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DancesWMonstersHere you are. I hope Bowman does not disappoint.
NAME: Morton Bowman
GENDER: Male
AGE: 39
APPEARANCE: Standing at six feet even, Mort is sturdily built, broad-shouldered and strong of arm. Though bald-headed, he sports a black goatee and a remarkable criss-cross scar across his face, but his eyes are commonly hidden beneath darkened spectacles. He wears a number of layers of clothes, including a black collared shirt, a blue guardsman's coat, and a green overcoat. Black greaves, gauntlets, and pants complete the ensemble.
BACKGROUND: To Mort, his early life feels like a dream. He can scarcely remember the specifics, only shapes, colors, and feelings. He recalls long days of green grass and trees, blue skies, and the weight of his weary head when the horizon turned orange and the clouds pink. Never did he know stillness, instead a constant stream of motion, but he knew safety in the shadow of his father. It had been a big shadow, its shade loving, but growing smaller over time. After days or even weeks of moving, he and his father would return, for at the end of the day, no matter where they wandered, they had a home. They were days of activity in peace, and Mort supposed it was during those years that he got acquainted with the feeling of a bow in his hand. But like all dreams, that time came to an end.
Bandits attacked the city. They pillaged it and set it to flame, killing those who didn't fall in line. When they were gone, the people began to rebuild. The duchess of the region, whose manor lay inside the city, promised that it would never happen again and consolidated her control. She enacted strict restrictions and increased security, conscripting capable citizens to become part of the militia. Mort was among there number, and a a soldier of the militia honed his skills with the bow dramatically. He specialized as a sniper, striking from afar with a longbow, and he took pride in using his skills to keep the city safe. But the militia didn't just secure the city from outside threats. Mort began to grow disenchanted with the militia as time and time again it received orders to use force against the city's own citizens, and those of the region. All the while, the duchess grew richer and more powerful, her critics and political enemies alike going silent. People fought and starved in the streets. Things were bad, and they could not continue.
It didn't take long for Mort to question the duchess' authority. He began to snoop around, trying to find evidence of corruption, but he was caught in the act and arrested for insubordination. When brought before the Duke he was given the chance to recant, but instead Mort attempted to fight his way free. Instead he was defeated by his militia comrades, men and women he'd known for years, and the duchess herself carved an X into his face before ordering his execution. On the way to the prison, however, Mort's father ambushed his captors and slew them. Together they hatched a plan, and on the day of Mort's execution, his father marched to the gallows in his stead. When the Duchess appeared to announce his sentence, Mort planted an arrow in her eye from a roof across the plaza. Father and son planned to escape together in the ensuing chaos, but the daring rescue went awry and his father was wounded. Faced with the prospect of dying alongside his father, Mort fled at his bidding, and ran far, far away.
Going by 'Bowman', he took work as a mercenary in a far-away land. He employed his skills for money to survive, eventually winding up as one member of an escort for a merchant caravan headed toward Fero Province. After spending a few days there the caravan prepared to return, and as usual Mort followed a ways behind it. It was on that return trip that Mort witnessed the Beast. Through his binoculars he caught incomplete glimpses of the thing as it tore the caravan to pieces. He knew that he should try to fight it, but instead he chose to save his own skin and flee back toward Fero. He warned the people of the horrific Beast, but unable to describe it in more detail, he couldn't stop others from going out and never coming back. Since then, Bowman became a common face in the province, a reliable hunter when not addled by drink. Ten years he regretted his second act of cowardice, awash in loathing and guilt, always wishing that he could settle the score with the Beast that came to symbolize his own failure but never daring to. When at long last the crown could stand isolation no more, Mort volunteered to join the expedition. This time, he thought, he did not value his life so much that he would turn away. This time, Mort promised, he would take the long shot. He would accomplish the mission, or die trying.
MOTIVATION: To kill the Beast, or die trying.
GEAR: Blackeye Longbow, binoculars, lantern, bedroll, meal haversack (mess kit and ration storage)
GENDER: Male
AGE: 39
APPEARANCE: Standing at six feet even, Mort is sturdily built, broad-shouldered and strong of arm. Though bald-headed, he sports a black goatee and a remarkable criss-cross scar across his face, but his eyes are commonly hidden beneath darkened spectacles. He wears a number of layers of clothes, including a black collared shirt, a blue guardsman's coat, and a green overcoat. Black greaves, gauntlets, and pants complete the ensemble.
BACKGROUND: To Mort, his early life feels like a dream. He can scarcely remember the specifics, only shapes, colors, and feelings. He recalls long days of green grass and trees, blue skies, and the weight of his weary head when the horizon turned orange and the clouds pink. Never did he know stillness, instead a constant stream of motion, but he knew safety in the shadow of his father. It had been a big shadow, its shade loving, but growing smaller over time. After days or even weeks of moving, he and his father would return, for at the end of the day, no matter where they wandered, they had a home. They were days of activity in peace, and Mort supposed it was during those years that he got acquainted with the feeling of a bow in his hand. But like all dreams, that time came to an end.
Bandits attacked the city. They pillaged it and set it to flame, killing those who didn't fall in line. When they were gone, the people began to rebuild. The duchess of the region, whose manor lay inside the city, promised that it would never happen again and consolidated her control. She enacted strict restrictions and increased security, conscripting capable citizens to become part of the militia. Mort was among there number, and a a soldier of the militia honed his skills with the bow dramatically. He specialized as a sniper, striking from afar with a longbow, and he took pride in using his skills to keep the city safe. But the militia didn't just secure the city from outside threats. Mort began to grow disenchanted with the militia as time and time again it received orders to use force against the city's own citizens, and those of the region. All the while, the duchess grew richer and more powerful, her critics and political enemies alike going silent. People fought and starved in the streets. Things were bad, and they could not continue.
It didn't take long for Mort to question the duchess' authority. He began to snoop around, trying to find evidence of corruption, but he was caught in the act and arrested for insubordination. When brought before the Duke he was given the chance to recant, but instead Mort attempted to fight his way free. Instead he was defeated by his militia comrades, men and women he'd known for years, and the duchess herself carved an X into his face before ordering his execution. On the way to the prison, however, Mort's father ambushed his captors and slew them. Together they hatched a plan, and on the day of Mort's execution, his father marched to the gallows in his stead. When the Duchess appeared to announce his sentence, Mort planted an arrow in her eye from a roof across the plaza. Father and son planned to escape together in the ensuing chaos, but the daring rescue went awry and his father was wounded. Faced with the prospect of dying alongside his father, Mort fled at his bidding, and ran far, far away.
Going by 'Bowman', he took work as a mercenary in a far-away land. He employed his skills for money to survive, eventually winding up as one member of an escort for a merchant caravan headed toward Fero Province. After spending a few days there the caravan prepared to return, and as usual Mort followed a ways behind it. It was on that return trip that Mort witnessed the Beast. Through his binoculars he caught incomplete glimpses of the thing as it tore the caravan to pieces. He knew that he should try to fight it, but instead he chose to save his own skin and flee back toward Fero. He warned the people of the horrific Beast, but unable to describe it in more detail, he couldn't stop others from going out and never coming back. Since then, Bowman became a common face in the province, a reliable hunter when not addled by drink. Ten years he regretted his second act of cowardice, awash in loathing and guilt, always wishing that he could settle the score with the Beast that came to symbolize his own failure but never daring to. When at long last the crown could stand isolation no more, Mort volunteered to join the expedition. This time, he thought, he did not value his life so much that he would turn away. This time, Mort promised, he would take the long shot. He would accomplish the mission, or die trying.
MOTIVATION: To kill the Beast, or die trying.
GEAR: Blackeye Longbow, binoculars, lantern, bedroll, meal haversack (mess kit and ration storage)