Chapatrap — Roleplayer Guild

Dumping everything from my PM to here:

Precipice of War
Faction - Georgian Guard (Georgia)

Leader - Davit Patarava

Faction Type - Militia

Backstory/Bio-
Georgia has been a turbulent state since the Turkish invasion in 1970. Russia abandoned it's former possession in it's time of need and left the Caucasus to it's own weakened armies. They weren't strong enough. Although the Georgians lasted a few weeks longer than the Armenians, it wasn't to last. The Turks overthrew the 'corrupt' republic that had stood for 14 years, burned the flag, publicly executed the entire Georgian government and ripped the constitution to shreds, all in the horrified eyes of a large crowd. The Ottoman Flag was flown proudly above the remains of Georgian independence in Freedom Square and the Turks were quick to introduce changes to region. Islam was promoted while the local Orthodox Christian religion was suppressed. Revolts and protests were punished swiftly and brutally. Ottoman governor's were placed around the country and they grew fat from Georgian labour and goods. In 1976, it all changed.

While the ASF were fighting their war against the Ottomans in Armenia, similar revolts sprouted in Georgia, inspired by the ASF's vision of a better future. The former Georgian army re-organised itself into a secret society and began a campaign against the Ottoman governors and soldiers. It proved highly popular among the Georgian populace, who disliked the promotions of Islam and the brutality of the foreign soldiers. After 7 months of fighting and espionage across the country, the Turks were pushed from Georgia and eventually, the Caucasus. A temporary government of leaders of the resistance was set up and they promised elections within the month. But they never came. Faced with ethnic revolution in Abkhazia, border attacks from Dagestan, high unemployment, a high crime rate and the fact that none of these people knew how to run a country, the government collapsed in late 1976. A 'rush for Georgia' began, as Dagestani's poured over the north-eastern border and Ossetian over the northern border. To this day, the north is still occupied by Ossetian/Dagi backed warlords. The country was split into bickering warlords, most who were former members of the temporary government, rich men looking for power and occasionally foreign backed, non-Georgian warlords. Each warlord claims his turf is the real Georgian Republic successor, although often it is a simple authoritarian military dictatorship. They inhabit cities and occasionally entire regions. The Georgian lira, having little value outside of Georgia, is still used in Georgia as a currency by all warlord 'states'. 

The Georgian Guard was set up in the port city of Batumi by Davit Patarava in early 1977 as a 'home guard' militia, aiming to protect the citizens of eastern Batumi from hostile warlords, foreign forces and bandits that inhabit the countryside. The Guard was originally set up by Davit after his wife and second child were attacked, raped and killed by a drunken squad of rogue soldiers. Davit gathered his friends together and they hunted down the soldiers in retaliation. The soldiers were later found with smashed skulls, Glasgow smiles and broken knees in a ditch. None were alive.

The Guard was formed by this circle of friends and now operates across Batumi, as an anti-warlord force protecting the people from brutality and helping the community (Almost like the Neighbourhood Watch, only without the fully-automatic machine guns and hatred of hoodies.) They are an apolitical group, caring only for the people of Georgia. They can boast a growing membership, an arsenal consisting of every weapon from shotguns to slingshots to nukes, several successful attacks on the warlord and strong support from the people. The Guard has achieved notoriety among the warlords as a troublesome group that attacks in hit-and-run tactics. At the moment, there are no plans to revive the Republic of Georgia from the Guard. However, they strongly support overthrowing the current warlord in the area due to the high taxes on imported food, lack of representation for the Georgian people and the increased brutality of soldiers. Davit, a grim, older man, came out of obscurity to form this group and currently spends all his days dedicated to the Guard. What he did before the Guard is only known amongst his close friends and his surviving son, Giorgi Patarava. The group has gained much popularity among the cities lower classes and is known to be in contact with other organisations in Georgia, such as the nationalist Georgian National Front and the communist-leaning People's Liberation Force of Georgia. As tensions grow in Batumi between the Guard and the local warlord, it looks as though civil war may break out. And with the growing power of a republican groups, Georgian anarchy is looking to end.

Jedi Exile (ded)

Name: Balkk Yarroq

yeahitsthesameasthejedibutadifferentangleimsorryitsthebestnon-bosskpictureontheinternet.

Age: 48

Gender: Male

Species: Trandoshan

Skills:
-Fluent in Dosh/Basic.
-Blasters (caring, firing, repairing)
-Claw-to-hand combat.
-Can regenerate limbs.

Weapons:
-Adventurer Slugthrower Rifle
-Slavemaster stun carbine
-Trandoshan sword
-EMP Grenades

Other Equipment:
-Holo-transmitter.

History:
Balkk Yarroq, which roughly translates to 'He who hunts them alive', was hatched on Trandosha 48 years ago. He was in a cluster of 4 eggs and grew up with 3 brothers, all who much bigger than he. He was often called 'runt' by his brothers, his friends and even his father. To this day, he is still somewhat diminutive compared to other Trandoshan's, standing at 5 foot 10 inches. As a hatchling, Balkk's father was often out doing various scummy jobs for a surprisingly hefty wage with his friends. These including hunting Wookies for illegal slavery, mercenary work, smuggling and even the occasional bounty hunt. He would often recount the stories of his exploits to his four sons and promised he would take all four of them out on an adventure one day. Balkk's father later went on to join the Bounty Hunters Guild, where he impressed his sons even more with his stories and exploits. Balkk's father often disappeared for weeks at time but one day, he never returned. A holo-comm message from the Guild later said he had been captured and executed by Wookie pirates. They offered their condolences and gave the small family a small inheritance that his father had raised in his time at the guild.

The family was broken apart and with the main source of income gone, Balkk's mother forced her young sons to go out and get jobs. They ranged from picking up scrap to working behind stalls to delivering drugs. This meagre source of living kept the family going just above the poverty line. When the four brothers became young adults at age 16, their mother began looking at the possibility of all four joining the Bounty Hunters Guild like their father. Two years later, the brothers took physical and mental tests from the guildmaster to test their abilities. His brothers got in - Balkk didn't. Due to his 'small stature and trusting nature, we do not think our work is suited to Balkk Yarroq'. Balkk's mother immediately kicked him from the home and told him not to return until he got together some money and a job. Disheartened and hurt, he travelled from town to town, doing various odd jobs. He later heard his brothers were hunting murderers and pirates for the Republic and this sealed the deal - he would become a bounty hunter like his Dad, like his brothers. 

Rather naively, he approached a Duro bounty hunter he met in a bar and asked him to take him under his wing. The bounty hunter agreed and bought the Trandoshan a drink. He told him he had a contract on the moon of Wasskah and would require his help. He promised half of the pay, a blaster and an apprenticeship if he could help. Balkk agreed immediately. By the end of the hour, he was a on starfighter with the Duros and they flew straight to the moon of Wasskah. The bounty hunter told him his target lived in a shack in the middle of the forests and was very dangerous. He gave Balkk the promised blaster and let him follow as they walked deeper into forest. At this point, Balkk was beginning to get suspicious. However, it wasn't soon enough. The Duros turned and shot him in the foot. While the Trandoshan gasped in pain on the ground, he robbed him of all his belongings, leaving only the clothes on his back and left a bewildered Balkk to die. As he slipped in and out of conciousness on the forest floor that day, he realised all the people he had trusted in his life so far had betrayed him. His father never took him on his adventure, his brothers forgot about him as soon as they got work, his mother kicked him from the home and a bounty hunter had left him die on an uninhabited forest moon.

After a day and half a night in the wilderness, he was by chance found by a group of hunters. They took him back to Trandosha and wrapped up his foot, asking for payment. Balkk escaped during the night, having no money to reward them with. When he returned back to the town, the first thing on his mind was revenge. With no credits to his name and no weapons, he wrapped up his foot in a strip of cloth and hobbled around town looking for the Duro bounty hunter. Surprisingly, the bounty hunter hadn't left the town at all and according to several people, spent much time at the bar, gambling money, drinking strong alcohol and hustling 'suckas'. Instead of confronting him, he waited outside, sharpening his claws on a piece of stone. When the drunken Duros stumbled from the bar and out to the quiet dusk of the street, Balkk attacked with his claws and teeth, ripping and tearing at the Duros until he was just a mass of green blood and blue skin.. When he was sure the bounty hunter was dead, he stole all his belongings but was dismayed to discover all his stolen credits spent on alcohol and gambled away. As a reminder of his encounter with the Duros, he took it's index finger and still has it to this day. 

Among the items stolen from the Duros bounty hunter was a modified Holo-Transmittor that was logged into the bounty hunter general channel, where reports and request for bounties were posted. (OC: I'm assuming this is how aliens got into bounty hunting if they were outside the Guild, so this may or may not be canon). So, his bounty hunting career started. He began on small criminals, minor government officials and anyone minor who got a bit of money in. In those early days, he used his claws and teeth often to kill, usually at close range when the target never expected it. When he eventually got enough credits to leave Dosha, he did straight away. He found work as a bodyguard for a small-time crimelord on Coruscant who dealt in stolen weapons and armour. By this time, Balkk was past adulthood and was fully grown, a measly 5 foot 10 inches compared to the 6 foot 6 inches that was common in his species. His boss grew close to him but Balkk always weary of him, citing the relationship as purely professional. The boss occasionally paid him in weapons as opposed to actual money, which suited Balkk fine. The boss even had his underlings teach him to look after, repair and even modify his weaponry, a hobby and skill Balkk still enjoys. His boss was eventually arrested due to tax reasons and Balkk left to go trekking around the galaxy, stealing and killing for his credits. A particular calling card of his was to remove a finger or keep a trophy of the harder targets he killed. He also became known for his use of close combat as opposed from taking out targets from afar. This didn't stop him from using close-range blasters, though.

At the age of 44, the clone wars began and the call for bounty hunting increased significantly. He took targets from both sides, ultimately trusting credits more than his employers. Targets became worth more and so did the credits offered for them. He killed his first Jedi early in the Clone Wars, a young cocky Padawan. The Knight unfortunately escaped, taking with him a portion of Ballk's lower arm but he received a hefty price from the CIS for presenting them with the Padawan's lightsaber. Balkk realised that killing Jedi, although much harder, was more profitable compared small-time criminals. He had previously brushed off Jedi as being much too hard and numerous but with the Clone Wars often tipping to the side of the CIS, he saw his chance. He got quite a knack for killing Padawan's, as they were usually more brash and headstrong compared to their masters. By the end of the war, he had killed 5 Padawan's and an unlucky Knight, all for high prices. The risk of losing limbs to their lightsabers became quite apparent and he has lost several portions of all his limbs due to his preference of fighting in close quarters. Due to his regenerative qualities, his limbs all grew back (rather painfully) to their natural state, over the course of roughly a year.

Balkk is by no means a (in)famous bounty hunter but he is known amongst certain circles as an independent bounty hunter who can get the job done. He wields a large Trandoshan sword across his back, which is made specifically for fighting Jedi. It's alloy is Chalon, a rare ore that is typically sharper and harder than most. A few cuts by a lightsaber can slice the blade in two but it rarely comes to that. He keeps his claws and teeth sharp for battle and typically uses them at close range as opposed to blasters. His armour is a motley collection of battle armour and cloth, which built more for his own speed as opposed to heavy protection. Balkk has few friends, few enemies and likes to keep himself anonymous for fear his 'friends' will return at a critical hour in his life. The Trandoshan is approaching middle age, by which time he will lose his regenerative qualities and plans to retire with his small fortune to his home world of Dosha. Things are starting to look dark in the galaxy and Balkk plans to spend as less time in it as possible.

Exile (ded)

Timbeross Corporation
Name - Timbeross Corporation 
Type - Timber/Paper/Landscaping/Wood Corporation
CEO - Joseph McKay
History -
The Timbeross Corporation was founded shortly after the mass colonisation of Brahma began. It's founder was the local lumberjack, Ross McKay, who set about repairing a dilapidated saw mill and hiring several local youths to help him run it. In the early days, Timbeross mostly worked in it's local area to clear the jungle and sell the wood at low prices. They were often employed by larger corporations to landscape the land and make it hospitable for cattle and crops. The company saw a surge near it's 7 year mark as it became essential for the humans spread out and for the jungles to be chopped. With assistance from local governments, Timbeross sawmills soon popped up all over the safe-zone. The wood cut was used for a variety of different uses: some was pulped down and made into paper, some was used in the building of houses and yet more was used in poorer communities for wood burning. Ross McKay quickly became a hated figure amongst the native Batmen for his ruthless tree logging and somewhat shady tactics in taking over lands. By the time of Ross McKay's 65th birthday, over half of the current-day safe zone had been cleared by Timbeross, local governments and several other corporations.

Ross McKay retired on his 70th birthday to a life of luxery, handing the company down to his son, Charles. Charles McKay is noted for his intense, Scottish hatred of the Batmen and hired mercenaries to clear plots of land from all native scum. Mercenaries are still used today. Charles McKay, as well as setting up paper mills and militarising the company, moved it's headquarters from the small town to [insert large city name here]. Timbeross also began buying out it's rivals, attempting to monopolise the market for landscaping and lumberjacking. Charles McKay is usually remembered among the populace for having helped finish the clearing of the Safe Zone and involving himself in politics. His reign as CEO was controversial among Tkrai humanitarian groups for his cruelty and alleged enslavement/massacre of several Tkrai tribes who protested or raided Timbeross actions. Charles McKay's CEOship was cut short as he died at the age of 47 of 'natural causes' (suspected poisoning).

Joseph McKay became CEO of the company just three years ago. Young, clever and ambitious, he has began looking past the safe zone for the timber industry. As well as signing deals with SailCare and merging the mercenaries into his company as fully paid employees, he has publicly attempted to improve relations with the natives while privately pressuring them to surrender their lands to be cleared and sold on. The company as it stands has began to encroach on the vast and secretive jungles outside the safe zone. With over 2,500 employees, Timbeross is the biggest timber company yet one of the most controversial. Raids from natives and the megafauna outside the safe zone have resulted in the deaths of over 30 employees and 15 have gone missing in the jungles, presumed dead. Security has been beefed up for the brave men and woman entering the frontier to chop timber and as technically no human owns the land, Timbeross has laid claim to the land just outside the safe zone with intention of landscaping it and selling it on. This may not be the case as time goes on as the governments within the Safe Zone look outside it with envy. Timbeross has recently seen somewhat of a loss in profits due to the profability in wood dropping sharply over the last few years yet hope that with the frontier expanding, the relevance of wood will become better.

Highschool with a motherfuckin' twist (ded)

Name: Saoirse Greene

Age: 17

School Year: 12th 'Grade'

Gender: Female.

Appearance:
Fedora tipped at a jaunty angle and neck scarf hung loosely around her shoulders, Saoirse is your typical hipster. A pair of green earrings are studded in each lobe, proudly telling everyone she's Irish and fuckin' proud of it. She wears a dark green jacket that covers a T-shirt that reads 'Fuck Tumblr' on it. Of course, the jacket is proudly zipped down for the world to see her rebellious, edgy, teenage fantasies.

Personality:
Saoirse is an extremely dislikable and irritating person to be dealt with. Her hatred of mainstream society as well as pessimistic and cynical outlook means she clicks well with her best (and possibly only) friend, Norlanda North (an npc who I'll be including a lot but probably won't take part in the challenges). She isn't afraid to get her hands dirty and this typical tomboy trait goes well with her culchee Irish accent (a lot of 'haaay' and 'laaahd'). Despite these somewhat depressing qualities, she also has a biting sense of sarcasm, humour and when she gets that mischievous glint in her eye, many know better than to cross her.

Crush: Open. also, Bisexual.

Relationship status: Single and damn happy about it, thanks.

Skills: Video games, an ear for music, a loud scream, biting sarcasm and her willingness to get involved (and annoy) with the people around her.

Schedule number:
1.

Fallout Equestria: Bellyrubs

Action tiem

Name: 
Sacred Grey (Sacre Gris)

Race:
Earth Pony

Physical Appearance: 
I made a tasteful nude for this
A slim yet small stallion with a white coat and a dull grey mane, Sacred is by no means a pony you would look twice at. His mane and tail are cut shorter than normal, as is traditional with the tribes of Prance and his eyes are a glittering grey. As a foreigner, his way with words is considerably slower and heavily accented, as his first language is a Prench dialect (jesus christ....) He stands in the prime of his life and age has not yet effected his youthful features but the sand and dangers of the wasteland have left their mark in the form of scars and bad memories. A cutie mark appeared some years ago and has manifested itself into a fleur de lis.

Clothing is worn and discarded by Sacred on an almost weekly basis, depending on his line of work and how bad it smells. His only constant piece of clothing is a filthy, camo bucket hat that keeps the sun out of his eyes. Weaponry is non-constant, as he finds larger weapons too heavy or jangly to drag around the wasteland. A machete is sheathed around his neck for use from the mouth but most guns are cumbersome and practically useless in his hooves. In the case of a firefight, he will run or try to find a place to hide to avoid being shot. A leather pouch around his neck serves as a small bag, usually containing some supplies and a wallet.

Backstory:
Sacred Grey was born into a tribe of Prench ponies in Prance, an area to the far south inhabited solely by Earth Ponies that caught the downwind of war. With the destruction of Equestria came the violent implosion of nearby countries into civil wars. Like dominoes, country after country fell to anarchy. The misty moors of Prance were turned into an overgrown, dangerous wasteland full of tribes, factions and families all vying for control. Before the war, Prance hadn't exactly been prosperous and the poverty only worsened after the war. Many Prench ponies began leaving for a different life abroad and Sacred's small tribe were no different.

Traders trickling from the northern badlands told stories of Equestria, of the wealth of its cities and the prosperity of its ponies. Of course, these stories were exaggerated to the extreme, as Equestria was in no better condition than Prance but the Prench ponies clutched to this sliver of hope with their lives. Sacred's tribe of 60 ponies began their journey across the Badlands, all looking forward to their new lives. Six years later, Sacred Grey emerged from the Badlands alone, 59 of his companions having fell to the sands. Sacred's entire family, his friends, his world, had all been killed two years previously and the little pony had spent up to two years wandering the badlands himself, forever pushing himself to go north and complete his families dream of a new, prosperous life. 

During his six years in the Badlands, Sacred learned a lot with his father. He'd already been rather young when they'd entered the Badlands and along with his father, learned skills for living in the wasteland. His cutie mark appeared while in the badlands and manifested itself into a fleur de lis, which probably relates to his love for the flower or the fact his first language was Prench. As the years passed, the tribe was slowly whittled down by attacks on raiders, hunger, dehydration and disease until only Sacred remained. For two years, he continued his journey north alone, determined to finish the journey so many had died to finish. He exited the badlands a different pony than the one that had entered. Once inside Equestria, he found the stories his tribe had told to be far from the truth. In fact, the Equestrian Wastelands were just like Prance, if not worst. However, the journey across the Badlands had taken a lot out of him and he doesn't wish to make the journey back to Prance anytime soon. He settled into simple extermination and hunting jobs out in the small towns for folk. His Equestrian was poor but slowly improved as the weeks turned to months. He drifted from town to town, offering his services to anyone who'd have him, good or evil.

After spending a year like this, his tracking skills caught the attention of slavers, who began calling on him to hunt down their runaways. Slavery was a concept he was initially uncomfortable with but he settled into the job when he realised how easy it was to track scared, weak ponies. Plus, the pay was great. Eventually, he went full-time with the slavers but has always made sure to distance himself from the families and tribes. By not affiliating himself with anypony, his market opened widely and he doesn't have to get into the often turbulent world of Wasteland politics. After a few years of drifting from slaver group to slaver group, Sacred found himself working with a small group led by a charismatic Zebra called Decimus who shared his ideas of not getting involved with slaver politics and offered his services to anyone. This suited him fine. This professional group of trackers has become well known amongst the slaver community for their efficiency and neutral stance in politics.

Decimus' group of trackers often fluctuates in size but has always included Sacred as a tracker, who gets his hunches right 8 times out of 10. Decimus stands as the groups leader and the groups main barterer, often meditating negotiations between the more demanding members of his crew and the slavers. Almost twelve years have past since Sacred Grey left the Badlands behind and he has well established himself into Equestrian society. His Prench receives rare use in real life but Sacred uses it as a first language, often speaking a pidgin Prench/Equestrian. Old memories of his tribe, lost to the badlands, have faded like his scars from his days in the Badlands and he no longer associates himself as the last member of them. 

Sacred Grey had to adapt to life in the Badlands and to life in Equestria. Now, as the winds of change begin shaping the Wastelands again, Sacred will be forced to adapt again. But it won't be hard. It never was before.

Karma Title
Smelly Parfait - Neutral but leaning on Evil.

Traits

Rat de Friche
You've survived in the wasteland for many years on your own and have done disgusting things to yourself in order to stay alive. GG! As such, you now know how to look after yourself in the wild, wild wastelands but unfortunately for you, your social skills are better suited to a 13-year old kid who likes comic books. 
+5 Medicine, Survival
-5 Speech, Barter.

Cheese-eating-surrender-pony
You have embraced your natural instinct of 'flight-and-hide' and will probably be better off escaping than trying to fight off raiders due to your small stature and general cack-hoofness with guns. However, you're better at hiding and will fight if stuck in a corner.
+5 Sneak, Melee Weapons
-5 Guns, Repair

Free Winds
Name: Pansy Jermaine Spitz   

Gender: Male

Age: 23

Age Appearance: Early 20's.

Appearance:
Picture
Looks can be deceiving and this certainly is the case for Pansy Spitz. With black skin, a well-toned abdomen and powerful arms, some would take Pansy to be a large thug or even a fighter of some kind. How wrong they are. Growing up, Pansy shaved his head and muscled up his body for one reason only - to stop the teasing. His rather timid and feminime personality meant that he was often made fun of as a child. When he grew to his adolescence, he began bulking up and acting tough to stop the teasing. However, he was much more comfortable in the kitchen with an apron around his waist than in the wilderness lifting rocks.

At the age of 23, he has become comfortable in his own skin and now wears what he wants and does what he wants. As such, his clothing is often loose and of lighter colours, such as blues and occasionally pinks. His keeps his face clean-shaven but has allowed his hair to grow into light dreadlocks that go no further than his shoulders. He still has a rather well-toned body  but has long given up weight lifting in favour of baking and flowers. He stands at an impressive 6'2" and can give off an intimidating vibe to those who don't know him. But he is often more scared of you than you are of him.

Personality:
Pansy is, ironically, a rather big pansy. If you met him in a dark alley at night it's more likely he would get scared of you and hand over his wallet. A timid boy growing up, he was often teased for his love of nature as a child, which often lead to him running home to his mother. Thus, Pansy is a huge mumma's boy and was rather sheltered growing up, compared to his wild sister. His mother taught him to cook, to look after a home, to dress himself properly and most importantly of all,  flower magic.

As a result of spending so much time with his mother, he is the polar opposite to what you'd expect of a large, muscled black man. He is open with his emotions and rather intelligent, if naive. He is not afraid to cry and is often berated by his sister, Tulip, for being ''a freaking pussy''. Although shy went meeting new people, he is polite, friendly and an overall nice person when you get to know him.

Backstory: 
23 years ago, on the island of Krukow, Pansy Spitz was born to a local flower mage mother, Maggie Token, and another local Rift Hunter known as Jermaine Spitz. His early memories of his father are foggy, to say the least, as Jermaine was often out killing Monsters and keeping the town safe. Jermaine would disappear for months on end and only come back occasionally to give the family money or get Maggie pregnant again. The family was rather well-off due to Jermaine's Rift Hunting and Pansy had a comfortable childhood. But shortly before his younger sister, Tulip, was born, Maggie Spitz received news that her husband had been killed while on the job.
The funeral was short but not something Pansy remembers well. The birth of his sister he remembers much better, as he was there holding his mothers hand the whole time. Despite the sadness of his fathers death, the small family unit crowded together at the birth of his sister and Maggie put on a brave face for her children, despite the crippling sadness that she kept for years after.

Maggie was excited to learn Pansy possessed profieciency in flower magic and excitedly taught him all she could. Tulip, though, had little interest in the magic and instead went into mechanics head first. Pansy loved his flower magic and nature in general but the other children weren't so open to the idea of a boy playing with flowers. He was teased mercilessly as a child and became rather withdrawn because of it. His mother subsequently pulled both him and Tulip from school and gave them both professions. Pansy worked in a local bakery while Tulip went to a mechanic and worked on skiffs/flying machines.

In his adolescence, Pansy became interested in changing his appearance to please his former bullies. It worked, for a while. He shaved his head, built up muscles and hid his interests. It only resulted in making him unhappy and it took years for him to eventually become comfortable in his own skin. 

Now, at the age of 23, he looks to the future with glee. He has a great job in the bakery, gets on well with his sister and mother and is even considering going to an academy for cooking in Kuiper. But with the increasing boldness of monsters, the poor health of his mother and the aggression from the Crucible, things are starting to look more and more bleak for the young black baker from Krukow.  

Mage: Flower Mage

Skills: Cooking, Flower Magic, botany.

Techniques: 

Daisy Chain
A chain of flowers forms from his palms to loop around it's target and hold on tight. This is a rather powerful technique that takes a lot energy to use and can't really be used offensivly.

Petal Swipe
Using a cloud of razorsharp petals, he swipes at his target. The technique is powerful enough to cut through tree branches and can leave nasty looking cuts.

Nectar Shield
Dragging nectar up from a flower, it can be slathered across a wound and form a hard shell, comparable to a cast. It is again rather powerful and repeatedly hitting it will cause it to shatter.

Position: Cook

Theme Song: Gorgeous George - Kredo

The Meteoric Rise and Fall of Team Ruin
Name:
Pontus

Species:
Monferno

Level:
24

Ability:
Iron Fist

Personality:
'Oi, what are you talking about? My fault? It weren't MY bleedin' fault! I was top of my Guild! I single handely caught the Treasure Town Tripper...! No, that WAS - yeah, that Smeargle took the picture wrong b-but- all right, all right, I'm a bit of a liar, I'll admit that. But it's only because of that lump, Froad! It's his bloody fault I'm stuck here in this frozen shit heap! HE was the one who thought it was good idea to blow up Mt. Bristle - NO, I did NOT tell him it was direct orders from - Who the bloody hell are you anyway? Who do you think you are?! MY NAME IS PONTUS AND I AM THE GREATEST EXPLORER WHO HAS EVER LIVED, you little-''

*TV STATIC*

*PONTUS APPEARS*

''Hello, good evening! My name is Pontus! I form the cleverer, better looking, stronger half of your local Exploration Team with my partner, Froad. We've known each other since our days in the Guild, me and Froad! Of course, back in those days, I weren't the most popular lad in the Guild but that was only because they were all jealous of my skills as an explorer. I took down the Treasure Town Tripper, you know. They all bullied me mercilessly in that Guild after I took down the Tripper. Apart from Froad. He stuck by me and I suppose that's why we're still together today. He's probably my best mate but bloody hell, he does like taking the piss sometimes. Like, remember when someone almost burnt down the town walls? Yeah, I took the fall for him. It was all him, not me.''

''What are my worst traits? *Laughing* I'll have to think about that! Erm, well...In the official report, the Federation actually said I was a 'compulsive liar with a selfish and egotistical streak, who's rash actions have put lives in danger so he could save his own skin'. Of course, I believe the Pokemon who filled that report out was actually biased against me for several personal reasons I'd rather not go into right now! What does Froad think of me? Oh, we're best of mates. He'd do anything for me and I'd do anything for him. I've actually saved his life twice, you know. He loves to deny it but deep down, he knows he owes me!'' *laughing*

''Yeah, Glacefloe's a nice place but if I'm honest, I'd rather be out there, exploring for the Federation! The colonies are a bit boring, I think. Not me for me! I'm all for fighting, exploring, you know! I know some around town would say otherwise but I was injured when that Tentacool mob formed, I swear. Besides, water types aren't my thing and Arceus, those Tentacool have poison attacks! I couldn't allow my injuries to be made even worse! Wh-what was my injury? Oh, you know....feverbrokenleg....next question?'

''Ah, the future. Froad and I are thinking about contacting the Federation for some funds and see if we can get a little expedition going into the Frozen Fields. We've mapped parts of the colony with help from the locals. Yeah, in the future, I want to settle down somewhere with a lady on either arm and talk about my past exploits. I mean, that's what I'm doing now...sort of. You might think Froad and I are just sitting in that little base of ours, doing nothing but always moaning about that leaky roof but ohhhh no! We're planning on our next move. We'll be on our big adventure soon enough.

Any day now.''

Moves:

-Ember

-Mach Punch

-Flame Wheel

-Feint

Totems (Still going, I believe)

**Name**

Ramzi al-Sahar

**Description**

Ramzi al-Sahar is dark skinned, human male with sharp features and a face creased with age. A salt-and-pepper beard goes under his chin, around his lips and up the side of his face to meet into a crown of receding, black curls ([Bearing a resemblance to His Imperial Majesty](http://img.timeinc.net/time/photoessays/2011/iconic_leaders/icon00000000010.jpg), of course).  Age has taken its toll on Ramzi, as his once imposing physique has become noticably weaker in recent years and his height has developed a slight stoop. Despite his physical weaknesses, Ramzi is still sharp in mind and skilled in his use of the spear. Ramzi has adopted the cultural norms of Belencrest and his clothing fits the norm of the city.

**Backstory**

Ramzi al-Sahar is of a small, desert tribe in the far-south, called the Sahars (hence the 'al-Sahar' surname). He was born into nobility of this tribe and as tribal culture dictates, this required him to become skilled in the art of warfare. The deserts were (and still are) a land of constant bickering among the patchwork of tribes and this meant that before he reached adolescence, he had already killed another human being. In his youth, Ramzi was known as being rather aloof and arrogant and this gained more enemies than allies. Ramzi's father often called Ramzi his favourite son, which inflated his ego and made him colder than ever.  When he turned 16, Ramzi's father decided he was to be married off to a female of another tribe in a ceremony that would cement an alliance and cool the growing tensions.

He met the bride on his wedding day and they were married without any hitches. Ramzi never showed any interest towards his wife, however and this lead to an unhappy marriage that never bore children. As was common in tribal culture, Ramzi also took on several other wives in political marriages, none of whom he showed any interest in after the wedding day. Instead, Ramzi enjoyed hunting, horse riding, fighting wars for the tribe and was rumoured to have relationships with other men, which is frowned upon in Sahar culture.

Shortly after his 30th birthday, Ramzi's father died and the head of the family was passed to an older half-brother. Ramzi began facing intense lines of questioning from his family, who had previously stayed silent while his father was alive, as to why he had not yet bore a child. Although at first waved off as impotency, he was eventually accused of homosexuality, which he strongly denied. Due to his noble blood within the Sahar tribe, he was given two choices - face death publicly or quietly live in exile for the rest of his life. Despite choosing the latter, rumours of his alleged homosexuality spread like wildfire and Ramzi was soon forced to escape the entire desert region into the western lands, where he took up mercenary and bodyguard work. He learned common tongue quickly enough and was fluent by the time he was 35, despite speaking with an accent. His darker colour of skin and deadliness with a spear has often seen uneducated people refer to him as an evil demon but problems with race/colour end there, as people of all races can be found in his line of work.

Ramzi joined the White Guards 12 years ago after hearing stories of their prowess on the battlefield. In his earlier days in the organisation, he often fought in the vanguard of several famous battles and was involved in the defence of Belencrest two years ago, during which he was injured. The injury to his knee, mixed with his older age, has lead to Ramzi taking the backseat in the White Guards, doing work in the administration, training of new recruits or doing rounds in the guard. He will not hesitate to fight if provoked but is also careful not to get himself killed.

Ramzi's dedication to the White Guard, as well his older age and experience, has led to a certain respect developing around his character among the younger or green-eared White Guards. He is vague when the subject of his own past come up, thinking of his time spent amongst the Sahar as an old life, one he does not wish to dwell on.

**Goals/Fears**

Ramzi, at this point in his life, is looking forward to a retirement when he reaches his 60th year. Although he has already amassed a small fortune, he is going to try and squeeze as much money out of his line of work until he retires to a southern city, far from the dangers of mercenary work. Ramzi fears an early death. He holds his own life in high regard and looks forward to the day he can hang up his spear and armour for retirement. A particular fear he holds is that someone will discover his homosexuality, which he has gone to great lengths to keep secret.

**Mastery**

_Long Weaponry:_ Ramzis speciality is with longer weapons, such as spears, pikes and javelins. In his youth, he often used feeble wooden spears and javelins but as an older man, he finds himself turning the previously clumsy pike into a weapon of deadly accuracy and defensive capability. Spears and javelins are still occasionally used but the pike is now Ramzis weapon of choice.   

**Equipment**

Ramzi is usually equipped in lighter armour, as the heavier armour bears a lot of pressure on his weaker shoulders. His pike is 10 foot long and is usually carried casually over one shoulder. It is not a weapon for strapping to ones back. A short hunting knife, a remnant from his year in the deserts, hangs from his belt for non-combat use. 

**Personality**

Ramzi has grown from a brooding bed of adolescent arrogance into quite a cheerful, friendly older man. His interactions with people are generally quite positive and as shown by the creases in his face, he enjoys laughing and loves life. He is shown to have a serious side in dire moments and in his rare moments of anger, he is said to become reminiscent of his younger self. True love is not something Ramzi has ever experienced, instead preferring short flings with male prostitutes. He has his moments of brooding sadness when reminded of his beloved father or his exile from his family but is never nostalgic when it comes to the past. He is often rather vague when it comes to his past in the desert, preferring not to talk of days gone by. 

**Totem**

Ramzi's totem is a smooth, brown pebble with Sahar markings embedded in the stone. When near water, it begins to lightly glow and pulsate. He often found this useful in the desert, where water sources were few and far between but rarely finds use for it in Belencrest. He keeps it as a memento from his time in the desert and usually doesn't carry it on his person.

can't remember im so sorry

- Name -
Mustafa

- Appearance -

A darker skinned tribesman from the deserts, he stands at five foot seven inches and has a slim stature. His clothing modifies depending on the geography of an area but he usually wears thick walking boots, loose-fitting breeches and a large backpack. His head is wrapped in a rough, white turban that he wears for cultural and practical reasons. If one were to remove it (and survive), they would see brown hair cropped close to his skull and darted with scars from wars in the desert. His eyes are a cold grey that starkly stand out on his brown, clean shaven face. Physically, his skinny frame and short stature make him seem rather unimposing but a frightful scowl and a cold look can make the bravest of thugs step aside. He is armed with a wicked-looking scimitar that hangs from one hip and carries only the bare essentials in his pack - a sleeping roll, some food, a skin of fresh water and small bag of coins.

- Personality -
Mustafa is a serious and impatient man who has little time for simple etiquette such as small talk or silly mistakes. Years spent in the desert have hardened his resolve and his deep dislike for merry-making and horseplay. He cares for few in the world and even fewer care for him. While others in his band would spend their nights drinking and womanising, Mustafa would sip water and watch from afar. He likes to be in control of his senses and mind altering substances have no place in goblet in the evening. His serious and unsocial demeanour can put people off and that's exactly how he likes it. The tribesman's only goal is to collect money for the jobs he does - emotional attachments are not on his agenda.

- Excerpt -
Ten years prior to current day
At the break of dusk, the desert was beautiful. The moon lit up the the miles of dunes and illuminated the way for many travellers. Tucked away behind a dune, a small collection of tents had popped up overnight. Skinny cattle were herded into a temporary corral's next to horses and they watched curiously as the nights events unfolded in the centre of the camp site. The men had huddled around a tiny fire to keep out the cold that had came from the sky so suddenly. Deserts were infamous for their freezing conditions at night and that night was no different.

'Mustafa' said Asama, his mouth full of meat. Several rabbits had been caught by the long legged dogs the men had caught and despite the fact the rabbits had very little meat on them, all men relished them. Mustafa looked up from his meal to his companion. 'Asama?' he said quietly, already tired of the man's boyish antics. 'D'ya wanna hear a joke?' Asama smiled darkly, his teeth stained with the grease of the rabbits. Mustafa glared at him and looked back at his meal. The other men elbowed each other, smiling. Mustafa was a fun target in their childish jokes.

Asama swallowed and then started his joke. 'So a pit-pony walks into a tavern and sighs. The barman asks what's wrong and the pony replies 'My only friend is my mother. What do I do, barman?' The men were giggling now, anticipating the row that would erupt between Asama and Mustafa. Mustafa stayed quiet but only poked at his food. 'So the barman replies 'Your only friend is your mother? That means you have one more friend than Mustafa!' The group of six men burst into laughter while Mustafa clenched his teeth in anger. 'Be quiet' he spoke suddenly and coldly. The men laughed even harder.

Mustafa stood, clutching his half eaten rabbit and glared straight at Asama. 'For two weeks, I have listened to your childish jokes, Asama. They're growing thin and tired, just like my patience' with every word he waved the rabbit leg at Asama over the fire. The laughter amongst the other men quickly died down. 'C'mon, Mustafa, I'm only making the nights go quicker with laughter' giggled Asama. 'Well, it is not funny' growled the angry tribesman. Mustafa sat back down on his log and looked at the men around the fire. He hated every single one of them. Even if they were within the same tribe, they were all horrible to be around. Things grew silent around the fire once more par from the messy sound of the men eating.

'Mustafa, when we get home, maybe we can find you a wife. Or a friend' Asama burst out laughing as he said this joke. The other men did not laugh. They knew better than to provoke his Mustafa's anger any further. Mustafa dropped his rabbit leg to the sandy ground and stood. 'I warned you, Asama!' he snarled. As he done so, he pulled his scimitar from it's sheathe. The smile on Asama's face was quickly wiped off when he saw the scimitar. 'Brother Mustafa, I was only joking. We do not want to fight, do we?' said Asama with a rather passive-aggressive tone. Mustafa quickly stepped around the fire and held the tip of his scimitar to Asama's throat. 'Br-brother, killing our tribesmen is a crime' whimpered a boy behind Mustafa. Asama's eyes bulged as he stared defiantly at Mustafa. 'I dare you, Mustafa' he sneered. 'I bloody dare you'. Mustafa's breathing slowed down slightly and his sword arm dropped to his side. He looked at his boots and murmured 'I'm going to bed'.

And with that, the future mercenary turned his heel and walked into his tent. Curled under the furs and clutching his scimitar, Mustafa cried that night. It was the last time he ever cried. For he knew that all those jabs about his loneliness were true. He had no friends, no lovers and most of all, no family.

Welcome to Santa Sombara
Name/Nicknames: Arman Murphy

Race: Human

Age: 46

Appearance:
yesitshartiganfromsincity

Despite nearing the end of his crooked career in the Santa Sombara Police Department, Arman remains relatively unscathed. Being the all-so careful Irish-Russian-American that he is, the worst injury he has received was a slash across the face by an armed robber addicted to Runez. He stands at a modest 5"9 but as old age catches up with him, he finds the pounds are easier to put on but harder to lose. While still quite skinny, flab has replaced muscle on his stomach and limbs. Armans clothes bare the look of someone who has stopped caring or has no fashion sense to begin with (probably both). A long, beige coat clings to his stained, white dress shirt. A tie attempts to make him seem more formal but only enchances the "I was probably homeless once" look. 

His trousers are of a boring, dark colour and are tucked in to a pair of heavy, cracked workmans boots that he looks far too old to be wearing. His hair, in his youth a lovely mane of brown, is now showing the same, grey signs of age as his unshaven face. His voice is deep and gravelly due to years of cigarette abuse. Probably the youngest part of Arman's face are his eyes, intelligent and not yet dulled by the concrete jungle. On the surface, he is a downtrodden cop on the wrong side of 40. Within, he has a cunning and selfish mind, concerned with only his own well-being.     

Personality:
When he was lined up for promotion in the police force 15 years ago, the big wigs at city hall praised his no-nonsense attitude to the rising crime rate, his loyalty to the city and commitment to the force. The long fingers of the criminal underworld had tainted even the police department by that point, however and most of the force was in the pocket of one criminal or another. Arman has received bribes, passed on information, advised mobsters and even killed when the money was right. While he does his job on occasion and has assisted mobsters, his loyalty remains firmly with himself and his only drive to assist others is money. Some would describe him has selfish and materialistic for accepting bribes. Others would say he is a cunning genius for playing the politics of the city for his own gain. He personally would describe himself as a guilt-ridden, old, alcoholic who has betrayed his friends, his family and his job for extra money that goes straight into his addictions. In the underworld, he is known among certain circles for being a mercenary who'd do anything for the right amount. In the police force, he is known as one of many veteran crooked cops who spends more time in bars than arresting criminals.

But Arman doesn't care. When alone in his cold, drafty apartment at night or sitting in some seedy bar getting drunk, he can only think about what a failure his life has turned out to be. He never met a girl, he never had kids or did anything good with his life. He no longer cares what his friends or contacts think of him since it is usually the same things he thinks about himself. Crooked, selfish and old.

Bio:
Born on the east coast to a Russian mother and a dead-beat Irish father, Arman spent his childhood like any normal antebellum-era child would. Playing with his friends, going to school, working when he was old enough, falling in love, fighting and then finding purpose in his life. The only girl he ever loved ran off with some ditzy Frenchman to Paris and his mother died when he was in his early 20's. He found no reason to continue living on the East Coast and moved to Santa Somabra. He took the job his father was said to have held and joined the police force. In those early days as a cop, he was naive and wet behind the ears. He still thought cops in that town were good people who protected the citizens from crime. But that changed when he began accepting bribes in his early 30's. Everyone else was doing it, so why not him too? Guilt accompanied these bribes as he realised he was assisting the rapidly rising crime rate by letting criminals go and he fell into the spell of drinking and cigarettes.

He began working closely with his boss, another crooked copper, who had him promoted to a plain-clothes officer to do his dirty work. His boss, who has since gone into retirement, worked closely with local mobsters and Arman was often out assisting their operations. He was giving vast sums of money for these ventures but drowned it all in alcohol and cigarettes to fight off the guilt that gnawed at his conscious. Through his years assisting the police and the mob, he built up an extensive list of contacts and often trades information for money. On the outside, the police force is seen as poorly funded but trying its best to fight back the crime. Newspapers and politicians alike are intimidated by the police to keep the image of being non-corrupt all the while being in the pockets of criminals.

In some ways, you could call the S.S.P.D a gang of loosely-connected criminals, who work for the highest bidder. Most cops are affiliated to some kind of criminal leader but Arman tries not to affiliate himself with anyone for too long (partly for his own safety - crooked cops working for some mob bosses have been known to kill their colleagues working for rivals).   

As of now, Arman is drifting between crime bosses and has recently been working for the police force properly. But the rise of theis new brand of criminals, The Forlorn Disciples, has all levels of society worried and none more than Arman himself.
Chapatrap Member

Arr-Pee

Status

Recent Statuses

Bio

Most Recent Posts
