[center][b][u] - Blake Hammond - [/u][/b][/center]

[center][b] - Appearance - [/b][/center]
[center]Blake is a 5'11" male sitting at just over 200 pounds. Being a 32 year old mercenary, most of that weight is muscle, with a bit of beer pudge, but he will never admit it. He is very well tanned from a life on the road. His grey eyes are flanked by crow's feet (squint wrinkles, I call'em) and his head is shaved bald. His body has several battle scars, but nothing horribly disfiguring. He has no tattoos. He wears light leathers for breeches and a stiff heavy leather chest piece for protection. He has a longsword on his left hip, a main-gauche on his beltline to be drawn by his left hand, and on his lightly leather-armored chestnut horse he has a crossbow.[/center]

[center][b] - Personality - [/b][/center]
[center]Blake is even-headed. He has been fighting for the bulk of his life, so combat rarely makes him lose his cool. He does like to drink, and recently his drinking has begun to catch up with his gut. Out of combat, he's NOT a social butterfly. He is verbally polite to a fault, though he gets tongue tied around women. He doesn't negotiate prices unless he feels that he's getting reamed with jacked a jacked up price. When it comes to a contract to fulfill, he attempts to complete them to the letter, with little leeway in straying from the contract. When he drinks, he opens up a bit more, being a 'happy drunk'.[/center]

[center][b] - Excerpt - [/b][/center]
[center]Blake walked into the Lone Pine Bar, knowing that his bounty was supposed to be here. He was hired by some nobleman to bring back his son alive. And Blake's contacts have told him that he's hiding out here, posing as a traveling merchant or something. Anyways, his target should be here, somewhere. Blake slid up to the bar, one cheek on the stool and one foot on the ground. "Mead, please," he asked the person behind the bar. Once it was delivered into his hand, he took a brief sip, tasting the honey goodness. He then stood up from the stool and put his back to the bar, glancing over his mug around at the patrons.

His eyes skillfully glanced around the entire room, purposefully passing over his mark so that he doesn't give away his intention. He then began to wander around the room and started to flirt with one of the bar wenches. He got embarrassed and tripped over his feet, spilling a bit of his mead on another bar patron. "HEY!" the man argued at having a drink spilled on him. The man took a swing at Blake, which Blake ducked under. "My apologies, sir. I didn't see you there. Here, let me buy you a drink and let us forget this ever happened," Blake asked the man. The man asked for a double scotch and then sat back down.

Blake then walked over to his mark, put his hand on the noble boy's shoulder, and said, "Your father wants you home, sir. Time to go." The boy looked Blake in the eyes and started to mouth the word 'No', but Blake shifted his weight and slammed the boy's face into the table. "I'm sorry, sir, but it's time to go." Blake lifted the boy by one shoulder and helped him to his feet, keeping a hand on one of the boy's elbows while walking him to the door. As the boy tried to bolt, Blake tripped one foot into the other while shoving the elbow in the opposite direction. The boy again tasted wood as his head hit the door jamb. "I wish you wouldn't fight, sir. But, I've been told to bring you in." As he passed the fellow he spilled a drink on, he laid a coin onto the table, "Again, my apologies, sir." With that, he and the noble boy headed back towards noble district.[/center]