The CharacterFull Name:
Fough PlacePatron or Trick Lord:
Distinguishing Features:Overall Personality:
His skin is a medium tan from days spent hunting. His features are a bit narrow with thin lips. His eyes are a light brown that contrasts against his short dark brown hair. His build is about average; standing at five foot two inches and weighing a bit more than usual due to his muscles. His hands are calloused from work leaving them rough. He has a small v shaped branding on his left shoulder.
He wears loose common clothing and gloves to protect his hands. His shoes are well worn and caked in dried mud almost always. The only thing of real value he has is his jacket. Made from the hide of a stantler the tanned leather keeps him warm with the fur being worn on the inside. His bow is almost never off his shoulder and his quiver is always worn at his hip.
Quiet and complacent Brent does mostly what he is told. Because of the way he was raised he will not act out on his own even if he desires to. Being complacent has kept him alive and it is probably the most difficult obstacle he will have to overcome. History:
Brent is kind but does not show it often. Kindness is a form of weakness and showing it could get someone hurt. He is not overly fond of violence though he does understand it. He is willing to become violent if it came down to it but would much rather walk away. While Brent does not fear being kind he fears others kindness towards him. In his experience people being kind to him normally meant they want something in return.
Brent was born into the poaching business. His Great-grandfather had been a hunter but in recent years his family had turned towards the other side of the law. They owned their own poaching business called Vough. A play on the word Fough and venison. It operates as mostly a butcher business hiding behind a facade of legal meats while selling illegal meats and skins behind closed doors.RP Sample:
As long as Brent could remember he was taught how to hunt and kill. It was a second nature to him by the time he was ten. However, he never felt the desire to kill. Rather often times when told to go practice he'd just end up staring at pokemon as they passed him by. Understanding and wanting to are two different things. He was taught right and wrong and part of him felt this desire to stop poaching.
It wasn't all hunting, however. Fough was a large place covered in soot and the resounding echoes of metal against metal. He would often find himself playing with the metal workers children. Coming home covered in ashes and dirt while laughing about being tackled. His father would often take and use grumpig blatters to make temporary balls for them to play with. It rarely lasted long but it kept the children out of the adult's hair when they were not forced to help them.
Brent's father was a rugged man by all accounts. He taught Brent as he himself was taught and demanded respect of him. When Brent tried to convince his father to let him leave poaching behind he turned to beating him into submission. With heavy hands, he would never forget he was beaten. Then branded with a V for good measure so he would always know his place would be there as a poacher. He tried very few more times to go against his father but eventually fell into complacency burying his feelings.
A gift for his eighteenth birthday was given to him by his mother. She tanned the hides and also worked as a seamstress. So a fine coat made from a stantler he had killed made the perfect gift from her. Months of hard work to make it into something he could wear to work on cold winter nights.
His father took in other poachers trying to keep the place somewhat organized. However, these other poachers often were cruel towards Brent. Often times playing pranks on him by making him walk into Ekans dens among other things. Their kindness was a prelude to them asking him to do something that even if he wanted to refuse couldn't.
He grew up always silently hoping they would get caught. Hoping to escape his father and a business he did not want. He grew to realize however he knew nothing else. Even if he escaped what would he do? He would hunt because, in the end, that is all he is. A hunter forced onto the wrong side of the law.
Brent frowned as he looked down the shaft of his arrow. The metallic tip pointing at the neck of his prey. His breathing slowed as he focused making sure his body would move as little as possible. He raised the tip straight up above the neck anticipating the arrows curved path. With one last inhale he let his arrow fly feeling the feathers just barely brush his fingers as it moved forward. The sound of the string echoing in his ear even as he lowered his ash wood bow.
The tip disappeared into the brown fur of the sawsbuck. A startled cry disappearing as blood began to fill its throat. It bucked slightly before collapsing its body spasming trying to stay alive even as the air left its body. Brent watched with a solemn expression. The regalness it had once had was gone in an instant and one side of its neck was being stained red.
Brent looked up at the changing trees. It was strange how the redness of blood somehow matched. Autumn was Brent's favorite season probably because it made his world feel surreal in moments like these. The branches shook lightly dropping more leaves upon the already coated ground as well as his dead prey. Pressing cheek to bow he watched the body silently for a long moment.
He then stood the sound of his shoes on crisp leaves breaking the surrealness of it all. It was all very real; he was a killer who took the lives of others to satisfy the hungry and rich masses. He reached down pulling lightly at the arrow till it came free the blood bubbling up all the more now that it was unplugged. The body twitched slightly as its nerves were set off and as always it sent a chill down his spine. He would have to dress it and take it home under the cover of darkness. His day was far from over even though he already wanted it to be.
He got to work rolling the sawsbuck onto its back. Then he unrolled his tool kit of knives the blades gleaming with the care he has put into them. He took out a thin blade first cutting open its skin starting at the base of the neck and going all the way down to the groin. He peeled back the skin at the neck using the knife to cut through its esophagus then he lay the blade aside reaching for a larger blade more akin to a saw. He cut through the ribs pulling them apart allowing him access to its innards. He then cut the pelvis bone as well. He grabbed the esophagus and began pulling everything down and out tearing out the anus last.
He rolled the sawsbuck back over so the blood would pool outside the body. He then began taking some organs; the lungs made good traveling flasks. The heart was a rare delicacy for some and considered barbaric. So both fetched good prices. As he examined the organs he noticed the womb. Heavy and bloated with an unborn child. His gaze fell wondering if he had taken two lives. Taking a much smaller knife in hands he began carefully opening the womb to reveal the child inside. Breathing and fragile not quite ready to be born but has to be. His heart ached looking at wondering if he should take it home. He reached out pulling it free and just holding it against his chest listening to its frantic cries for warmth and food.Weapon and Armour Choices:
Leather armour - Short Bow - 25 arrowsIntended Aptitudes:
Bows & Crossbows
Hunting & TrackingThe PlayerName:
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