Avatar of Oak7ree
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    1. Oak7ree 11 yrs ago

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Bio

Shortly.

Just a regular university student, majoring in hospitality and tourism. Also a history and trivial knowledge nerd, aircraft aficionado, occasional trekker and a D&D player.

Most Recent Posts

@gcold, @Leidenschaft Finally, I think my character is ready. I have expanded his biography to include a reason for his name and updated his skills list and equipment. I have slightly altered the wording in the Skills section to make it more sensible.


And I am also waiting for a response, as I have tweaked my character.
Here's my character.



@Leidenschaft I have done editing now. Character should be better now.

I must say, I am intrigued. Perhaps I try an Imperial bard who has been mistaken for a mercenary and ended up in the conflict. Something like Felix Jaeger or Dandelion.
You had me at Lovecraftian! May I jump in?
Fourth week on the road, and Ser Gyles Hawthorne's mood was as bad as it might get. I am getting too old for long trips, it seems. But there are darkspawn to be killed, and loot to be gathered, so I can't just whimper out of this opportunity, he thought. He was holding a palaver with one of his men, a scout named Harding, who hailed from Ferelden. Gyles' company had stopped marching and most of the men were eating supper, a soup with deer meat, mushrooms and roots in it.

"The Tevinter's border fort is not so far away, commander. A couple of hours ride from here" scout Harding said to Gyles. "There the Wardens should be."

"Let us hope so. I'd like to have some shelter and warm fireplace after few weeks of tenting in the wilds" Gyles said mildly. "Get some supper and get back to the formation, Harding, and send out Michael. It's his turn." It had been weeks since he and his company of about fifty men had seen a village, and it had had a poor brothel. Along the way to the north towards the Tevinter territory he had recruited about fifty men, all from different nations and villages. Most were Fereldan and some were from Orlais. A couple of the recruits were even from the Free Marches or Rivain, but luckily all of them were capable soldiers and knew which end of a sword to hold.

At first, they had resented and distrusted each other, but the during the past few months they had been together the men had grown bonds between them that only soldiers knew, and Gyles for happy for that. Gyles had noticed that if a man fought not for himself but for his unit and his comrades, even a small company could hold its ground against a great enemy army. Of course, the company also needed training and drilling beyond measure, and supplies also helped. But Gyles had all of his trust placed on his men.

After the meal, they packed their goods and started to march forwards, and in few hours the company reached the border fort. A young man, apparently in his early twenties, appeared at the top of the gatehouse. "Halt!" he shouted to Ser Gyles, who was riding as the first man of the company "Who are you, and on what business?"

"The name's Gyles Hawthorne of Ferelden, and remember to add a ser when you address me if we converse later. I heard that the Wardens would need some assistance, and that they would pay handsomely those who helped them. I sent my answer to your commander few months ago, but my company and I were slightly delayed by a small battle in Orlais."

"I see. Wait for a moment, I'll go to confirm from my captain" the young man said, and in a matter of seconds he was gone.

About fifteen minutes later the gates opened, and the company entered the fort. Gyles glanced around, and noticed a circle around a young elven Grey Warden. He jumped from his destrier's back and walked to the group. "Who's in command here, Warden?"
David lowered his gun, but didn't yet put it away. He let himself to relax a bit. This guy evidently could stay calm, or at least hide his nervousness. "I'd prefer a bath first, partner, but whatever suits you."

David took his luggage from the hallway and turned to his partner. He had been briefed about this man. A graduate from the American Academy of Dramatic Arts. Recruited few years ago to CIA. David had seen some photographs of him in his several disguises, but now he did have none. "Kenneth Miles, wasn't it?" David asked. He still holding the revolver.
David's taxi stopped in front of Grand Plaza. He stepped out of the taxi, thanked the driver, took his luggage and paid for the ride, giving him a generous tip. David took a breath, pulled out another Cuban cigar, lit it and entered the hotel. It was indeed a grand place, styled in Italian fashion. There should be three rooms for the Agency. He walked to the receptionist, a middle-aged and tanned figure, and said: "I'd like to check-in. The reservation's should be on Helms."

"Ah, monsieur Lockhart, wasn't it? We've been expecting you." The receptionist replied in English and with only a whisker of French accent. "You didn't see monsieur Pachinko on your way here?"

It was David cue, his password. "No, but I saw a Montgomery in the plane."

The Frenchman offered David a paper to sign and finished the password."That's so bad, monsieur Lockhart. Could you sign this paper? Here and here, please."

David signed the paper quickly with a signature he had practiced just before leaving the States and handed the paper back to the receptionist. "Do you have any mail for me?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. If you wait for a moment I can get you a suitcase a man left with your name on it."

David nodded, and the Frenchman walked away from the desk, returning in few seconds later with a suitcase. "A piccolo will escort you to room 714" he said and handed both the key and the suit case to David.

"Thank you. Your service has been the most excellent so far" David said, heading towards the elevator.

------------------------------

In front of room 714, David gave the piccolo a tip and send him away. After the piccolo had gone, David opened the suitcase he had been provided, and there they were: two Single Action Army revolvers with ammunition. He took one, loaded it and closed the suitcase. It wasn't smart to go a hotel room unarmed as a spy. David had learned his lesson the hard way in Hanoi. He had been shot in a Vietnamese hotel and spent three months in a Australian hospital.

He opened the door and with great speed he jumped to the room, quickly spotting a man. Pointing his revolver at him, David said "You don't look like Eisenhower at all, mister."
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