Post by Dûncariel is Dead. on Jun 21, 2006 19:32:44 GMT -5
Name: Riaan Bek
Age: 24
Species: Human
Role: As in.... the anti-hero thing?
Height: 6'5"
Weight: 223 (lbs.)
Hair: Black, long, wears it in a tail at the nape of his neck.
Eyes: Green
Gender: Male
Handiness: Right for practically anything, but he can shoot well with his left.
Identifying marks: Tattoo on his left palm -- the Infinity sign
Homeworld: Whatever the heck they call the FFVII world. Born in Midgar.
Alignment: Neutralish
Typical clothing: Black bomber-style jacket thing, with a grey sleeveless tunic underneath, and long black pants (basically like slacks), and sneakers.
Weapon: Guns.
Magic user or not: Not.
Inventory: Guns, a phone for emergencies or whatever, because he doesn't really use it to talk to people, and a pocket-knife.
Possessions: A light-built motorcycle that was mostly built for speed and not defense, with side holsters for his rifle and shotgun.
Weapons: A variety of guns -- pistol that looks rather like a Colt, but with less kick; sniper rifle type gun, modified for extra range; sawed off shotgun, that's basically just that -- simple and sweet. A person can never have too many guns.
Personality: A good word to describe him would be fell. He doesn't have much personal regard for others, or for himself. He's morbid and sarcastic, and thinks very little of himself, a la Sydney Carton. Basically your solitary, open-mouth-insert-foot punk, with a bit of a death wish.
Skills:
--Emotional strength: Because his mental status is so fatalistic, he's practically fearless.
--Physical strength: He's quick, reflex-wise. Which is great if all you have are guns.
--Skill: He fights with total abandon, and it's practically the only part of life that he gives it his all, so he's good at it. Guns or fists, whatever.
Weaknesses:
--Emotional weakness: Because he's always so down on himself, he tends to have random kicks of depression.
--Physical weakness: Does running his mouth off at the most inopportune times count? If not, he's not incredibly strong, because his build is fairly light.
--Something you can't do very well: He's no good at all in close combat. That's the problem with your specific weapon being a gun.
History: He's immensely bitter about his past for reasons known only to himself, mostly because he's not very forthcoming about his history. He grew up on the streets of Midgar, running with a sort of street gang until he was old enough to handle a job. He works as something like a dock-loader, but without the docks. Not quite sure what that's called... Owes a certain debt to one Brieze that he incurred for not knowing how to hit someone properly, which rankles a bit, but that's life.
Family members (if known): None
Portrait (if you have one): Tried to draw one, and discovered that I can't. His motorcycle looked pretty cool, though.
Face and hair are right, clothes are totally off... but whatever.
And again. Didn't get his face, but the clothes and the posture are pretty much perfect. Ignore the random comments... *grins*
SAMPLE POST:
There's a certain cold that tends to seep into your bones when the night reaches its apex that's very difficult to shake. Riaan Bek, hands for the moment deep in his pockets, sat on his bike on a rutty backroad a mile or so outside of Midgar, watching his breath rise in clouds illuminated by the light of a moon just rising over the treetops. He shivered, blew into his hands, and kickstarted his bike, gearing up as it accelerated under the constant pressure of his foot, and took off down the little road toward the city.
There wasn't much on his mind as he accelerated through the tight curves, just the feeling of the adrenaline coursing through his veins as he negotiated the narrow winding road. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. This, he thought, for once in his life content, is what it means to be free. No people around to compare his screwed up life to, no questions to answer, and no dateline to meet. Just the wind in his hair and his bike beneath him. Freedom was good.
Age: 24
Species: Human
Role: As in.... the anti-hero thing?
Height: 6'5"
Weight: 223 (lbs.)
Hair: Black, long, wears it in a tail at the nape of his neck.
Eyes: Green
Gender: Male
Handiness: Right for practically anything, but he can shoot well with his left.
Identifying marks: Tattoo on his left palm -- the Infinity sign
Homeworld: Whatever the heck they call the FFVII world. Born in Midgar.
Alignment: Neutralish
Typical clothing: Black bomber-style jacket thing, with a grey sleeveless tunic underneath, and long black pants (basically like slacks), and sneakers.
Weapon: Guns.
Magic user or not: Not.
Inventory: Guns, a phone for emergencies or whatever, because he doesn't really use it to talk to people, and a pocket-knife.
Possessions: A light-built motorcycle that was mostly built for speed and not defense, with side holsters for his rifle and shotgun.
Weapons: A variety of guns -- pistol that looks rather like a Colt, but with less kick; sniper rifle type gun, modified for extra range; sawed off shotgun, that's basically just that -- simple and sweet. A person can never have too many guns.
Personality: A good word to describe him would be fell. He doesn't have much personal regard for others, or for himself. He's morbid and sarcastic, and thinks very little of himself, a la Sydney Carton. Basically your solitary, open-mouth-insert-foot punk, with a bit of a death wish.
Skills:
--Emotional strength: Because his mental status is so fatalistic, he's practically fearless.
--Physical strength: He's quick, reflex-wise. Which is great if all you have are guns.
--Skill: He fights with total abandon, and it's practically the only part of life that he gives it his all, so he's good at it. Guns or fists, whatever.
Weaknesses:
--Emotional weakness: Because he's always so down on himself, he tends to have random kicks of depression.
--Physical weakness: Does running his mouth off at the most inopportune times count? If not, he's not incredibly strong, because his build is fairly light.
--Something you can't do very well: He's no good at all in close combat. That's the problem with your specific weapon being a gun.
History: He's immensely bitter about his past for reasons known only to himself, mostly because he's not very forthcoming about his history. He grew up on the streets of Midgar, running with a sort of street gang until he was old enough to handle a job. He works as something like a dock-loader, but without the docks. Not quite sure what that's called... Owes a certain debt to one Brieze that he incurred for not knowing how to hit someone properly, which rankles a bit, but that's life.
Family members (if known): None
Portrait (if you have one): Tried to draw one, and discovered that I can't. His motorcycle looked pretty cool, though.
Face and hair are right, clothes are totally off... but whatever.
And again. Didn't get his face, but the clothes and the posture are pretty much perfect. Ignore the random comments... *grins*
SAMPLE POST:
There's a certain cold that tends to seep into your bones when the night reaches its apex that's very difficult to shake. Riaan Bek, hands for the moment deep in his pockets, sat on his bike on a rutty backroad a mile or so outside of Midgar, watching his breath rise in clouds illuminated by the light of a moon just rising over the treetops. He shivered, blew into his hands, and kickstarted his bike, gearing up as it accelerated under the constant pressure of his foot, and took off down the little road toward the city.
There wasn't much on his mind as he accelerated through the tight curves, just the feeling of the adrenaline coursing through his veins as he negotiated the narrow winding road. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. This, he thought, for once in his life content, is what it means to be free. No people around to compare his screwed up life to, no questions to answer, and no dateline to meet. Just the wind in his hair and his bike beneath him. Freedom was good.
