in to English so that others can understand her. |
7,037 | 195 | 16 | 156 | 2,749 | Raffy really wanted to say finally. The whole heart-to-heart thing wasn’t typically her style; it had the slight risk of getting attached. Though, Raffy was a bit too cold to get attached easily. She preferred the artificial bonding over shared interests’ route; it gave her room to maneuver. Raffy kept a sincere, apologetic countenance despite her annoyance, her eyes wide and her mouth frowning somewhat. Every once in a while she would change it vaguely as to give the impression she was harmlessly thinking. The official manipulation would begin tomorrow and she was excited, giddy even. Raffy, after all, wasn’t happy unless she was in control.
“Let’s talk ‘bout something else.” Raffy uttered, clearing her throat in ersatz discomfort. “I…really like the movie Jaws. Not the second or third, but the first original one. Old movies are so good. Has anyone ever seen The Breakfast Club? Best movie ever, I say.”
Raffy wasn’t lying. She loved these movies with a passion, and she didn’t want to think about their situation. She didn’t want to think about their town of ashes. Raphaela wanted to focus on the mindlessness she received when watching a good movie, when she ignored everything that happened around her in preference to a moving picture. Raffy felt like crying, not because she was sad, but because she was angry. She lost nothing, she was fine, she still had herself. Except for control. She was not in control and she needed to have control. Raffy bit down the feelings, promised herself power; promised herself that, in the morning, everything would be fixed. The tears died down and she waited for someone’s response to her questions. | Name:
Raphaela “Raffy” Peony Cox
Age :
17
Gender :
Female
Sexuality :
Demisexual
Personality :
Raffy is a sweet girl with a friendly and loving approach to everybody…or so it seems. In truth, Raffy is a manipulative liar who loves to spin webs and cause chaos to benefit her or just to have fun. Ambitious and sly, she has placed herself in a position at high school where teachers and students trusted her. Those who didn’t trust her was because she had crossed them and the only thing keeping their mouths shut is Raffy blackmailing them. Many, if they knew the truth about Raffy, would consider her immoral – Raffy doesn’t care about rights and wrongs, just about self-preservation. If there is a possibility, in the end, she is on top, she will do whatever she can to make it a fact. The redhead would betray her own parents if it were to ensure her survival. Intelligent and charismatic, it is easy to fall into her trap and not many have been able to see through her – at least, none that she know of.
History :
Raffy was born to an ex-Politian, Katherine Cox, and a businessman, Jameson Cox. As she grew up, they prepared her for when she would take over Cox Industries and raised her to be a ruthless, smooth businesswoman. In the process, however, they created an independent nihilist whose only joy in life was herself. Her parents never showed an interest in Raffy’s life except for the one they created for her; when she was little, this caused great upset for Raffy, but now that she is older, she only finds it liberating. The Cox family never grew emotional attachments to each other and was more acquaintances than family, but they were all okay with it. The members of the dysfunctional family were too independent to be reliant.
Raffy was encouraged to do well in school and popularity – she easily became everyone’s friend - and was ushered to pick up a hobby. When her mother said hobby, she probably meant stamp-collecting and knitting; Raffy began to create unnecessary drama as a hobby. She would constantly be on the phone, talking to those whom needed her condolence. Raffy just used this to gain more hold. In the end, Raphaela had become what her parents wanted her to: a ruthless, independent woman.
Clothing:
On the night of the fire, Raffy was wearing jeans that came to just above her knees and a long-sleeved, cotton, plain grey shirt. On her feet were beat-up traditional vans that she didn’t typically wear, but decided to wear on that day.
Skills:
- Charismatic
- Sly
- Intelligence
- Great Liar
Weaknesses:
- Not athletic
- Her manipulation is a double-edged sword
- Storms scare her
- She is not inconspicuous
Other:
N/A |
7,038 | 195 | 17 | 2,441 | 646 | Sleep escaped him like the dragon from a heroin addict. Jojo stared through the thin tent sheeting to the thick black custard in the sky which engulfed everything and everyone. The tent wasn't much farther than ten or so feet from the nicely-sized campfire (ridiculously close, he thought in hindsight), so everyone's discussion could be heard quite easily. Sob stories and identities were shared, exactly what Jojo would rather not do. 'Hi! I'm Joe Stark! First name of a New York guido, surname of fictional heroes, nickname of a circus monkey. An infamous prankster with no real friends and only one drunken kiss under my belt, I thrive on the chaos and panic of others with little respect amongst the general population of Midcreek. But who cares? I'm in these beautiful woods with some of my greatest unknown friends, and my only thought is who here would be willing to bang me. Let me make a rough calculation; 0 times 0 would be, roughly, 0. That's not a bad number, if I would say so.'
That thought almost made him cry. But Jojo felt like he was done with crying. The soot irritated his eyes and the racking sobs aggravated his burned throat. No more crying. There was no need. So he sat up and turned to the right, listening to Maxxy whimper in her sleep. He slowly squeezed out of her motherly embrace and stroked behind her ears. Another whimper escaped her. Jojo unzipped the tent and slipped out. The campfire sat only a short distance away, but anything outside the ring of warm bodies were hidden by a curtain of absence, everything outwith it was void. He stood waiting and watching for a moment, how each of them sat and gazed at each other and the fire. A bristling fur rubbed against Jojo's leg. Mother Maxxy was awake. Jojo lightly walked into the ring and seated himself in the largest gap, his dog beside him with her head on his lap. He wasn't going to say anything, not yet, This was a heartfelt moment, and the only thing suitable enough to shout out in a heartfelt moment was 'penis!', but that thought didn't appeal to him.
He stroked Maxxy's head, long and heavily. Hannibal looked bored. Not bored, in fact. Jojo wasn't a master of people-watching, but it appeared as if he was judging everyone. Red Fox was definitely judging people. Everyone else thought she was still listening, but a short break from it all allowed Jojo the power of meta-thinking. Rattata wanted a friend in similar circumstances as her. No dice, with only Leon being present. He was quiet and weak and malleable, which was maybe why Red Fox was looking at him like he was a human-sized burrito. Captain Nixon was spewing his heart out. He should be wanting to shut the fuck up soon. Do your praying in your own spare time, heathen. Only one god ruled, and that was Loki, god of trickery. Lillah was basically in the same boat as Jojo, far as he could tell. Maybe he would have a friend in here. Hit Girl talked to much, and said too little. That would become annoying. Spark didn't seem bad. He didn't talk much and gave only what everyone needed to know at present.
Red Fox spoke up. "I'll have to agree about the movie thing. On The Waterfront is by my favourite. 'You don't understand. I coulda had class. I coulda been a contender. I coulda been somebody, instead of a bum, which is what I am.' Call me crazy, but that rings a few bells for me. But I think the best of the Brat Pack films was Ferris Bueller's Day Off. 'Cause, let's face it, St. Elmo's Fire sucked more dick than a New Orleans prostitute," Jojo replied. He was a big movie fan, but sometimes got a little too carried away with his thoughts. He often forgot to recognise that other people had feelings. | Name: Joe Stark (Most people just call him 'Jojo' though)
Age: 18
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Personality: Normally quite cynical, Joe is that one guy who you don't mind having in your group but not when you're talking about happy memories. If, however, you have a strong craving for sarcasm, dry humour, and black comedy, Jojo is your guy. Typically classed as your average 'funny asshole', he's pretty infamous around the town for his verbal brutality and stunning pranks. People come to him for help in retribution due to his mischievous nature and relatively high intelligence, but is otherwise left to mix with his smallish group of very close friends.
History: Jojo is one of the most normal and average people around. His childhood was uneventful, and so no personality flaws were foreseen. However his pessimistic outlook and quick wits changed their perception of him when he managed to graffiti a piece of art depicting several teachers and head students in a Roman-style orgy whilst also managing to hack the school server and send a letter of concern to every email telling them how they've been 'naughty boys and girls' and parking every single one of the senior students' cars in the gymnasium. It's quite blatant he never managed it himself, but Jojo continues to restate he worked solo. He gained a small crew of loyal jokers who he would conduct smaller prankers with until January 31st, when he would perform his 'Annual Pranking Palava!' in which a prank of enormous proportions would be performed. The school and the police could never definitively tie him and his lackeys to the event, but they always watched him closely around that time of the year.
Appearance:
Clothing: Black and red checked shirt (same as in the photo),
,
Skills & Weaknesses: Jojo is clever and quick, however is not as honourable as others. Seeing no sense in injuring himself in order to save others, he will judge the odds on the battle to see if he most likely win. A man of strategic intelligence, Jojo would be almost entirely useless in a social situation relying on his people skills to advance.
Other: Jojo has a pet dog called Maxxy. Maxxy is Jojo's trusty companion, and has seen just about as much shit as Jojo has. A quiet dog who is quite shy, she will stick by his leg, gently rubbing against it to tell him she is still there.
Just let me know if you aren't happy with anything. |
7,039 | 195 | 18 | 1,228 | 2,386 | Lillah had quickly settled back into her silence, her light eyes gazing to each new speaker. If they kept it short, they held her attention. If they exceeded a sentence, she found her attention on the flames instead. Her dedication to learning everyone's name was about as ambitious as the work she did to put up the tent, but she knew she'd get it in time.
The boy next to her muttered something, but she didn't quite catch it and frowned at him for a moment--but he followed up with his introduction. Sparky was a fellow keep-it-short type of person, which Lillah appreciated.
The next to speak up, Henry, was keeping his distance from the fire; she had done the same at first, so she offered the kid a small wave--her commitment, however, was lacking and she wouldn't be surprised if it went unnoticed. She vaguely knew him--she would visit the diner after a workout, more and more frequently as the year went on. Although it had been better than dinner at home, she found herself regretting the time she spent at the diner instead of with her father.
The Frenchie went next, butchering English. Shit, Lillah thought, eyes widening ever so slightly, that's adorable. Though she quickly averted her gaze back to the fire. And then Michael spoke again and Lillah was most definitely one of the ones thinking "finally."
However, the talking continued--just on lighter subjects. Raffy began talking about her favorite movies and the boy who had retreated into his tent had come out to add to the conversation. He seemed a bit goofy and while that would have annoyed her on any other day of the week, tonight it brought the smallest of smiles to her face. She stayed silent, though, and her eyes wandered around the campsite. | Name: Raven Mc'Crossin
Age : 18
Gender : Female
Sexuality : Bisexual
Personality : Kind, Bitchy at times, Smart, Independent, Clever, Looks out for no-one but herself. If she trusts you though she will protect you.
History : She was born to a single father and older sister. Her father was a big shot police officer and her sister was in college. They lived a good life in a nice home. With a warm and comforting environment. Raven was happy. The only bad thing to mention was her school social life. She was known as the freak and outcast of the school due to her fashion sense and personality.
She was a beautiful girl but, people didn't care only pointing out her flaws. Though, she did gave 3 friends. Best friends. They were in a band together called 'Hardly Angels'. She was the lead singer and guitarist, her friend Brianna was the drummer and her other friend Caroline was the Keyboard player. It was due to not having a date to prom she didn't go.
Her lack of popularity saved her life.
Clothing : She wore black destroyed jeans with an Avenged Sevenfold shirt that was ripped so it revealed her stomach, also revealing her belly ring. She then had on a cropped black leather jacket with the initials H.A on it for her band. Then, black combat boots and a necklace that had multiple dog tags on it.
Skills & Weaknessess :
Skills:
1. Martial arts
2. Flexibility
3. Stamina
4. Photographic Memory
Weaknesses:
1. Water
2. Clowns
3. Temper
Other : Nope!~ |
7,040 | 195 | 19 | 1,664 | 553 | Michael could tell he was going over the top with saying what was on his mind. That's who he was though his father taught him if you got something on your mind then say it! At least people know where you stand, but if you get called out on something you damn well better be ready to defend your point of view. People were starting to share their names and little else. That was okay at least there were now names to put with faces.
The smell of the campfire was a welcome relief because it helped dilute the smell of the smoke from home. It also gave the group a central point to meet at and just try to get to know one another. All of that being said what if whoever was behind the attacks in the city saw the smoke from the fire? Michael shook his head as though there was a bug nearby. He didn't need that on his mind right now, and he didn't need to voice that because who knew how the group would've reacted. He could tell that there were those in the group that didn't care for him. Michael was okay with that as long as they didn't try anything with him that was fine. They stay on their side of the street he would stay on his.
Michael was glad that Raffy changed the subject, because for the most part everyone had a favorite movie. This was a subject that was in everyone's wheelhouse and plus Michael had enough of the deep what about tomorrow kind of crap. It was time to just enjoy the fact that they were still alive. Just then class clown/putz came back out of his tent to rejoin the group. Michael didn't have anything personal against the guy, but he just seemed like the class clown act out here was gonna wear thin real fast. He gave his point of view on his types of movies, and Michael had nothing against the brat pack films they just weren't his first choice.
Michael said, "Casablanca and The Godfather. I'll watch them anytime."
And Michael left it at that. | Name: Bianca Lewis
Age : 17
Gender : Female
Sexuality : Bisexual
Personality : Bee is quiet and reserved due to years of bullying. She doesn't want to make friends, mostly preferring to be left alone. She tends to dislike most of her classmates, either for bullying her or ignoring her being bullied. She also has a tendency to envy people around her and has next to no self esteem. She tries to ignore people making fun of her therefore had a high tolerance regarding her anger, however the explosion has threatened to push her over the edge.
History : Ever since she could remember, Bee has been obese. It meant she was ostracized from everything in school. Nobody wanted to do anything with her, and once she got the reputation of the "unpopular kid" it was hard to shake. She found solace in things such as books and movies, and the Anime Club at her school, where she met one of her only friends, Sierra. One day she was being made fun of when staying after school by a guy named Vinny. He was harassing her and she tried to ignore him, but he followed her. He was making fun of her weight and her family, and when she got to the stairs, he pushed her. It was soft, but it set her off and Bee threw Vinny down the stairs. He broke his arm and blamed Bee, and the majority of the school took his side. She became even more ostracized as the girl who beat up one of the most popular kids in school.
Bee's family includes a mother who travels for business, and often leaves her with a nanny. Her mother was in town during the explosion, however. Bee herself was out at the old pond on the outskirts of town during the explosion, just getting away from it all.
Clothing : She tends to wear whatever she can find, including t-shirts, sweat pants and jeans.
Skills & Weaknessess: Bee is a very smart girl. She had applied to two Ivy League schools, Brown and UPenn, but hadn't heard a response back yet. She doesn't work well with people, however. She is very good at blending in to a crowd, ironically, and keeping her head down, therefore she has learned to eavesdrop on people and observe situations very well. |
7,041 | 195 | 20 | 2,203 | 58 | Raven decided to be quiet as everyone spoke up about their favorite films. If she knew them better she knew exactly what she'd tell them. 'I have to admit I love horror movies. Especially the cheesy ones because I love making fun of them. It's a good laugh.' But, because she didn't she kept her thoughts to herself.
Then, Leonardo went and decided he'd check for any messages. This caused him to instantly catch Raven's attention. She watched him curiously as he fiddled with the phone, watching his expression. She saw the change.
He then began passing the phone around for anyone to see. Then, when the phone got to her she stared at the image emotionlessly. She'd seen plenty of horror and action movies where someone was gun down. So, she was used to the site.
But, the thing is, she recognized the students. They might not have been best friends with her but they were civil. Which meant a lot more than you'd think.
She quickly shook herself out of those thoughts passing the phone along.
She didn't let any emotion show on her face but her eyes however showed the truth. She was afraid. She knew this was serious but.....somehow seeing this picture made it real. She looked down at her hands before placing each finger on her hand to the other fingers on her other hand.
A nervous habit of hers. Kept her calm, kept her busy. A distraction was something she really needed. | Name: Spencer "Spark" Small
Age: 17
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual, but he's never really thought about it.
------------
Personality: Spencer has somewhat of a nervous disposition, due to an uncomfortable amount of accidents that lead to people being hurt, and it all being his fault. He's friendly enough, and actually has a pretty decent sense of humor when he puts his mind to it... It just takes him a little while to adjust to new people, even when they've been life long acquaintances, or friends in the past. Once he gets used to people he tends to open up a lot more, with a tendency to become more talkative (some would say more annoying, too), when he actually bothers to try and make friends. His main problem, however, is his natural ability to get anxious very easily, working himself up over the smallest details and convincing himself that, if something goes wrong, it's most definitely his fault. His coping mechanism is less than adequate too, as since a young age, Spark has been known to set things on fire as a means of relieving tension and, as much as he would like to deny it, he's a bit of a pyromaniac.
----
History: Spencer's upbringing was unsurprisingly mundane. His dad worked in an office downtown and his mum, well, she liked to say her job was caring for people, but she was actually one of the worst stay at home mum's in town. Naturally bossy and lazy, she made it her duty to teach her kids the rights and wrongs of life, and, most importantly: how to survive. Or, that's what she claimed, anyway. She'd constantly have Spark doing the most mundane of tasks, like doing the washing up and hoovering, even if it was getting to the point where he couldn't balance chores and homework. He was taught that doing what he was told and obeying orders was always the best way to survive in life, and that talking things out or complaining would only make things worse. He couldn't talk things out, he couldn't do anything to a reaction out of his mother, apart from lighting things up, so that's what he did, and it all spiraled out of control from there.
Fire became Spencer's 'thing', if you will. A way of coping with the everyday stress that a mix of school and home brought onto him. If he ever got low or angry, he just had to set something on fire to feel better again. Well, for a while, anyway. It was this issue that brought more chaos into his life, his mother telling him that he 'had a problem and needed help', his dad telling him that it was 'just a phase'. Everything was just pilling up on top of him: end of year exams, his mother breathing down his neck every chance she got, and he couldn't take it anymore. That was the day he burnt the house down. Literally.
His mother almost kicked out for doing so, but by some miracle his dad talked her round. His home life had been rocky at best ever since. Not that he'd ever complain - the more his parents left him alone, the better he felt. He couldn't accidentally hurt anyone with fire if they weren't around him, right? And so he set to work distancing himself from people, something that wasn't particularly hard when you were are quiet as he was already.
------------
Clothing: White tank top with a dark grey zip up hoodie, black skinny jeans, once-white converse and a black beanie hat.
Skills & Weaknessess: Spark is a doer, not a talker. He's quick to act and follow orders, doing exactly what he's told to the exact letter, with no exceptions. Whilst he's no leader, he's one hell of a follower, and he's not unwilling to do the jobs everyone else is unwilling to do, as he's determined that a job is a job, and it has to be done for a reason. He's quite lean too, and what he may lack in strength he makes up for in speed and stamina, able to run happily for miles if he really had to... He just wouldn't enjoy it much.
Other: He has a lighter that he carries around with him obsessively, other than that I don't think so.
---
Okiedokie, I hope this fine - I'm also sorry it took so long. |
7,042 | 195 | 21 | 156 | 2,749 | Raffy was enjoying the conversation about movies. Other than causing drama and constantly being on her phone to augment the drama, movies was what she did in her downtime. She liked books, sure, she especially enjoyed The Art of War, but nothing was as good as a movie. It was mindless; she didn’t have to think for once in order to follow along. All she had to do was stare, listen, and maybe blink a few times. Movies were a guilty pleasure, an escape from the hard brain teasers that came along with finding ways to pin so-and-so against so-and-so. For once, when the conversation came about, Raffy didn’t think of advantages and disadvantages; she truly wasn’t being fake, for once, but instead she leaned forward and listened with rapt attention. She hummed in agreement to the Brat Pack films – she loved Robert Downy Jr. in Weird Science – and turned her attention to the talkative Michael when he offered his favorites. She was a bit disappointed when he didn’t elaborate, though.
Her previously bad mood had begun to dwindle as she entered a more calm state and for that she was thankful. For a while there, Raphaela wondered if she would lose it. The slipping of control, the unknown variables of their departure from the town – it was all a bit too much and she felt as if she was going to break. It would be a shame if she were to shatter, she had so many goals and to complete, a Bucket List if you will. Now – well, now she forgot. Everything left her mind as she dwelled on the overused movie plots that she loved, the best worst movie Sharknado which took many lines from Jaws, and the odd thought of how did Donkey make dirty with a freaking dragon. But then fucking Leon ruined it.
He paraded around the picture for all to see, passing it around to turn the genial group into a mass of solemnity. Did he know how hard it was to make a good first impression when everyone was depressed? So, yes, it was safe to say she was annoyed. Angry. Frustrated. She just wanted peace and quiet – and a little bit of control and normalcy. Was it too much to ask for? Apparently it was. When the phone came around to her, she passed it on without looking. All the picture would do would bring up sentimental thoughts and unneeded feelings. Those feelings would make her sanity slip again and she really didn’t want that. At all. However, her mood took yet another turn – this was, after all, the third twist of her disposition that night – when Sparky the Fire Dog decided he needed to light up his lungs.
Raffy knew she promised to keep her hands off for the night, but he was all alone! It was too tempting of an offer. She just shouldn’t do anything, though. Planting a seed of friendship is all she needs; no deep stuff, nothing complicated, just a friendly hand. And, well, she did feel bad for him. Not too bad that would prevent her from using him and possibly ruining his not-really-living life, but she still had that inkling of pity. Thus, she wiped her face of all emotion – Raffy often bragged that she had the best poker face there was – leaving not even the pity, and allowed that diminutive real sympathy show on her face as she approached him. Raffy didn’t say anything, just leaned on the tree and looked at the ground. In all reality, there wasn’t anything Raffy could say at that point. Anything she said could turn him away, could make him irritated at her, but saying nothing could achieve the same result. But she said nothing. | Name:
Raphaela “Raffy” Peony Cox
Age :
17
Gender :
Female
Sexuality :
Demisexual
Personality :
Raffy is a sweet girl with a friendly and loving approach to everybody…or so it seems. In truth, Raffy is a manipulative liar who loves to spin webs and cause chaos to benefit her or just to have fun. Ambitious and sly, she has placed herself in a position at high school where teachers and students trusted her. Those who didn’t trust her was because she had crossed them and the only thing keeping their mouths shut is Raffy blackmailing them. Many, if they knew the truth about Raffy, would consider her immoral – Raffy doesn’t care about rights and wrongs, just about self-preservation. If there is a possibility, in the end, she is on top, she will do whatever she can to make it a fact. The redhead would betray her own parents if it were to ensure her survival. Intelligent and charismatic, it is easy to fall into her trap and not many have been able to see through her – at least, none that she know of.
History :
Raffy was born to an ex-Politian, Katherine Cox, and a businessman, Jameson Cox. As she grew up, they prepared her for when she would take over Cox Industries and raised her to be a ruthless, smooth businesswoman. In the process, however, they created an independent nihilist whose only joy in life was herself. Her parents never showed an interest in Raffy’s life except for the one they created for her; when she was little, this caused great upset for Raffy, but now that she is older, she only finds it liberating. The Cox family never grew emotional attachments to each other and was more acquaintances than family, but they were all okay with it. The members of the dysfunctional family were too independent to be reliant.
Raffy was encouraged to do well in school and popularity – she easily became everyone’s friend - and was ushered to pick up a hobby. When her mother said hobby, she probably meant stamp-collecting and knitting; Raffy began to create unnecessary drama as a hobby. She would constantly be on the phone, talking to those whom needed her condolence. Raffy just used this to gain more hold. In the end, Raphaela had become what her parents wanted her to: a ruthless, independent woman.
Clothing:
On the night of the fire, Raffy was wearing jeans that came to just above her knees and a long-sleeved, cotton, plain grey shirt. On her feet were beat-up traditional vans that she didn’t typically wear, but decided to wear on that day.
Skills:
- Charismatic
- Sly
- Intelligence
- Great Liar
Weaknesses:
- Not athletic
- Her manipulation is a double-edged sword
- Storms scare her
- She is not inconspicuous
Other:
N/A |
7,043 | 195 | 22 | 1,228 | 2,386 | Like a kid looking through their parent's closet in the middle of December and realizing that Santa didn't exist every fiber of Michael's being told him not to look at the picture. However something in his soul demanded that he see what had happened for himself. It would be the only way that Michael would truly accept what had happened. It would on some level bring closure to Michael in terms of family, but on other levels it would open up more questions and wounds to be sure. With a trembling hand Michael took the phone and with that his world was forever changed.
In the lower right hand corner he saw his mom's car still in the parking lot. That confirmed everything about his mom. Michael touched the corner as though he were actually touching the car and in a low voice filled with hopelessness he said, "Mom,,,,," He manipulated the image so he could see a little more and next to Max he saw someone laying next to him It was the one image that made him close his eyes and said, "Dad..." Robert was full off bullet holes and one right through the middle of his skull. He must've headed towards the High School when all hell broke loose. Thinking he would try to save as many kids as he could, but it wasn't meant to be. When Michael was a child his dad and him would play around and wrestle, and Robert used to tell Michael he couldn't win. Robert was fond of saying that he was "the toughest law man in town," and that always made Michael giggle as they played around. Over the years though Michael believed that to be true, and Robert more than held his own against all kinds of criminals and he kept the peace for years in Midcreek. However there's a huge difference between Dewey and his boys when they would get liquored up on a Friday night, and trying to take on trained killers. Now it was really over for Michael. Any miracle of him ever seeing his parents alive again in this life time died at the High School.
Michael handed the phone off and stood up. He didn't weep, whimper, or make a sound. However one single tear rolled down Michael's cheek, he could feel a scowl coming over his face, and his shoulders began to shake. He said in a voice that almost mimicked Christian Bale's "Batman" voice, "Excuse me."
Michael walked just over the ridge and sat near a flowing stream. He pulled out his wallet and looked through it and found the same picture of his family that his father had been looking at. Michael just stared at it in the moonlight. No more would he see his dad roll his eyes and shake his head every time Michael would go on and on about a new Springsteen song, or rumors of a concert tour. Never again would he hear his mom remind him that she was the principal of the High school and a little more decorum was required of him. Especially when it came to his use of the term "whatever" concerning something a teacher would say. Of course Ellen would later note that she wasn't arguing with Michael and his way of using it. Just that there needed to be some decorum with it.
Eric and Adrian were gone and it was safe to say since they couldn't get a hold of anyone in Midcreek they'd assume the entire family was dead. No more of Eric popping Michael upside the head and calling him a dweeb for his knowledge of all things Batman. Then 10 minutes later apologizing and asking if Michael had gotten the most recent issue of "Detective Comics" and could he read it. Michael would miss the little snort Adrian would do when she got laughing really hard. Usually it was watching episodes of "Arrested Development" that did it. Adrian and Michael loved popping some pop-corn, fixing some cokes, and binge watching the same episodes over and over.
Those days were now gone, and though Michael was with a group he never felt so alone. | Name: Raven Mc'Crossin
Age : 18
Gender : Female
Sexuality : Bisexual
Personality : Kind, Bitchy at times, Smart, Independent, Clever, Looks out for no-one but herself. If she trusts you though she will protect you.
History : She was born to a single father and older sister. Her father was a big shot police officer and her sister was in college. They lived a good life in a nice home. With a warm and comforting environment. Raven was happy. The only bad thing to mention was her school social life. She was known as the freak and outcast of the school due to her fashion sense and personality.
She was a beautiful girl but, people didn't care only pointing out her flaws. Though, she did gave 3 friends. Best friends. They were in a band together called 'Hardly Angels'. She was the lead singer and guitarist, her friend Brianna was the drummer and her other friend Caroline was the Keyboard player. It was due to not having a date to prom she didn't go.
Her lack of popularity saved her life.
Clothing : She wore black destroyed jeans with an Avenged Sevenfold shirt that was ripped so it revealed her stomach, also revealing her belly ring. She then had on a cropped black leather jacket with the initials H.A on it for her band. Then, black combat boots and a necklace that had multiple dog tags on it.
Skills & Weaknessess :
Skills:
1. Martial arts
2. Flexibility
3. Stamina
4. Photographic Memory
Weaknesses:
1. Water
2. Clowns
3. Temper
Other : Nope!~ |
7,044 | 195 | 23 | 2,441 | 646 | The phone was passed to Jojo. "Way to fucking piss in our corn flakes, Hannibal. Jesus Christ. Excuse my blasphemy, Saint Mikey." A new nickname. He grinned at his outstanding wit and sharp thinking before getting serious again. "Seriously though, get that shit out of here. I knew both of them." Max had been a frequent customer for his pranks, and would even pitch in his ideas when he had a good one. And Max was quick and very bright, so they were generally highly inventive and clever. But Jojo never used them though, not for spite, but for the name. He couldn't have competition, and he couldn't have Max running him out of business. The guy understood though, and for that Jojo would call him a close acquaintance. Sheriff DeLorenzo was a completely different matter. That man busted his balls for years. Couldn't do jackshit about his Annual Pranking Palava! though, so he would eye Jojo with distrust every time he saw him in public. Though only thing Jojo could do was return a wicked grin. It was a love/hate relationship.
But the images sickened him. He knew these people, and they were a living concoction of chemicals and organic materials. They had likes, dislikes, smells, deficiencies, and history. That, together, created a person. Now when one concoction ended the 'living' in another concoction, that seemed like faulty logic. He glanced at the phone again and tossed it to the next person. "As much as you think showing these pictures are going to prove to us that it happened, we don't need that. There are certain members here who -" Jojo glanced at Saint Mikey "- probably shouldn't be dealing with sensitive issues. Keep it on a minimum number basis for the now, some people are still raw." Jojo's sarcasm was leaving him momentarily and was being replaced by a deep-seated responsibility, a trait he had never possessed.
Jojo massaged his temples and could feel the blood pounding through his veins. A headache was coming on. He glanced around. Saint Mikey was weeping in the woods and Red Fox was awkwardly standing in his vicinity. Another kid, Henry, was still behind the night curtain. Lillah was freaking out. But God-damn, did Red Fox have a nice figure, He was just thinking about how he wouldn't mind being comforted by her when Lillah's words stirred him. "Shut up. We will be found if you keep squeaking. Of course it wasn't an accident! An army doesn't just waltz into a hick town and start shooti... An army. Our army? Because I didn't see any planes as if it were an international force, it just... happened. Are you implying this was the U.S. armies doing?" Jojo asked quite aggressively. She wasn't implying anything, of course, but Jojo had took a tiny seed of a thought and ran with it. That was how conspiracies started. | Name: Joe Stark (Most people just call him 'Jojo' though)
Age: 18
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Personality: Normally quite cynical, Joe is that one guy who you don't mind having in your group but not when you're talking about happy memories. If, however, you have a strong craving for sarcasm, dry humour, and black comedy, Jojo is your guy. Typically classed as your average 'funny asshole', he's pretty infamous around the town for his verbal brutality and stunning pranks. People come to him for help in retribution due to his mischievous nature and relatively high intelligence, but is otherwise left to mix with his smallish group of very close friends.
History: Jojo is one of the most normal and average people around. His childhood was uneventful, and so no personality flaws were foreseen. However his pessimistic outlook and quick wits changed their perception of him when he managed to graffiti a piece of art depicting several teachers and head students in a Roman-style orgy whilst also managing to hack the school server and send a letter of concern to every email telling them how they've been 'naughty boys and girls' and parking every single one of the senior students' cars in the gymnasium. It's quite blatant he never managed it himself, but Jojo continues to restate he worked solo. He gained a small crew of loyal jokers who he would conduct smaller prankers with until January 31st, when he would perform his 'Annual Pranking Palava!' in which a prank of enormous proportions would be performed. The school and the police could never definitively tie him and his lackeys to the event, but they always watched him closely around that time of the year.
Appearance:
Clothing: Black and red checked shirt (same as in the photo),
,
Skills & Weaknesses: Jojo is clever and quick, however is not as honourable as others. Seeing no sense in injuring himself in order to save others, he will judge the odds on the battle to see if he most likely win. A man of strategic intelligence, Jojo would be almost entirely useless in a social situation relying on his people skills to advance.
Other: Jojo has a pet dog called Maxxy. Maxxy is Jojo's trusty companion, and has seen just about as much shit as Jojo has. A quiet dog who is quite shy, she will stick by his leg, gently rubbing against it to tell him she is still there.
Just let me know if you aren't happy with anything. |
7,045 | 195 | 24 | 2,528 | 277 | There weren't much to be said after everyone introduced themselves. The silence stretched on, leaving but the cracking of the fire, and the chirping of crickets the only sound audible in the forest. Henry felt the heaviness of the situation settling in on himself once again. Instinctively, Henry curled up in a ball against his tree trusting the darkness would conceal him from the rest of the group.
Right then, he can almost hear his sister Gabriel say, "Please do us all a favor and stop being a brat. Your moping around wont get you anywhere, Henry. What's done is done. It's time for you to move on!"
Easy for you to say. Henry thought back. Unlike his sister, Henry doesnt possess the courage, and strong will. Where she is free-spirited, Henry is being shackled by people's expectation. It sucked!
"Well, it only sucked because you didn't try to do anything to make it un-sucked. You can do so much more, little brother. Besides, we're made up from the same stuff after all. You only have to realize it for yourself." Henry can imagine her saying that while ruffling his already messy hair. That made him smile a little. May be Gabe's right. I need to do something.
That was when something or someone brushed pass him. He was so distracted with his thoughts that he had lost track of what's happening around him. Henry looked up and saw Spencer. Although he gave him a nervous smile, there was something in his expression that told Henry something happened in the campfire. Henry would ask him what happened, but he looked like he wanted to be left alone, so Henry decided against it. Instead, he walked towards the fire to find it out himself.
He can see that everyone had crowded around Leon. Their grim expression was enough to tell him how bad things were. Suddenly, he was scared again. You need to do something. His sister's voice echoed in his head.
"H-hey, what's happening?" Henry asked nervously as he tried to approach the circle. When one of them handed him a phone, the phone he recognized as the one David gave Leon, at first he didnt know what to do with it, he held it in his hand like it was going to explode any moment. After awhile, Henry decided to press the lock button, swiped, and what he saw next made him so mad he wanted to scream his head off. What did they do to deserve this? Who are these people? And why Midcreek?
"Terrorists." Henry said finally, voicing out his suspicion since the incident happened, "I mean, what else could they be?" He remembered the conversation he heard from his radio scanner, they sounded like they were on a mission, like it was planned.
You need to do something,
Henry decided its about time to tell them what he has heard, even if remembering it may involve remembering a few painful memories. He tried so hard not to cry as he told them, but when he's done, he said, "It made sense. The explosion, the shooting, everything. Its all to terrorize us, right?" | Name: Henry Knowles
Age: 17
Gender: Male
Sexuality: He's still trying to figure it out. Probably bicurious?
Personality: Most people in his school would easily label him as a nerd. He's usually found in a corner with a book, or a survivor magazine in hand, probably hanging out with his friends. He doesnt have many friend to begin with, may be except from a few close ones. He doesnt speak too much, although when he does speak up you can be sure its worth hearing. He's either shy or just intentionally avoiding people, or at least only those he thinks would cause him trouble later on.
History: His family owns a small diner a few blocks away from the local High School. His mum ran the business most of the time while his dad waste away in his beer. He is the youngest of the two children. His sister ran away after she finished High School, and never came back. All that he knew about her is that she hated it at Midcreek, she hated their family, how they come in so little, and how their father is a huge failure. She always argue that people in this town are insanely unimaginative. May be she's right. If its up to him, Henry would also choose to leave Midcreek. He often imagines himself some place else, somewhere far, and bigger, and livelier than his home town.
Appearance:
Clothing: His wearing a red-white striped button up shirt, topped with a brown cardigan, a pair of skinny jeans for his bottom, and an old pair of sneakers for his footwear.
Skills & Weaknessess: He has probably read tons of survival books in his life, and he's probably have enough knowledge to survive on his own out in the wild. But the problem is, they werent exactly tested in real life. Much of it were theories, and complex analysis of what to expect out there more or less.
Other: He has his own radio scanner set up in his room. Each night he listens to police reports, and sometimes he and his friends would actually go out in town and secretly help out on small town problems like getting homeless elderly people out of danger from the streets.
EDIT: Did I make it? |
7,046 | 195 | 25 | 1,820 | 96 | Justine hadn't wanted to look. She doubted she'd understand it, but judging the reactions of the others ignited the morbid curiosity inside her. And God, she wished she hadn't. She held the phone out for the next person to see with one hand, covering her mouth with the other. A single, choked sob came out between the whispered "Pourquoi?" and the realisation that her brothers would never see her again. Or would the shooters go for them, too? It was unlikely, but the sinking feeling was there.
"Is not a accident." She managed to force out, but it was quiet and possibly unnoticed over the sound of other people's sobs. Somebody had arranged this, to kill their entire town, with them inside. Just for... For what? It was evidently something worth wiping an entire town off the map for, so something huge.
She hunched, looking at the others owlishly, hoping to pick up on something. Perhaps. It might have been possible had they not been the most conspicuous group of people she had ever seen. They didn't belong together, and she clearly didn't belong with them. Why would she? If she didn't understand them, they would hardly understand her.
Justine prickled, before standing and moving to the edge of the group. Where she felt more comfortable, less inclined to be part of their conversation. A sick feeling had settled deep in her stomach and she knew it wouldn't go any time soon. | Name : Justine Christophe
Age : 18
Gender : Female
Sexuality : Bisexual
Personality : Justine is chatty, and friendly, but a little hesitant to talk to some of her peers, because of the language barrier between them, as her first language is French. She is strong willed, and quick to become defensive if she feels threatened, though she doesn't know enough English to argue well.
History : Born and raised near Nice, on the southern coast of France, her parents were vineyard owners just a few miles out of the city. Her three brothers all adored rugby, and Justine had little choice but to learn to love the sport. As her brothers grew older, only one managed to retain his talent for rugby, moving to Paris to train for the professional teams.
Justine emigrated with her parents and younger brother to California a year and a half ago, and settled on the edge of Midcreek to establish their new vineyard and business in America. She still feels rather like an outsider, because of the new language she has to cope with, as well as all of the new school and her different interests to her peers.
America, however, had less support for the sport than in Europe, which somewhat disappointed her. Still, she played with her younger brother on the hills beyond their home, which was where she was when the explosion happened. Her two older brothers, still in France, believe she is dead, along with the rest of their family.
Appearance :
Clothing :A French rugby jersey, dark blue v-neck jumper, grey jeans and brown boots
Skills & Weaknessess : She's very sporty, and quite strong after years of handling farming equipment. However, she isn't particularly good at communicating, tending to panic easily and then become unable to properly translate what she wants to say in to English so that others can understand her. |
7,047 | 195 | 26 | 2,203 | 58 | Michael kept a quiet vigil over by the stream. He could hear the sound of voices being raised, and the time honored "shut up" being uttered at one point. Michael began to analyze what he knew and what everyone else was saying to try and come up with logic to this situation. Mr. Spock would even have a hard time trying to figure this one out, and the answers Michael was coming up with considering the facts in hand wasn't a good picture. As the voices continued to raise and become more pointed Michael had enough of it. Michael usually didn't like playing the physical intimidation card, but at 6'1" and just over 220 he was not above using it when he had enough. Michael knew how to use his size and strength to put anyone down. He had been in share of fights before and usually won, but Michael was hoping that if he did lose it that his anger wouldn't be influenced by what happened in Midcreek.
As he stood up he saw Justine sitting off by herself. She looked so alone and looking like someone who was just lost. That took Michael's temper down a few notches. Justine spoke broken English and she seemed like a nice person. Michael knew if he went over there and did his Incredible Hulk routine that would just make things worse, and maybe even make Justine feel more isolated. Michael walked over to her and gently put his hand on her shoulder. He whispered in her ear, "It's all right. I got your back." He smiled and winked at her. Not like Jojo's wink and a smile but one that Michael hoped conveyed a sense of wanting to be a friend...if that was possible.
Michael rejoined the group and sat down where he was previously. He said, "Here are somethings to ponder: On our way up here did we see or hear any emergency, Federal Government, or National Guard vehicles pass us by heading into town? As Jojo noted we lived in a hick town. You don't go to Midcreek without a reason or unless you're just passing through. Anyone who looked or sounded different that we didn't already know would've stood out to the rest of us. If the Feds were expecting something how come they didn't coordinate with my dad at the Sheriff's Office? Federal Agencies count on local law enforcement and emergency agencies to cooperate for operations concerning possible terrorist threats. Local Law Enforcement is the eyes and ears for the Feds. None of them ever contacted my dad. I've seen how their operations work I speak from experience." Michael looked up to the sky and said, "Planes are still flying in and out of LAX. On 9/11 everything was grounded within minutes of the attacks. LAX is still open for business." Michael looked back at the fire and said, "Fact is though even if we can prove everything who do we tell? And who'd believe us? They've got every angle covered, and whatever they were trying to do they succeeded. This was done by our Government for reasons we don't know, and may never know. Best we can do now is try to survive."
Michael walked away and went back next to Justine. He shrugged his shoulders and whispered to her, "Let's see what happens next." | Name: Spencer "Spark" Small
Age: 17
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual, but he's never really thought about it.
------------
Personality: Spencer has somewhat of a nervous disposition, due to an uncomfortable amount of accidents that lead to people being hurt, and it all being his fault. He's friendly enough, and actually has a pretty decent sense of humor when he puts his mind to it... It just takes him a little while to adjust to new people, even when they've been life long acquaintances, or friends in the past. Once he gets used to people he tends to open up a lot more, with a tendency to become more talkative (some would say more annoying, too), when he actually bothers to try and make friends. His main problem, however, is his natural ability to get anxious very easily, working himself up over the smallest details and convincing himself that, if something goes wrong, it's most definitely his fault. His coping mechanism is less than adequate too, as since a young age, Spark has been known to set things on fire as a means of relieving tension and, as much as he would like to deny it, he's a bit of a pyromaniac.
----
History: Spencer's upbringing was unsurprisingly mundane. His dad worked in an office downtown and his mum, well, she liked to say her job was caring for people, but she was actually one of the worst stay at home mum's in town. Naturally bossy and lazy, she made it her duty to teach her kids the rights and wrongs of life, and, most importantly: how to survive. Or, that's what she claimed, anyway. She'd constantly have Spark doing the most mundane of tasks, like doing the washing up and hoovering, even if it was getting to the point where he couldn't balance chores and homework. He was taught that doing what he was told and obeying orders was always the best way to survive in life, and that talking things out or complaining would only make things worse. He couldn't talk things out, he couldn't do anything to a reaction out of his mother, apart from lighting things up, so that's what he did, and it all spiraled out of control from there.
Fire became Spencer's 'thing', if you will. A way of coping with the everyday stress that a mix of school and home brought onto him. If he ever got low or angry, he just had to set something on fire to feel better again. Well, for a while, anyway. It was this issue that brought more chaos into his life, his mother telling him that he 'had a problem and needed help', his dad telling him that it was 'just a phase'. Everything was just pilling up on top of him: end of year exams, his mother breathing down his neck every chance she got, and he couldn't take it anymore. That was the day he burnt the house down. Literally.
His mother almost kicked out for doing so, but by some miracle his dad talked her round. His home life had been rocky at best ever since. Not that he'd ever complain - the more his parents left him alone, the better he felt. He couldn't accidentally hurt anyone with fire if they weren't around him, right? And so he set to work distancing himself from people, something that wasn't particularly hard when you were are quiet as he was already.
------------
Clothing: White tank top with a dark grey zip up hoodie, black skinny jeans, once-white converse and a black beanie hat.
Skills & Weaknessess: Spark is a doer, not a talker. He's quick to act and follow orders, doing exactly what he's told to the exact letter, with no exceptions. Whilst he's no leader, he's one hell of a follower, and he's not unwilling to do the jobs everyone else is unwilling to do, as he's determined that a job is a job, and it has to be done for a reason. He's quite lean too, and what he may lack in strength he makes up for in speed and stamina, able to run happily for miles if he really had to... He just wouldn't enjoy it much.
Other: He has a lighter that he carries around with him obsessively, other than that I don't think so.
---
Okiedokie, I hope this fine - I'm also sorry it took so long. |
7,048 | 195 | 27 | 1,228 | 2,386 | When another kid responded to her, her gaze snapped to him as he accused her of making accusations. Speaking of hitting someone, it seemed like the joker was volunteering himself as a punching bag. Lillah turned to face him and stepped at him, fists clenched at her side. "Don't fucking put words in my mouth," she snapped--her hands were shaking and she struggled to keep her own voice straight. She raised her arm to shove at his chest challengingly. However, another boy speaking stopped her and she glared at Jojo for a moment longer before turning her attention on Henry.
"There, see? Terrorists," she agreed. Granted, that made her self conscious: much of her heritage was Middle Eastern and it'd be easy for them to grow suspicious of her in light of the nation's modern history. Regardless, it made the most sense to her. The joker was crazy--it wouldn't make sense for a government to wipe out their own people like that. What was there to gain from something like that?
Then Mr. Michael DeLorenzo returned to the group to throw up his theories. Every word out of this guy mouth just pissed of Lillah, and that's when he was talking about the Bible. Now he was talking about planes and LAX and she didn't really follow everything he was saying, to be honest. It sounded like he was agreeing with the joker, but that couldn't be right. So, she just pursed her lips and quieted again, her fists clenching and unclenching at her side. Blood was drying on the one she decided to hit the try with, and she was just starting to feel that. She shook her hand a bit, and looked back to Henry, the Jojo, then the Frenchie to the side, waiting for someone to follow up on Michael's..third? fourth? speech of the day. | Name: Raven Mc'Crossin
Age : 18
Gender : Female
Sexuality : Bisexual
Personality : Kind, Bitchy at times, Smart, Independent, Clever, Looks out for no-one but herself. If she trusts you though she will protect you.
History : She was born to a single father and older sister. Her father was a big shot police officer and her sister was in college. They lived a good life in a nice home. With a warm and comforting environment. Raven was happy. The only bad thing to mention was her school social life. She was known as the freak and outcast of the school due to her fashion sense and personality.
She was a beautiful girl but, people didn't care only pointing out her flaws. Though, she did gave 3 friends. Best friends. They were in a band together called 'Hardly Angels'. She was the lead singer and guitarist, her friend Brianna was the drummer and her other friend Caroline was the Keyboard player. It was due to not having a date to prom she didn't go.
Her lack of popularity saved her life.
Clothing : She wore black destroyed jeans with an Avenged Sevenfold shirt that was ripped so it revealed her stomach, also revealing her belly ring. She then had on a cropped black leather jacket with the initials H.A on it for her band. Then, black combat boots and a necklace that had multiple dog tags on it.
Skills & Weaknessess :
Skills:
1. Martial arts
2. Flexibility
3. Stamina
4. Photographic Memory
Weaknesses:
1. Water
2. Clowns
3. Temper
Other : Nope!~ |
7,049 | 196 | 0 | 1,118 | 7,627 | Aksaja was flying through the air heading towards the golden palace that he was told belonged to a relative of his he was told the palace was made of gold and was owned by a great dragon of their age. Aksaja only recently learned about being a dragon in the past couple of years and already he has to go to a funeral over a relative he doesn't even know. However Aksaja was taught better then that and was going to get to the funeral and see if the old dragon left anything in his will that Aksaja would need to be concerned about, as long as Aksaja was able to protect the elven lands he didn't care about much else he had no ambitions to become a dragon god or any of that so long as his people would be safe.
Soon he finally got to the mountain he was told about and he landed in front of the palace soon going inside and looking around wondering how big was his relative to even need a place this huge. Aksaja started to look around wondering where the funeral would take place... | Name: Tir
Species/Race: Cyan/Black Western Dragon
Gender: Female
Size: Average tractor/trailer truck.
Age: 400 years
Powers:
The most startling thing happens when Tir makes a certain sound. It is known as Winter's Song, a low and chilling note that sounds like a pod of whales in mourning. It is loud enough to rattle your bones and can blast a wind so cold from her maw that it will leave you frostbitten and in severe hypothermia. She can only do this so many times before her own body temperature begins to dip dangerously low. At that point, she must pause and wait for herself to warm again.
Tir has, somehow, picked up some mind powers too. If she focuses and thinks the right thing, her horns begin to form icicles upon them. Whoever her target is will feel a tingle down their spine and a sudden urge to turn and run. Even the strongest men have found their knees and bowels go weak if Tir puts her mind to it. This again is limited by several factors, namely her brainpower. She can't focus this ability too much or it might cause a severe headache and bad fatigue.
Appearance: At first glance, the dragoness is actually not that intimidating. She has smooth, small scales of a shiny icy color, bands of underbelly scales of a pitch black color, a long, tapered tail, and a relatively mundane wedge-shaped reptilian head without any underbite or overbite. Her two white eyes, dotted with tiny black pupils, are a little chilling, but nothing to be sung about. Her only striking exterior components are her huge claws, wings with gripping hooks at the end, and her four horns. The two bottom ones are long and taper up into wicked points. The top two have a sharper curve and are smaller in general. These four horns, and her claws and wing-hooks, look like they are made of pure Obsidian. That tail of hers can be a deadly sweeping weapon, as well.
Bio/Personality: Tir was not the direct descendant of Galinor. Rather, she was a grand-daughter, birthed by one of his children. It was mostly a normal life for her from her birth, until of course her mother was killed by savage men with the help of a corrupt dragon. Her father was slain just days later. The little dragoness was just a wyrmling, and could hardly defend herself. So, she ran away into exile, before they found her and killed her.
In hiding for a few years, Tir was found by a tribe of dwarves. She was starving, angry, and bitterly confused. Those dwarves were nearly slain and devoured, but they managed to get through to her, and find her a surrogate mother in the form of another dragoness that had been chased away by the rogue. So she grew, and developed, but never did quite shake the memory of the last moments of her parents. It would leave a dark seed that never sprouted, but never died.
Now at a good 400 years of age, she has developed into a reclusive and quiet beast. She has never taken a mate, nor has ever taken interest in a dragon of either gender. She thought that maybe that is what was wrong. Maybe she were cursed with the wrong attraction... but she just could not take an interest in love or breeding after what happened. Tir's true name is lost to time. Tir is just the noise that she gave to herself. So, Tir she is, a quiet, honorable, respectful, introverted beast. |
7,050 | 196 | 1 | 187 | 3,236 | Asanjus' wings beat the air as he flew, heading past the white clouds which filled the bright blue sky. For all of the beauty of his flight, he could not help but to remember the purpose of his trip. His ancestor, the great gold dragon Galinor, was dying at last. With his passing, it seemed that the empire he had built would die with him, that it might be torn apart in a horrible war. None of that was on his mind at the moment. No. Like so many of his species, Asanjus was concerned about getting what he could from this situation. Territory to add to his kingdom, gold for his hoard, maybe even some magic items. The old one had over 7500 years to acquire wealth, even if a few centuries of that time were spent in hibernation. Surely, there would be something in it for him. | Name: Asanjus
Species: Gold Dragon
Gender: Male
Size: 25 feet tall from head to toe, 50 feet from head to tail, plus five feet for the horns.
Bio: A distant relative of Galnior (his great-great-great-great grandson), Asanjus has shown himself to be just, loyal, and strong. Much like the Old One, he has found himself the ruler of a much smaller realm. Much like Galinor's realm in miniature. While not identical to the Old One in all ways, he has looked to the Great Wyrm as something of a model. Unfortunately, this model extends to his degree of control over his subjects, and he insists on micromanaging everything.
Kind to his mates, generous to his friends, and vicious to his enemies, Asanjus is very much typical of his kind. Proud, fierce, and powerful. Even for a gold dragon, he thinks highly of himself. His pride has grown alongside his power, and he brooks no argument or denial of his will in his own lands. In spite of this, "San" is well-meaning, and has kept the peace for well over a century in his lands. |
7,051 | 196 | 2 | 1,118 | 7,627 | Aksaja looked around and he sat in a nearby Corner simply keeping out of the other larger dragons way, he knew he was young compared to most of them and he didn't want to cause any ruckus during this time of mourning. Also aksaja had no idea where he was supposed to go so if he watched where the others went he could then just follow them and he would be at the funeral | Name: Tir
Species/Race: Cyan/Black Western Dragon
Gender: Female
Size: Average tractor/trailer truck.
Age: 400 years
Powers:
The most startling thing happens when Tir makes a certain sound. It is known as Winter's Song, a low and chilling note that sounds like a pod of whales in mourning. It is loud enough to rattle your bones and can blast a wind so cold from her maw that it will leave you frostbitten and in severe hypothermia. She can only do this so many times before her own body temperature begins to dip dangerously low. At that point, she must pause and wait for herself to warm again.
Tir has, somehow, picked up some mind powers too. If she focuses and thinks the right thing, her horns begin to form icicles upon them. Whoever her target is will feel a tingle down their spine and a sudden urge to turn and run. Even the strongest men have found their knees and bowels go weak if Tir puts her mind to it. This again is limited by several factors, namely her brainpower. She can't focus this ability too much or it might cause a severe headache and bad fatigue.
Appearance: At first glance, the dragoness is actually not that intimidating. She has smooth, small scales of a shiny icy color, bands of underbelly scales of a pitch black color, a long, tapered tail, and a relatively mundane wedge-shaped reptilian head without any underbite or overbite. Her two white eyes, dotted with tiny black pupils, are a little chilling, but nothing to be sung about. Her only striking exterior components are her huge claws, wings with gripping hooks at the end, and her four horns. The two bottom ones are long and taper up into wicked points. The top two have a sharper curve and are smaller in general. These four horns, and her claws and wing-hooks, look like they are made of pure Obsidian. That tail of hers can be a deadly sweeping weapon, as well.
Bio/Personality: Tir was not the direct descendant of Galinor. Rather, she was a grand-daughter, birthed by one of his children. It was mostly a normal life for her from her birth, until of course her mother was killed by savage men with the help of a corrupt dragon. Her father was slain just days later. The little dragoness was just a wyrmling, and could hardly defend herself. So, she ran away into exile, before they found her and killed her.
In hiding for a few years, Tir was found by a tribe of dwarves. She was starving, angry, and bitterly confused. Those dwarves were nearly slain and devoured, but they managed to get through to her, and find her a surrogate mother in the form of another dragoness that had been chased away by the rogue. So she grew, and developed, but never did quite shake the memory of the last moments of her parents. It would leave a dark seed that never sprouted, but never died.
Now at a good 400 years of age, she has developed into a reclusive and quiet beast. She has never taken a mate, nor has ever taken interest in a dragon of either gender. She thought that maybe that is what was wrong. Maybe she were cursed with the wrong attraction... but she just could not take an interest in love or breeding after what happened. Tir's true name is lost to time. Tir is just the noise that she gave to herself. So, Tir she is, a quiet, honorable, respectful, introverted beast. |
7,052 | 196 | 3 | 187 | 3,236 | Asanjus saw the great mountain rising in the distance. Although he was still over a hundred kilometers away, its golden spires were still quite visible. After a while, he circled down for a lading, touching down on a large platform which jutted out from the mountain walls of the palace. Immediately, a score of kobolds ran down to him, seeing if the dragon needed any of their services. He shooed them away as he padded into the palace, passing over the horizontal platform and past the wide entrance. This platform was only one of several, and the main entrance below was less convenient for Asanjus to reach, being a pair of golden doors with the image of a dragon's head on them. Of course, each of those doors was wide enough for a fully-grown gold dragon to walk through, so they only opened due to the enchantments which had been placed on them by Galinor himself.
Once inside the palace, the atmosphere changed considerably. The air surrounding the palace had been warm and humid, while here it was nice and cool. The smell of some unknown perfume hung in the air, and the floors were kept perpetually smooth and shiny in spite of the tread of thousands of clawed feet over them. The walls were a strange cyan color, with golden segments at doorways and other important parts of the structure. Of course, this was just one of many rooms in the palace, yet it was still big enough for a family of dragons to move around in with great ease. The ceiling of this room alone was half a kilometer tall.
Asanjus was soon approached by a female, probably one of Galinor's mates. She was a gold dragon like himself and the old one, and she greeted him cordially.
"Hello. You must be Asanjus. My mate told of your coming here."
"Yes, that's me. And you are? I am afraid you have me at something of a disadvantage."
"I am Erapura. You can call me Pura for short. I trust your trip was a good one?"
"Indeed, it was. Now, if you could be so kind as to show me to the Old One, I would be much obliged. I was told that he is expecting me."
"That he is. Come with me." | Name: Asanjus
Species: Gold Dragon
Gender: Male
Size: 25 feet tall from head to toe, 50 feet from head to tail, plus five feet for the horns.
Bio: A distant relative of Galnior (his great-great-great-great grandson), Asanjus has shown himself to be just, loyal, and strong. Much like the Old One, he has found himself the ruler of a much smaller realm. Much like Galinor's realm in miniature. While not identical to the Old One in all ways, he has looked to the Great Wyrm as something of a model. Unfortunately, this model extends to his degree of control over his subjects, and he insists on micromanaging everything.
Kind to his mates, generous to his friends, and vicious to his enemies, Asanjus is very much typical of his kind. Proud, fierce, and powerful. Even for a gold dragon, he thinks highly of himself. His pride has grown alongside his power, and he brooks no argument or denial of his will in his own lands. In spite of this, "San" is well-meaning, and has kept the peace for well over a century in his lands. |
7,053 | 196 | 4 | 1,118 | 7,627 | Aksaja soon looked up and saw a pair of good dragons one looked older then the other but both had to be older then aksaja considerably soon he soon stood up and started to follow them. Negate he was small compared to them they really wouldn't notice him unless he says something which wouldn't happen considering how aksaja felt the room go cold.
Aksaja followed them wondering if they would lead him to where they would say their respects to his ancestor as he followed behind them quietly in respectful silence... | Name: Tir
Species/Race: Cyan/Black Western Dragon
Gender: Female
Size: Average tractor/trailer truck.
Age: 400 years
Powers:
The most startling thing happens when Tir makes a certain sound. It is known as Winter's Song, a low and chilling note that sounds like a pod of whales in mourning. It is loud enough to rattle your bones and can blast a wind so cold from her maw that it will leave you frostbitten and in severe hypothermia. She can only do this so many times before her own body temperature begins to dip dangerously low. At that point, she must pause and wait for herself to warm again.
Tir has, somehow, picked up some mind powers too. If she focuses and thinks the right thing, her horns begin to form icicles upon them. Whoever her target is will feel a tingle down their spine and a sudden urge to turn and run. Even the strongest men have found their knees and bowels go weak if Tir puts her mind to it. This again is limited by several factors, namely her brainpower. She can't focus this ability too much or it might cause a severe headache and bad fatigue.
Appearance: At first glance, the dragoness is actually not that intimidating. She has smooth, small scales of a shiny icy color, bands of underbelly scales of a pitch black color, a long, tapered tail, and a relatively mundane wedge-shaped reptilian head without any underbite or overbite. Her two white eyes, dotted with tiny black pupils, are a little chilling, but nothing to be sung about. Her only striking exterior components are her huge claws, wings with gripping hooks at the end, and her four horns. The two bottom ones are long and taper up into wicked points. The top two have a sharper curve and are smaller in general. These four horns, and her claws and wing-hooks, look like they are made of pure Obsidian. That tail of hers can be a deadly sweeping weapon, as well.
Bio/Personality: Tir was not the direct descendant of Galinor. Rather, she was a grand-daughter, birthed by one of his children. It was mostly a normal life for her from her birth, until of course her mother was killed by savage men with the help of a corrupt dragon. Her father was slain just days later. The little dragoness was just a wyrmling, and could hardly defend herself. So, she ran away into exile, before they found her and killed her.
In hiding for a few years, Tir was found by a tribe of dwarves. She was starving, angry, and bitterly confused. Those dwarves were nearly slain and devoured, but they managed to get through to her, and find her a surrogate mother in the form of another dragoness that had been chased away by the rogue. So she grew, and developed, but never did quite shake the memory of the last moments of her parents. It would leave a dark seed that never sprouted, but never died.
Now at a good 400 years of age, she has developed into a reclusive and quiet beast. She has never taken a mate, nor has ever taken interest in a dragon of either gender. She thought that maybe that is what was wrong. Maybe she were cursed with the wrong attraction... but she just could not take an interest in love or breeding after what happened. Tir's true name is lost to time. Tir is just the noise that she gave to herself. So, Tir she is, a quiet, honorable, respectful, introverted beast. |
7,054 | 196 | 5 | 187 | 3,236 | Asanjus turned to the smaller dragon. "Hold on, Pura."
He addressed Aksaja. "I suppose we must be relatives, on some level. You don't look much like my immediate family, but your scent is similar. If I may ask, who are you?" | Name: Asanjus
Species: Gold Dragon
Gender: Male
Size: 25 feet tall from head to toe, 50 feet from head to tail, plus five feet for the horns.
Bio: A distant relative of Galnior (his great-great-great-great grandson), Asanjus has shown himself to be just, loyal, and strong. Much like the Old One, he has found himself the ruler of a much smaller realm. Much like Galinor's realm in miniature. While not identical to the Old One in all ways, he has looked to the Great Wyrm as something of a model. Unfortunately, this model extends to his degree of control over his subjects, and he insists on micromanaging everything.
Kind to his mates, generous to his friends, and vicious to his enemies, Asanjus is very much typical of his kind. Proud, fierce, and powerful. Even for a gold dragon, he thinks highly of himself. His pride has grown alongside his power, and he brooks no argument or denial of his will in his own lands. In spite of this, "San" is well-meaning, and has kept the peace for well over a century in his lands. |
7,055 | 196 | 6 | 1,118 | 7,627 | Uh I'm Aksaja, I'm sorry to follow you but I thought you would take me to my ancestor who has died. I was taught that I needed to pay my respects to a relative who has died. I have no idea where I am going so I thought you both would know. Please don't think me a scavenger for being here" aksaja said bowing his head quickly being nervous he bowed as best he could without touching the floor the way elves are taught to in front of their elders and respected family members | Name: Tir
Species/Race: Cyan/Black Western Dragon
Gender: Female
Size: Average tractor/trailer truck.
Age: 400 years
Powers:
The most startling thing happens when Tir makes a certain sound. It is known as Winter's Song, a low and chilling note that sounds like a pod of whales in mourning. It is loud enough to rattle your bones and can blast a wind so cold from her maw that it will leave you frostbitten and in severe hypothermia. She can only do this so many times before her own body temperature begins to dip dangerously low. At that point, she must pause and wait for herself to warm again.
Tir has, somehow, picked up some mind powers too. If she focuses and thinks the right thing, her horns begin to form icicles upon them. Whoever her target is will feel a tingle down their spine and a sudden urge to turn and run. Even the strongest men have found their knees and bowels go weak if Tir puts her mind to it. This again is limited by several factors, namely her brainpower. She can't focus this ability too much or it might cause a severe headache and bad fatigue.
Appearance: At first glance, the dragoness is actually not that intimidating. She has smooth, small scales of a shiny icy color, bands of underbelly scales of a pitch black color, a long, tapered tail, and a relatively mundane wedge-shaped reptilian head without any underbite or overbite. Her two white eyes, dotted with tiny black pupils, are a little chilling, but nothing to be sung about. Her only striking exterior components are her huge claws, wings with gripping hooks at the end, and her four horns. The two bottom ones are long and taper up into wicked points. The top two have a sharper curve and are smaller in general. These four horns, and her claws and wing-hooks, look like they are made of pure Obsidian. That tail of hers can be a deadly sweeping weapon, as well.
Bio/Personality: Tir was not the direct descendant of Galinor. Rather, she was a grand-daughter, birthed by one of his children. It was mostly a normal life for her from her birth, until of course her mother was killed by savage men with the help of a corrupt dragon. Her father was slain just days later. The little dragoness was just a wyrmling, and could hardly defend herself. So, she ran away into exile, before they found her and killed her.
In hiding for a few years, Tir was found by a tribe of dwarves. She was starving, angry, and bitterly confused. Those dwarves were nearly slain and devoured, but they managed to get through to her, and find her a surrogate mother in the form of another dragoness that had been chased away by the rogue. So she grew, and developed, but never did quite shake the memory of the last moments of her parents. It would leave a dark seed that never sprouted, but never died.
Now at a good 400 years of age, she has developed into a reclusive and quiet beast. She has never taken a mate, nor has ever taken interest in a dragon of either gender. She thought that maybe that is what was wrong. Maybe she were cursed with the wrong attraction... but she just could not take an interest in love or breeding after what happened. Tir's true name is lost to time. Tir is just the noise that she gave to herself. So, Tir she is, a quiet, honorable, respectful, introverted beast. |
7,056 | 196 | 7 | 187 | 3,236 | Well, he's right this way. Galinor is still alive, but he won't be for long Asanjus clarified. "Just follow us and mind your manners. I don't know how formal he is, and he may not be in the best of moods."
"You got that right" Pura explained. "He's been besieged by so many requests for his hoard or his lands that you'd think he was the patriarch of a family of vultures instead of dragons." | Name: Asanjus
Species: Gold Dragon
Gender: Male
Size: 25 feet tall from head to toe, 50 feet from head to tail, plus five feet for the horns.
Bio: A distant relative of Galnior (his great-great-great-great grandson), Asanjus has shown himself to be just, loyal, and strong. Much like the Old One, he has found himself the ruler of a much smaller realm. Much like Galinor's realm in miniature. While not identical to the Old One in all ways, he has looked to the Great Wyrm as something of a model. Unfortunately, this model extends to his degree of control over his subjects, and he insists on micromanaging everything.
Kind to his mates, generous to his friends, and vicious to his enemies, Asanjus is very much typical of his kind. Proud, fierce, and powerful. Even for a gold dragon, he thinks highly of himself. His pride has grown alongside his power, and he brooks no argument or denial of his will in his own lands. In spite of this, "San" is well-meaning, and has kept the peace for well over a century in his lands. |
7,057 | 196 | 8 | 1,118 | 7,627 | Aksaja nodded softly "I understand and thank you for taking me to him. I promise not to disrespect him as best I can" he said softly bowing again to thank them waiting for them to lead on to where he would find this galinor apparently that was his name, all aksaja ever heard about him was that he was a great good dragon not much else | Name: Tir
Species/Race: Cyan/Black Western Dragon
Gender: Female
Size: Average tractor/trailer truck.
Age: 400 years
Powers:
The most startling thing happens when Tir makes a certain sound. It is known as Winter's Song, a low and chilling note that sounds like a pod of whales in mourning. It is loud enough to rattle your bones and can blast a wind so cold from her maw that it will leave you frostbitten and in severe hypothermia. She can only do this so many times before her own body temperature begins to dip dangerously low. At that point, she must pause and wait for herself to warm again.
Tir has, somehow, picked up some mind powers too. If she focuses and thinks the right thing, her horns begin to form icicles upon them. Whoever her target is will feel a tingle down their spine and a sudden urge to turn and run. Even the strongest men have found their knees and bowels go weak if Tir puts her mind to it. This again is limited by several factors, namely her brainpower. She can't focus this ability too much or it might cause a severe headache and bad fatigue.
Appearance: At first glance, the dragoness is actually not that intimidating. She has smooth, small scales of a shiny icy color, bands of underbelly scales of a pitch black color, a long, tapered tail, and a relatively mundane wedge-shaped reptilian head without any underbite or overbite. Her two white eyes, dotted with tiny black pupils, are a little chilling, but nothing to be sung about. Her only striking exterior components are her huge claws, wings with gripping hooks at the end, and her four horns. The two bottom ones are long and taper up into wicked points. The top two have a sharper curve and are smaller in general. These four horns, and her claws and wing-hooks, look like they are made of pure Obsidian. That tail of hers can be a deadly sweeping weapon, as well.
Bio/Personality: Tir was not the direct descendant of Galinor. Rather, she was a grand-daughter, birthed by one of his children. It was mostly a normal life for her from her birth, until of course her mother was killed by savage men with the help of a corrupt dragon. Her father was slain just days later. The little dragoness was just a wyrmling, and could hardly defend herself. So, she ran away into exile, before they found her and killed her.
In hiding for a few years, Tir was found by a tribe of dwarves. She was starving, angry, and bitterly confused. Those dwarves were nearly slain and devoured, but they managed to get through to her, and find her a surrogate mother in the form of another dragoness that had been chased away by the rogue. So she grew, and developed, but never did quite shake the memory of the last moments of her parents. It would leave a dark seed that never sprouted, but never died.
Now at a good 400 years of age, she has developed into a reclusive and quiet beast. She has never taken a mate, nor has ever taken interest in a dragon of either gender. She thought that maybe that is what was wrong. Maybe she were cursed with the wrong attraction... but she just could not take an interest in love or breeding after what happened. Tir's true name is lost to time. Tir is just the noise that she gave to herself. So, Tir she is, a quiet, honorable, respectful, introverted beast. |
7,058 | 196 | 9 | 187 | 3,236 | The three dragons made their way through several halls. Eventually, they came to a huge set of golden doors, even larger than the ones whch adorned the front entrance
"He's in there. I'll lead you two in" Pura said. At her touch, the doors swung open, gradually opening. The hall was quite different from most of the palace, with light brown walls and a light brown floor. In all likelihood, this was the original color of the mountain's stone. Stepping in, Asanjus felt truly small for the first time since he was a youngling. The cavern was vast, with a ceiling over a kilometer in the air. Several dragons were milling bout, as were hundreds of kobolds going about their various chores and routines.
At the center of this colossal chamber was Galinor himself. Dominating the center of the room, he lay on his stomach on a vast cushion made of finest samite and filled with some kind of soft material which could still comfortably support his vast weight. The gold dragon gave off an impression of power and serenity, yet it was clear that he was not well. Many of his scales were flaking off, giving his golden skin a mottled look, and his horns and claws were chipped, as if failing to fully heal from a previous injury. He also looked quite tired, even though he had been resting there for quite a long time.
The three of them approached him. Asanjus bowed, and Galnior returned the gesture with a curt nod.
"Please, let us not stand on ceremony. You are welcome here. There is much for me to tell you, but my time is short." | Name: Asanjus
Species: Gold Dragon
Gender: Male
Size: 25 feet tall from head to toe, 50 feet from head to tail, plus five feet for the horns.
Bio: A distant relative of Galnior (his great-great-great-great grandson), Asanjus has shown himself to be just, loyal, and strong. Much like the Old One, he has found himself the ruler of a much smaller realm. Much like Galinor's realm in miniature. While not identical to the Old One in all ways, he has looked to the Great Wyrm as something of a model. Unfortunately, this model extends to his degree of control over his subjects, and he insists on micromanaging everything.
Kind to his mates, generous to his friends, and vicious to his enemies, Asanjus is very much typical of his kind. Proud, fierce, and powerful. Even for a gold dragon, he thinks highly of himself. His pride has grown alongside his power, and he brooks no argument or denial of his will in his own lands. In spite of this, "San" is well-meaning, and has kept the peace for well over a century in his lands. |
7,059 | 196 | 10 | 1,118 | 7,627 | As Aksaja walked into the room with the elders he never felt so small. The room was fit to house an entire kingdom just within its walls and in the middle of the room was the dragon that he was related to and he could tell just from looking at him that he was dying even though Aksaja hasn't seen many other dragons he can sense when another's life is about to give out. As he bowed he said not to stand on ceremony so Aksaja took a deep breath to calm himself down before he walked forward in front of him.
Aksaja bowed deeply to him before he started to talk "um, elder galinor I came here to see who my ancestor was and see who I was related to. I haven't been raised by other dragons so please forgive me if I insult you or disrespect you in any way shape or form as I speak." Aksaja said taking another bowed and taking another breath to calm himself and straighten his posture more to speak " I wish I could say more then what I know, but all I know about you is that you are a great dragon and has earned his rest from this world. I was taught that when someone in your family dies its tradition to give them something meaningful so when they pass on they have a piece of you to take with them." Aksaja said as he reached into his feathery wings and pulled out a large Golden Beryl Gemstone which was covered in his old shell when he was born. He then moved closer and put the stone on his giant claw before walking back to gain distance as he bowed his head in respect saying "may your path to the next light be filled with joy and no regrets" He said knowing that if Galinor knew the meaning of what he said he would understand that he was raised by the elven people.
" I did not come here to ask anything of you, I simply wished to respect your passing and wish you happiness" Aksaja said softly as he started to walk away taking a shaky breath glad he was able to do all that without cracking his voice or anything embarrassing like that | Name: Tir
Species/Race: Cyan/Black Western Dragon
Gender: Female
Size: Average tractor/trailer truck.
Age: 400 years
Powers:
The most startling thing happens when Tir makes a certain sound. It is known as Winter's Song, a low and chilling note that sounds like a pod of whales in mourning. It is loud enough to rattle your bones and can blast a wind so cold from her maw that it will leave you frostbitten and in severe hypothermia. She can only do this so many times before her own body temperature begins to dip dangerously low. At that point, she must pause and wait for herself to warm again.
Tir has, somehow, picked up some mind powers too. If she focuses and thinks the right thing, her horns begin to form icicles upon them. Whoever her target is will feel a tingle down their spine and a sudden urge to turn and run. Even the strongest men have found their knees and bowels go weak if Tir puts her mind to it. This again is limited by several factors, namely her brainpower. She can't focus this ability too much or it might cause a severe headache and bad fatigue.
Appearance: At first glance, the dragoness is actually not that intimidating. She has smooth, small scales of a shiny icy color, bands of underbelly scales of a pitch black color, a long, tapered tail, and a relatively mundane wedge-shaped reptilian head without any underbite or overbite. Her two white eyes, dotted with tiny black pupils, are a little chilling, but nothing to be sung about. Her only striking exterior components are her huge claws, wings with gripping hooks at the end, and her four horns. The two bottom ones are long and taper up into wicked points. The top two have a sharper curve and are smaller in general. These four horns, and her claws and wing-hooks, look like they are made of pure Obsidian. That tail of hers can be a deadly sweeping weapon, as well.
Bio/Personality: Tir was not the direct descendant of Galinor. Rather, she was a grand-daughter, birthed by one of his children. It was mostly a normal life for her from her birth, until of course her mother was killed by savage men with the help of a corrupt dragon. Her father was slain just days later. The little dragoness was just a wyrmling, and could hardly defend herself. So, she ran away into exile, before they found her and killed her.
In hiding for a few years, Tir was found by a tribe of dwarves. She was starving, angry, and bitterly confused. Those dwarves were nearly slain and devoured, but they managed to get through to her, and find her a surrogate mother in the form of another dragoness that had been chased away by the rogue. So she grew, and developed, but never did quite shake the memory of the last moments of her parents. It would leave a dark seed that never sprouted, but never died.
Now at a good 400 years of age, she has developed into a reclusive and quiet beast. She has never taken a mate, nor has ever taken interest in a dragon of either gender. She thought that maybe that is what was wrong. Maybe she were cursed with the wrong attraction... but she just could not take an interest in love or breeding after what happened. Tir's true name is lost to time. Tir is just the noise that she gave to herself. So, Tir she is, a quiet, honorable, respectful, introverted beast. |
7,060 | 196 | 11 | 187 | 3,236 | Galinor smiled. "Don't feel sad for me, child. I've lived a very long, very full life. Death is simply the passing of this form for another. I've already visited the outer planes while still clothed in my flesh. It's really not so bad. For what it is worth, I shall miss this world, but that's not my concern right now. No, child. I care more for who I shall leave behind. My people will need looking after. I shudder to thin what may happen to my subjects." He leaned down and nuzzled Aksaja a little bit, then moved to Asanjus.
"I trust you have come here to claim a piece of my empire?"
Asanjus looked at his ancestor. "Yes. I will not hide it. For what it is worth, I promise to look after the people you entrust to me well. They will want for nothing." | Name: Asanjus
Species: Gold Dragon
Gender: Male
Size: 25 feet tall from head to toe, 50 feet from head to tail, plus five feet for the horns.
Bio: A distant relative of Galnior (his great-great-great-great grandson), Asanjus has shown himself to be just, loyal, and strong. Much like the Old One, he has found himself the ruler of a much smaller realm. Much like Galinor's realm in miniature. While not identical to the Old One in all ways, he has looked to the Great Wyrm as something of a model. Unfortunately, this model extends to his degree of control over his subjects, and he insists on micromanaging everything.
Kind to his mates, generous to his friends, and vicious to his enemies, Asanjus is very much typical of his kind. Proud, fierce, and powerful. Even for a gold dragon, he thinks highly of himself. His pride has grown alongside his power, and he brooks no argument or denial of his will in his own lands. In spite of this, "San" is well-meaning, and has kept the peace for well over a century in his lands. |
7,061 | 196 | 12 | 1,118 | 7,627 | Aksaja smiled softly feeling the elder nuzzle him so like a father would to his youngling aksaja never knew what that feeling wad like until now but it felt nice he was glad that galinor wasn't as big or imposing as he looked and was really rather nice. "For what it's worth I promise to protect the elven lands with my life elder. It's my home and I'll protect it" he said trying not to sound like the vultures that were trying to grab his hoard or land. Aksaja just wanted to defend the home where he was raised and even if he isn't given the lands or if it's owned by a larger,meaner, and stronger dragon he will protect it no matter what. Aksaja doesn't have any real desire for power or money and it would be obvious for most to tell that. If aksaja can protect the elven lands then that was all he needed | Name: Tir
Species/Race: Cyan/Black Western Dragon
Gender: Female
Size: Average tractor/trailer truck.
Age: 400 years
Powers:
The most startling thing happens when Tir makes a certain sound. It is known as Winter's Song, a low and chilling note that sounds like a pod of whales in mourning. It is loud enough to rattle your bones and can blast a wind so cold from her maw that it will leave you frostbitten and in severe hypothermia. She can only do this so many times before her own body temperature begins to dip dangerously low. At that point, she must pause and wait for herself to warm again.
Tir has, somehow, picked up some mind powers too. If she focuses and thinks the right thing, her horns begin to form icicles upon them. Whoever her target is will feel a tingle down their spine and a sudden urge to turn and run. Even the strongest men have found their knees and bowels go weak if Tir puts her mind to it. This again is limited by several factors, namely her brainpower. She can't focus this ability too much or it might cause a severe headache and bad fatigue.
Appearance: At first glance, the dragoness is actually not that intimidating. She has smooth, small scales of a shiny icy color, bands of underbelly scales of a pitch black color, a long, tapered tail, and a relatively mundane wedge-shaped reptilian head without any underbite or overbite. Her two white eyes, dotted with tiny black pupils, are a little chilling, but nothing to be sung about. Her only striking exterior components are her huge claws, wings with gripping hooks at the end, and her four horns. The two bottom ones are long and taper up into wicked points. The top two have a sharper curve and are smaller in general. These four horns, and her claws and wing-hooks, look like they are made of pure Obsidian. That tail of hers can be a deadly sweeping weapon, as well.
Bio/Personality: Tir was not the direct descendant of Galinor. Rather, she was a grand-daughter, birthed by one of his children. It was mostly a normal life for her from her birth, until of course her mother was killed by savage men with the help of a corrupt dragon. Her father was slain just days later. The little dragoness was just a wyrmling, and could hardly defend herself. So, she ran away into exile, before they found her and killed her.
In hiding for a few years, Tir was found by a tribe of dwarves. She was starving, angry, and bitterly confused. Those dwarves were nearly slain and devoured, but they managed to get through to her, and find her a surrogate mother in the form of another dragoness that had been chased away by the rogue. So she grew, and developed, but never did quite shake the memory of the last moments of her parents. It would leave a dark seed that never sprouted, but never died.
Now at a good 400 years of age, she has developed into a reclusive and quiet beast. She has never taken a mate, nor has ever taken interest in a dragon of either gender. She thought that maybe that is what was wrong. Maybe she were cursed with the wrong attraction... but she just could not take an interest in love or breeding after what happened. Tir's true name is lost to time. Tir is just the noise that she gave to herself. So, Tir she is, a quiet, honorable, respectful, introverted beast. |
7,062 | 196 | 13 | 187 | 3,236 | (Sorry for the delay! Still here!)
Galinor sighed. "I cannot entrust a territory to one as young as you. But, I can offer you some treasure and a place as a future ruler. If you do well, of course. I believe your promise is good, though." | Name: Asanjus
Species: Gold Dragon
Gender: Male
Size: 25 feet tall from head to toe, 50 feet from head to tail, plus five feet for the horns.
Bio: A distant relative of Galnior (his great-great-great-great grandson), Asanjus has shown himself to be just, loyal, and strong. Much like the Old One, he has found himself the ruler of a much smaller realm. Much like Galinor's realm in miniature. While not identical to the Old One in all ways, he has looked to the Great Wyrm as something of a model. Unfortunately, this model extends to his degree of control over his subjects, and he insists on micromanaging everything.
Kind to his mates, generous to his friends, and vicious to his enemies, Asanjus is very much typical of his kind. Proud, fierce, and powerful. Even for a gold dragon, he thinks highly of himself. His pride has grown alongside his power, and he brooks no argument or denial of his will in his own lands. In spite of this, "San" is well-meaning, and has kept the peace for well over a century in his lands. |
7,063 | 196 | 14 | 1,118 | 7,627 | Aksaja was slightly disappointed to hear he won't be protecting his home land but his elder wanted to give him a hoard and a place to rule "I appreciate the offer elder but all I want to do is protect the home where I was born, I don't really need much else. Thank you though" aksaja said not wanting to really rule anything he would be a guardian and protector to his home. Whoever did take over for his home he would watch like a hawk though no matter what. | Name: Tir
Species/Race: Cyan/Black Western Dragon
Gender: Female
Size: Average tractor/trailer truck.
Age: 400 years
Powers:
The most startling thing happens when Tir makes a certain sound. It is known as Winter's Song, a low and chilling note that sounds like a pod of whales in mourning. It is loud enough to rattle your bones and can blast a wind so cold from her maw that it will leave you frostbitten and in severe hypothermia. She can only do this so many times before her own body temperature begins to dip dangerously low. At that point, she must pause and wait for herself to warm again.
Tir has, somehow, picked up some mind powers too. If she focuses and thinks the right thing, her horns begin to form icicles upon them. Whoever her target is will feel a tingle down their spine and a sudden urge to turn and run. Even the strongest men have found their knees and bowels go weak if Tir puts her mind to it. This again is limited by several factors, namely her brainpower. She can't focus this ability too much or it might cause a severe headache and bad fatigue.
Appearance: At first glance, the dragoness is actually not that intimidating. She has smooth, small scales of a shiny icy color, bands of underbelly scales of a pitch black color, a long, tapered tail, and a relatively mundane wedge-shaped reptilian head without any underbite or overbite. Her two white eyes, dotted with tiny black pupils, are a little chilling, but nothing to be sung about. Her only striking exterior components are her huge claws, wings with gripping hooks at the end, and her four horns. The two bottom ones are long and taper up into wicked points. The top two have a sharper curve and are smaller in general. These four horns, and her claws and wing-hooks, look like they are made of pure Obsidian. That tail of hers can be a deadly sweeping weapon, as well.
Bio/Personality: Tir was not the direct descendant of Galinor. Rather, she was a grand-daughter, birthed by one of his children. It was mostly a normal life for her from her birth, until of course her mother was killed by savage men with the help of a corrupt dragon. Her father was slain just days later. The little dragoness was just a wyrmling, and could hardly defend herself. So, she ran away into exile, before they found her and killed her.
In hiding for a few years, Tir was found by a tribe of dwarves. She was starving, angry, and bitterly confused. Those dwarves were nearly slain and devoured, but they managed to get through to her, and find her a surrogate mother in the form of another dragoness that had been chased away by the rogue. So she grew, and developed, but never did quite shake the memory of the last moments of her parents. It would leave a dark seed that never sprouted, but never died.
Now at a good 400 years of age, she has developed into a reclusive and quiet beast. She has never taken a mate, nor has ever taken interest in a dragon of either gender. She thought that maybe that is what was wrong. Maybe she were cursed with the wrong attraction... but she just could not take an interest in love or breeding after what happened. Tir's true name is lost to time. Tir is just the noise that she gave to herself. So, Tir she is, a quiet, honorable, respectful, introverted beast. |
7,064 | 197 | 0 | 2,200 | 442 | Welcome to Arkanshire, a land of heroes and untold power. It is a peaceful land, with on King and Queen who rule from the capital city. No wars, no enemies, a true land of peace and happiness. That is for a time. Every hundred years, the "Nightmare" awakens, opening a portal to the land of the gods. Those who are very brave, or very foolish, can enter these lands. A one way trip, those who enter try to earn the ultimate prize. You see, once the "Nightmare" awakens, the gods are now able to be killed, and any god that is killed, needs to be replaced. When you enter this land, called Arkanshire Dream, you enter in a life or death game. Will you become a new god? Or will your bones be added to the throne of the gods?
How many times have the town's people heard that warning? Over and over, year after year, always warning them. Once the Nightmare had awaken, allowing those who are brave, or foolish, to enter. One such man was a golem named Fozzie. He was getting old, his armor now covered in moss and vines. He didn't mind, he was free from war, and able to roam the lands. All so that he could try and learn about his old life. He was old, hearing of the Dream Opening at least five times. He heard what other could do there, and even heard of some becoming new gods. With that power, he could find out about his old life. He knew this would be his final adventure. He would either become a god, or finally earn his rest.
He entered one of the portals around Arkanshire. His portal sent him to the top of a cold mountain, chilling even him. The wind let out a howling noise as it, causing him to look around, in fear of being hunted down by unseen beast. He looked around his area one last time, seeing nothing but snow. "Very well then." He muttered to himself, and started walking in random direction, praying he was ready for whatever came his way. | Name: Fozzie
Age: Over 500
Gender: M
Race: Golem
Height: 8'0 ft
Appearance:
Weapon of choice: Clawed Gauntlets/Fist
Occupation: Freelance Hire
Lore: 71665 was one of the last golems created for the "Great War", and was a loyal fighter. After the war had ended, the king had given a royal family ownership of 71665, who didn't even have a name, just a number. For hundreds of years, 71665 served the royal family, being whatever they needed at the time. After serving this family, one of the children had started to think of 71665 as a friend, not slave. She named him Fozzie, because of the stories he told her, based around what 71665 used to believe his life was before he was a golem. When she took control of the families wealth, she freed Fozzie, so that he could try to find his old life. He didn't want to leave, but her final order for him was "to go and be happy". He left that day, and returned many years later when he had heard an elderly woman, his old friend, was ill and not long for this world. He was able to say his goodbyes, and her children, surprised that the great hero Fozzie was real, asked him to stay for her funeral, and told him that he was always welcomed in their own, as he was considered family. Once the Nightmare had awaken, and opened a way to the Dream, Fozzie had decided to go and try to become a god, hoping that it could help him find information of his old life.
Extra Info: Has 71665 "tattooed" on both shoulders. |
7,065 | 197 | 1 | 1,359 | 333 | Kaja blinked. A cold shiver ran up her body, both from the onslaught of heavy drops on her back, and the grime slipping into the front of her shirt and the side of her face. She blinked through the curtain of rain, a tempest relentlessly assaulting the treetops that surrounded her. With a groan, she pushed herself up, the heels of her hands sinking into the wet dirt underneath her.
Questions swirled in her mind. Where was she? How did she get there? How would she get back home?
She nodded to herself as soon as she could stand on her own two feet. A quick body check informed her that, yes, her clothes were ruined by the mud and rain, but it was nothing a quick dip in some body of water couldn't fix. The crossbow strapped to her right hand was still functional, the use of stainless steel proving to be one of Kaja's better decisions, and the bolt quiver on her waist held around thirty bolts, five of which were the special bolts from her father. Her sword...
Her head whipped around in search of the gladius she had brought to Arkanshire from the land of the Valkyries and found it sitting against a tree and seemingly pointing in the direction of a cave with something illuminating its inside. Her free hand raised to cover her eyes from the rain as she looked around for another option. She could head further into the forest, but the heavy rainfall made it difficult for her to wander around. Her mind made up, she grabbed the sword and strapped it onto her waist, and headed for the cave.
Maybe out of the rain, she could begin answering some of the questions assaulting her mind. | Name: Asra
Age: 20
Gender: M
Race: Demigod (of the God of Secrets) and a Human
Height: 6' 0"
Appearance:
Weapon of choice: Magic
Occupation: Dancer/Entertainer of a traveling caravan
Lore:
Asra was brought up by a single mother, and never told of his birth out of the shame that a noblewoman such as she would dally in the company of a God, unfaithfully. As the birthmark had sat on his neck, so is where she'd hurt him, in a wicked attempt to absolve herself of her crime. She was later accused by her husband, when she tried to kill the boy in a river when the nobleman found her. Before she died, Asra spoke of her secret, and left the scene, officially emancipated of all parentage.
Asra took interest in the world of the carnival, and found himself on the wagon of a friendly crew of carnies. Their faith, in their line of work and the worship of the unnatural, was based around the God of Secrets, and his association with the unknown, alienated, and cataphysical. Asra had an affinity for secrets, and as soon as he became a mage-dancer for his affinity with knowledge and mana, he just as well adopted the title as a medium, set backstage for private insurers. He'd fall into a trance, sometimes even sleep, but his body would whisper their secrets, some they had yet to know.
It was there he heard it procured from his own mouth, about the Arkanshire Dream, and its next manifestation. And when he told the caravan of his intentions, they worked their way around so that they'd be in the right place, at the right time. Unknown as to who his real father is, he walked toward the Dream with purpose. His dark secret gods of worship at his back, and a bag full of secrets, he only has his life to lose, and that may prove to break his invincible demeanor more than the pain of death ever could.
Extra Info:
-Orientation is homosexual, however, not very sexual. Desperate for love, and has never had anything of the like.
-Spiritual, but ultimately heretical, his secret ideas of gods usually being an idealized self. He prays to himself to ask if he can push himself just a little harder, in an attempt to be better. This is a psychological subconscious idea as a result of his upbringing.
-Seeks the Arkanshire Dream to know if anyone else hears his prayers, and why some go unanswered. Also possibly because his career as a dancer has run its course.
-Extremely emotional until the subject of family is brought up.
-Actively struggles with depression. |
7,066 | 197 | 2 | 1,305 | 1,314 | Asra, the boy of secrets it would seem. His things were packed, and tonight was one of the last times he could spend with his troupe. From his wooden trailer-wagon, he could hear them outside, laughing around the fire. It stung, to leave them high and dry like this, but what was he to do? To be a part of the troupe his entire life, never to wonder what it would have been like, had he only swam against the tide his life had tried to drown him in? No, he didn't think he could live with himself like this. Whether it was the musky smell of the applewood outside that now burned in fiery competition to the stars, or his own weakness, tears could only reach the brim of his eyes in that familiar sting. His pack was filled with a couple changes of clothes, and a loaf of bread. He wouldn't tell the others that he was about to leave. It would be an ordeal that might change his mind, or sway his resolve. He left a note beneath his crystal orb prop he used for the sake of gimmickry, and had cleaned up his room for whoever they might house next as a part of their act. Within the note, he also enclosed his next client's reading, a pre-precognition, if you will.
Right, now or never. He opened to the backdoor, and spied the forested part of Arkanshire ahead. He moved quietly, though no one found him, or even looked in his direction. His secret escape, a success. As he maneuvered around particularly dry twigs and small ground toads, he thought he could have given them a signal as he retreated. But he'd told them of his plans, and he might be egotistical enough to hope that it was the reason the only key sober people right now had turned in early. Sephi must have had to, her child and Asra had been as thick as thieves. The young girl had cried about it, Sephi told him, and had gone as far as to saw through his trailer wheels with nothing but a wire string! They'd had to get it repaired and it had set the caravan itself half a day late! He'd bought her a stuffed horse to pacify her, but she'd thrown it at him, and stained it with wine that sat on the table behind him, and yelled, "I don't need this, because you aren't leaving!"
As Asra reminisced, he spied a portal within the quiet wood. Pine needles scattered all around its base, and the odor carried to Asra's nostrils. He looked around, and ducked behind the trunk of a tree, and spied if anyone else planned to use this portal. But he heard and saw no one. He wondered if they might be behind another tree, and saw him approach the portal too. But he doubted it. There was little an occasion that someone ever found out much about him if he never said anything. So, around the trunk, he dashed for the portal. There was no time for resolve, no way to know if this is what he wanted or not. He tugged on his fur jacket hood, and--
Hello, creepy. He charged, only to fall down the steps of what appeared to be a church. Thankfully, he ran too fast to get caught and really hit the steps, but he landed at the base as rough as his speed entailed, and knocked the breath out of him until he regained it, and inhaled desperately. As he rolled back upside, and coughed a few times before he stood up. The weather wasn't at all what he anticipated, and so he dropped the coat immediately, and folded it neatly into his pack. Who'd want to suffocate in that all day? But he looked at where he'd come from, only to find the doors of the church, and then looked to the high and low road, only to see houses, most of them with an array of broken windows, open doors, open windows, open broken windows....you get the idea. It looked as though there had been some desperation to get out of said houses. But what for? It was a quaint town, and obviously had the money to build a church. Something must have chased them out then.
Asra ascended the steps of the church, and giggled to himself. He wondered if all that desperation had been to get within its doors. He also wondered which god they prayed unto. His hand rested on the door, and weighed whether or not to open it. It was only a church, so why'd he feel so afraid? His head rested on its frame, as he tried to bring himself to open it, to no avail. If he searched the town, he was afraid he might find what chased these people out. But he also feared they were inside the church, a place of respite, and would attack any stranger on sight. But, on the other hand, it was after all, a place of respite. He could set up here, though he probably wouldn't want to. To get a head start in the world, he might just want to explore the town.
But his hand, tired of the wait, twisted the handle and pushed inwards, quietly. He was thankful that he hadn't brought a knife, he wanted to look defenseless if possible. He called out, "Hello?" | Tatiana Blackwood
'Tia'
Age:
18
Gender:
Female
Race:
Shapeshifter
Height:
5'2
Occupation:
Arkanshire's Spy, employed directly under the Queen
Weapon of Choice:
She uses two identical dark daggers used mainly for throwing. Once they hit their targets, they dissipate and appear back in he hands.
Lore:
Tia was created by one of the well known witches of Arkanshire, Theodora Blackwood. A master of black magic, Theodora casted a dark creation spell and used the blood of a unicorn to give life to what she will later call her daughter. Her spell took effect a week after she had casted it. On a particularly dark and moonless night, a child with eyes and hair the color as dark as the night was born. Theodora named her Tatiana and sang spells to her every single night.
At the young age of three, Tatiana made her first shift. She was in the forest that hid their little cottage and was playing with a rabbit. She was so engrossed with the creature that she didn't notice that her touch has killed the creature. She finally noticed when it failed to react to her small fingers. Theodora, who had been knitting her a new dress, immediately ran to her upon hearing her scream. But instead of an injured child, the witch found an identical white rabbit beside the dead one. She called out to Tatiana and her daughter immediately melted back to her original form.
The following days were strange as Tatiana became as meek as the rabbit she had apparently absorbed into her. Because of the powers she manifested, her mother began bringing to her an assortment of creatures, from deers to birds to predators as big as tigers and panthers. The weaker, smaller creatures succumbed to death when the child touched them while the larger ones only weakened. With each touch, she gained their forms as well as their characteristics.
As she was given more and more animals to shift into, her mind also became cluttered with the personalities of each. Her own demeanor became erratic, sometimes being meek, other times being fierce. She no longer had a personality of her own but a mixture of several. Her eyes had also taken on a strange color. One became blue, the other became yellow.
At the age of 10, imperial soldiers came to their small cottage at the command of the queen. She was to create a shapeshifter that would be sent to the palace to serve the queen. Thinking that the queen wanted to take her daughter, the witch had retaliated and ended up having herself killed. Tatiana, in a desperate attempt to protect both herself and her mother, shifted her form into a panther. But she was too small and her efforts was quickly overpowered by the soldiers. Seeing her abilities, the soldiers brought her back to the palace.
After receiving report of what had happened, the Queen decided to take Tatiana in, treating her well even though most in the palace saw her as evil. In return for the Queen's kindness, the shapeshifter became loyal to her, often acting as her and the king's doppelganger whenever needed.
Additional info:
Tattooed her face just because she wanted to.
Has some sort of mark on her body whenever she shapeshift. To those with a keen eye, this is the only way to tell who she is in her shifted form.
Also functions as spy for the royal family.
Knows a few spells and curses, mostly those sung to her by her mother. |
7,067 | 197 | 3 | 2,200 | 442 | The cave easily provide an escape from the heavy rain. The light she could see was coming from a fire, with green colored flames. As she was getting closer to the fire, she could see a man sitting by it. He was in a dark cloak, with a long beard. Next to him was a walking cane, with odd designs created on it. He let out a couch as he noticed her, and let out a soft chuckle. "Ah, seems the rain has scared another to this cave. Please, have a seat. The fire is quiet warm." He said.
The church's door let out a loud squeak, but the smell was the first thing to hit him. It was a mixture of decay, and waste. His eyes soon adjusted to the dark, and the sight around him was horrifying. The town's people were the church, as if hiding from someone, or something. But whatever it was, had gotten in first. Most of the corpses were ripped apart, parts of their bodies somewhat eaten. More people, dressed in robes with the church's symbol on them, were hanging from the ceiling. What appeared to be intestines wrapped around their necks, but it was hard to tell if that is what had killed them or not. Last, a fully nude woman was on the alter, her chest ripped open, as of something had burst out of her.
Once he had entered the church, the door behind him slammed shut. Written on the door, over and over, were the words "Run Rabbit Run". Footprints, of some kind, were on the floor, and exiting the church, hopefully meaning whatever had done this was gone.
The graveyard looked to be in disrepair, with vines covering many of the gravestones. Bodies were also scattered around, vines and roots growing out of their bodies. Buzzards were flying around the area, but it seemed as if they were terrified to land. Sounds of groaning could be heard, but it is hard to tell which body was making the noise. But soon, a new sound could be heard. The sound of coins in a purse. A squirrel was ontop a nearby stomp, playing with a coin purse. It stopped as it noticed her, but didn't seem worried. It cocked its head to the side, and it pulled a coin outta the purse. It walked over to the edge of the stump nearest to her, placed the coin down, and backed up where the coin purse was, watching her. | Name: Fozzie
Age: Over 500
Gender: M
Race: Golem
Height: 8'0 ft
Appearance:
Weapon of choice: Clawed Gauntlets/Fist
Occupation: Freelance Hire
Lore: 71665 was one of the last golems created for the "Great War", and was a loyal fighter. After the war had ended, the king had given a royal family ownership of 71665, who didn't even have a name, just a number. For hundreds of years, 71665 served the royal family, being whatever they needed at the time. After serving this family, one of the children had started to think of 71665 as a friend, not slave. She named him Fozzie, because of the stories he told her, based around what 71665 used to believe his life was before he was a golem. When she took control of the families wealth, she freed Fozzie, so that he could try to find his old life. He didn't want to leave, but her final order for him was "to go and be happy". He left that day, and returned many years later when he had heard an elderly woman, his old friend, was ill and not long for this world. He was able to say his goodbyes, and her children, surprised that the great hero Fozzie was real, asked him to stay for her funeral, and told him that he was always welcomed in their own, as he was considered family. Once the Nightmare had awaken, and opened a way to the Dream, Fozzie had decided to go and try to become a god, hoping that it could help him find information of his old life.
Extra Info: Has 71665 "tattooed" on both shoulders. |
7,068 | 197 | 4 | 1,359 | 333 | As the smell had hit him, so did he hit the floor, and proceeded to dry heave, and then actually heave. Asra lurched back from the sickness, and ran his hands through his hair. He stared at the disaster in front of him. Could he even get up? His knees trembled terribly, and though he didn't cry, he wailed. Even the temperature of the room made him nauseous, a gross heat from the bloated bodies still presented itself around the room. The pews were in disarray, the bodies looked indescribably aghast, stupified by horror.
Asra's wails fell into whimpers, as he closed his eyes and tried to think of anywhere else he could be. The silence in his mind was near non-existent, a chaotic flutter of paper words his mind wrote endlessly. But then, a stillness that fell upon it, as it gradually died down. An act of repression, to seal the memory away, an attempt to obfuscate the image and rest his feeble brain. And when he opened his eyes, he no longer saw danger. He saw a tragedy...though the horror clawed at him, he needed whatever these people had.
He got up, and leaned against the wall, the punch of a second-hand bile rose to his throat. He let loose, but with more calm, and wrapped his arms around his body, the warmth of the dead unmatched to the cold of an empty stomach and retreated adrenaline. He walked, tripped, but caught himself, right above the body of another clergyman. Asra, wary of disease, eyeballed the front of the man, but realized that none of these people would likely have anything, as they'd proven to be unable to stave off the monster that had done this. So, Asra made his way to the altar, and consciously averted his eyes from the woman, and kicked her off the altar. He inspected the area for any other clues, as he felt there were still secrets here he needed to find before he moved on. | Name: Asra
Age: 20
Gender: M
Race: Demigod (of the God of Secrets) and a Human
Height: 6' 0"
Appearance:
Weapon of choice: Magic
Occupation: Dancer/Entertainer of a traveling caravan
Lore:
Asra was brought up by a single mother, and never told of his birth out of the shame that a noblewoman such as she would dally in the company of a God, unfaithfully. As the birthmark had sat on his neck, so is where she'd hurt him, in a wicked attempt to absolve herself of her crime. She was later accused by her husband, when she tried to kill the boy in a river when the nobleman found her. Before she died, Asra spoke of her secret, and left the scene, officially emancipated of all parentage.
Asra took interest in the world of the carnival, and found himself on the wagon of a friendly crew of carnies. Their faith, in their line of work and the worship of the unnatural, was based around the God of Secrets, and his association with the unknown, alienated, and cataphysical. Asra had an affinity for secrets, and as soon as he became a mage-dancer for his affinity with knowledge and mana, he just as well adopted the title as a medium, set backstage for private insurers. He'd fall into a trance, sometimes even sleep, but his body would whisper their secrets, some they had yet to know.
It was there he heard it procured from his own mouth, about the Arkanshire Dream, and its next manifestation. And when he told the caravan of his intentions, they worked their way around so that they'd be in the right place, at the right time. Unknown as to who his real father is, he walked toward the Dream with purpose. His dark secret gods of worship at his back, and a bag full of secrets, he only has his life to lose, and that may prove to break his invincible demeanor more than the pain of death ever could.
Extra Info:
-Orientation is homosexual, however, not very sexual. Desperate for love, and has never had anything of the like.
-Spiritual, but ultimately heretical, his secret ideas of gods usually being an idealized self. He prays to himself to ask if he can push himself just a little harder, in an attempt to be better. This is a psychological subconscious idea as a result of his upbringing.
-Seeks the Arkanshire Dream to know if anyone else hears his prayers, and why some go unanswered. Also possibly because his career as a dancer has run its course.
-Extremely emotional until the subject of family is brought up.
-Actively struggles with depression. |
7,069 | 197 | 5 | 1,305 | 1,314 | Tia Blackwood
Tia stood up and brushed herself off, her hand smudging mud on her cloak. She looked down at the smudged mud and wrinkled her nose. She stared at it for a while and then looked up to weigh her options. Going towards the town would take longer than going towards the cemetery. Her shoes were already caked with so much mud just by standing that she was afraid she'd be waist deep in it by the time she get to the town. With that in mind, she trudged towards the graveyard.
And found herself staring at decaying bodies that have apparently melded with nature.
"Ugh," she wrinkled her nose again in disgust, regretting her decision with each step she took. She dared to look at one of the corpses. Whether it had been male or female was no long distinguishable. Yellowish bone can almost be seen through the black, rotting flesh. A thick vine ran through its chest and Tia wondered if the vine was what actually killed it.
She pushed the gruesome images out of her head as she continued on. She stepped carefully around the other bodies that littered the cemetery floor and almost jumped when she heard a groaning sound. She looked towards the direction it came from, her mind already bringing up images of walking corpses. But the dead bodies remained still in their gruesome final resting positions. She breathed out a sigh of relief and then heard a curious sound.
A tinkling sound.
"Coins?" she asked out aloud. She blinked when she saw a squirrel scurry towards her. It placed a coin a few feet away from her and then returned to the stump where he curiously seemed to be guarding the purse he got the coin from. She studied the squirrel for a few minutes before she turned to the object she assumed it left for her.
She took a step forward, bent down and took the coin. It was a bronze coin carved with a dragon and a shield. It was also designed with runic symbols that she could not read. She turned the coin over in her palm. Her eyes were met with an intricate design and more runic symbols. | Tatiana Blackwood
'Tia'
Age:
18
Gender:
Female
Race:
Shapeshifter
Height:
5'2
Occupation:
Arkanshire's Spy, employed directly under the Queen
Weapon of Choice:
She uses two identical dark daggers used mainly for throwing. Once they hit their targets, they dissipate and appear back in he hands.
Lore:
Tia was created by one of the well known witches of Arkanshire, Theodora Blackwood. A master of black magic, Theodora casted a dark creation spell and used the blood of a unicorn to give life to what she will later call her daughter. Her spell took effect a week after she had casted it. On a particularly dark and moonless night, a child with eyes and hair the color as dark as the night was born. Theodora named her Tatiana and sang spells to her every single night.
At the young age of three, Tatiana made her first shift. She was in the forest that hid their little cottage and was playing with a rabbit. She was so engrossed with the creature that she didn't notice that her touch has killed the creature. She finally noticed when it failed to react to her small fingers. Theodora, who had been knitting her a new dress, immediately ran to her upon hearing her scream. But instead of an injured child, the witch found an identical white rabbit beside the dead one. She called out to Tatiana and her daughter immediately melted back to her original form.
The following days were strange as Tatiana became as meek as the rabbit she had apparently absorbed into her. Because of the powers she manifested, her mother began bringing to her an assortment of creatures, from deers to birds to predators as big as tigers and panthers. The weaker, smaller creatures succumbed to death when the child touched them while the larger ones only weakened. With each touch, she gained their forms as well as their characteristics.
As she was given more and more animals to shift into, her mind also became cluttered with the personalities of each. Her own demeanor became erratic, sometimes being meek, other times being fierce. She no longer had a personality of her own but a mixture of several. Her eyes had also taken on a strange color. One became blue, the other became yellow.
At the age of 10, imperial soldiers came to their small cottage at the command of the queen. She was to create a shapeshifter that would be sent to the palace to serve the queen. Thinking that the queen wanted to take her daughter, the witch had retaliated and ended up having herself killed. Tatiana, in a desperate attempt to protect both herself and her mother, shifted her form into a panther. But she was too small and her efforts was quickly overpowered by the soldiers. Seeing her abilities, the soldiers brought her back to the palace.
After receiving report of what had happened, the Queen decided to take Tatiana in, treating her well even though most in the palace saw her as evil. In return for the Queen's kindness, the shapeshifter became loyal to her, often acting as her and the king's doppelganger whenever needed.
Additional info:
Tattooed her face just because she wanted to.
Has some sort of mark on her body whenever she shapeshift. To those with a keen eye, this is the only way to tell who she is in her shifted form.
Also functions as spy for the royal family.
Knows a few spells and curses, mostly those sung to her by her mother. |
7,070 | 197 | 6 | 2,200 | 442 | The woman's body was very light, so it was easy to move. Under her was a sliver colored key, and a book. The book was locked, but the key was a perfect fit. Upon opening the book, the pages were blank, for a time. Soon, words started to appear.
"I found this book under the body of a dead woman in a church. Some beast had killed everyone here, but maybe I can find some clues....It's coming back. I didn't notice for awhile, until I heard a thumping and dragging noise. I need to run. I tried to find a hiding place, and luckily the confession booth was still opened. I opened it, and was able to get inside. I left the door open, just abit to help me see. A large beast walked in, dragging an axe behind him(?) as he walked. He seemed surprised at all the dead people, so I guess he didn't do it. But then he got down and started to eat on the bodies. Dear gods the sounds. It was only made worse when I saw on person was still alive, just waking up as the beast started to eat on her. I wanted to help, but I......FUCK! The booth just made a squeak noise. The beast is looking this way. Now he is coming this way. I gotta make a run for it, or do something."
It was then that Asra started to hear a small sound. It started to grow louder and louder. Thumping noises, followed by a dragging noise, and it was heading right for the church.
The man pulled out a bottle with some drink in it, and took a swig of it. He then held it out towards her, offering it. "My dear, we are in the Dream." He said as he looked at her. "You walked into a portal, one way or another." He said and sat back, placing his back onto the wall of the cave. "I'm guessing you didn't mean to be here, since you are so confused. You could go to a nearby town, but I can't promise that it'll be safe." He said.
"Also, be very careful when roaming at night. Some cannibal bandits have been seen in these woods. Not sure why they have left me alone, but they may have never seen me. If they have, then maybe they decided that an old man isn't worth eating. A pretty girl like you on the other hand...." He reached over and pulled out some simple, frameless, eye glasses. "Here, these should help you." He said.
When she looked at the glasses, and then back at him to say something, the old man was gone.
The squirrel went back to playing with the coin bag. As she looked around the graveyard more, she soon found a lake, but it was hard to tell how deep or, more importantly, how dangerous it was.
As she was about to turn back, the sound of a horn could be heard. A small boat came rowing up infront of her, a skeleton pushed a long pole into the water the push the boat forward. It stopped infront of her, as the skeleton walked over to her, and held his hand out. "Safe passage isn't free." He said, his voice raspy, as if not having spoken for awhile. "A coin, and I shall take you across." He said. | Name: Fozzie
Age: Over 500
Gender: M
Race: Golem
Height: 8'0 ft
Appearance:
Weapon of choice: Clawed Gauntlets/Fist
Occupation: Freelance Hire
Lore: 71665 was one of the last golems created for the "Great War", and was a loyal fighter. After the war had ended, the king had given a royal family ownership of 71665, who didn't even have a name, just a number. For hundreds of years, 71665 served the royal family, being whatever they needed at the time. After serving this family, one of the children had started to think of 71665 as a friend, not slave. She named him Fozzie, because of the stories he told her, based around what 71665 used to believe his life was before he was a golem. When she took control of the families wealth, she freed Fozzie, so that he could try to find his old life. He didn't want to leave, but her final order for him was "to go and be happy". He left that day, and returned many years later when he had heard an elderly woman, his old friend, was ill and not long for this world. He was able to say his goodbyes, and her children, surprised that the great hero Fozzie was real, asked him to stay for her funeral, and told him that he was always welcomed in their own, as he was considered family. Once the Nightmare had awaken, and opened a way to the Dream, Fozzie had decided to go and try to become a god, hoping that it could help him find information of his old life.
Extra Info: Has 71665 "tattooed" on both shoulders. |
7,071 | 197 | 7 | 1,359 | 333 | Valkyries were known throughout the land for their love of three things: combat, lovers, and mead. Kaja, despite her heritage and upbringing, had found that out of the three, only combat appealed to her. Lovers amongst the rank of the valkyries were lacking - both due to the fact that those her age preferred the company of men and they were terrified of even approaching Skurja's child with untoward intentions - and Kaja found that her tolerance for alcoholic drinks was quite wanting. As such, when the man offered her a bottle to drink, she respectfully declined, not even quite sure if the bottle's contents was alcohol.
The old man had only confirmed her earlier suspicions. The Dream. She spat a curse under her breath. Of all the places she could have found herself in, it had to be the Dream. While not overly familiar with it, she was no stranger to the Dream. She would either meet her end or her ascension in its realm, and she wasn't quite sure which of the two was worse.
Before she could mull over it further, there were talks of cannibals and a pair of glasses were handed to her. She inspected the pair, not finding anything spectacular about them. In fact, they resembled the ones Din wore whenever he worked on a new project. Kaja had worn his before, just out of curiosity, and found her vision blurred. She doubted that the same wouldn't happen with the pair the man had given her as she was certain her eyes hadn't suffered much despite long periods of time spent in the darkness of Din's basement with only a nearby lantern providing light.
"Do you have a map-" She lifted her eyes from the glasses to ask her question and found that her companion had disappeared. "What?" She looked around the entirety of the small cave, but found nowhere the man could have gone except for back out the forest. Absentmindedly, Kaja placed the glasses on her face, letting it sit atop her nose, as she leaned back on the same spot the man had previously occupied. She eyed the fire and the area outside as she thought of her next steps.
She could wait the rain out in the cave, but by her very nature, Kaja needed to move. She could brave the rain and try to make her way to the town the man had mentioned, very likely finding trouble in the form of cannibalistic bandits or whatever unexpected threat the town possessed, but it seemed a better choice to her than simply waiting around the fire. Making up her mind, she fixed her sword upon her person once more, and walked out of the cave. She raised a hand to shield her eyes from the rain. Her first order of business was to find her pack, and then search for where the town would be. | Name: Asra
Age: 20
Gender: M
Race: Demigod (of the God of Secrets) and a Human
Height: 6' 0"
Appearance:
Weapon of choice: Magic
Occupation: Dancer/Entertainer of a traveling caravan
Lore:
Asra was brought up by a single mother, and never told of his birth out of the shame that a noblewoman such as she would dally in the company of a God, unfaithfully. As the birthmark had sat on his neck, so is where she'd hurt him, in a wicked attempt to absolve herself of her crime. She was later accused by her husband, when she tried to kill the boy in a river when the nobleman found her. Before she died, Asra spoke of her secret, and left the scene, officially emancipated of all parentage.
Asra took interest in the world of the carnival, and found himself on the wagon of a friendly crew of carnies. Their faith, in their line of work and the worship of the unnatural, was based around the God of Secrets, and his association with the unknown, alienated, and cataphysical. Asra had an affinity for secrets, and as soon as he became a mage-dancer for his affinity with knowledge and mana, he just as well adopted the title as a medium, set backstage for private insurers. He'd fall into a trance, sometimes even sleep, but his body would whisper their secrets, some they had yet to know.
It was there he heard it procured from his own mouth, about the Arkanshire Dream, and its next manifestation. And when he told the caravan of his intentions, they worked their way around so that they'd be in the right place, at the right time. Unknown as to who his real father is, he walked toward the Dream with purpose. His dark secret gods of worship at his back, and a bag full of secrets, he only has his life to lose, and that may prove to break his invincible demeanor more than the pain of death ever could.
Extra Info:
-Orientation is homosexual, however, not very sexual. Desperate for love, and has never had anything of the like.
-Spiritual, but ultimately heretical, his secret ideas of gods usually being an idealized self. He prays to himself to ask if he can push himself just a little harder, in an attempt to be better. This is a psychological subconscious idea as a result of his upbringing.
-Seeks the Arkanshire Dream to know if anyone else hears his prayers, and why some go unanswered. Also possibly because his career as a dancer has run its course.
-Extremely emotional until the subject of family is brought up.
-Actively struggles with depression. |
7,072 | 197 | 8 | 1,737 | 380 | Sera Kennithson
Sera had never been as fit as in those months leading up to the upcoming nightmare. She had never been unfit physically, but over the years her mind had entered a slump from the monotony of every day life, from a lack of casting magic of any description. And, who knows maybe turning into dumb creatures took some kind of toll on her. She doubted that last part.
The town she lived in had never been more lively either. Sera had in a sense turned the entire place into her own personal training ground. Kids chased her through the streets, chickens became targets for her magic practise - although she didn't tell the farmer that. Pots became target for her quaterstaff. Wait no that was the wind. Definitely the wind.
The day the dream came she was ready, donning her mothers old hat, just one last time. She walked. She didn't know where, that's all she was told. Keep walking until you hit the portal.
And then she did. It made her feel groggy. And then she blacked out.
She awoke in a cell, a dark and downright nasty one at that. She scrambled for a moment, getting to her feet and trying to get her bearings. The cell door was closed. She couldn't be trapped in here. That wouldn't be fair! She pulled on the door. Nothing. She tried again. And then kicked it in frustration; it swung open.
Of course it was a push. The asylum she was in was in tatters, that much was evident. There was a set of stair in the hallway outside of the cell she had landed in. She was just bout to head down them when a noise piqued her interest.
Pad, pad, pad the noise of footsteps. From above her somewhere. Sera took a moment to consider, or at least to pretend to consider before she began to climb that narrow staircase to the next floor. She couldn't help herself when it came to a mystery. | Name:
Sera Kennithson
Age:
28
Gender:
Female
Race:
Shapeshifter
Height:
5'6
Weapon of choice:
Quaterstaves
Occupation:
Hunter
Lore:
Born from an ungodly ritual of flesh and bone, ignoring natures laws and existing outside of the realms of mortal mans understanding. An ungodly ritual, carried out by an ungodly woman. A woman, who however wicked for stepping outside of these mortal restraints, was undoubtedly Sera's mother.
Before Sera, her mother would happily have lived on the run from those who hunted her kind down - the witch hunters. But a child can change a woman, and when you're child's special you go out of your way to protect them. Oh, believe me Sera wasn't special in a way that made her a prodigy, or even a chosen one. In fact, she was special in a way that was unsavoury to those that met her. She was a shapeshifter, a side effect from the ritual used to create her being. On a glance she looked human sure, but the whole thing had left her eyes darkened and black. A give away that she was unnatural, and her mother was a witch.
Sera would do anything for her mother, she uprooted her entire livelihood to run away with her. To a land of promise, a land where she and her mother wouldn't be hunted down. Arkanshire.
Alas, no tale of witchcraft in a land of religious zealots can ever seem to have a happy ending. For years the two had hidden together, Sera's mother protecting her through day and night. As soon as Sera reached her teenage years and could control her power, she was old enough to understand. Old enough to run from the blighted land. Towards Arkanshire at last.
Their plan was obvious, too obvious. It had been done before and the hunters had tracked their every move. Before they could reach the border they were ambushed. They put up a damned good fight. Sera's mother. She told her to run. To hide. To take the shape of whatever would keep her safe. Her last words were those of love, as her body hit the ground. Lifeless and still.
That night, Sera mourned. She cried like the babe she once was. But pressed on all the same, taking with her the typical witches hat that her mother had always adorned. She came upon a small Arkanshire village, and there she took up residence. Broken in spirit, she cared not for where she lived.
She took up a job, to make ends meat. A hunter, perfect for a shapeshifter. Hiding in plain sight. There she stayed for years, as she slowly but surely rebuilt herself. A new woman. She dropped her mothers name, took up her own. Kennithson. It wasn't as pretty, but it did the job. She distanced herself from the woman who loved her unconditionally, so to prevent her heart from aching any more. Holding on to only her mothers hat as it became worn and tattered.
But then, Sera heard rumours. Of a dream, a dream where anything could become possible.
This dream of Arkanshire, it made even the gods mortal for a time.
A sick plan formed within Sera's mind, a twisted plan of vengeance. For she had grown bitter in her years. Resentment formed into hatred. If she could enter this Arkanshire dream, she could do something that would strike at the core of that country who hunter her mother down.
She could kill their god. And what is a country of religion, when their god is no more?
She had become her mothers daughter indeed as she began her preparations, for the next dream that opened, she would enter.
Extra Info:
- Sera is capable of magic, not a great deal but enough. Her mother had taught her illusions, mind altering spells. Had she lived longer, she would have taught her to tear minds apart with these spells. But alas, simply tricks of the mind is all she is capable of. |
7,073 | 197 | 9 | 1,305 | 1,314 | Tia Blackwood
Tia walked over to the lake and looked down at the water. It was inky black and shiny like a mirror. She crouched down onto the lake's bank and took a closer look at the strangely dark water. She blinked when she realized that the water was not water but was actually tar. Thick and dark and sinister looking, she can only hazard a guess on what laid underneath its surface.
She was reaching out to touch the surface when she heard a horn sound. Surprised, she immediately stood up and her eyes fell on the boat that was coming towards her. Wide eyed, she stared at the boatman as he held out a hand to her. "A coin?" she asked and looked down at the circular metal that was still clutched in her hand. She wasn't sure if it meant the coin she had but she figured it best to try. She reached out and dropped the coin into the open palm of the boat man and waited. | Tatiana Blackwood
'Tia'
Age:
18
Gender:
Female
Race:
Shapeshifter
Height:
5'2
Occupation:
Arkanshire's Spy, employed directly under the Queen
Weapon of Choice:
She uses two identical dark daggers used mainly for throwing. Once they hit their targets, they dissipate and appear back in he hands.
Lore:
Tia was created by one of the well known witches of Arkanshire, Theodora Blackwood. A master of black magic, Theodora casted a dark creation spell and used the blood of a unicorn to give life to what she will later call her daughter. Her spell took effect a week after she had casted it. On a particularly dark and moonless night, a child with eyes and hair the color as dark as the night was born. Theodora named her Tatiana and sang spells to her every single night.
At the young age of three, Tatiana made her first shift. She was in the forest that hid their little cottage and was playing with a rabbit. She was so engrossed with the creature that she didn't notice that her touch has killed the creature. She finally noticed when it failed to react to her small fingers. Theodora, who had been knitting her a new dress, immediately ran to her upon hearing her scream. But instead of an injured child, the witch found an identical white rabbit beside the dead one. She called out to Tatiana and her daughter immediately melted back to her original form.
The following days were strange as Tatiana became as meek as the rabbit she had apparently absorbed into her. Because of the powers she manifested, her mother began bringing to her an assortment of creatures, from deers to birds to predators as big as tigers and panthers. The weaker, smaller creatures succumbed to death when the child touched them while the larger ones only weakened. With each touch, she gained their forms as well as their characteristics.
As she was given more and more animals to shift into, her mind also became cluttered with the personalities of each. Her own demeanor became erratic, sometimes being meek, other times being fierce. She no longer had a personality of her own but a mixture of several. Her eyes had also taken on a strange color. One became blue, the other became yellow.
At the age of 10, imperial soldiers came to their small cottage at the command of the queen. She was to create a shapeshifter that would be sent to the palace to serve the queen. Thinking that the queen wanted to take her daughter, the witch had retaliated and ended up having herself killed. Tatiana, in a desperate attempt to protect both herself and her mother, shifted her form into a panther. But she was too small and her efforts was quickly overpowered by the soldiers. Seeing her abilities, the soldiers brought her back to the palace.
After receiving report of what had happened, the Queen decided to take Tatiana in, treating her well even though most in the palace saw her as evil. In return for the Queen's kindness, the shapeshifter became loyal to her, often acting as her and the king's doppelganger whenever needed.
Additional info:
Tattooed her face just because she wanted to.
Has some sort of mark on her body whenever she shapeshift. To those with a keen eye, this is the only way to tell who she is in her shifted form.
Also functions as spy for the royal family.
Knows a few spells and curses, mostly those sung to her by her mother. |
7,074 | 197 | 10 | 2,200 | 442 | The had lighten abit, making travel much easier. She could hear the sounds of things walking nearby, but looking in the woods, she could see deer roaming nearby. The walk towards the town was peaceful.
Upon entering the town, she could see people in their homes, and some people still selling their items. "Hello mam, welcome to our little town." One man said as he was cooking some meat. "Care for a sample? It's free." He said with a large smile towards her.
The sounds of walking were getting closer as Sera walked up the stairs. She heard a soft growling noise, but it ended as a nearby dog noticed her. It let out a whimper as it hid under a desk.
What it was hiding from was quickly made clear, as a undead human was walking around the nearby room. It let out moans, and it turned its head to look towards them, but luckily, the thing didn't have eyes. It sniffed the air as it "looked" for its prey.
The man took the coin. "Welcome." He said, and allowed her onto his boat. He pushed off the dock, pulled out some rowers, and started to row across the tar like water, and she could see bodies floating in the water. As she looked at one body, something grabbed it and pulled it underwater.
"They were filled with greed. The tar fish will feast on them. You will be safe in the boat." The man said as he rowed more. "We have some time before we get across the lake, would you care to tell me why you are here?" He asked as he rowed, another body disappearing under the water. | Name: Fozzie
Age: Over 500
Gender: M
Race: Golem
Height: 8'0 ft
Appearance:
Weapon of choice: Clawed Gauntlets/Fist
Occupation: Freelance Hire
Lore: 71665 was one of the last golems created for the "Great War", and was a loyal fighter. After the war had ended, the king had given a royal family ownership of 71665, who didn't even have a name, just a number. For hundreds of years, 71665 served the royal family, being whatever they needed at the time. After serving this family, one of the children had started to think of 71665 as a friend, not slave. She named him Fozzie, because of the stories he told her, based around what 71665 used to believe his life was before he was a golem. When she took control of the families wealth, she freed Fozzie, so that he could try to find his old life. He didn't want to leave, but her final order for him was "to go and be happy". He left that day, and returned many years later when he had heard an elderly woman, his old friend, was ill and not long for this world. He was able to say his goodbyes, and her children, surprised that the great hero Fozzie was real, asked him to stay for her funeral, and told him that he was always welcomed in their own, as he was considered family. Once the Nightmare had awaken, and opened a way to the Dream, Fozzie had decided to go and try to become a god, hoping that it could help him find information of his old life.
Extra Info: Has 71665 "tattooed" on both shoulders. |
7,075 | 197 | 11 | 1,305 | 1,314 | Tia Blackwood
Tia carefully got into the boat. As it moved away from the bank, she looked back towards where the squirrel was. But the stump it had been on was empty and she can no longer hear coins clinking together. She sighed and mouthed a silent thank you to it. And then she turned towards the direction where they were going, her eyes drawn down into the thick black water of the lake. Several pale un-moving bodies floated face down on it. Before she could ask about it, something splashed in the water and pulled the body underneath the surface. She immediately sat down on the boat, scared that she might fall into the water and suffer the same fate as that unlucky person. She looked at the skeleton boatman as he spoke in his raspy, haunting voice.
"Tar fish," she repeated and then peered carefully over the edge of the boat. But the thick black fluid was calm and smooth, disturbed only by a few ripples from the boat as it passed by. But as she continued looking at it, a reptilian looking eye blinked at her and then something slithered just beneath the surface, the edges of its sharp spines cutting through the shiny black surface. Surprised, she leaned back in.
Her heart pumping with fear, she looked at the boatman, bothered by the fact that she could stare at a live skeleton while a fish scared her. If it even was a fish. She shivered at the thought. "Why I'm here... I... had no idea I crossed over. This is the Dream, isn't it?" | Tatiana Blackwood
'Tia'
Age:
18
Gender:
Female
Race:
Shapeshifter
Height:
5'2
Occupation:
Arkanshire's Spy, employed directly under the Queen
Weapon of Choice:
She uses two identical dark daggers used mainly for throwing. Once they hit their targets, they dissipate and appear back in he hands.
Lore:
Tia was created by one of the well known witches of Arkanshire, Theodora Blackwood. A master of black magic, Theodora casted a dark creation spell and used the blood of a unicorn to give life to what she will later call her daughter. Her spell took effect a week after she had casted it. On a particularly dark and moonless night, a child with eyes and hair the color as dark as the night was born. Theodora named her Tatiana and sang spells to her every single night.
At the young age of three, Tatiana made her first shift. She was in the forest that hid their little cottage and was playing with a rabbit. She was so engrossed with the creature that she didn't notice that her touch has killed the creature. She finally noticed when it failed to react to her small fingers. Theodora, who had been knitting her a new dress, immediately ran to her upon hearing her scream. But instead of an injured child, the witch found an identical white rabbit beside the dead one. She called out to Tatiana and her daughter immediately melted back to her original form.
The following days were strange as Tatiana became as meek as the rabbit she had apparently absorbed into her. Because of the powers she manifested, her mother began bringing to her an assortment of creatures, from deers to birds to predators as big as tigers and panthers. The weaker, smaller creatures succumbed to death when the child touched them while the larger ones only weakened. With each touch, she gained their forms as well as their characteristics.
As she was given more and more animals to shift into, her mind also became cluttered with the personalities of each. Her own demeanor became erratic, sometimes being meek, other times being fierce. She no longer had a personality of her own but a mixture of several. Her eyes had also taken on a strange color. One became blue, the other became yellow.
At the age of 10, imperial soldiers came to their small cottage at the command of the queen. She was to create a shapeshifter that would be sent to the palace to serve the queen. Thinking that the queen wanted to take her daughter, the witch had retaliated and ended up having herself killed. Tatiana, in a desperate attempt to protect both herself and her mother, shifted her form into a panther. But she was too small and her efforts was quickly overpowered by the soldiers. Seeing her abilities, the soldiers brought her back to the palace.
After receiving report of what had happened, the Queen decided to take Tatiana in, treating her well even though most in the palace saw her as evil. In return for the Queen's kindness, the shapeshifter became loyal to her, often acting as her and the king's doppelganger whenever needed.
Additional info:
Tattooed her face just because she wanted to.
Has some sort of mark on her body whenever she shapeshift. To those with a keen eye, this is the only way to tell who she is in her shifted form.
Also functions as spy for the royal family.
Knows a few spells and curses, mostly those sung to her by her mother. |
7,076 | 198 | 0 | 1,704 | 1,024 | September 17th, 2022, 20 years into the supernatural apartheid
Send to:
Elijah Konrad
Warden
Camp Merced Internment Center
Dear Elijah Konrad,
I humbly request that these supernaturals listed below who are currently in your custody be immediately prepped for transfer to elsewhere. It is not important where and why, but rather it is important that you take the necessary precautions to ensure that they do not attempt to escape while they are in transit. It would be a pity for me... and your career. We have a special interest in these four. Ensure the transaction occurs, and you will be heavily compensated for your service. Thank you for your time and effort.
Subject #3751674 Venus Rose
Subject #3760440 Lavena Kavanagh
Subject #3761692 Keith Krat
Subject #3763447 Kit Bosque.
It was strange really. A handwritten letter, no mention of who the sender was. Konrad checked with one of his lackeys to ensure that the letter was legitimate. He wasn't going to be the fool who let go four supernaturals because someone asked kindly, or pretending to be some bigshot they weren't. There were dozens of handwritten letters sent to him in a day, crying about injustice or pleading to let a son, daughter, wife, husband, brother, sister, whatever. But his secretary reassured him that the letter was sent from someone at the Department of Defense, and it was likely about the transfer request that had been sent in yesterday.
Honestly, the transfer seemed to be the shadiest shit Konrad had seen in a while. Camp Merced didn't often transfer supernaturals, the entire point of the camp was for them to die slowly. Sure, there were some supernatural internment camps that were actually weapon testing sites, and others that were for scientific endeavors, but Merced was neither.
Konrad briefly thought of the reasons why the Department of Defense asked for these supernaturals by name....
And quickly signed the release documents required for the transfer to occur. He was fine with whatever covert crap the government wanted to pull outside Camp Merced, as long as it wasn't his problem anymore. Konrad could probably blame the bureaucrats anyway if anything went south. A claim of a lack of funding was sure to deflect the blame away from him...
Joseph Connors
It would be the opportunity of a lifetime they said. Joseph would serve his country with distinction, and ensure that the government could take out many targets considered untouchable by conventional means. Yeah yeah, that shit was fine and dandy, but the paycheck was the thing that sealed the deal for him. Just survive for four years, and he'd be set for a hundred lifetimes.
But now Joseph wasn't so sure anymore. Most of his doubt probably had to do with the fact he found out this morning that his team was going to be composed of supernaturals from Merced. Oh yes, they said. Forgot about that one detail they did. Don't worry, the supernaturals have kill switches just in case they do something. Yeah, that'll be a comfort knowing they'll die once they rip his body to shreds. Then again, Joseph should have known there was a catc-
"Sir? We've escorted the four up here. They're your problem now."
Joseph glanced up at the guard who had interrupted his train of thought and sighed. "Thanks. I guess." And there the four were, at the entrance to the helipad. He waved over, signaling them to come his way. "Come on! We'd best get moving quickly. You know the fucking drill by now." | Cast List
Team Members:
Venus Rose
Lavena Kavanagh
Keith Kratz
Kit Bosque |
7,077 | 198 | 1 | 1,235 | 713 | Venus Rose
Venus held an apathetic expression on her face as she surveyed the three other supernaturals in the helicopter seated around her. Probably the most striking of the trio was a sharp toothed male which reminded her of zombies. Then there was a blondie that appeared normal enough at first, until she suddenly removed her head from her shoulders like it was nothing but a water bottle cap. And last but not least, the bearded man who Venus immediately gravitated towards because of the fact that he was the most human-looking. Not only that, but he was attractive too. Could serve as a decent life source in the near future.
Clutching her safety belt with both hands, she shifted uncomfortably to try to find some relief for her folded wings. They'd fixed up her damaged right wing like they promised to do and she was extremely thankful for that. Feeling the aircraft hover momentarily before landing, they were hastily ushered out and handed off to some hunk which she could only guess was their new figure of authority. Know the drill? What drill? Have I been here before? She thought to herself in slight annoyance, but decided to just go with it. It would be in her best interest to stay on everyone's good side. Especially since it was her first time leaving the camp after who knows how long. Her walking pace was hurriedly brought to a speed-walk as the group kept up with the boss man.
Nudging the male with facial hair(Kit), she gestured lightly towards the dude that barked a command at them upon first meeting. "Hey, do you know this guy?" Venus whispered, her hand cupped around her mouth as she talked off to the side. | Venus Rose
Age
22
Personality
TBA
Species:
Siren
Control:
Venus has a lethal microchip injected in the back of her neck and upon activation, releases a powerful electrical shock that completely fries all neurological pathways in her brain. In other words, she literally becomes "brain dead".
~ Absorbs life force through any type of physical/sexual contact which in turn weakens and fatigues opponents.
~ Cuts and injuries heal much faster than the average human allowing her to remain active for a longer duration without medical aid.
~ Humming her Siren Song, she can essentially infatuate any willing being of her choosing. Thus, making them more vulnerable and easily influenced.
~ Taking her true form, Venus unveils a pair of dark black wings she can utilize to fly and cover long distances.
Prior to imprisonment in the camp, Venus worked as a hostess at a strip club, obviously utilizing her skill set to attract and replenish her life force through unknowing customers. Unfortunately, she'd attempted to seduce one particular client who owned a supernatural-detecting device which picked up on her non-human aura. An adrenaline infused chase promptly ensued. In a desperate effort to escape, she spread her wings and took flight. But to her dismay, her large wings only served as the perfect target. Long story short, her right wing ended up in flames, losing mass amounts of feathers which resulted in failure to stay aloft; Venus was captured, bagged, and shipped to the camp.
~~~~~
"We'll repair your wings, get that device removed from your lungs, and more importantly, we'll get you out of this shithole. Whaddya say?"
Tch. I say you wipe that nasty smirk off your face. Venus thought to herself with an unamused expression as she glared at the man. "Well," she paused and glanced at her charred wing, "I've got nothing to hope for in this place." The Siren stepped forward and reached out, taking his outstretched hand before giving it a firm shake with a nod of her head, "Count me in." |
7,078 | 198 | 2 | 864 | 838 | Four years. No more, no less. That was the deal. Or so they said.
The atmosphere in the helicopter was relatively somber, the air heavy with dread and anticipation. Despite there being a relatively large group, seldom did anyone dare to break the fragile silence. No one wanted to be here. Or at least, Kit didn't want to be. He didn't want this. He didn't want to be a pawn for the people that captured his family, or to be forced to senselessly kill simply because it was orders, or to be injected with a serum that turned him into a monster. He didn't want this. But he didn't want to go back the camp neither.
Four years. Kit stared at the window, brows furrowed in thought. Just four years.
His attention switched to the rest of the group. Some of them were unfamiliar, their faces he furiously tried to remember. Others, he knew well. Keith fell in the latter category. The wendigo brought a mixed sensation of comfort and concern to Kit. It was nice to have a friend from camp, but the prospect of the young creature being put in danger filled there werewolf with anxiety. Along with him was a young woman with long pale hair and dark wings, her face completely stoic. She was beautiful, and for a moment Kit had to force himself not to look at her...ahem, assets. But there was a dangerous aura about her as well, like a rose hiding thorns. Another woman was with them as well, with long blonde hair and clear blue eyes. Kit couldn't help but stare at her face. Not because there was something on it, but mostly because it was on her lap. The headless woman sat there, seemingly unfazed by the head in her hands. This was certainly an intersting group, to say the least.
The helicopter soon landed, and a voice outside yelled over the noise of the propellers, "Come on! We'd best get moving quickly. You know the fucking drill by now."
Kit hesitated before unbuckling and stepping outside. Being outside the camp after so long was admittedly disconcerting. Welcoming, of course, but still something to get used to after years of tight confines and poor conditions. Walking towards the man, he couldn't help but feel befuddled at his words. Was he missing something? He didn't know anything about a drill. The most they'd told him was that he'd be working on a small team, doing whatever the boss said. Nothing about a drill, unless Kit completely forgot or misheard. Shrugging, he chose for his question to remain silent. In times like these, it was best to go along lest you run the risk of getting hit in the head with a gun.
"Hey, do you know this guy?" the winged woman from before whispered to Kit.
Kit glanced over, giving her a taut smile and slightly shaking his head apologetically. "Never seen him before," he quietly admitted, "but it looks like he's in charge." His eyes darted back to the commanding man before switching back to her. "Name's Kit, by the way. Kit Bosque. If we're working together, we might as well know eachother's names." | Age
27
Gender
Male
Species
Werewolf
Abilities/Powers
☾ Enhanced Strength
☾ Enhanced Speed
☾ Enhanced Senses
☾ Able to transform into a wolf at will
Weakness
☾ Silver
☾ Wolf's Bane Plant
☾ Unable to control self during 'Wolf Form', leading him attack anyone or thing in sight.
Control
Kit is kept in check by an unbreakable, stretchable device strapped to his chest. If he so chooses to defect or be uncooperative, the device will insert a silver blade into his heart, killing him instantly. When in a frenzy, silver tipped tranquilizer darts will be employed to calm him down or knock him out.
Personality:
Contrary to his rather large, intimidating appearance, Kit is a surprisingly calm man with the patience of a saint. Though quiet, he's generally kind with a too trusting attitude that Others often take advantage of. Despite this, he can be stern when crossed and protective of those close to him. He's earned the affectionate nickname 'Papa Wolf' at the camp due to his caring quality around children, newcomers, and just about anyone he's friendly with. Being a pack creature, he's heavily dependent on others to the point where he's uneasy being alone. He can be overbearing and stubborn at times, though keeps good intentions at heart.
History:
Kit's life was peaceful prior to his imprisonememt. Living in the woods with his large pack, he was content with his simple cabin home sheltered from human eyes. All that changed when one of his siblings got into an argument with their only neighbor, an elderly farmer. What it was about specifically, no one knew. What they did know was that the fight ended with a dead human and a call to the police.
The authorities came fast. Faster than the pack could react. They were forced away, separated and shipped to different parts of the world. Kit was left with a few siblings and his grandfather. Over the years, however, they didn't last. His grandfather wasted away only months since their arrival at camp, while sickness and starvation picked away at his siblings. Everything seemed bleak, and death a sweet retreat.
That is until they offered him a deal.
Kit would be injected with a serum that would push him into a frenzy. He would be ordered to kill. He would be a tool to the people he loathed. In return, they would free him and what little remained of his pack, if they were still alive. No one would bother them. Just four years...
Keith Kratz:
Kit sees Keith as a sort of surrogate little brother. |
7,079 | 198 | 3 | 332 | 130 | Keith Kratz
A chance to be human again. How could he refuse?
Regardless, Keith felt a bit squeamish in the chopper, and thoughts of what he would have to do for his freedom crossed his mind, among many other things. The wendigo hoped butchering bad guys would be all that is demanded of him, but he knew he was being overly optimistic. It was simply a matter of time till he would be asked to act like what he is, a monster. He probably deserved to rot in the camps. The craving he felt whenever looking over his would-be teammates assured him of this, and just about everyone else seemed to agree. The hunger served as a constant reminder in case he ever dared to think otherwise.
Gazing around at his fellow supernaturals, the wendigo felt out of place. There was the winged bombshell who seemed disinterested about this whole thing somehow. Keith envied her. Then there was the golden-haired dullahan with her head disconnected from her body. Keith envied her. Finally, there was the only friend the wendigo had left in this world, Kit. He was unspeakably grateful for his existence, yet Keith envied him. All of them had something that he did not: they could all be accepted. Attractive and human, they could all live among them without a problem, and Keith would be able to do the same soon; four years would grant him his freedom and he'd get to leave Camp Merced.
Immediately after the chopper landed and they were all greeted by their new babysitter, the skeletal creature unfastened his seatbelt then hopped out. He didn't know anything about whatever drill the new nanny was referring to, so he just figured it'd be best to stay close to the man, stay silent, and follow whatever orders are given. | Keith Kratz
Age:
23
Gender:
Male
Species:
Wendigo
Abilities/Powers:
Vocal Replication: Keith is capable of imitating any sound he hears, including voices.
Cannibalism Empowerment: Consuming humans/wendigos makes him more powerful in addition to making him grow in proportion to the meal consumed for a short span of time.
Infinite Ingestion: Being endlessly hungry, his digestive system will allow him to eat a seemingly limitless amount of matter as long as he can fit it into his mouth.
Healing Factor: Losing a limb is no problem if he can retrieve the limb and place it back! He possesses rather quick regeneration.
Enhanced senses: Keith has heightened senses, primarily utilizing his incredibly effective hearing.
Enhanced Condition: Becoming a wendigo has augmented his strength, speed, reflexes, endurance, and basically every aspect of him excluding appearance and mental stability. Ever since the transformation he's become an apex predator of sorts.
Natural weaponry: He's got sharp teeth and claws to match that are capable of shredding even his fellow supernatural creatures to scraps.
Stealth Combat: Like most wendigos, Keith is effective at quietly dispatching most prey, using neck snaps, decapitations, and etc.
Weakness/Control:
Fire. They placed multiple tiny incendiary explosives in his mouth, on his heart, and on his skull, and the bombs can be activated at any time remotely. In addition, there's a contraption in him that when active will block the passage of food.
Unknown by the government due to lack of interaction with wendigos, they can be killed by being eaten by a fellow member of their species, whose saliva can prevent other wendigo's healing factor.
Personality:
TBA... but he's pretty mentally fucked up.
History:
Keith was human at some point, an average college student to be more specific. While not interacting with his parents at all, he had a brother, a roommate he happened to be dating, and a friend in the form of an old flame. The whole gang of bored college students occasionally went on hiking trips and one of the times a series of mistakes landed them on a mountain without any help combined with little food. Cold, close to death, and starving, Keith devoured those closest to him to survive. When the rescue group came in three out of the four lost people were already gone, and a wendigo wasn't a welcome sight to them. The government came in then took the monster away to the camp.
Promise of freedom on top of the chance to be human again gave him hope. He'd do anything for a chance to change his body back to normal and stop the hunger, so he accepted the invitation into the suicide squad.
Kit Bosque
Keith thinks of him as a brother, sometimes reminding him of the sibling he ate. |
7,080 | 198 | 4 | 1,201 | 1,269 | Lavena Kavanagh
"I've never been so high before..."
Lavena stared down at the ground that was thousands of miles away. She would have preferred her motorcycle but this was cool too. She then refocused her attention to the people in the helicopter with her. Her new teammates seemed to be a real rag-tag group of misfits. The freaky-looking guy kind of scared her, but she knew better than to judge a person or creature by their appearance. Her other two teammates were very human-like and Lavena wondered what was special about them. She could tell that some of them were put off by the fact that her head was resting on her lap. Maybe she should put her head back on to make them more feel more comfortable. She decided against it though. "It's who I am and they're just going to have to get used to it."
To anyone who had looked down at her head, she would offer a small, polite smile. She didn't feel like it was right to say anything though. Overall, it was a very solemn ride.
When they have finally landed, some guy was already barking orders at them, which wasn't anything new. Ever since she had agreed to work with the humans they have been bossing her around. Despite her dissatisfaction of their treatment, she still followed along. The humans had a tendency of looking at them with a mix of fear and disgust. But the man seemed more annoyed or tired than anything.
As she walked, she held her head by her long, blonde hair and it swung by her sides. She was careful to make sure she didn't accidentally hit anyone with it.
She noticed that the two normal-looking people in the team were already introducing themselves to each other. Birds of feathers flock together or something, she supposed. She glanced over at the other guy but he didn't seem to be the talking type.
Anyways, she was more curious as to what they were doing. Was something going on already? Or are they just moving in to their new homes? They really need to give more explanations. She quickened her pace so she reached the man who was seemingly in charge. "So... Hi. I'm Lavena. Can you please tell us what's going on?" | Lavena Kavanagh
Age:
??? but appears to be in her twenties.
Gender:
Female
Species:
Dullahan
Abilities/Powers:
- As a Dullahan, Lavena has the ability to ride/drive anywhere. Non-electric locks and gates open at her presence so she can almost get anywhere she wants.
- She has a whip that is literally a human spine. With that said, she has the ability to rip out spines from dead bodies. You know, in case she needs a new whip.
- Self-healing though it takes a while depending on the injury and everything still hurts like a bitch.
- This is more of an obvious one, but she can remove and put back on her head. Though she really prefers to keep her head off. It just feels weird to have it on.
Weakness/Control:
- Gold is her ultimate weakness. She has to wear a bracelet that pricks her with gold pins if she misbehaves.
Personality:
TBA
History:
Lavena's parents were taken from her a long time ago. She knew that humans weren't to be trusted. Especially with the new laws in place. They would take her to some stupid camp and have her killed. She roamed on her motorcycle from town to town, never staying in one place for long. When she needed anything, she would put on her head and pretend to be a human. She worked odd jobs and even stole when it was necessary to survive.
One day, they found her in her motel room. She didn't know if someone tipped them off or how they found out. She tried to escape out the window, but she was surrounded by soldiers that were armed with guns that shot gold bullets.
She was taken away but immediately given the chance to work on this team that they were trying to create.
"I don't really have a choice, right?"
"Of course you do... but this would be the right choice."
"Fine. I'm in. Do I at least get to keep my bike?"
"No."
"Of course not."
FAQ:
1. "So... how do you like... eat?"
"The mouth is just an entry point for the digestive track, you know? If I have my head on, I use my mouth. If I don't, I can just put it in straight in the esophagus."
2. "Can you see without your head on?"
"Actually, I think I see better with it off. More range. Don't know how it works. Not going to let scientists experiment on me to find out."
3. "Do you really ride into the night and kill people every night and if anyone tries to interfere you pour blood over them to mark them as your next target?"
"Yes...
"But seriously, no. Who the hell comes up with these things?" |
7,081 | 198 | 5 | 1,704 | 1,024 | Joseph Connors
"Well, we're supposed to be headed out already, but I suppose you and that Keith guy are the only ones who follow orders." Joseph glared at Kit and Venus out of annoyance before turning back to the Dullahan. It was a bit strange how she held her head by her side, but he supposed she wouldn't be considered supernatural if her head stayed on all the time. Joseph probably would have been weirded out 5-6 years ago, but then again someone on his new team looked like a literal turd. Joseph was also pretty sure that wasn't the worst thing out there, so he bit his tongue and decided to ignore the fact he was talking to a detached head.
"So you used to be a biker of sorts eh? Not exactly what I was hoping or looking for in a covert operations unit, but I guess it's better than a stripper and a hippie." Wasn't ideal by any means, but it's not like Joseph could have requested something else. Anyway, the clock was running, so Joseph figured he should try and get everyone in the chopper through threat, since some of the team didn't willingly comply.
Joseph spoke in an exasperated tone as he explained the situation. "So, you all better get in this helicopter, or it's leaving without you. And if it leaves without you, you die. Simple as that. That is the drill. Now you can go pout or whatever, but don't look at me when the camp guards decide to use you as target practice." Joseph then sat down in the helicopter and tapped on his watch. "Y'all have 30 seconds to get in. Your choice." | Cast List
Team Members:
Venus Rose
Lavena Kavanagh
Keith Kratz
Kit Bosque |
7,082 | 198 | 6 | 1,235 | 713 | Venus Rose
Venus bit her lip in slight disappointment. "Hm, well I didn't think you would," she mumbled as they continued across the helipad. Another copter was landing it seemed, but this time to pick them up. At his introduction, her lips curved into a smile. "Kit Bosque," she repeated his name with a nod of her head. "Has a nice ring to it. Venus. Venus Rose," she grinned before extending her hand. Once Kit took her up on the hand shake, a knowing glint flicked past her eyes as she sapped a little bit of energy from him through the physical contact. It was satisfying to be able to use her powers again to say the least and he was an easy target. Not to mention she noticed his gaze trailing her chest earlier. Wisps of white energy, only visible to her, oozed out of his pores and seeped into her fingers. Gasping, she picked up on his supernatural aura as well. Yup, didn't think you were human.
The chopper landed and the boss made a rather dramatic speech for them to get in to which she wordlessly complied. Venus didn't see any reason not to. She'd agreed to this and she was going to see it through. Seating herself once again, she wasn't too thrilled on going on another helicopter ride, but was glad that she at least knew one other person this time around. Turning to Kit, she glanced at the other passengers.
"Do you know any of them?" She gestured towards the blondie and the sharp-toothed male. | Venus Rose
Age
22
Personality
TBA
Species:
Siren
Control:
Venus has a lethal microchip injected in the back of her neck and upon activation, releases a powerful electrical shock that completely fries all neurological pathways in her brain. In other words, she literally becomes "brain dead".
~ Absorbs life force through any type of physical/sexual contact which in turn weakens and fatigues opponents.
~ Cuts and injuries heal much faster than the average human allowing her to remain active for a longer duration without medical aid.
~ Humming her Siren Song, she can essentially infatuate any willing being of her choosing. Thus, making them more vulnerable and easily influenced.
~ Taking her true form, Venus unveils a pair of dark black wings she can utilize to fly and cover long distances.
Prior to imprisonment in the camp, Venus worked as a hostess at a strip club, obviously utilizing her skill set to attract and replenish her life force through unknowing customers. Unfortunately, she'd attempted to seduce one particular client who owned a supernatural-detecting device which picked up on her non-human aura. An adrenaline infused chase promptly ensued. In a desperate effort to escape, she spread her wings and took flight. But to her dismay, her large wings only served as the perfect target. Long story short, her right wing ended up in flames, losing mass amounts of feathers which resulted in failure to stay aloft; Venus was captured, bagged, and shipped to the camp.
~~~~~
"We'll repair your wings, get that device removed from your lungs, and more importantly, we'll get you out of this shithole. Whaddya say?"
Tch. I say you wipe that nasty smirk off your face. Venus thought to herself with an unamused expression as she glared at the man. "Well," she paused and glanced at her charred wing, "I've got nothing to hope for in this place." The Siren stepped forward and reached out, taking his outstretched hand before giving it a firm shake with a nod of her head, "Count me in." |
7,083 | 198 | 7 | 864 | 838 | Kit frowned slightly as he noticed Venus' slight gasp, curiosity creeping into his eyes. Was something wrong? Was she alright? He opened his mouth to comment, only for a sharp voice to snatch away his words.
"So, you all better get in this helicopter, or it's leaving without you. And if it leaves without you, you die."
He turned away from Venus, offering the glaring man a sheepish smile. "Guess we should get going then." He headed to the chopper, easily keeping a quick pace as he bounded into his seat. As reluctant as he was to fly once more, it was far better than dying. He settled in, ducking his head slightly to keep from bumping the roof. Looking around, he offered the headless girl a small smile of greeting and a brief wave directed at Keith.
"Do you know any of them?" Venus asked as she took a seat.
Kit nodded in response. "Just Keith," he whispered. Saying this, he bobbed his head towards the wendigo. "He's a good guy. I know he may appear a bit...ah, shocking, but you can trust him." In an almost affectionate way, he gave Keith a light pat on the knee before leaning back into his seat. A small gesture of what little comfort he could offer. The large werewolf glanced at the other girl, Levana, his head tilting inquisitively. His sharp eyes studied her for a moment. "Her," he murmured, "I don't know."
He extended a hand to her, his expression warm and welcoming despite the circumstances. "Hey," he greeted. "Levana, right? I'm Kit Bosque." | Age
27
Gender
Male
Species
Werewolf
Abilities/Powers
☾ Enhanced Strength
☾ Enhanced Speed
☾ Enhanced Senses
☾ Able to transform into a wolf at will
Weakness
☾ Silver
☾ Wolf's Bane Plant
☾ Unable to control self during 'Wolf Form', leading him attack anyone or thing in sight.
Control
Kit is kept in check by an unbreakable, stretchable device strapped to his chest. If he so chooses to defect or be uncooperative, the device will insert a silver blade into his heart, killing him instantly. When in a frenzy, silver tipped tranquilizer darts will be employed to calm him down or knock him out.
Personality:
Contrary to his rather large, intimidating appearance, Kit is a surprisingly calm man with the patience of a saint. Though quiet, he's generally kind with a too trusting attitude that Others often take advantage of. Despite this, he can be stern when crossed and protective of those close to him. He's earned the affectionate nickname 'Papa Wolf' at the camp due to his caring quality around children, newcomers, and just about anyone he's friendly with. Being a pack creature, he's heavily dependent on others to the point where he's uneasy being alone. He can be overbearing and stubborn at times, though keeps good intentions at heart.
History:
Kit's life was peaceful prior to his imprisonememt. Living in the woods with his large pack, he was content with his simple cabin home sheltered from human eyes. All that changed when one of his siblings got into an argument with their only neighbor, an elderly farmer. What it was about specifically, no one knew. What they did know was that the fight ended with a dead human and a call to the police.
The authorities came fast. Faster than the pack could react. They were forced away, separated and shipped to different parts of the world. Kit was left with a few siblings and his grandfather. Over the years, however, they didn't last. His grandfather wasted away only months since their arrival at camp, while sickness and starvation picked away at his siblings. Everything seemed bleak, and death a sweet retreat.
That is until they offered him a deal.
Kit would be injected with a serum that would push him into a frenzy. He would be ordered to kill. He would be a tool to the people he loathed. In return, they would free him and what little remained of his pack, if they were still alive. No one would bother them. Just four years...
Keith Kratz:
Kit sees Keith as a sort of surrogate little brother. |
7,084 | 198 | 8 | 1,201 | 1,269 | Lavena Kavanagh
"Sure? I like to ride my bike, but I still can hold my own in a fight," answered Lavena. She didn't have a whip at the moment since the government took that away from her too, but she was decent at hand-to-hand anyways, as long as she wasn't busy holding her head. "Also sir, I wouldn't underestimate the 'stripper' and the 'hippie'."
She would have said more, but it wasn't her place. It would have been something along the lines of 'You're only a human afterall', but humans don't like to be looked down on, especially by the likes of them. She wouldn't want to get on his bad side. Though was that even possible? It seemed like he was tired of everyone here and they had just arrived.
She quickly got on the other helicopter and took an empty seat. She half-expected it to be as quiet of a ride as the last one but she was wrong. The girl motioned over at Lavena and the wendigo and had asked her new-found friend if he knew either of them. Lavena could not help but feel that it was rather rude of her to do that. She could have at least addressed them directly if not introduce herself formally to them. Fortunately, the guy that she was with was much more polite.
"Yes, my name is Lavena. Lavena Kavanaugh," she said with a smile and gave his hand a firm shake.
"Hello, nice to meet you, Kit."
She looked at the others who have yet to introduce themselves to her. "Let's all introduce ourselves and I hope that we all will get along swimmingly." | Lavena Kavanagh
Age:
??? but appears to be in her twenties.
Gender:
Female
Species:
Dullahan
Abilities/Powers:
- As a Dullahan, Lavena has the ability to ride/drive anywhere. Non-electric locks and gates open at her presence so she can almost get anywhere she wants.
- She has a whip that is literally a human spine. With that said, she has the ability to rip out spines from dead bodies. You know, in case she needs a new whip.
- Self-healing though it takes a while depending on the injury and everything still hurts like a bitch.
- This is more of an obvious one, but she can remove and put back on her head. Though she really prefers to keep her head off. It just feels weird to have it on.
Weakness/Control:
- Gold is her ultimate weakness. She has to wear a bracelet that pricks her with gold pins if she misbehaves.
Personality:
TBA
History:
Lavena's parents were taken from her a long time ago. She knew that humans weren't to be trusted. Especially with the new laws in place. They would take her to some stupid camp and have her killed. She roamed on her motorcycle from town to town, never staying in one place for long. When she needed anything, she would put on her head and pretend to be a human. She worked odd jobs and even stole when it was necessary to survive.
One day, they found her in her motel room. She didn't know if someone tipped them off or how they found out. She tried to escape out the window, but she was surrounded by soldiers that were armed with guns that shot gold bullets.
She was taken away but immediately given the chance to work on this team that they were trying to create.
"I don't really have a choice, right?"
"Of course you do... but this would be the right choice."
"Fine. I'm in. Do I at least get to keep my bike?"
"No."
"Of course not."
FAQ:
1. "So... how do you like... eat?"
"The mouth is just an entry point for the digestive track, you know? If I have my head on, I use my mouth. If I don't, I can just put it in straight in the esophagus."
2. "Can you see without your head on?"
"Actually, I think I see better with it off. More range. Don't know how it works. Not going to let scientists experiment on me to find out."
3. "Do you really ride into the night and kill people every night and if anyone tries to interfere you pour blood over them to mark them as your next target?"
"Yes...
"But seriously, no. Who the hell comes up with these things?" |
7,085 | 198 | 9 | 332 | 130 | Keith Kratz
I don't blame her. Keith noticed the glance the dullahan gave him before choosing to interact with the new handler instead, and he fully understood why nobody would want to talk to a creature like him. Standing there quietly, he simply eavesdropped on the others exchanges, noting their tone, diction, as well as the rest.
"Well, we're supposed to be headed out already, but I suppose you and that Keith guy are the only ones who follow orders."
Oddly, the wendigo felt a sense of pride once he heard his master's words. He could follow orders! Even though the man was part of the same organization and species that degraded him, he valued those words.
"So you used to be a biker of sorts eh? Not exactly what I was hoping or looking for in a covert operations unit, but I guess it's better than a stripper and a hippie."
Being the only one not complained about in a group of supernaturals only served to please him further, but nobody would be able to tell from his expression. Regardless, Lavena's insistence that they not be underestimated caused him to feel a little hidden joy as well. However, the contact between Kit and Venus caused his face to noticeably shift as well; he didn't trust her, especially not with Kit's life. The wendigo knew all too well of the brutality supernaturals—in addition to humans—were capable of, so he chose to keep an eye on her, just out of the necessity to keep his brother safe. Now supposed to be entering another helicopter, the creature responded to Kit's wave with his own awkward gesture before hurrying in and seating himself. Time to continue his eavesdropping.
"He's a good guy. I know he may appear a bit...ah, shocking, but you can trust him."
The kinds remarks followed with a pat on the knee caused Keith to beam a toothy grin. No matter what happens, Kit must survive these four yea—"Let's all introduce ourselves and I hope that we all will get along swimmingly." Thoughts and eavesdropping interrupted, he gave the whole group a once over before clearing his throat.
"Hey... I'm Keith," the wendigo said with a voice emulating that of a human male around college age. | Keith Kratz
Age:
23
Gender:
Male
Species:
Wendigo
Abilities/Powers:
Vocal Replication: Keith is capable of imitating any sound he hears, including voices.
Cannibalism Empowerment: Consuming humans/wendigos makes him more powerful in addition to making him grow in proportion to the meal consumed for a short span of time.
Infinite Ingestion: Being endlessly hungry, his digestive system will allow him to eat a seemingly limitless amount of matter as long as he can fit it into his mouth.
Healing Factor: Losing a limb is no problem if he can retrieve the limb and place it back! He possesses rather quick regeneration.
Enhanced senses: Keith has heightened senses, primarily utilizing his incredibly effective hearing.
Enhanced Condition: Becoming a wendigo has augmented his strength, speed, reflexes, endurance, and basically every aspect of him excluding appearance and mental stability. Ever since the transformation he's become an apex predator of sorts.
Natural weaponry: He's got sharp teeth and claws to match that are capable of shredding even his fellow supernatural creatures to scraps.
Stealth Combat: Like most wendigos, Keith is effective at quietly dispatching most prey, using neck snaps, decapitations, and etc.
Weakness/Control:
Fire. They placed multiple tiny incendiary explosives in his mouth, on his heart, and on his skull, and the bombs can be activated at any time remotely. In addition, there's a contraption in him that when active will block the passage of food.
Unknown by the government due to lack of interaction with wendigos, they can be killed by being eaten by a fellow member of their species, whose saliva can prevent other wendigo's healing factor.
Personality:
TBA... but he's pretty mentally fucked up.
History:
Keith was human at some point, an average college student to be more specific. While not interacting with his parents at all, he had a brother, a roommate he happened to be dating, and a friend in the form of an old flame. The whole gang of bored college students occasionally went on hiking trips and one of the times a series of mistakes landed them on a mountain without any help combined with little food. Cold, close to death, and starving, Keith devoured those closest to him to survive. When the rescue group came in three out of the four lost people were already gone, and a wendigo wasn't a welcome sight to them. The government came in then took the monster away to the camp.
Promise of freedom on top of the chance to be human again gave him hope. He'd do anything for a chance to change his body back to normal and stop the hunger, so he accepted the invitation into the suicide squad.
Kit Bosque
Keith thinks of him as a brother, sometimes reminding him of the sibling he ate. |
7,086 | 198 | 10 | 1,235 | 713 | Venus Rose
Venus eyed the strange looking fellow with a suspicious gaze, but if Kit considered him a friend then she guessed he was alright. She nodded and listened carefully as each person introduced themselves. So headless girl is Lavena... weird name. And zombie man is Keith. Her eyebrows raised when she heard his voice. She expected a voice like Gollum to come out of a being like that, but instead her ears were met with the sound of a young male speaking. How odd.
Again feeling annoyed with the cramped position of her wings. She finally decided to just tuck them in all together. Arching her back and pushing her chest forward. A cracking noise which could be compared to bones being snapped echoed through the copter as Venus made her wings disappear into the skin of her back. "Ahh much better," she breathed with a sigh of relief as she sat back in her seat with a content expression. "My name is Venus. Pleased to meet you all," she said with a polite smile that revealed a set of dimples on her cheeks. | Venus Rose
Age
22
Personality
TBA
Species:
Siren
Control:
Venus has a lethal microchip injected in the back of her neck and upon activation, releases a powerful electrical shock that completely fries all neurological pathways in her brain. In other words, she literally becomes "brain dead".
~ Absorbs life force through any type of physical/sexual contact which in turn weakens and fatigues opponents.
~ Cuts and injuries heal much faster than the average human allowing her to remain active for a longer duration without medical aid.
~ Humming her Siren Song, she can essentially infatuate any willing being of her choosing. Thus, making them more vulnerable and easily influenced.
~ Taking her true form, Venus unveils a pair of dark black wings she can utilize to fly and cover long distances.
Prior to imprisonment in the camp, Venus worked as a hostess at a strip club, obviously utilizing her skill set to attract and replenish her life force through unknowing customers. Unfortunately, she'd attempted to seduce one particular client who owned a supernatural-detecting device which picked up on her non-human aura. An adrenaline infused chase promptly ensued. In a desperate effort to escape, she spread her wings and took flight. But to her dismay, her large wings only served as the perfect target. Long story short, her right wing ended up in flames, losing mass amounts of feathers which resulted in failure to stay aloft; Venus was captured, bagged, and shipped to the camp.
~~~~~
"We'll repair your wings, get that device removed from your lungs, and more importantly, we'll get you out of this shithole. Whaddya say?"
Tch. I say you wipe that nasty smirk off your face. Venus thought to herself with an unamused expression as she glared at the man. "Well," she paused and glanced at her charred wing, "I've got nothing to hope for in this place." The Siren stepped forward and reached out, taking his outstretched hand before giving it a firm shake with a nod of her head, "Count me in." |
7,087 | 198 | 11 | 1,704 | 1,024 | Joseph Connors
"Yeah, yeah, Ms.Kavanagh, I know all you bloody supernaturals have some bullshit gimmick. Pilot, let's go." The helicopter slowly lurched into the sky, heading towards a nearby mountain range. Joseph cleared his throat, hopefully making it apparent that he was going to talk for a bit and didn't want to be interrupted. "Now that we all know each other somewhat, I mas as well tell you what we're all doing here on a fine Sunday morning."
Connors pointed towards a cave in the mountain off in the distance, which upon closer inspection had a few faint lights near it's entrance. "Dunno if you've heard, but the government has been having some issues with some separatists. They built a whole damn tunnel system or something, a whole city inside the mountain, living off of the grid. Contrary to what you might be thinking, we're not going there to slaughter them all. Rather, we're here to recover stolen technology. Property they've taken from the government. For now, just follow my lead. We're going to have to bluff our way through first, with that damn tunnel system they'd move the tech at the first sign of trouble. We'll then look for our man on the inside. Any questions?" Joseph then looked at each one of the team members, waiting for a response of any kind. | Cast List
Team Members:
Venus Rose
Lavena Kavanagh
Keith Kratz
Kit Bosque |
7,088 | 198 | 12 | 1,235 | 713 | Venus Rose
Following his pointed finger, her eyes landed on a hole in to mountain they were approaching upon squinting her lids a bit. He spoke of what sounded like some rebellious group inhabiting that cut out and she nodded a tad impressed. Venus was also glad to know that they weren't being sent out on a mass murder mission from the get go. Keeping a low profile sounded doable, but she did feel a bit concerned over Keith's appearance. How would those people react upon seeing him?
"What're we gonna do bout' Keith?" she asked trying not to sound harsh. Patting his shoulder lightly, she glanced around the cabin for some sort of cloak to at least hide his face as to not attract attention. "I mean no offense hun, just trying to keep ya' safe," Venus whispered to him, proving she meant well with her inquiry.
Bluffing upon entry to the mountain was the least of her worries and if it ever came down to it, she could always charm anyone that stood in their path, but that would be a resort on the back burner. | Venus Rose
Age
22
Personality
TBA
Species:
Siren
Control:
Venus has a lethal microchip injected in the back of her neck and upon activation, releases a powerful electrical shock that completely fries all neurological pathways in her brain. In other words, she literally becomes "brain dead".
~ Absorbs life force through any type of physical/sexual contact which in turn weakens and fatigues opponents.
~ Cuts and injuries heal much faster than the average human allowing her to remain active for a longer duration without medical aid.
~ Humming her Siren Song, she can essentially infatuate any willing being of her choosing. Thus, making them more vulnerable and easily influenced.
~ Taking her true form, Venus unveils a pair of dark black wings she can utilize to fly and cover long distances.
Prior to imprisonment in the camp, Venus worked as a hostess at a strip club, obviously utilizing her skill set to attract and replenish her life force through unknowing customers. Unfortunately, she'd attempted to seduce one particular client who owned a supernatural-detecting device which picked up on her non-human aura. An adrenaline infused chase promptly ensued. In a desperate effort to escape, she spread her wings and took flight. But to her dismay, her large wings only served as the perfect target. Long story short, her right wing ended up in flames, losing mass amounts of feathers which resulted in failure to stay aloft; Venus was captured, bagged, and shipped to the camp.
~~~~~
"We'll repair your wings, get that device removed from your lungs, and more importantly, we'll get you out of this shithole. Whaddya say?"
Tch. I say you wipe that nasty smirk off your face. Venus thought to herself with an unamused expression as she glared at the man. "Well," she paused and glanced at her charred wing, "I've got nothing to hope for in this place." The Siren stepped forward and reached out, taking his outstretched hand before giving it a firm shake with a nod of her head, "Count me in." |
7,089 | 198 | 13 | 332 | 130 | Keith Kratz
The creature noticed the siren's reaction to his voice, but he wasn't as surprised as she was. His voice was the only remnant hinting at his past as a human. Keith gave a grin and nod in reply to Venus' introduction shortly before their handler made it obvious that he was going to speak. Wanting to be a good lil soldier for the people who offer him salvation, he gave the man his full attention. As the commander spoke the wendigo began to panic about the possibility of needing to commit mass murder till the commander stated the contrary. It was just a recovery mission. Get in and get out, the assignment seemed simple enough.
"What're we gonna do bout' Keith?"
Except ya know, that. The pat following served to comfort him little. He knew she meant well though, and Venus was right.
"I understand. You have a fair point," Keith looked to his commander after taking a quick glance at Kit, worrying about what may happen while they were in there.
"What're we gonna do about me? | Keith Kratz
Age:
23
Gender:
Male
Species:
Wendigo
Abilities/Powers:
Vocal Replication: Keith is capable of imitating any sound he hears, including voices.
Cannibalism Empowerment: Consuming humans/wendigos makes him more powerful in addition to making him grow in proportion to the meal consumed for a short span of time.
Infinite Ingestion: Being endlessly hungry, his digestive system will allow him to eat a seemingly limitless amount of matter as long as he can fit it into his mouth.
Healing Factor: Losing a limb is no problem if he can retrieve the limb and place it back! He possesses rather quick regeneration.
Enhanced senses: Keith has heightened senses, primarily utilizing his incredibly effective hearing.
Enhanced Condition: Becoming a wendigo has augmented his strength, speed, reflexes, endurance, and basically every aspect of him excluding appearance and mental stability. Ever since the transformation he's become an apex predator of sorts.
Natural weaponry: He's got sharp teeth and claws to match that are capable of shredding even his fellow supernatural creatures to scraps.
Stealth Combat: Like most wendigos, Keith is effective at quietly dispatching most prey, using neck snaps, decapitations, and etc.
Weakness/Control:
Fire. They placed multiple tiny incendiary explosives in his mouth, on his heart, and on his skull, and the bombs can be activated at any time remotely. In addition, there's a contraption in him that when active will block the passage of food.
Unknown by the government due to lack of interaction with wendigos, they can be killed by being eaten by a fellow member of their species, whose saliva can prevent other wendigo's healing factor.
Personality:
TBA... but he's pretty mentally fucked up.
History:
Keith was human at some point, an average college student to be more specific. While not interacting with his parents at all, he had a brother, a roommate he happened to be dating, and a friend in the form of an old flame. The whole gang of bored college students occasionally went on hiking trips and one of the times a series of mistakes landed them on a mountain without any help combined with little food. Cold, close to death, and starving, Keith devoured those closest to him to survive. When the rescue group came in three out of the four lost people were already gone, and a wendigo wasn't a welcome sight to them. The government came in then took the monster away to the camp.
Promise of freedom on top of the chance to be human again gave him hope. He'd do anything for a chance to change his body back to normal and stop the hunger, so he accepted the invitation into the suicide squad.
Kit Bosque
Keith thinks of him as a brother, sometimes reminding him of the sibling he ate. |
7,090 | 198 | 14 | 864 | 838 | Kit gazed down at the pointed out mountain range, his keen eyes picking out the minute glimmers of lights among the clearly manmade hole. A whole civilization situated beneath the earth. Dread weighed heavily on Kit's stomach at the implications of their task. He doubted they were headed their for any peacemaking. They were soldiers now, whether they liked it or not. Killers paid with the white lie of freedom. They were expected to spill blood on command. Whose, they did not care.
"Contrary to what you might be thinking, we're not going there to slaughter them all."
Conner's words dispelled most of Kit's reluctance. Most. This was only the first mission among many, and he doubted it'd be so simple. Still, it was good to know that they weren't going to butcher an entire city.
"What're we gonna do bout' Keith?" Venus spoke up, giving the wendigo a well-meaning pat.
"What're we gonna do about me?
Kit met Keith's glance, a light frown pulling the corners of his lips. What would they do? Even in a crowd he'd stick out like a sore thumb, and the last thing he wanted was his little brother to get hurt.
"Well," he said after a contemplative pause, "what if they didn't see you? You're fairly stealthy as it is." Back in camp, Kit always found himself jumping whenever Keith snuck up behind him. Even with his sharp hearing, the wendigo' footfalls were silent. He was a creature of the dark after all, and his skills certainly showed that. "If you stick to the shadows and sneak around, you can scout around. No one would have to see you." | Age
27
Gender
Male
Species
Werewolf
Abilities/Powers
☾ Enhanced Strength
☾ Enhanced Speed
☾ Enhanced Senses
☾ Able to transform into a wolf at will
Weakness
☾ Silver
☾ Wolf's Bane Plant
☾ Unable to control self during 'Wolf Form', leading him attack anyone or thing in sight.
Control
Kit is kept in check by an unbreakable, stretchable device strapped to his chest. If he so chooses to defect or be uncooperative, the device will insert a silver blade into his heart, killing him instantly. When in a frenzy, silver tipped tranquilizer darts will be employed to calm him down or knock him out.
Personality:
Contrary to his rather large, intimidating appearance, Kit is a surprisingly calm man with the patience of a saint. Though quiet, he's generally kind with a too trusting attitude that Others often take advantage of. Despite this, he can be stern when crossed and protective of those close to him. He's earned the affectionate nickname 'Papa Wolf' at the camp due to his caring quality around children, newcomers, and just about anyone he's friendly with. Being a pack creature, he's heavily dependent on others to the point where he's uneasy being alone. He can be overbearing and stubborn at times, though keeps good intentions at heart.
History:
Kit's life was peaceful prior to his imprisonememt. Living in the woods with his large pack, he was content with his simple cabin home sheltered from human eyes. All that changed when one of his siblings got into an argument with their only neighbor, an elderly farmer. What it was about specifically, no one knew. What they did know was that the fight ended with a dead human and a call to the police.
The authorities came fast. Faster than the pack could react. They were forced away, separated and shipped to different parts of the world. Kit was left with a few siblings and his grandfather. Over the years, however, they didn't last. His grandfather wasted away only months since their arrival at camp, while sickness and starvation picked away at his siblings. Everything seemed bleak, and death a sweet retreat.
That is until they offered him a deal.
Kit would be injected with a serum that would push him into a frenzy. He would be ordered to kill. He would be a tool to the people he loathed. In return, they would free him and what little remained of his pack, if they were still alive. No one would bother them. Just four years...
Keith Kratz:
Kit sees Keith as a sort of surrogate little brother. |
7,091 | 198 | 15 | 1,704 | 1,024 | Joseph Connors
Connors merely shrugged. He didn't really think it would be that much of a problem. "Keith can sneak his way around if need be. Besides, I think we have a good enough cover story. If Keith is really that scared, he can just sneak out when we distract the guards at the front. Anyways, we're nearing the compound area. Just follow my lead." The helicopter began to land onto a crudely carved out area near the entrance of the mountain, and armed guards began to crowd around it. Wasn't unexpected, as it was more likely they would have shot on sight.
"Howdy. How ya doin?" Connors grinned and waved at the guards, who were still a bit wary of him. Or at least what was in the helicopter. Connors pulled out a few papers from his pockets, handing them to the closest guard to the helicopter. "Just here to drop off some wares ya know. Make some cash under the table right? Your boss knows I'm coming."
The guard gave him a curious look before inquiring him about his wares. "Really? You're selling those things?"
Connors laughed, pointing towards Venus and Kit. "Yeah. I mean, even you guys can do with a supernatural or two to kill or torture right? Just look at that Siren I have over there. Blond Hair, the fairest skin you've ever seen, a nice rack. I'd bet your men would kill to bang something like that huh? She's probably into some kinky shit too. I also got a werewolf, I'm sure torturing that one for days could make a good propaganda piece for those home movies of yours. Always fun to get some revenge for New Year's aye? All that and more."
The guard nodded, seemingly agreeing with what Connors was saying. "Yeah I guess the Boss might buy one of em. Just head straight to the boss's office. He's waiting for ya."
"Come on ya louts. We gotta move." The guards tensed up, but Konrad waved them off. "Don't worry about it. They follow my orders. Got some device planted in em, so they die if the disobey me." It didn't really reassure them, but the guards did move to allow them to pass through. | Cast List
Team Members:
Venus Rose
Lavena Kavanagh
Keith Kratz
Kit Bosque |
7,092 | 198 | 16 | 1,235 | 713 | Venus Rose
Hmm sticking to the shadows. Sounds a lot riskier, but sure. Feeling the copter slow down and hover over the pad, Venus glanced out the window to see a ring of armed guards surrounding the supposed spot that their aircraft was going to land on. Coming to a full stop, their boss hopped out first and they trailed along after him. Venus kept her composure and wasn't the least bit intimidated by the gun-holding men. There had been too many of them to count back in the torture camp.
Seeing the leader hand the guards some papers, she was surprised that their cover was actually selling supernaturals to the facility. Well at least she could be herself there without much confusion and alarm. She guessed the same would go for Keith if they already knew a shipment of non-humans were coming in.
Perking up when the leader pointed at her, she raised an eyebrow as he began to state her desirability. Biting her bottom lip, she seductively ran a finger over the curves of her cleavage as she held eye contact with one of the guards. Would kill to bang huh? I suppose one could die fucking me... But I'd say it's worth it. She snickered mentally.
Turning to Kit, she smirked upon finding out he was a werewolf. So that's what you are. A wild beast. Venus was curious to see him in his true form, but also knew he probably lacked control of himself if he ever did transform. She knew they'd experience it sooner or later.
Getting cautious stares from the guards, the boss assured them of their safety because of the implanted devices. Cringing, Venus fingered the back of her neck where they had injected it. I'll need to find a way to get that out at some point. She made a mental note. | Venus Rose
Age
22
Personality
TBA
Species:
Siren
Control:
Venus has a lethal microchip injected in the back of her neck and upon activation, releases a powerful electrical shock that completely fries all neurological pathways in her brain. In other words, she literally becomes "brain dead".
~ Absorbs life force through any type of physical/sexual contact which in turn weakens and fatigues opponents.
~ Cuts and injuries heal much faster than the average human allowing her to remain active for a longer duration without medical aid.
~ Humming her Siren Song, she can essentially infatuate any willing being of her choosing. Thus, making them more vulnerable and easily influenced.
~ Taking her true form, Venus unveils a pair of dark black wings she can utilize to fly and cover long distances.
Prior to imprisonment in the camp, Venus worked as a hostess at a strip club, obviously utilizing her skill set to attract and replenish her life force through unknowing customers. Unfortunately, she'd attempted to seduce one particular client who owned a supernatural-detecting device which picked up on her non-human aura. An adrenaline infused chase promptly ensued. In a desperate effort to escape, she spread her wings and took flight. But to her dismay, her large wings only served as the perfect target. Long story short, her right wing ended up in flames, losing mass amounts of feathers which resulted in failure to stay aloft; Venus was captured, bagged, and shipped to the camp.
~~~~~
"We'll repair your wings, get that device removed from your lungs, and more importantly, we'll get you out of this shithole. Whaddya say?"
Tch. I say you wipe that nasty smirk off your face. Venus thought to herself with an unamused expression as she glared at the man. "Well," she paused and glanced at her charred wing, "I've got nothing to hope for in this place." The Siren stepped forward and reached out, taking his outstretched hand before giving it a firm shake with a nod of her head, "Count me in." |
7,093 | 198 | 17 | 1,201 | 1,269 | Lavena Kavanagh
Lavena offered a smile to her new companions. But before she could say anything else, they have arrived at their destination. Their leader, who has yet to introduce himself, had given them their mission details and it seemed simple enough. Under the impression that they were trying to blend in, she placed her head back on her neck.
When they landed, they were immediately approached by guards. They eyed them suspiciously and while their guns may not kill her, it made her worry.
It turned out that their "cover" is that their leader was selling them to their boss. Despite this new information, she decided to keep her head on. Maybe it would be safer if they didn't know what she was and her weaknesses. And much to her surprise, the plan had actually worked. They were not completely satisfied with their story, but they were letting them pass. She kept her eyes down as they began to walk to wherever they were supposed to go. | Lavena Kavanagh
Age:
??? but appears to be in her twenties.
Gender:
Female
Species:
Dullahan
Abilities/Powers:
- As a Dullahan, Lavena has the ability to ride/drive anywhere. Non-electric locks and gates open at her presence so she can almost get anywhere she wants.
- She has a whip that is literally a human spine. With that said, she has the ability to rip out spines from dead bodies. You know, in case she needs a new whip.
- Self-healing though it takes a while depending on the injury and everything still hurts like a bitch.
- This is more of an obvious one, but she can remove and put back on her head. Though she really prefers to keep her head off. It just feels weird to have it on.
Weakness/Control:
- Gold is her ultimate weakness. She has to wear a bracelet that pricks her with gold pins if she misbehaves.
Personality:
TBA
History:
Lavena's parents were taken from her a long time ago. She knew that humans weren't to be trusted. Especially with the new laws in place. They would take her to some stupid camp and have her killed. She roamed on her motorcycle from town to town, never staying in one place for long. When she needed anything, she would put on her head and pretend to be a human. She worked odd jobs and even stole when it was necessary to survive.
One day, they found her in her motel room. She didn't know if someone tipped them off or how they found out. She tried to escape out the window, but she was surrounded by soldiers that were armed with guns that shot gold bullets.
She was taken away but immediately given the chance to work on this team that they were trying to create.
"I don't really have a choice, right?"
"Of course you do... but this would be the right choice."
"Fine. I'm in. Do I at least get to keep my bike?"
"No."
"Of course not."
FAQ:
1. "So... how do you like... eat?"
"The mouth is just an entry point for the digestive track, you know? If I have my head on, I use my mouth. If I don't, I can just put it in straight in the esophagus."
2. "Can you see without your head on?"
"Actually, I think I see better with it off. More range. Don't know how it works. Not going to let scientists experiment on me to find out."
3. "Do you really ride into the night and kill people every night and if anyone tries to interfere you pour blood over them to mark them as your next target?"
"Yes...
"But seriously, no. Who the hell comes up with these things?" |
7,094 | 198 | 18 | 864 | 838 | They arrived at their destination soon enough. An armada of guards surrounded them, eyes filled with unmistakable distrust. They were armed and ready, their guns poised to strike at any sign of danger. Years before, Kit would've been cautious. Intimidated, even. But years of entrapment, forced along by similarly armed guards and the constant reminder of a futile escape wrapped around his chest, desensitized any fear from being around the guards. Kit moved inbetween the group, positioning himself so that he remained as close as he could to his companions. He met each guard's gaze evenly, the glint in his eyes not quite rage, but dangerous nonetheless.
A small shiver crawled up Kit's spine as the boss revealed their cover. Supernaturals for sale. It was just a story, not that they were really selling them, but that didn't mean there weren't others who had been sold. The government had its secrets. This ragtag team was only one of them. With little love of supernaturals, it wouldn't have surprised Kit if there truly was an underground slave market.
"Come on ya louts. We gotta move."
Kit lowered his gaze, but the air around him, once seemingly calm on the copter, remained cold and dark. He moved on with little fight, but the message he emanated remained clear: hurt them and die. | Age
27
Gender
Male
Species
Werewolf
Abilities/Powers
☾ Enhanced Strength
☾ Enhanced Speed
☾ Enhanced Senses
☾ Able to transform into a wolf at will
Weakness
☾ Silver
☾ Wolf's Bane Plant
☾ Unable to control self during 'Wolf Form', leading him attack anyone or thing in sight.
Control
Kit is kept in check by an unbreakable, stretchable device strapped to his chest. If he so chooses to defect or be uncooperative, the device will insert a silver blade into his heart, killing him instantly. When in a frenzy, silver tipped tranquilizer darts will be employed to calm him down or knock him out.
Personality:
Contrary to his rather large, intimidating appearance, Kit is a surprisingly calm man with the patience of a saint. Though quiet, he's generally kind with a too trusting attitude that Others often take advantage of. Despite this, he can be stern when crossed and protective of those close to him. He's earned the affectionate nickname 'Papa Wolf' at the camp due to his caring quality around children, newcomers, and just about anyone he's friendly with. Being a pack creature, he's heavily dependent on others to the point where he's uneasy being alone. He can be overbearing and stubborn at times, though keeps good intentions at heart.
History:
Kit's life was peaceful prior to his imprisonememt. Living in the woods with his large pack, he was content with his simple cabin home sheltered from human eyes. All that changed when one of his siblings got into an argument with their only neighbor, an elderly farmer. What it was about specifically, no one knew. What they did know was that the fight ended with a dead human and a call to the police.
The authorities came fast. Faster than the pack could react. They were forced away, separated and shipped to different parts of the world. Kit was left with a few siblings and his grandfather. Over the years, however, they didn't last. His grandfather wasted away only months since their arrival at camp, while sickness and starvation picked away at his siblings. Everything seemed bleak, and death a sweet retreat.
That is until they offered him a deal.
Kit would be injected with a serum that would push him into a frenzy. He would be ordered to kill. He would be a tool to the people he loathed. In return, they would free him and what little remained of his pack, if they were still alive. No one would bother them. Just four years...
Keith Kratz:
Kit sees Keith as a sort of surrogate little brother. |
7,095 | 198 | 19 | 332 | 130 | Keith Kratz
Keith considered his brother's stealth idea, figuring he could do it he wanted to, but he didn't want to. Doing so would mean separation from the group and by extension being alone. Not to mention, being unable to protect Kit if the need ever arrived. Fortunately, any worry was partially relieved by their handler's assurance that their cover story would be enough to get the wendigo through.
The helicopter finally landed with some commandos immediately approaching them with caution. The creature eyed all of them briefly then licked his lips with his long inhuman tongue. Well, it was time to hear the babysitter explain to the guards why they were there.
Any comfort vanished with the reveal that their cover involved a supernatural trafficking. Living, breathing beings were being traded around as if it were nothing. The guard's response to their new handler only confirmed its existence and served to further frustrate Keith. How could they defend a man who treated people like Kit as if they were less than human? Why? At this point his eyes were flickering with rage as he stared at the guards. He wanted to kill them. Cut them up. Devour them. He could do it right now. He could... he couldn't. He'd get blown to bits and nothing would get accomplished, for guards could be replaced.
The wendigo moved along when asked, any tension in the air around him no longer there. Keith simply leaned in and whispered something to the squad.
"I'll keep to the shadows... y'all go on ahead." | Keith Kratz
Age:
23
Gender:
Male
Species:
Wendigo
Abilities/Powers:
Vocal Replication: Keith is capable of imitating any sound he hears, including voices.
Cannibalism Empowerment: Consuming humans/wendigos makes him more powerful in addition to making him grow in proportion to the meal consumed for a short span of time.
Infinite Ingestion: Being endlessly hungry, his digestive system will allow him to eat a seemingly limitless amount of matter as long as he can fit it into his mouth.
Healing Factor: Losing a limb is no problem if he can retrieve the limb and place it back! He possesses rather quick regeneration.
Enhanced senses: Keith has heightened senses, primarily utilizing his incredibly effective hearing.
Enhanced Condition: Becoming a wendigo has augmented his strength, speed, reflexes, endurance, and basically every aspect of him excluding appearance and mental stability. Ever since the transformation he's become an apex predator of sorts.
Natural weaponry: He's got sharp teeth and claws to match that are capable of shredding even his fellow supernatural creatures to scraps.
Stealth Combat: Like most wendigos, Keith is effective at quietly dispatching most prey, using neck snaps, decapitations, and etc.
Weakness/Control:
Fire. They placed multiple tiny incendiary explosives in his mouth, on his heart, and on his skull, and the bombs can be activated at any time remotely. In addition, there's a contraption in him that when active will block the passage of food.
Unknown by the government due to lack of interaction with wendigos, they can be killed by being eaten by a fellow member of their species, whose saliva can prevent other wendigo's healing factor.
Personality:
TBA... but he's pretty mentally fucked up.
History:
Keith was human at some point, an average college student to be more specific. While not interacting with his parents at all, he had a brother, a roommate he happened to be dating, and a friend in the form of an old flame. The whole gang of bored college students occasionally went on hiking trips and one of the times a series of mistakes landed them on a mountain without any help combined with little food. Cold, close to death, and starving, Keith devoured those closest to him to survive. When the rescue group came in three out of the four lost people were already gone, and a wendigo wasn't a welcome sight to them. The government came in then took the monster away to the camp.
Promise of freedom on top of the chance to be human again gave him hope. He'd do anything for a chance to change his body back to normal and stop the hunger, so he accepted the invitation into the suicide squad.
Kit Bosque
Keith thinks of him as a brother, sometimes reminding him of the sibling he ate. |
7,096 | 198 | 20 | 1,704 | 1,024 | Joseph Connors
Joseph led the team into the compound, which for the most part seemed more like a shanty town. The buildings hardly seemed well constructed, and it reeked of human waste, despite the massive ventilation system that worked 24/7 to purify the air. Despite the majority of the compound looking broken down and decrepit, Joseph found an even more seedy area. The contact was supposed to be here, in one of the huts. Joseph didn't quite know which one, they had just told Joseph to look for the smoke. All of the huts had smoke coming out of them, so he decided to try the one with the most smoke, knocking on its door.
"Hello? Green? Rowan? You there?" | Cast List
Team Members:
Venus Rose
Lavena Kavanagh
Keith Kratz
Kit Bosque |
7,097 | 198 | 21 | 941 | 3,112 | The little metal shanty hut was in chaos.
This important fact was not at all helped by the fact that none of its three inhabitants were currently alive - at least not in the traditional sense, anyway. Nevertheless, from the outside, there was a distinct sound of rustling. Rustling bodies, rustling clothes, rustling leaves. Lots of rustling.
There was a loud curse following Conrad's sudden greeting. Indeed, it appeared that even jimmies were being rustled in this sanctum of swishing. Nevertheless, to understand this rustling, one must understand the esoteric nature of the hut's denizens.
And that brings us here: to a shitty tin hut with a potted plant, a dead stoner, a vampire with dreadlocks, and lots and lots of smoke.
Magnificent, stoic, and with all manner of colorful decorum in full bloom, the potted plant was a lone sentinel of nature in this realm of steel and iron. It was also rustling with vexing rapidity, a silent scream that could be heard by none as it vibrated in the direction of the drug-addled carcass.
(Do something jackass), it seemed to say. Or more accurately, spelled out with its vines.
The vampire was staring inaudibly at the corpse, mouth ajar. Slowly, he rubbed at his forehead, his eyes a nervous red when they read the message. "Shit, like what?" he hissed.
(IDFK), replied the plant. It didn't actually know what that meant; it was a plant not a linguist.
A quivering ache settled in Rowan's stomach--he didn't even know he could feel sick anymore. He finally glanced at the door--there was only one person who'd be knocking.
Rowan swallowed, his hands shaking. "Y-yeah, hold on--" finally came his nervous answer to Conrad. He was surprised by his own strength as he easily lifted the dead body. How long does it take a body to burn? he thought, hoping it wasn't long as he carefully placed it in the fire. He looked again to the really rapidly rustling plant and held up a finger, as if asking for a moment.
Then, suddenly, they were at the door--if you could call the scrap metal that. After a deep breath, he stepped out to meet Conrad, closing the door behind him with potted plant in hand. He cleared his throat, thankful some of the more obvious signs of worry could not plague a vampire: sweating, a racing heart beat-- but a nervous laugh could. And shaking hands. And wide eyes. "H-- Hi," he said finally, smiling from behind his muzzle. "You found the smoke."
(Salutations ones of the flesh), the plant greeted, doing a little bow with its leaves and stem, as the strange smelling smoke wafted out of the hut behind them, the silent witness to their manslaughter. (We believe we have ascertained the information you seek).
On queue, from the arboreal depths of the pot - no, not that pot - a map was withdrawn. It seemed to have been rolled tightly with one singed side and one slightly dank side opposite it. Similarly, a particularly disagreeable smell emanated from it. Fortunately the information was still legible, despite the item's unusual condition.
(If you desire a conference we advise gathering elsewhere), the vines inscribed, (Our "roommate" is currently)
The smoke from inside the hut began smelling particularly rotten and of burnt meet, like a barbecue gone bad.
(indisposed) | Name: Jack "Mister" Green
Age: Old
Gender: Man
Species: Green Man
Abilities/Powers:Body Modification - Ability to change shape. Any forms taken are still obviously made of plants, and provide no benefit other than shape. Allows for reducing size by abandoning body parts. However, if plant life is not directly attached, it is not part of the body and thus not under the Green Man's control.
Botanic Assimilation - Ability to alter body mass by taking in plant matter. Increases the amount of resources required to sustain existence.
Botanic Physiology - Body of a plant. On one hand, hard to kill without complete destruction. On the other hand, rather squishy and very ugly. His source is located in his head, so in the case of decapitation or dismemberment, the section containing the head is considered to be the body for the sake of his powers.
PhD in Botanical Science - Encyclopedic knowledge about, and the ability to rapidly comprehend, the nature of plants. Does not actually have a PhD, but has expressed interest in taking a correspondence course. (Nobody's going to give him a correspondence course.)
Mr. Green's Organic Growth Hormone - Ability to rapidly grow independent plants by expending bodily plant matter and an appropriate number of plant-related resources i.e. water and shit. Allows for the quick creation of plant life ranging from poisonous flowers to hallucinogenic mushrooms to dank kush. Cannot be used without exposure to light.Weakness/Control:Primary control is a herbicide dispenser placed within the subject's core. At minimum exposure, it can be used to significantly weaken the subject, but quickly becomes highly fatal as the quantity of chemicals released increases.
Secondary control is an array of incendiaries planted throughout the subject's form. Controlled detonation can be used to get rid of significant amounts of body mass without complete incineration, assuming the fire is put out in time.
Tertiary control is helmet with a collar that decapitates the subject. While not directly leading to death, it neutralizes the subject until further notice.
Traditional control is exposure to herbivorous creatures, dehydration, suffocation, and extended lack of sunlight.Personality: A hip but very crotchety old dude who probably supports the legalization of weed and eco-friendly government policy.
History: Jack Green, a name which he had only recently taken up, has a very long history that's fortunately a very uneventful one as well. Since his creation, he has faithfully guarded a certain forest located in the Pacific Northwest. However with the dawn of widespread industrialization, his patch of earth was being threatened to a far greater degree than it had ever been before. In the face of such opposition, his reactions became far more aggressive, and as a result of his more obvious methods, he became something of a local legend passed along from generation to generation. Unfortunately, many years down the line, it was his small degree of fame that attracted the attention of the US government, who systematically tracked down and imprisoned the poor hermit in one of their camps. It was there that he received his current name.
That isn't to say his experience with the modern age was completely negative though. Frightened campers would often leave behind ways - books, computers, eavesdropped conversations, so on - that he could keep up to date with current events and learn more about the world at large. Granted, internment camp actually sucked, but it sucked for everyone. When offered a spot on the squad, Jack agreed. He is a protector after all, even if humanity isn't really under his purview.
Relationships/Opinions: He has no friends. He's a plant. |
7,098 | 198 | 22 | 864 | 838 | The first thing Kit noticed was the smell. It was thick and pungent. Something sweet interlaced with something rotten layered with what could only be explained as a half-assed attempt at clearing the smell by burning sage. Though the compound in of itself was a foul smelling pit carved in rock, Kit couldn't tell whether this hut smelled better or worse.
The second thing Kit noticed was the two informants. That is, if you could call them that. At the door was a young man with long, dark dreads, a plant in his eyes. His eyes were too wide, his smile too big. For a second, Kit wanted to ask if he was alright. Then he noticed the plant. The plant was moving. Not the gentle sway of leaves in the breeze, or the shaking stem as it was being jostled around. Unless the disembodied movement of its vines turning to words was the new norm, this thing wasn't a regular plant.
Kit furrowed his brow, unsure of what to make of the pot smoking...pot. Was this even the right place? He sniffed deeply, grimacing as, deep beneath the layer of the other smell, was a familiar scent. One he'd gotten far too accustomed to in the hellhole camps. The aroma of burning flesh.
"Hi...?" he greeted uneasily. | Age
27
Gender
Male
Species
Werewolf
Abilities/Powers
☾ Enhanced Strength
☾ Enhanced Speed
☾ Enhanced Senses
☾ Able to transform into a wolf at will
Weakness
☾ Silver
☾ Wolf's Bane Plant
☾ Unable to control self during 'Wolf Form', leading him attack anyone or thing in sight.
Control
Kit is kept in check by an unbreakable, stretchable device strapped to his chest. If he so chooses to defect or be uncooperative, the device will insert a silver blade into his heart, killing him instantly. When in a frenzy, silver tipped tranquilizer darts will be employed to calm him down or knock him out.
Personality:
Contrary to his rather large, intimidating appearance, Kit is a surprisingly calm man with the patience of a saint. Though quiet, he's generally kind with a too trusting attitude that Others often take advantage of. Despite this, he can be stern when crossed and protective of those close to him. He's earned the affectionate nickname 'Papa Wolf' at the camp due to his caring quality around children, newcomers, and just about anyone he's friendly with. Being a pack creature, he's heavily dependent on others to the point where he's uneasy being alone. He can be overbearing and stubborn at times, though keeps good intentions at heart.
History:
Kit's life was peaceful prior to his imprisonememt. Living in the woods with his large pack, he was content with his simple cabin home sheltered from human eyes. All that changed when one of his siblings got into an argument with their only neighbor, an elderly farmer. What it was about specifically, no one knew. What they did know was that the fight ended with a dead human and a call to the police.
The authorities came fast. Faster than the pack could react. They were forced away, separated and shipped to different parts of the world. Kit was left with a few siblings and his grandfather. Over the years, however, they didn't last. His grandfather wasted away only months since their arrival at camp, while sickness and starvation picked away at his siblings. Everything seemed bleak, and death a sweet retreat.
That is until they offered him a deal.
Kit would be injected with a serum that would push him into a frenzy. He would be ordered to kill. He would be a tool to the people he loathed. In return, they would free him and what little remained of his pack, if they were still alive. No one would bother them. Just four years...
Keith Kratz:
Kit sees Keith as a sort of surrogate little brother. |
7,099 | 199 | 0 | 2,369 | 211 | Mathias
as the dreamscape i'd been in began to leave me I felt a sense of sadness so profound and intense i could feel tears in my eyes, then just as suddenly as it had come it was gone and i remembered what was happening, the world had just ended. of course after the stay in the stasis pod it had been five years but it was still fresh my mind and it would be in the mines of the others too! the others would be waking up soon and i needed to get everything ready and since i had over two hundred people in my vault that would take some doing, thankfully i had some help.
robobrian, can you start up the main reactor, bring the water purification system online, get rations out for everyone and prepare quarters for the listed vault dwellers please?
"right away sir!" it said in a sweet synthetic female voice and disappeared through the doorway. after a brief spell of nausea and vomiting, which was odd because that wasn't supposed to happen unless you been in your pod for more than a hundred years, i put on a fresh vault suit and waited for the others. | Name: Mathias Loyd Stewart
Age: 40
Gender: Male
Personality: a born leader, he is empathetic, caring, kind, rational, unbiased, firm when need be, mature, honest and a decent human being.
PreHolocaust Job: owned his own real estate business and was doing well until the world went to hell in a hand basket.
History: classified
Skills: personnel management, charismatic, very intelligent and reads people well.
Flaws: never likes to assume the worst of people, sometimes gets tied up with his family and forgets his overseer's duties.
What 10 Items Did You Keep?: Vault-Tec supplied 10mm pistol, 3 spare magazines, wedding ring, albem of baby pictures, briefcase of money, recurve bow and quiver of arrows, large bottle of vodka.
Other:has a wife and daughter in the Vault with him.
Picture: |
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