[b]Create a Hero RPG Application[/b] [b]Character you have created:[/b] Jock Sturgeon [b]Alias:[/b] James Stitcher, Jack Scott, Martin Sullivan, etc. [b]Character Alignment:[/b] -Walking the Line- [b]Identity:[/b] Known to some. [b]Character Personality:[/b] Simply put Jock is a hustler. He'll do anything he can to make money. He has the likable and easygoing personality a conman needs in order to survive. Depending on the situation Jock can be very cocky and overbearing. As much as conning is a means of earning money for Jock, it's also a psychological aspect. The years of neglect from his mother left a chip on his shoulder. He just doesn't want to take money from you, he wants to prove that he is the smarter than you. The need to prove his intelligence has led to many cons blowing up prematurely, the mark becoming suspicious due to Jock's attitude. He avoids violence as much as possible, preferring to solve problems with his mind and not his fists. [b]Uniform/costume:[/b] No costume. [b]Origin Info/Details:[/b] Jock Sturgeon's early life was one of hardship. His mother, Vera, gave birth to him when she was just thirteen years old. Jock's father was a low-level grifter who died a year later when he was hit by a car. Vera soon abandoned Jock and gave him to her parents, running off to Lost Haven. In Lost Haven she fell in with seedy types, men who did bad things for lots of money. She grudgingly came back when Jock was three and her father threatened to abandon the boy as well. Vera then took him to the city and half-raised him, seeing the boy as nothing more than a burden. Men came and went and Jock, as he got older, began to notice the things his mother and her friends did. He watched and quietly learned. By the age of thirteen Jock and a group of boys from the neighborhood formed their own pickpocket gang. At fifteen he and another man ran a rigged street betting game. A year later Jock was steadily committing burglaries through Lost Haven. He made the mistake of operating too frequently in too small of an area. Soon the cops were on to him and he had to flee town and hide with old friend's of Vera. In exile, Jock's education began properly. He learned from seasoned thieves and grifters about the skill of the con, both short and long. Jock soon began to put the lessons to use. For ten years now Jock has operated around Lost Haven as a confidence man and burglar. He has run long cons, short cons, heists, scams, and grifts. He's pulled every sort of job from the One-Armed Priest to the Serbian Stewarwd to the Brothers Corletonsia. More often than not the jobs were successful, but Jock had to occasionally pull out of the cons, just one step ahead of the authorities. A decade of running and scamming made him weary of traveling and grifting. Jock settled in as a short-term con man and has developed an interesting side job asthe underworld's version of a private eye. If a crook is in a jam, needs something recovered, or just needs a solution that doesn't involve killing then Jock is your man. [b]Hero Type:[/b] Normal [b]Power Level:[/b] Street Level [b]Powers:[/b] No powers [b]Attributes:[/b] Height: 5'11 Weight: 195 pounds. Strength Level: Normal Human Speed/Reaction Timing Level: Normal Human Endurance at MAXIMUM Effort: Normal Human Agility: Normal Human Intelligence: Genius Fighting Skill: Untrained Resources: Average [b]Weaknesses:[/b] Normal things that kill humans. [b]Supporting Characters:[/b] Vesta Sturgeon - Jock's mother. Vesta works as a runner and mule for many underworld figures in Lost Haven and abroad. She only occasionally shows up into Jock's life at the most inconvenient of times. Stan Pertovick - Local crime lord Jock pays tribute to in order to operate in his part of the city. Stan also acts as Jock's fence, paying for any stolen goods he may have to sell. Commander Tom Norman - An LHPD who demands tribute from any crooks operating in his sector. His authoritarian nature rubs many members of the underworld, Jock among them, the wrong way. Wallis - An old conman and thief that mentored Jock when he was younger. Wallis still travels across the world, pulling jobs when and where he can get them. Gingy - Owner and operator of Gingy's, a pub that Jock lives above. Gingy is Jock's landlord and friend. Monjoni - A fellow thief, Monjoni is leader of a four-man crew that performs burglaries and robberies all over the city. Jock has a tendency to run afoul with Monjoni and his boys anytime their paths cross. [b]Do you know how to post pictures on RPG boards?:[/b] Yea [b]Sample Post:[/b] [b] The Diamond District 12:01 AM[/b] A lock is like a woman. It's expensive? No, that's not it. A lock is like a woman. It's what stands between you and money? No, still not it. A lock is like a woman. It requires just the right touch. [i]--CLICK!--[/i] There it is. And there it goes. The deadbolt lock was free, leaving just the single lock on the doorknob, a lock that I could have opened with just a strong look. I popped it free quicker than a high school boy pops off his girlfriends's bra. And just like the proverbial teen necking in the backseat of a car, I was in the promise land. Through the door and down a dark corridor was Zinkman & Sons Diamond Exchange, one of the top diamond emporiums in Lost Haven and by extension the entire east coast. I am Ahab and this is my white whale, I am Javert and this is my Jean Valjean, I am the Trix Rabbit and these are my Trix. I'm at the finish line after sixteen months of prep, recon, and manipulation. I bribed bureaucrats at City Hall for copies of the building's blueprints. A hacker I know who owes me more than a few favors broke into the security company's mainframe to pull out their security schematics on the place. Hell, I [i]dated[/i] Issac Zinkman's youngest daughter for six months just to get a feel for the family and learn any trade secrets. We just broke up two weeks ago. Oh, Cinnamon. You had the face of a horse, but the body... of a horse. And now that I think about it, was Cinnamon your real name? I thought it was your nickname... and there was that strange way you laughed at my jokes, like a neigh or something... .... Did... did I date a horse for six months? Before any more thoughts of my potential bestiality could fill my head, something hard and firm found itself resting on the back of my neck. "Don't move," a voice said from beside my ear. "You're coming with me." "Or what?" I whispered back. "Or--" Something sharp and painful coursed through my body. My feet fell out from under me and I slammed to the floor writhing in pain. The electricity was still working its way through me when a black sack was pulled over my head. Just for good measure, a sharp kick to the face bloomed more pain through my body and knocked me unconscious. ---- When the bag came off my face, I was relieved to see that I was not in a police station. That relief quickly vanished when I saw where I was. It was a large, open-ended room with high ceilings and ivory furniture that matched the ivory carpet that matched the ivory walls. Pretty much, me in my black burglar outfit now stained with my own blood stuck out in the room like a sore thumb. Even the two muscular thugs flanking both my sides were dressed in ivory shirts, slacks, and shoes. "Did I die and wake up in the 70's?" I mumbled to myself. "If only kid." In the middle of the room, in a big chintz chair the color of -- What other color but Ivory -- was Rupert Roth. I didn't know Roth personally, I wasn't big time enough to, but I knew him based on the stories I'd heard about his infamous fashion sense. He looked like an extra from a bad disco movie. He wore an ivory shirt with half of it unbuttoned, a large gold necklace and medallion caught in the steely gray fur on his chest. He had on a pair of ivory pants that would have looked embarrassing on a man half his age, but made Roth look clownish. Rupert Roth was the last great Jewish gangster in America. Now days most people associate the mob with the Italians, and it is a fair association to make given the sheer numbers involved. But back in the day Jews were the top dogs in the underworld. Guys like Arnold Rothstein, Bugsy Siegel, and Meyer Lanksy handled their business like CEOs and quietly made millions. Murder and violence were involved, sure, but not like it was with the Italians. More importantly, they got out of crime and went legit. Roth had followed that model very well. A gambling empire amassed in the 50's and 60's went major league in the 70's and he removed himself from crime altogether by the time the FBI started hitting the mobs hard. Now, the only organizations Roth belong to were the Chamber of Commerce and the Rotary Club. But there was still that edge. He still had the juice that made him very dangerous, and had me scared shitless to be dragged into his living room in the middle of the night. "Jock Sturgeon," he said after a moment of silence. "I've heard of you." "Good things, I hope." Roth waved his hand in a so-so manner. "I hear that you're smart, I hear that you're a good thief, I hear that outside of some trouble as a kid, you ain't never been pinched. I also hear that you're the guy crooks go to when they need work done." "Have you heard that I like long walks in the moonlight and a good '62 Bordeaux?" "I'm questioning your smarts, kid," Roth said, ignoring my joke. "First off, I've had a tail on you for a solid week and you didn't see him, and then you're here with me making stupid jokes." "Sorry," I said with a shrug. "It's a defense mechanism, I guess. Why have you been following me?" "Issac Zinkman is a close and personal friend of mine. We go to the same temple, we sit on the same charity boards. He knows who I am and about my past. So, he comes to me asking about this guy dating his little girl Cindy--" "Cindy," I said with a sigh of relief. "That's right, Cinnamon was her nickname... thank god." Roth looked at me with contempt and a half second later, the muscled gorillas on my right slapped me across the face. My face, which was already operating at a dull painful throb, exploded in pain. My ears rang and I had to bite my tongue to keep from crying out. Roth stared at me long enough to make sure he'd gotten his point across before starting back. "So Issac has this funny feeling about the guy his little girl is dating, especially after they broke up two weeks ago. So he comes to me and says 'Rothy, this putz made my little girl cry. Find out what he's got to hide and then fucking burn him.' And what do I find out, but the fact that this son of a bitch is an ace burglar, a burglar with a rep across town as reliable and smart, two things that are almost impossible to find when it comes to crooks. Not only is this guy a burglar, but he's planning on robbing my dear friend blind. You, my friend, are in for a world of hurt." "Unless," I said cautiously, mindful of the two looming thugs on either side of me. "If you were going to hurt me, you would have done it right away with no spiel, or you would have turned me in to the cops. You did neither, so I'm waiting for the part where you give me options." Something passed across Roth's face. It could have been a smile. It may have been a snarl, or it may have been gas. It was something of a mix between the three. "Smart," he said. "Just like they said. Option 1. I inform Issac that you not only broke his little girl's heart, but also that you were in the middle of stealing his entire life's work when I caught you. Knowing my friend like I do, he will kindly ask me to feed your own balls." "A cannibalistic eunuch. Not the way I wanna go out." "Option 2. You're a thief. Steal something for me and we will call it quits." "Steal what, and from where?" That look again. I was now certain that pained grimace had to be Roth's version of a smile. "The where is easy. Lost Haven PD headquarters. The what? Now, that's gonna take some explaining..."