User has no status, yet


User has no bio, yet

Most Recent Posts

Ah, market day. A collector's dream, a gourmand's paradise, a broke man's reminder of his place in life. The latter was the case of one Marcus E. Hamilton, who had spent the last hour of his day "window" shopping, so to speak. Except for the fact that he was neither shopping nor looking through windows. In fact, the proper term would probably be loitering.

Still, he didn't let it bother him. Since coming to Blackfinger he had come to terms with the concept of being broke, as he was sure many others had before him. As the noonday sun assaulted him from above, he scouted out the next merchant whose hopes he would raise in vain. Preferably one with a canopy set up for some shade. And free drinks. And free food.

Dismissing the grumbling in his stomach, a dark skinned merchant caught his eye further down the road- juxtapositioned with a stall full of shining chrome firearms. Shrugging to himself, and only slightly put off by the lack of shade, Marcus made his way over.

"Ah, good day, good day! I can see you're a fightin' man yourself, and with a good eye too! What's caught your interest partner?"

If Marcus could admire one thing about this overseas land, it was how their firearm industry had thrived after the blackout. Europe, it seemed, was miles behind when it came to developing new weapons, even if they were ahead in other aspects. For a time he ignored the Merchant's greeting, except for returning a nod of acknowledgement, examining each of the guns laid out before him in detail. Half seemed to be new products, completely unfamiliar to him in their function. The other half were from before the world collapsed, although none resembled the one he carried with him. Small surprise, given the place his was manufactured.


Was his first response, indicating one of the newer firearms that he was unfamiliar with. He of course had no interest in purchasing it, but the question did have a purpose. He watched confusion cross the merchant's face for a moment, trying to recognize the accent and use the information it gave him against his customer in negotiations- like any good merchant would. That alone told Marcus all he needed to know. If the man didn't recognize an English accent, then he hadn't traded in Europe. Which meant that Marcus had no information to sell him. Which meant that Marcus was effectively broke for the means of this negotiation.

Still, the man recovered from his confusion quickly and set about plying his trade:

".357, the newest model from North Kingston in fact! Just as powerful as any shooter of the same caliber, but with so little recoil you'll barely feel your hand vibrating! Perfect for someone with fewer fingers to keep a grip on the gun- if you'll pardon my observation."

Oh, the man was certainly good, Marcus would give him that. If he had the money to spend then the offer would be tempting, but as it was he would have to settle for the gun he already carried. He made a motion for grabbing a coin purse- an act he had repeated many times today by now- ready to sightsee at another stall.

"Well sir, I'd say you have me convinced. Let me just- Ah, blast it I seem to have forgotten my purse. Terrible shame that- will you be here long? It's not a very long jaunt back to where I'm staying."

With that he turned away from the man, still pretending to look for his money.

"I'll be here all day! If you'd like though we can use that watch as collateral? I'd let you have the pick of the table- and as many rounds as you need to test it to your satisfaction!"

Almost reflexively the Englishman took the watch from his pocket and turned it over in his hand. It was certainly more valuable than anything laid out on that man's table a fact that both of them knew. To Marcus, however, it held more value than all the goods in that market combined. There was no chance of selling it- not even if he could retire until the end of his days with the money. With an apologetic smile to the man, he let it rest against his chest once more, replying:

"Sorry chap, I prefer to hold onto it. I'll try to pay you a visit later when we can do busi-"

At the moment someone attempted to run by him, bumping into him with quite a bit of force and grabbing the pocket watch as he ran past. Before the chain could even tighten against his neck Marcus had a hold on the man's hand, and with a tug snapped the man's wrist and sent him sprawling to the ground, his momentum dragging the Englishman down on top of him.

Marcus regained his senses first, and not letting go of the twisted arm that was still clutching his watch, he curled his free hand into a fist and began raining blows and abuse on the man underneath him.

"You bloody footpad!"


"Try and steal my bloody belongings!"


"You'll pay me back for that little stunt!"


"And you're damn lucky-"


"- I'm not also charging you by the punch!"

By now the man was out cold, and Marcus easily retrieved the watch from his twisted hand. All of that had taken place in less than a minute, and as he dusted himself off he noticed the gaped looks of the people around him, and almost sheepishly he scratched the back of his head.

"My apologies for that, just handling a thief. If someone could get ahold of a constab- sheriff I think that would be wise."

With that, he noticed for the first time that the man had been carrying bread with him as well- no doubt stolen considering what had just transpired. One had been smashed in the struggle that took place, but the others looked to be in good condition. With a sigh he picked them up and examined the paper bags that they were in.

"Baker's Field Bakery"

That's about the least bloody helpful business name ever.

With a sigh, wondering if he was going to be able to even find the place, Marcus set off in the direction that the man had been running from, leaving the crowd to gawk in the street. After all, it's not like he had anything better to do with his time than try to return the stolen goods. And, as his stomach reminded him, he might just get a reward for it.
Marcus E. Hamilton

“'Sola Nobilitas Virtus.' Those words are more true now than ever.”


Marcus Emanuel Hamilton


"English", at least to the locals




Diplomacy: Seemingly adept at the nuances of courtesy and etiquette when it suits him, Marcus knows how to walk the walk and talk the talk. While it might only serve to agitate a ruffian on the street, it's been an invaluable asset when dealing with people in positions of power.

Pluck: Both an asset and a flaw, in his youth Marcus threw himself into many fights when the wiser choice would have been flight. This has been tempered somewhat by his age, but no man (or woman) could say with any honesty that he lacked courage. Almost to the extent of recklessness.

Swordsmanship: His years on the high seas were filled with many engagements as he tells it, almost all of them beginning with the words; "Damn the guns, we're boarding!". Whether engaging Germans in the North Sea, or Moroccan privateers outside of Gibraltar, Marcus brought as many as he could into hand-to-hand combat. While he wields both sword and gun in combat, he very much favors the blade, the latter only being used when opportunity or necessity favors it.

Captain?: While unfamiliar with the waterways of America or the operation of steam ships, Marcus is one of the most able navigators of the Atlantic(According to him), and peerless if leading the crew of a sailing ship(Also according to him). More importantly though, it has given him a wide breadth of experience in dealing with, and fighting against, various peoples who have managed to recover from the Blackout. Knowledge that has kept him fed since arriving in Blackfinger.

Southpaw Slinger: Marcus doesn't choose between using his sword or his gun, he uses both in tandem. As it isn't his primary weapon, not even his years of combat experience can allow him to compete on equal terms with the lifelong gunslingers that have sprung up in the remains of America, but to underestimate his abilities as merely average would be a fatal mistake. It is a weapon of opportunity, but opportunity is something he's become quite skilled at creating.


To a man and power of influence, Marcus is every bit the proper nobleman. Courteous, respectful, and demanding of equal respect. To a merchant heading overseas in a Zeppelin, Marcus is every bit the seasoned adventurer, world wise and able to part with his expertise for a price. For most other people: He's really not much more than a common man, fond of a drink and a joke- if a bit prone to grim moods as his youth continues to leave him. He is the type to pursue a goal wholeheartedly if one is in his mind, but for now he has none. So he drinks, and he tells stories, and earns coin to drink some more. Perhaps not to the point of being a drunkard, but that future doesn't seem far off.


Rumor has it that Marcus Hamilton dropped into Blackfinger one day on a German Zeppelin. In spite of the fact that German Zeppelins were exceedingly rare (Though one was in the area around the time he showed up), that they never carried anything other than Germans, and nobody could recall seeing a Brit since before the Blackout. Still, the novelty of his arrival quickly gave way to more pressing issues like survival- and after a couple weeks "English" was just part of the local scenery.

For the most part, he spends his days talking to merchants and drinking. While rarely drunk, when he does go over his limit he'll regale anybody that can stand to listen to him with tales of fighting pirates across the Atlantic, and a grand Royal Navy that had yet to reach the Americas, but would surely arrive any week. How much of it was true was anybody's guess, but people were used to storytellers after the Blackout, they were one of the best sources of entertainment.

Oddly though, the stories are suspiciously lacking in regards to the missing section of his left hand (Ring and pinkie fingers included), and the watch he always wears around his neck, tucked into the pocket of his shirt. Merchants seem to pay his bar tab and lodging, although he never seems to actually trade anything with them. Overall, he's a curiosity, but curiosities take a backseat to survival for most in the New World.



There's no one reason, just an attempt to make a life for himself in a new country.


Any friends and family he may have are (likely) on another continent, and he remains tight lipped even when drunk.

All right, we'll call this a first draft in case it's crap.

Let me know if that color is causing eye strain for any of you, I'll make it a little lighter if so.
But Gowi, is not his history still being written during the IC?
© 2007-2016 — Source on Github
BBCode Cheatsheet