[hider=Spearblin]
[color=red][b]Name:[/b][/color] 
Cull

[color=red][b]Age:[/b][/color] 
Day 3

[color=red][b]Gender:[/b][/color] 
Male

[color=red][b]Race:[/b][/color] 
Goblin

[color=red][b]Appearance:[/b][/color] 
Standing only a bit taller than most other goblins, Cull's most striking feature is his slit red eyes. His short, spiky hair is dark, with the slightest tint of blue; like the depths of a lake.

[color=red][b]Level:[/b][/color]
22

[color=red][b]Personality:[/b][/color] 
Despite the relaxed and carefree personality that lies on the surface, Cull is a goblin that follows rules; both written and unwritten, to an extent that can only be explained as superstition. The only time Cull will knowingly violate such rules, is in the event that it comes into direct conflict with any [b]vows[/b] he has taken. His greatest joy is that of battle against mighty foes; as at the core of his body beats the heart of a young glory-seeking warrior. Bound with a rather potent sense of honor and justice, Cull is incredibly protective of his kin; especially those he sees as weaker than him. However, should another of his kin bully one of their weaker brethren, or perform an act he finds especially underhanded, he will not hesitate to voice his stern opposition-- or in more extreme cases, get violent. 

[color=red][b]Past Life:[/b][/color] 
[hider=A Vague Memory]
Blood filled Cullen Donahue's eyes as he struggled to maintain his failing grip.  Broken bones, torn muscles, and barely clotted wounds screamed with agony as he fought to hold fast.  Cullen had never been the type to fear death, rather-- he was the kind of maniac that always wanted to spar without any protective equipment with his HEMA mates; not that anyone ever indulged the crazy bastard.  Normally, Cullen would've been ecstatic about a life or death struggle like this. In today's day and age there wasn't much of a future for the lad anyway; he'd have been right at home on some ancient battlefield, but cities, offices, paperwork, and machines weren't the thing for him. 

But he wasn't fighting for himself right now, he was fighting to keep a promise he'd made. He'd already gone against the town's rules, and broken the first promise he made to his dying mother. If he failed now he'd have broken both promises, and all of this-- would've been for nothing.

His lungs burned as he roared.

A dull thud struck his temple.

Falling.

A splash.

Sinking deeper, and deeper.

Nothingness.

[/hider]

[color=red][b]Talent(s):[/b][/color][LIST][*] [color=gray]Spearmanship[/color] 

[*] [color=Gray]Recovery[/color][/LIST]
[color=red][b]Skill(s):[/b][/color][LIST][*][b]Dark Eye[/b] (Passive) E-Rank
[*][b]Absorption[/b] (Remaining Uses: 6)
[*][b]Swift[/b] (Passive) E-Rank
[*][b]Writhe[/b] (Active) E-Rank
[/LIST]
[color=red][b]Inventory:[/b][/color] [list][*] Stoat Pelt x 1
[*]Rabbit Pelt x 1
[*]Rabbit Horn Spear x 1
[/list]
[/hider]