Post by Talon on Jan 27, 2008 21:27:01 GMT -5
GENERAL
Birth Name:No one really knows, for all who knew, I killed
Other Names:I am Talon. But if I tell you to call me something else, you will do so.
Age:If you wish to live, you do not need to know
Gender:Male
Occupation:Falcon trainer, mercenary, and whatever else I may find useful to call myself.
Birthplace: Carthage
Current Location:If you wish to know, you must find me. Where I am no one may predict.
Family Relations:All are dead
Weapon:My weapons depend on my job. I use knives, swords, guns, and any other implement best suited to what I must do. My falcons are my prizes, however, and my best weapons, though I prefer to think of them as my partners. If you come to close you will find that my grip may kill you.
Other Items Owned:I carry little with me; survival depends not on material goods. I have money around the globe, and I lack very few things that I need.
BACKGROUND
Personality:Do not trifle with me. Some say I am impatient; if that means that I do not hold any reservations with my anger when it comes to fools, then their judgement is correct. I have been called cold and cruel; my profession is not one of emotion and sympathy. Years of training and my work have taught me that no one is trustworthy; everyone lies. Even myself. I act to be what I must to find my target and succeed in my mission. Everything I say could be a lie; it could not. It is up to you to decide for yourself if you will listen.
Detailed History:I am the night. I am the fear in the hearts of the world, though they may not know it is I. Some say I am heartless; other say that I enjoy what I do. Both are true. I lost my heart long ago; my job is all that is left to me. Some may pity me, but I scorn them. Pity is for the weak, and I am the strong. Long ago I think I had a heart, had things I enjoyed. But those days are now gone.
When I was a child I thought as a child. Growing up in Rome, my family didn’t have much. But we were happy. I knew nothing but the love of my parents, for I did not have many friends. I was a passive, caring child, and I did not wish to play at battles and wars. As I grew I learned. I learned of some cruelties of the world, learned of the trials, learned what it was to be poor and want what you do not have. But that was only the beginning.
Upon becoming a man, all I wanted was to be a good citizen, running the trade of my father. I did not want to fight. There was a girl that I wished to court and hopefully marry; her name was Anna. She was my dream girl, and all I wanted was to live with her and live a life of peace. But the growing army needed men. I resisted the draft; it ended in severe consequences.
I went on a trip for my father; I didn't know why he sent me, for he could have gone himself. I was gone a week. Maybe he knew it would happen. Maybe he had a premonition of the Roman attack. When I came back, they were dead. All of them. My parents. Anna. They had been taken by the Romans, killed, all because I wouldn't join the army. I wept by their graves, somehow lived through the week. The Romans came and took me then, forced me into their army. I learned to kill, to fight, my body became toned and lean. I did not build muscle like the other men, for I was tall and skinny. But I was agile. They did not want me fighting the front lines; I was not a strong and powerful warrior. They sent me to train the hunting falcons. I learned that I had an aptitude for working with the deadly birds.
The sorrow that I held inside burned within me, finally resolving into a strong hatred of the Romans, of anyone who challenged me. I began to train harder, secretly, fighting with all the weapons I could find, training my own falcons from fledglings to obey only me. I trained by myself for a while, planning my escape. Finally, I made it out. Killing my comrade who trained with me, I left with my two falcons, leaving to find my revenge.
As I traveled, I learned. I picked up fighting styles rarely know, learning agility and stealth, how to win against larger opponents, how to fight against large groups. My falcons were deadly, traveling with me, obeying only me. I began to pick up small jobs along my travels, killing people, stealing valuable objects, hunting down wanted criminals. I began to crave my kills, new ways to kill, ways to inflict pain and suffering. That is where I am now, hunting, seeking, wanting any way possible to have my bloody revenge upon the Roman army. I am for hire, if someone wants me, but you shall have to find me first.
Fears:Fear is weakness. Weakness means death. I have overcome death
Strengths:I fight; I kill. I do not lose; to lose is to die. I am alive.
Weaknesses:I am easily angered by those who do not cooperate. Those who do not comply will die by my hand.
Likes:The thrill of the hunt; the triumph of a kill. I enjoy the look of pure terror in the eyes of men when they realize all they have worked for is futile; they have not evaded death, they have not evaded me. My falcons are my joy, taking me with them to the heights in their speed and deadly beauty.
Dislikes:I hold no patience for women or those who are weak; the weak die that the strong may live. The rich are weak; some need a visit from me. I despise the Roman army and any affiliated with them.
APPEARANCE
Facial Appearance: Though some may name me as handsome, any who come closer would not think so. My face may be charming, but in my cold gray eyes lurks death for those who I am after. My hair is short and my face is cleanshaven, for I disdain the sloppiness of some.
Clothing:I wear what I must to blend and to make myself inconspicious in my surroundings. I am never without a weapon no matter the case.
Build:It could be said that I am tall, being six feet and four inches, but I was average among my family. Mass muscle is not practical; it slows you down and makes you larger. One must be lean yet strong, slipping among the shadows like a jaguar.
Marks/Scars:When I was first training falcons, mine dived and sliced off my right index finger with a swipe of his razor-sharp claws. I killed it. I then took my inspiration from the same creature, crafting myself a fake finger. It is honed to a deadly edge, ending in a sharp point. Many have died by it, and many more will continue to do so. My whole body is marked with scars from fights won.
Birth Name:No one really knows, for all who knew, I killed
Other Names:I am Talon. But if I tell you to call me something else, you will do so.
Age:If you wish to live, you do not need to know
Gender:Male
Occupation:Falcon trainer, mercenary, and whatever else I may find useful to call myself.
Birthplace: Carthage
Current Location:If you wish to know, you must find me. Where I am no one may predict.
Family Relations:All are dead
Weapon:My weapons depend on my job. I use knives, swords, guns, and any other implement best suited to what I must do. My falcons are my prizes, however, and my best weapons, though I prefer to think of them as my partners. If you come to close you will find that my grip may kill you.
Other Items Owned:I carry little with me; survival depends not on material goods. I have money around the globe, and I lack very few things that I need.
BACKGROUND
Personality:Do not trifle with me. Some say I am impatient; if that means that I do not hold any reservations with my anger when it comes to fools, then their judgement is correct. I have been called cold and cruel; my profession is not one of emotion and sympathy. Years of training and my work have taught me that no one is trustworthy; everyone lies. Even myself. I act to be what I must to find my target and succeed in my mission. Everything I say could be a lie; it could not. It is up to you to decide for yourself if you will listen.
Detailed History:I am the night. I am the fear in the hearts of the world, though they may not know it is I. Some say I am heartless; other say that I enjoy what I do. Both are true. I lost my heart long ago; my job is all that is left to me. Some may pity me, but I scorn them. Pity is for the weak, and I am the strong. Long ago I think I had a heart, had things I enjoyed. But those days are now gone.
When I was a child I thought as a child. Growing up in Rome, my family didn’t have much. But we were happy. I knew nothing but the love of my parents, for I did not have many friends. I was a passive, caring child, and I did not wish to play at battles and wars. As I grew I learned. I learned of some cruelties of the world, learned of the trials, learned what it was to be poor and want what you do not have. But that was only the beginning.
Upon becoming a man, all I wanted was to be a good citizen, running the trade of my father. I did not want to fight. There was a girl that I wished to court and hopefully marry; her name was Anna. She was my dream girl, and all I wanted was to live with her and live a life of peace. But the growing army needed men. I resisted the draft; it ended in severe consequences.
I went on a trip for my father; I didn't know why he sent me, for he could have gone himself. I was gone a week. Maybe he knew it would happen. Maybe he had a premonition of the Roman attack. When I came back, they were dead. All of them. My parents. Anna. They had been taken by the Romans, killed, all because I wouldn't join the army. I wept by their graves, somehow lived through the week. The Romans came and took me then, forced me into their army. I learned to kill, to fight, my body became toned and lean. I did not build muscle like the other men, for I was tall and skinny. But I was agile. They did not want me fighting the front lines; I was not a strong and powerful warrior. They sent me to train the hunting falcons. I learned that I had an aptitude for working with the deadly birds.
The sorrow that I held inside burned within me, finally resolving into a strong hatred of the Romans, of anyone who challenged me. I began to train harder, secretly, fighting with all the weapons I could find, training my own falcons from fledglings to obey only me. I trained by myself for a while, planning my escape. Finally, I made it out. Killing my comrade who trained with me, I left with my two falcons, leaving to find my revenge.
As I traveled, I learned. I picked up fighting styles rarely know, learning agility and stealth, how to win against larger opponents, how to fight against large groups. My falcons were deadly, traveling with me, obeying only me. I began to pick up small jobs along my travels, killing people, stealing valuable objects, hunting down wanted criminals. I began to crave my kills, new ways to kill, ways to inflict pain and suffering. That is where I am now, hunting, seeking, wanting any way possible to have my bloody revenge upon the Roman army. I am for hire, if someone wants me, but you shall have to find me first.
Fears:Fear is weakness. Weakness means death. I have overcome death
Strengths:I fight; I kill. I do not lose; to lose is to die. I am alive.
Weaknesses:I am easily angered by those who do not cooperate. Those who do not comply will die by my hand.
Likes:The thrill of the hunt; the triumph of a kill. I enjoy the look of pure terror in the eyes of men when they realize all they have worked for is futile; they have not evaded death, they have not evaded me. My falcons are my joy, taking me with them to the heights in their speed and deadly beauty.
Dislikes:I hold no patience for women or those who are weak; the weak die that the strong may live. The rich are weak; some need a visit from me. I despise the Roman army and any affiliated with them.
APPEARANCE
Facial Appearance: Though some may name me as handsome, any who come closer would not think so. My face may be charming, but in my cold gray eyes lurks death for those who I am after. My hair is short and my face is cleanshaven, for I disdain the sloppiness of some.
Clothing:I wear what I must to blend and to make myself inconspicious in my surroundings. I am never without a weapon no matter the case.
Build:It could be said that I am tall, being six feet and four inches, but I was average among my family. Mass muscle is not practical; it slows you down and makes you larger. One must be lean yet strong, slipping among the shadows like a jaguar.
Marks/Scars:When I was first training falcons, mine dived and sliced off my right index finger with a swipe of his razor-sharp claws. I killed it. I then took my inspiration from the same creature, crafting myself a fake finger. It is honed to a deadly edge, ending in a sharp point. Many have died by it, and many more will continue to do so. My whole body is marked with scars from fights won.