Howler — Roleplayer Guild

Why not. I am...
Over eighteen.
Interested in any of the following, depending on iterations of theme and characters involved:
Princess x Commoner
Blacksmith's Apprentice x Blacksmith's Daughter
Change
Interested in playing over Kik or PM
Including that Thing you requested. 
Despite years in the profession, the man they called Spiritbreaker steadfastly preferred his own functional terminology over such nonsense as temporal fact. His nights were his days, his evenings his mornings, and if he was being honest his mornings (which were really evenings) were some of his most satisfying hours. Though hardly an easy riser, that groggy span of bruised sunlight gave him time to rouse himself for the coming day (which was really night). It was a busy time, which was as he preferred it, rife with the many little rituals necessary to make man out of monster. There were teeth to brush and hair to comb, a cold shave to refresh and breakfast, God willing, which had a score of new tasks all its own. Eggs to crack, toast to blacken, piping hot Earl Grey to punish impatience. It would be a stretch to say that he enjoyed them--he wouldn't say he enjoyed much of anything, really--but they were a soothing prelude to a day (which was really a night) at work likely filled with an impressively varied number of unpleasantries.

So he wasn't exactly thrilled to have his timetable pushed forward by dear Dreamcatcher's sweet sending.

Taking a moment to accept that yes, it was going to be one of those days, Spiritbreaker sat up and got to work ruining a perfectly good morning for the sake of a woman. A grudging hour and an empty stomach later he was stepping off the tram outside of Saint Augustine's.

While many of the order were inconspicuous in their appearance, Spiritbreaker had never had that luxury. Though he towered above the men and woman around them, almost as broad as any two of them and taller by head and shoulders, it was really his presence that made him stand out in a crowd. There was just something about him that screamed danger and always had, a malaise of unease that set even the most steadfast quaking in their boots. He wondered occasionally what it would be like to blend in, to simply fade into anonymity in a crowd.

Boring, quite likely. He could have done with more boring in his life.

The streetcar was glad to be rid of him and his weight, which was substantial, and it groaned in relief as it set off on its way. Dense and muscular, a heavy man to begin with, he was not helped by the beast of an overcoat. With enough metal woven into it to crush a moderately sized child, it was ironic that he was headed to St. Augustine's where that was actually a source of reasonable concern. He'd considered dispensing with it but decided against it--having proven itself equally useful in protecting him from rain, chill and slavering horrors, the old rag had earned its keep. The Queen might be resting her head at home but a knight needed his armor. Looking the old orphanage over briefly, he fortified himself as best he could for the clamor of children and started forward.

It was going to be a long day.
Looking for a writing sample from you as well, if you'd be so kind.

Appearance:


Name: Sem Taask
Species: Zeltron
Age: 19
Planet of Origin/Birth: Marisk IV
Force Sensitive Y/N: No

Skills/Abilities:- One Shot, One Kill - Sem is a crack shot, and everything that implies. He's been called an idiot savant before and he's alright with that--apparently being an idiot hasn't stopped him from being able to pop an Imp from as far away as is bloody possible.
- Bleeding Heart - Like all Zeltron, Sem is mildly telepathic. While he's able to project his own emotions to a greater or lesser degree, he is unfortunately talented at reading and vicariously experiencing the emotions of others, which is just as awful as it sounds on the battlefield.
- Come and Get Me - Sem may not be the strongest guy around but he's fast and knows how to make himself scarce when the time comes. For a guy in all red, he's really good at the disappearing act when he needs to be.
- The Zeltron Kid - No, that's not what they actually called him, but he spent some formative years putting holes in people from really far away and not getting caught, and as such has some decent urban guerilla skills. One man's serial killer is another man's freedom fighter...
- Play Nice, Guys - Sem's no great shakes with a poem or a speech, but as one can imagine he's a fair hand with keeping up morale. Almost literally compelled to try and smooth things over, he's a smooth talker with a self-deprecating kind of humor that can't help but make the day a little easier.


Equipment:- Blastech A280 Blaster Rifle with modified scope.
- 2 Blastech H30 Holdout Pistols. Shut up, they do they job. 
- Uniform, unmodified
- Whatever type of camouflage best suits the situation and can be scrounged.
- Personal Comm Link
- Rations/survival equipment for one
- Vibroknife


Psychological Profile:
Sem Taask is not a happy camper.

He may seem like it--he does his best to seem like it--but everything about war and everything about being a Zeltron do not go together nicely. Just because you're good at something doesn't mean you should have to do it, but when there's nowhere else to turn sometimes you've got to take one for the team. In Sem's case, he's taking one for the galaxy, or at least it feels like it sometimes. A little bit sensitive about that he's a pretty boy from a race of professional pretty boys, he flirts reflexively in a 'guy next door' kind of way but is actually surprisingly squeamish about getting anywhere with it. If he thinks you're looking he'll put on a good face and crack some joke about how green he is, how sore he is, and get you right back on your way with a little bit better day, but when you're not, well... 

More than a little depressed, he has the unfortunate tendency to talk about other people's problems and bottle up his own, which has had him interacting with a different kind of bottle more than would be healthy if he didn't have two livers trying to keep him sober.

It's a shit job but someone's got to do it, and it's better than the alternative. Besides, why put a bolt in your head when it's a statistical fact that a stormtrooper's got to get it right one of these days.


History:
Marisk IV was a shithole smuggler's moon out in the Outer Rim. Not large enough to be a major haven or in the way enough to be particularly useful, it was good almost entirely for being far enough out of the way that nobody would bother to look for you there. That is, unless you knock over an Imperial supply line and are stupid enough to leave a trap that ISB can follow. Sem would never know who it was that actually brought down the heat, but one day the Imperial landing craft showed up and never left. Anyone that would put up a real fight was smart enough to get the hell off world or to know that it wasn't theirs, and so the moon was occupied and, naturally, oppressed with fairly little resistance. The big wig on the ship set up martial law, the troopers shot first, shot second, kicked you in the ribs a few times when they realized you were still standing and marched on to find some other street rat to kick for answers he didn't have.

A dancer by trade and a prostitute by greed, Sem's mother was actually fairly well reputed on the moon for having a heart of gold and a hot little...well. Popular enough to get by and raise her son after his deadbeat smuggler of a father got himself shot and his ship stolen to strand themselves on the stupid moon, life didn't really change very much for the two of them until a Falleen got rough with her. Sem, around fourteen or fifteen at the time and a moderately accomplished pickpocket, runner and all around good-natured ne'er-de-well, got the smart idea in his head that he would make sure people didn't go around messing up his mom and put a few blaster rounds into his back.

There weren't a lot of big fish on Marisk, and he wasn't one, but there were a lot of medium fish and Sem was barely a minnow. If you catch him in an ironic mood, he'll say that it's funny how Imperial Law probably saved his life--when some of the falleen's friends came by to teach young Sem what happens to people that lit up their buddy, the only thing that stopped them from bashing his brains out was the troopers at the door who bust in at the disturbance and arrested everyone. Sem was 'taken to the infrimary' for his injuries (read: strapped to a gurney until they figured he wasn't going to bleed out) and his mom was taken away to the make-shift holding cells that people went to indefinitely for 'questioning'.

Throwing a zeltron whore into the middle of whatever pissed off scum the Imperials decided to haul in that day/week/month worked out about as well as you'd expect.

She wasn't the same when she came back, and when she put herself out of her misery a little while after healing up neither was Sem. Was it the Empire's fault that shit happened? Probably not. Could they have stopped it? Absolutely. More importantly, he never saw any of those fucking falleen again, and with an axe to grind and nobody to talk you out of it a white target is a white target. Funny thing about it was that it just seemed natural to him to head down to the local fence, get himself a blaster rifle and start picking targets. As a zeltron he knew better than to be anywhere near people when they died--you do not need all that shit in your head, especially if you're the one who made it happen, and he was never that great with a knife anyway. He knew the city, he knew how to run away, and very fortunately he knew how to shoot, which was sort of as much of a surprise to him as anyone else. Not exactly known as a thug or a fighter, it just...clicked.

Like the trigger, when he punched that first hole through the troopers face.

It went on a lot longer than he thought it would. He didn't really have a plan, didn't really know what he was doing other than fighting back. He was--is--just so fucking angry, and if he didn't do something he'd have really lost it. Eventually Marisk IV got to be well known for its resistance snipers. There were copycats, there were idiots, there were little rebellions that got crushed and bigger rebellions that go crushed harder, and if the Imperials were there at first because they were looking for something they stayed because there was still someone out there shooting them.

He wasn't surprised that they caught him, he was surprised that they took so long. Riding suicidal depression like a cruiser in hyperdrive, his glowstick was cracked and leaking--he'd make enough credits for ammunition, food and his narcotics de jour, pick up his rifle, go hunting, later rinse and repeat. One day ISB was waiting at his house and he didn't even bother to fight--he wasn't proud of it, but he surrendered, and truth be told he was happy enough to just let it...end.

It was going to be public with him, they told him after his story. This had gone on long enough, and between him and another three they rounded up earlier they were going to make an example to try and quell this once and for all. They probably would have, too, had the Rebel Alliance not seen a rife recruiting ground when they saw it. They sent in the Uslam Liberators to do what they do best--and they did--and when the smoke cleared he was out of his handcuffs and looking up to a rifle being handed his way. It would be a shame, they were telling him, to waste a trigger finger like that getting killed on some backwater moon. He was smiling when he took the rifle and got to his feet, because he knew they were right. 

At this point, he was at least worth killing on some backwater planet.


Yes, and:Bits Vannin scares the shit out of Sem. The man is crazier than a bag of spukamas and all sorts of not right up there, which plays bloody havoc with Sem's empathy. He feels things, and not good things--not good things about himself, about other people, or about the things he does to other people. Still, the man's as solid as it gets, does his job, and even lightens things up around camp a bit, so what's there to say? Honestly Sem is equal parts afraid and impressed. Whatever it took to get him where he is--and wow must it have been a doozie--he's still standing, still fighting, still killing.

Kinda like Sem. Except more badass.

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