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| Gesthle Gryboun | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Oct 21 2011, 01:19 AM (141 Views) | |
| Gesthle | Oct 21 2011, 01:19 AM Post #1 |
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Unregistered
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FULL NAME: Gesthle Gryboun NICKNAMES:Ges, Gessy SEX: Male.... and yes please MUAHAHA...ha... *cough* AGE: 37 AGE RESEMBLANCE:43. And he hates it if you notice it. RACE: Human OCCUPATION: Freelance ALLIANCE (IF APPLICABLE): Neutral CHARACTER DESCRIPTION (OPTIONAL): Hardass, judgmental, crass, and suspicious. Above all, he has a soft heart for his friends, and his stubborness works for him as much as against. APPEARANCE: Posted Image Gruff, barely gets the chance to shave, and with what God only knows. As he had once seen battle in his early years in the desert, he always keeps his goggles. When riding the Durantem, he uses those goggles to prevent debris from ridding him of sight. His clothes are pretty raggedy, whatever they may be - chances are, and often they are, that he wears short sleeved shirts with blue jeans and engineer boots. HEIGHT:6"1' WEIGHT:163 ITEMS: Goggles, odds and ends like tools and nails, bits, bolts, nuts, bandages. He also has his ship, the Durantem. Having only a picture of it does not in full describe it. In his picture, it's depicted as being sleek and shiny, but the issue lies in the year in which it was drawn. As of now, although it is still speedy and misses components to fire it's on-board weaponry, it is rusty and breaks down on occasion. Posted Image WEAPONS: A tall, three pronged spear. Not necessarily a trident, his spear consists of a large blade fixed to the end with two barbs protruding at an angle from the base of the main blade. In addition to this, he holds a revolver and random ammo stored in his ship. ELEMENTS: None. SKILLS AND TECHNIQUES: There are no special techniques that he utilizes. He is superior in pole-arm combat, and has deadly aim by either throw or firearm. He was taught and self taught in the ways of mechanics, and knows almost every way around a technological problem. If catching the eyes of women were a skill, this would also be here. Womanizing is his pastime, as long as Grace allows him time (read History). HISTORY: Once upon a time, a child named Gesthle had made his way into the world. Born in a homely home in the midst of a field of wheat and barley - back when the settlements weren't established in those regions - the young mechanic found life without a mother to be grueling. She had died of illness when he was five, and he had loved her dearly. His father, although not the greatest of role models, was the best thing he had and taught him as much as he could about life and the things in it. These things were not so grand, as his father pointed out on many occasions. Many years were spent teaching the boy how to properly build a hoverboard from industrial magnets, how to repair vehicles, proper voltage for conducting energy for certain mechanical devices, how to stab a guy and kill a deer from yards away. It came time that one day a patrol came by with a draft notice. He never saw his father or the field again, and only remembered with fondness the father that took him to the markets in Raven Village to look at the passing freighters. After seeing battle in Kimal Desert and gaining personal use of the two manned (and broken) scout ship Durantem, he wandered as a Freelancer, gaining odd jobs and assasination requests, bodyguard duty and charity work. His conscience always held him firmly, but so did his empty pocket. He ****d and drank, smoked and womanized. His days of searching for himself all ended one day when he met Grace. Gesthle had gone to find his father one day on the southern plains, but the house and the field were gone, replaced by - and the irony shocked him - a mechanical depot for broken down vehicles. His father had often taken him to the sea where they owned a small cove with fishing material in it, so he ventured to the coast in search of it. Instead of finding the cove, he found a child. She was just a little girl with orange eyes, washed up on the shore and clutching a small piece of wood. Her pulse was slow, but manageable. Taking her limp form to a nearby hotel in the village, he rented a room and put her to bed. As he nursed her back to health and finally got her talking again, he found her parents were gone, most likely dead, and that her name was Grace. She had no one to care for her. Leaving her in the street outside the hotel, he made his way to New Haven. At least... That's what he had hoped to do. But when she followed him, he knew that his life would change forever. Taking her into his arms, he made a new life for himself. That what he did, he did for Grace, and every penny he earned from his jobs were to take care of the both of them. Teaching her what he knew about mechanics and using weapons were easy enough, as she was a faster learner than he could ever have dreamed to be. He was old, but Grace created in him a purpose. A purpose he would not understand until a few months later, when life for the both of them took another turn... To be continued.... ^_~ |
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| Gesthle | Oct 21 2011, 01:29 AM Post #2 |
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Unregistered
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FULL NAME: Antimi One (AHNTEEMEE OWNEE) NICKNAMES: Antimione (ANTI-MY-OH-KNEE), Aunty. SEX: Female AGE:59 AGE RESEMBLANCE: 26 RACE:Human Genome Experiment OCCUPATION: Thief/Assassin/Bodyguard CHARACTER DESCRIPTION: Cruel, but not heartless; headstrong, but not reckless; careless, but not spiteful; patient, but not boring. What's not to love? APPEARANCE: Tall and foreboding, her hair black with red highlights, her body adorned with black cloth and her legs with tight black leggings and knee-high boots; behind the glasses, her eyes burn a furious orange like a savanna sunset. Posted Image HEIGHT:'5"9 WEIGHT: 140 ITEMS: Utility belt, desert eagle, dirk, poison vile, makeup, glasses. WEAPONS: Desert Eagle, dirk, poison. ELEMENTS: Neutral SKILLS AND TECHNIQUES: She was trained in the art of Qai Chun Do, a martial art created a hundred or so years prior. Her experience is rather vast, and she can move quicker than most. Some would say it's a shame what she puts her use to with such a humbling and amazing art. Along the way, she picked up the use of pistols, namely the one she stole during a bounty hunt from a gunslinger. The shaft is engraved with a black dragon, and it is used fairly often in operations that call for run-in, run-out routines. She's very good with sniping at long ranges, but she doesn't try this often. Her dirk is used in situations where her hands cannot be utilized at the moment, such as cutting free of bonds, for instance. As for her knowledge of poison, it was a natural talent she picked up on the way - a form of deadly alchemy. She can construct various types of poisons, either for dipping her dirk in, encasing in her bullets, or simply dropping in food and drinks. It has come in handy on numerous occasions, ranging from stealth assassinations, to simple fast-acting sleeping drugs. HISTORY: It began 45 years ago as a genome experiment. A scientist used his own daughter, Helen, as a prototype for a new type of chemical called "Antimi" which had been identified in historical documentation as an antigen for a series of degenerative diseases including AIDS. Building upon this work, Helen's father along with a specialized team of military scientists were able to do more than simply restrict degeneration of various diseases, but also to extend lifespan, protect the bloodstream against innumerable viruses and hazardous chemicals, and vastly slow down the processes of aging and dying tissue. Helen, who was 14 at the time, was not a part of the experiment under free will. Rather, because of the command of the military under power at that time, her father did not visualize any negative consequence as he promptly knocked her out with chloroform and had the scientists prep her for injection. It was ironic then that, shortly after, the facility was bombed with biochemical weapons. What was not destroyed in the explosion was agonizingly suffocated in Hydrogen Cyanide. The team of scientists in the underground lab were disposed of thusly. When Helen awoke, her memory was not only gone, but she suffered greatly at the sight of the team of scientists drooped about lab tables and chairs, their eyes agape in frozen horror, mouths contorted in their silent throes of death. Her wanderings brought her to New Haven, where she was picked up in an alley by an old man who cared for her for many years after. Her only form of identification was a tag on her heel that read "Antimi One." From then on, the old man called her Antimi, and she never questioned it. Her life may have began as a petty thief, stealing items for her guardian, but as the years passed and the man noticed her slow aging and bountiful metabolism, he instructed her to learn some form of defense to keep her on her toes. As it happened, he knew the streets well, and coincidentally had a friend who led an underground training class for a century-old martial art called Qai Chun Do, which had been popular in its time but was now diminishing. Utilizing lightning quick attacks and focusing on speed, she would be taught the powerful and deadly art as a way of using up her "ridiculous stupid kid energy," as the old man had put it facetiously. After 15 years studying under the master, she was an adept. More than that, she was somewhat of an oddity. Where she should have been thirty years old, she only seemed to be close to her late teens. The aging master had taken this in stride, but was also aware of her desire for fighting. Her reflexes were sharp, and her force at such a seemingly young age was filled with a spirit of power, coming close to crippling the master at one or two points during training. He advised her against using the art as pure and negative offense, but her future had other things in mind. After her graduation at the underground dojo, she found herself once again unsure of what to put her use to. During her wandering, it seemed some higher power had decided for her. Her guardian had died of old age when she was 32, and she did not desire to live in an old man's home. Upon setting out on her own, she found the first thing that offered money: a bounty. Perhaps it was because of her blocked memory of seeing the dead scientists at the young age of 14 that triggered her violent tendencies, or perhaps the chemical stimulated a particular gland that made her more aggressive in later years. Using her street smarts and her experienced mind coupled with a young body, she set out on hunts. Her capacity for violence had never been as visible in the dojo as it was outside in the world, which surprised her when she first heard the terrible snap of vertebrae, the quick and easy motion of the hands as they twisted under the chin and the ear at opposing angles. She was desperate for money. Scruples were hard to come by with a lack of livelihood, especially with her teacher gone. Her friends were few and far between. Hunting bounties proved to use her time, and allowed her to move up in lifestyle. At a balcony level suite in New Haven, she found that despite the moralistic struggle that conflicted with her upbringing and her need for survival, she was content. The name on her heel was never found in any references to a person or place, or any other random search that she generated at local libraries. Accepting contracts - either for hunts, assassinations, or even bodyguard duty - was the only way she knew how to move on from her blanketed past. She studied techniques during the time she began accepting freelance contracts so that any employer could utilize one function or another. It is for this reason she is largely unknown, yet largely sought after. +++++++++++++++++++++ She breathed in the night air. She was going to be 60 tomorrow, and she hadn't even reached the prime of her life. She laughed inwardly as she remembered awkward conversations with elderly folk, being able to recall the dates that they droned on about, the wars they witnessed and she had been a part of, the places they had heard and she had visited, the famous singers they had loved and she had most likely slept with. Oh what a laugh. She lifted the glass of wine to her lips and retreated back inside to her suite. On the morrow, she would steal important documents for a local black market weapons manufacturer. She laughed, this time out loud. She remembered stealing documents labeled just like that only twenty years ago. How time flies. |
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2:29 PM Jul 11