[@TheMystic] Yooooot [hider=Jacob Wheeler] [color=silver] [center] [img]http://oi68.tinypic.com/2ikeg51.jpg[/img] [h2]Jacob Wheeler[/h2] [b]Male * Twenty-two[/b] [hr] [h3]Old world Occupation[/h3] [b]Marine[/b] [h3]Class[/h3] [b]Witch Hunter[/b] [h3]Equipment[/h3][/center] [list] [*] [i]Hunter's Armor & Garb[/i] - Thin layers of maille armor, and boiled-leather greeves strapped over thick woolen trousers and an undershirt of deep brown. Alongside steel pauldrons and bracers with soulless moleskin boots, all topped by a squat brown pilgrims hat. [*] [i]Longsword[/i] - A steel sword of plain but sturdy make, with a battle edge and sweat stained wrappings on the hilt. [*] [i]Falchion[/i] - A thick curving blade, small but with a keen edge and quick for the draw and made for a hasty reposte. [*] [i]Hand-Crossbow[/i] - Light and low powered at range, but quick and deadly within twenty yards, and with a holster-quiver for easy transport and reloading. [*] [i]Crucifix[/i] - A strange, foreign religious symbol from the world beyond, which when held aloft in the hand banishes the unholy spirits and avails the wielder and those nearby with some small protection from ethereal attacks. [*] [i]Travelers Pack[/i] - Complete with all the adventuring needs, including candles, flint and tinder, rope, and a whetstone. [/list] [center] [h3]Appearance[/h3] Jacob Wheeler is a compact, and sturdily built young man in his early twenties, with a blonde stubbly beard around his chin and a sunken look in his one remaining eye. His hands and feet are heavily calloused from hard labor and training in his past, and his body is strong, with a forge beaten toughness about him that speaks of a man in peak physical condition. He talks with a soft southern drawl and walks with his head high and proud, and his shoulders straight, and yet remains unable to hide his haunted soul, even behind his facade of cool, collected, confidence. [h3]Magic[/h3][/center] [list] [*] [i]Evocation[/i] - [b]The Accusation[/b] "I accuse ye fell beast!" [*] [i]Conjuring[/i] - [b]The Watchers[/b] Those dark winged fowl who observe the dead and call in their language... [/list] [hr] [center] [h3]Personality[/h3] Jacob is a cynical and serious person, a pragmatist born of the fires of war, and a mission oriented problem solver. He is observant, and cool under pressure with a dedicated sense of honor and self-worth. He conceals his crippling fear of death behind a stonework wall of aptitude and confidence, presenting himself as the master of his own mind even while his personal demons ravage in the background of his thoughts. Hemming in his worldview is a betrayed sort of patriotism, and a belief in traditional values alongside a deepest loathing for cowardice and a failure of duty. Despite his inability to assimilate into new concepts easily Jacob does possess a knack for leadership and command. Including understanding the dynamics and complications of the team, and the individuals therein. Although he is never eager to take charge, when tasked he proves adequate if not outright adept in all his obligations, preferring that he see them through then and there instead of leaving them for tomorrow. His brisk, almost controlling nature has led him into multiple conflicts before, and more than likely will again in the future, with more free spirited folks who are more likely to openly resist him. For this Jacob's temper is short, and he has never been very skilled at deescalation. Over the past couple years he's drained much of his mind and life away with the bottle, drowning out his sorrows and doubts and fears he keeps so well hidden while with company. Overall he is a quiet and focused man, quick to anger, and vigorous in his retribution. [h3]Biography[/h3] Some men are born for a certain duty or undertaking, with clear set qualities that avail them to their field of expertise. For Jacob Wheeler, he was born to walk the path of a warrior. He grew up fast, developing his mind and body to the task ahead, to complete his training at the earliest possible moment and prove himself a worthy member of that noble order whose ethos was honor, courage, and commitment. Throughout his younger days Jacob was enamored with the tales of valor, of heroes and enemies and adventure across the world, dreaming of the day when he too might take up arms and march with them to glory and honor and victory. And so he said the words, and he joined them, and what he found there was not what he expected in the least. He found grueling effort, and sweat and rained soaked nights, and painful hours, and backbreaking work followed by boredom soaked days. And yet he also found purpose. The honor, the glory, the victories those were all farces, deceit wrapped about the suffering to conceal the misery within, and yet there he found brothers who would lay down their lives for him just as he would for them, and he found a sense of contentment in the horrors. At least he did until he was shipped to some faraway accursed hell on earth to fight the battles he'd so longed for as a child. Except he found he didn't want to fight them anymore, and he no longer desired to kill. Yet kill he did... Jacob lost his eye to war, and most of his friends as well. They were taken one by one, those honorable young men, all better than him, snatched away unfairly when it should have been him. In that war he lost his purpose, shipped home and medically discharged. He lost those friends whom remained, to the bottle and bullet. He lost his livelihood, to the drink and the nightmares as he tried to purge himself of the demons. He lost everything, and every day he swirled deeper into misery and darkness, hoping for the chance to course correct his young life, onward to greater purpose once more. [/center] [/color] [/hider]