• Last Seen: 9 yrs ago
  • Joined: 11 yrs ago
  • Posts: 179 (0.05 / day)
  • VMs: 0
  • Username history
    1. Squrmy 11 yrs ago

Status

User has no status, yet

Bio

User has no bio, yet

Most Recent Posts

I'm fine with not making it in, but I'm also curious as to why I didn't. Criticism can always be a good thing, to help me improve my writing skills. I'll totally be creepin' on the IC, too. :P
Well, that's not a bad thing - it's a solid basis for a good story to develop from. I think having character relationships already in place before the RP starts would be a good thing, but I suppose it's not a necessity. :) Do you have a character skeleton in mind? ..Actually, it would probably be a good idea to wait for some more background information from you on the village/its location before we started writing up sheets.
That sounds like the plot of the first few episodes in the first season of the History Channel's TV Show _Vikings_. :P I'm super interested, though - I assume our characters will all be hailing from the same village?
I'm down for this if it kicks off - I've always loved Vikings.
Bump.
Here's an updated/slightly edited version of Jax's CS. I _think_ it's done, now! (Also, a bunch of the old code doesn't work anymore, so sorry for the horrible formatting!) ![enter image description here](http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/236x/48/94/1a/48941aa2f1e9a2d1e7444ba39e0aa728.jpg ) Jax stands at an average height of 5’10”, with olive skin and a relatively smooth complexion. The man’s build is athletic, similar to that of a runner’s: with narrow shoulders and a developed (although wiry) musculature. There’s not a pinch of unnecessary fat upon his form, and it’s clear from his appearance that he makes an effort to keep himself in peak physical condition. His eyes are blue and bright with intelligence (with a slightly oriental look to them), and his shoulder length hair of a similar colour to that of a raven’s feathers is almost always slicked back with the use of a colourless, odourless, custom-made wax - reaching to the nape of his neck when styled in this way. Jackson usually dresses in flexible or free-flowing trousers of some kind (such as riding breeches or cotton leggings), and will always have a pair of hardy work boots covering his feet. His shirts change daily, but are usually long-sleeved. He will also often wear a clearly worn (but well made) long-sleeved leather jacket over the top of whatever shirt he’s wearing, and it’s not uncommon to see a coloured handkerchief of some kind tied round his neck (doubling as a mask, should he need one). **Name:** Jackson “Jax” Harrowstone **Age:** 32 **Guild Band:** The Nimble Hands **Archetype:** Reckless Gambler/Lucky Bastard **Backstory:** Jackson Harrowstone was born a bastard - the product of a travelling Kusagi Merchant’s casual encounter with his mother; an almost coinless seventeen year old woman who made what little she could for herself in one of the Western City-State’s many backalley brothels. His mother’s coworkers had advised that she drink a large amount of tansy tea as soon as she had realised that she was pregnant, but she ignored them - allowing the baby that grew inside her a chance at life that was rarely given to those conceived in similar circumstances. This was the first in a streak of good luck that would follow Jackson in throughout his life. Jax’s childhood was nowhere near as easy or carefree as most, and anyone of a more privileged station who heard of the circumstances of his early years would proclaim, appalled, that he had been robbed of it. This, however, was not the case: although his childhood was not conventional, or spent wrapped up in cotton wool, it was not _stolen_. He never knew his father, but his mother clearly loved him - and as the only child within the four walls of the brothel where his mother lived and worked, he was lavished with a neverending stream of affection and attention from the day he was born. Despite this, he still had to earn his keep (or so said the shady ‘merchant’ who owned the unlicensed back alley whorehouse) - and, from almost the very day he could properly walk (and barely talk), Jackson Harrowstone was put to work about the gritty establishment where his mother was employed. At first, he cleaned - but, by the time he was three and a half, Jax had been taught how to sneak about and thieve, and was stealing from the clients of the establishment while they fucked one of his numerous ‘aunts’. He was barely ever caught, (as the men who were being robbed were often too preoccupied with other, more carnal pursuits), but even when he was no [i]real[/i] harm ever came to him. The matron of the brothel would apologise, with a fabricated smile, giving the toddler a cuff to the back of the head for “being so daring”: then, when the client had left, berated Jax for being caught, and ordered him to practice. The rest of Jackson’s childhood was spent in this way - cleaning and stealing, and lavishing in the affections of his extended, non-blood related family. It was not until he was older (about eleven or twelve) and began venturing out into the wider world beyond the only four walls that he had ever known that he realised that he was.. different. His skin colour was different to the majority of those he saw in the streets, as were his eyes - and he received odd looks from those he did not know who walked past him while he was out on errands, and the words “bastard” and “outcast” were muttered frequently in his direction; words which cut him like a knife once he understood what they meant, but that he would readily embrace in his adulthood. By the time he was fourteen, Jax was a little bit too big to continue earning his keep by pickpocketing his mother’s and aunts’ clients: he could no longer sneak around in such a small space without being detected on a regular basis. Instead, the men who owned the brothel (whom Jax never learned the names of, and had only seen a few times in his life) decided that he would help repay his and his mothers’ debt through conning and outright robbery - or, so he was told, before being taken from his mother’s arms by a pair of mean-looking thugs, and dragged, thrashing, through the doors of the dirty brothel which had been the only home he had ever known. He was given a tiny room in a dirty inn, and informed that he would be allowed to see his mother once a month _if_ and _only_ if he made enough money to satisfy his employers. Then, the door was slammed and he was left alone until morning. When his door next opened, it revealed a grizzled middle-aged man with calloused fingers and kind, smiling eyes. He shut the door behind him, and sat down on the end of Jax’s tiny bed - pulling a deck of cards out of his top pocket. And so began Jackson’s education in card magic, gambling, and con artistry. He spent the next few years of his life practicing and performing the tricks and routines he was taught, conning innocent people out of their hard-earned coin with the skill of a seasoned swindler: and feeling no remorse for doing so because of the slurs that had been muttered in his direction from the very day he had first stepped foot outside his mother’s brothel. He earned his employers a great deal of money, and was happy to part with the majority of it so long as he could continue to see his mother. Once his mother died (when Jackson was seventeen), after a few more months of continuing to work and also dealing with his grief, he realised that he no longer _wanted_ to work for somebody else’s gain. So, one day in the middle of his seventeenth year, he arrived on the doorstep of the Adventurers’ Guild Headquarters in his City-State, and, once he was let inside, proceeded to con the seasoned mercs and sellswords out of their hard-earned coin. Then, grinning, he pulled out a dagger and slammed it down in the middle of the table - proposing his intention to join them. He was accepted into the Guild, and never looked back to the gritty side street which had been all he had known for most of his life. After spending a few years learning the ways of the Adventurers’ Guild and working alongside its members, Jackson decided that he wanted to travel. He knew there was more to the world than the City-State where he had spent his youth - his own father had been a Kusagi! As soon as he had enough money saved up to fund his travels, Jax departed - saying farewell to the friends he had made over the last few years, and setting off to make new ones. He moved around a lot between the City-States over the next few years, never staying in one place for too long - doing the odd job (contracted through the Guild Headquarters of wherever he happened to be) to top up his savings whenever he needed to. Jax had been on the road for almost three years when he arrived in Meduzart; the birthplace and historical home of the Adventurers’ Guild. He had only intended to stay for a weeks - at most a month or two - but the weeks blurred into countless months, and the months into years. Soon enough, he forgot that he had only intended to visit - especially whenever he formed his own Band with a few other Guild members, which became known as The Nimble Hands; a group of street performers, pickpockets, thieves and mercenaries who abide by a self-devised code of ethics. He has stayed in Meduzart ever since, his influence within the Adventurers’ Guild growing with every passing year - especially with his Band becoming larger with every passing year. **Skills and Abilities** **Speed/Stealth/Flexibility -** Jackson spent much of his childhood sneaking about his mother’s brothel and moving through small spaces, and did so with relative speed and ease. He also had to do a fair bit of running throughout his teenage years, when he conned the wrong person - and became adept at quickly climbing onto rooftops in order to escape pursuit. He can still move with stealth when necessary, and outrun most people. He’s also quite skilled in the art of rooftop climbing. **Sleight of Hand -** As he’s been using card tricks and other games to con people out of their hard-earned coin for many years, Jackson is incredibly good with his hands. This also doesn’t just apply to the speed with which he can shuffle a deck of cards. He can throw knives with blurring speed and a fair degree of accuracy, and is able to hold his own in a fistfight. **Intelligence -** Jackson’s upbringing has shaped him into quite a shrewd man, although he may appear impulsive. He (usually) thinks things through before he does them, and can quite often be a source of original ideas. **Charisma -** Jax has a way with people, and whether it be through flashing a smile or dropping a witty pick-up line, he’s usually able to chat his way out of many a sticky situation. **Equipment** **Throwing Knives -** Jax carries a number of well-balanced throwing knives of a high level of craftsmanship upon his person at all times, which can usually be seen hanging from hooks on his sturdy leather belt. **Shortsword Revolver Blade -** Perhaps Jax’s most prized possession is a custom-made revolver blade, with a significantly shorter blade than most - to comply with his more close-range, quick-moving fighting style. The weapon’s ability to fire bullets is extremely helpful, and has saved Jackson’s life on more than a few occasions - by helping to allow him to get some distance between himself and large numbers of unexpected enemy reinforcements. It, also, hangs from his belt - although it rests within a sheath made from hardened leather.
I do have a CS to finish, yes - which I will get on to at some point. >.> I've been really busy the past few days/weeks.
> I know I've been around and kept in contact through a Chatroom Rtron and a few others from various rps use. Though with these nice CSes, I'm tempted to drag a few of you into the accepting ones like Relics or a future one. :p Go on? :P
I got a post up. I'm not sure if I jumped the guns by Sean seeing the advancing Germans (and I apologize if I did). I may have also over exaggerated their threat to the British defences, but as I'm not very knowledgeable in modern warfare, you'll have to forgive my ignorance (if Sean is completely wrong for seeing them as a large threat, I'll edit my post). If there's any issues, lemme know. :)
Sean had continued to fire into the lines of descending Fallschirmjager - having emptied at least another four clips of ammunition into the helpless Germans before he decided to take a break. He wiggled his way back from the sandbags, handing his bren off to Private McKeon in return for Private Penfold’s rifle - the latter taking up the former’s position, a clip of bren ammunition already held in his hands in readiness. “You lads hold down the fort here, now - I’ll be back in a moment, jus’ goin’ t’have a look at how the other sections are doin’.” The Irish Corporal rose from his prone position into a low crouch, moving carefully along the lines of sandbags that marked the end of the official British defences. As Sean cautiously made his way down the defences in the direction of where Sergeant Harris’ men were supposed to have been, he made a mental note of how many men were left in his section, clasping their shoulders as he moved past them, murmuring quiet words of encouragement. There were one or two men out of action, but they were not critically wounded, and being treated by medics (both British and Greek). The roar of bofor fire still filled his ears, along with the chatter of machine gun fire and the occasional screaming sound as planes rushed overhead - some of them British, but mostly German. Once he thought he had travelled far enough in the direction of the Southernmost AA Gun, (now in a position between his own, central section and the unmanned Southern defences), Sean set himself up against a pile of sandbags, ensuring that he kept his head low as he surveyed the violent, grizzly scene before him. There were dozens of dead (or dying) Fallschirmjager littering the Cretan soil before the British defensive lines, the majority of whom had been hit before they had even reached the ground. German weapons caches were also dotted about the battlefield, thus far abandoned because the men that had been responsible for them had been shot before they had had a chance to arm themselves. [i]Some of the Greeks could do with those - MP40s would be better than fuckin’ muskets, even if they were made by jerry.[/i] Harris’ section had moved into cover in a cluster of Greek vegetation, and seemed to be receiving some fire from a group of Germans who had managed to attain for themselves an MG42. As he was surveying the position of the ANZAC’s section, movement from the North caught his eye - it was the Greek’s section, and [i]they were charging from behind the defences, too[/i]. It was a risky move, now that the Germans were beginning to regroup, and Sean felt a wave of relief wash over him when they weren’t all torn to shreds. Still, a few of them were pinned down by German fire, and their defences had been left unmanned - if the Fallschirmjager managed to push forward and claim the bofors, it definitely wouldn’t be good news for the RAF stationed on Crete. A plan formed in his mind, Corporal Gardiner began to make his way back to the central defences; and that was when he saw them. A platoon of roughly forty Fallschirmjager were moving toward the British lines in smaller squads, dashing between areas of cover. They were moving boldly, and covering ground quickly - assisted by the suppressive fire of an MG42 somewhere in the brush behind them. Sean knew that the Fallschirmjager were formidable fighters, and that his ragtag platoon had only been able to hold them back thus far because they had been disoriented and unable to properly defend themselves, separated from their weapons as they had been. [i]These[/i] men, however, were in a large group (when paratroopers worked best), and armed with a mixture of the best weapons available to the Nazi war machine. If they were allowed to continue forward unmolested, they would tear the sections out in the open to shreds, and be capable of securing the drop zone; which meant nothing but bad news for the Brits. Moving quickly, he made his way back to the central defenses - catching the attention of the section because of his urgent movements. “There’s a fuckin’ platoon of ‘em, movin’ forward - we need t’do somethin’ to stop ‘em, or the other sections are done for.” He met the gaze of a fellow British Corporal, speaking directly to him now. “Get some of the Greeks to grab the weapons caches closest to the sandbags; we’re gonna need some extra firepower. Get some fire down on Jerry when you see ‘im; make sure the bastard has to fight for every inch of ground he gains. I’m goin’ to find the Lieutenant.” The Corporal hurried off again, rushing to the Northernmost bofor, where he knew he’d find Lieutenant Hedger. Time was of the essence; every second that bullets were not being put into the torrent of Fallschirmjager falling from the skies, the lower the likelihood of a British victory in Crete became. The defences here, like in the South, were all but abandoned - which would likely serve to infuriate the CO of the other platoon, whom Sean had seen berating Myles before he had gone back to commanding his own men. He inwardly hoped that he was more competent than Hedger; the British would need intelligent officers in order to prevail. “Lieutenant, sir!” Sean near yelled the words as soon as he was within earshot, quickly moving down into the cover of the more thickly piled sandbags round the AA Gun. “There’s a big group of Germans movin’ up - they must’ve landed in the forest, and grouped up there. About a platoon worth of ‘em, I’d say - and movin’ fast. What’s to be done about t’other sections? If they’re left out there, jerry’ll tear him t’shreds as soon as they’re seen.” He paused, eyeing the drunken man with barely concealed distaste. “We’ve gotta act fast, sir - what’s your orders?”
© 2007-2024
BBCode Cheatsheet