Post by kf42 on Dec 22, 2010 18:50:36 GMT -5
"The world ended... Didn't you get the memo?"
- Amy
- Amy
Your Name: Knightflyer
How many years roleplaying?: I started with D&D blue book…’nuf said.
"You don't know what it's like out there. You may think you do but you don't. It's only a matter of time."
- Rick Grimes[/center]
Character Name: Sam (Samantha) Johnson
Age: 22
Hometown: Dallas, TX
Current Location: TBD
Bio: Sam has lived hard, even before the plague. Her parents were addicted to drugs and had other mental-health issues, which landed Sam in state protective custody. After several years if wrangling, her bio parents right’s were terminating, making her available for adoption. While not as messed up as some kids in the system, Sam wasn’t a perfect angel by any means, and it became apparent she needed counseling. It was during this time that Sam got her addiction. Her ‘addiction’ is horses. After trying several other forms, her parents got her into equine therapy, and it was there that they turned a very angry little girl into more of an average teenager. When she was 16, her parents purchased a two-year-old gelding, and horse and rider formed a fast and life-long friendship.
During her Sr. year in high school, she discovered a goofy sport called Cowboy action shooting. The goal was to shoot targets while the shooter, the target, or both were moving, or balloons when mounted. She was good, and might have had some championship potential, but couldn’t keep up with practice needed to be really competitive once she started college. She had no idea that her ‘hobby’ would probably save her life a couple of years later.
After graduation, she concentrated on veterinary medicine in college. This was going pretty well, but her adoptive parents weren’t particularly wealthy, so she needed a way to pay for a lot of school herself, while also feeding and boarding her horse and keeping her grades up. The solution she found was working as an exotic dancer. She could make as much in a few hours as some people her age made in a day, giving her time to study and a way to pay for everything. She didn’t breath a word of it to her rather conservative parents, or even t o her friends. She adopted Delilah as her stage name, and almost became two separate personalities; the one on stage and the one she really let everyone else see. She was always afraid of someone figuring it out and saw guys from campus come in on a number of occasions, but none of them ever seemed to put the tricked-out dancer and the plain-Jane on campus together. Now…it doesn’t even matter anymore, but she still hides it.
She’s had a recent bad encounter with two men, that has left her shaken and quite distrustful for the moment. She dresses very boy-like, at least at the moment, to prevent others from taking similar interest in her.
Likes:
Pickups (trucks, not men in bars)
Horses
Chocolate cupcakes
Barrel racing
Cowboy action shooting
Dislikes:
Obnoxious drunks
Spiders
Walkers
Being patronized
Anything to do with dog fighting
Strengths:
Fourth-year Vet student (read: some medical training)
Very good shot, with practice on moving targets and firing from horseback. She uses a single-action pistol, from which she can fire several rounds in a second with a degree of accuracy. This was a practiced stunt, but can be a life-saver in the world she now lives in.
Expert rider
Physically fit
Some rustic/outdoor camping experience
Weaknesses:
Has a bit of a temper, and doesn’t always think straight when it comes out
Is actually rather shy, when not on stage.
Doesn’t sleep well - has nightmares of when zombies began taking over her college campus
Her fear of spiders borders on phobic. She’d rather smash a zombie with a hammer than a spider.
Anything Else? Not sure how you’re working equipment and such. The character was designed to have weapons and a logical reason for having them, as well as a horse which provides pretty good transportation.
Roleplay Sample:
{this is from a fantasy novel I’ve been writing over the course of a decade or so…}
Red knocked, then walked into the room where Clara was changing without waiting for a reply. She had gotten a new belt for Clara’s leg harness, and wanted her to try it on before donning the rest of her armor. “Hey Imp, I got” Red stopped, as Clara hurriedly covered her left shoulder. Red was sure she’d seen something there. “All right, out with it. Did you catch a point yesterday that you’re not telling me about?”
“No, it’s nothing. Just an old scar” Clara replied.
“Then you won’t mind lowering that hand, and letting your teacher see for herself.” Clara gave Red a freckled frown, and glanced at her hand covering her left shoulder. “Now, Miss O’Connell.” Clara knew better than to argue when that tone was used. She thought about it anyway, but knew that Red would sit on her if she decided it was important enough. They had been practicing together for several weeks now, and she had learned that Red took puncture wounds, even small ones, seriously. She frowned some more, but lowered her hand from the branded scar.
“There. Happy?” she asked bitterly.
“Happy? Lass, whatever happened to you?” Red came close, and looked the scar over carefully. Her voice was soft and concerned.
“They brand slaves in Al’Rajiid. Until Anadil freed me, I was her slave. I guess Leaf didn’t tell you much.” Clara pulled on her gambson, her manner turning cold and business like.
“Hurts, don’t it lass?” Red asked, as she sat down on a barrel in the corner.
“Not really. Anadil healed it a few hours after it was done, and it hasn’t bothered me since.” Clara answered, as she laced the padded garment.
“Oh? If you lose a leg, it might not hurt, physically, after awhile. But the pain of being a cripple could easily last a lifetime. Do you follow me?” Clara stopped fussing with her armor, and watched Red fully. “That mark there, that can be a boon or a bain. That’s up to you.”
“I’m not sure I follow you. How can it help me? It’s just a scar.”
“You know what it is like, to be an underling, and someone’s property at that. Clara, I’ve talked with Leaf, and from what I gather, you have the potential to be a very powerful and respected mage. With power, comes responsibility. It’s easy for you to understand now what an underling goes through. It might have been a bitter lesson, but you decide whether it makes you stronger or weaker. There are only a few ways to gather power to you. One is fear. Another is love. Money will also do it, but only to a point. Love and loyalty go hand in hand. Men will march to their deaths, if they feel that they’re doing it for something that they love, or better still several something’s.” Red fell silent for a moment, then began to tell her a story. She stared at the opposite wall while she told it, and Clara listened, afraid she might stop if she interrupted or even twitched.
“A number of years ago, a hundred men were wiped out, holding a bridge against the Drow at Ferdhand’s crossing. The King had been near the border with a handful of his knights, and told them that if they could hold long enough, he could gather their wives and children into his castle, and alert all his retainers so that a sufficient force could be gathered to stop the Drow. They held that bridge, to the last man, while the King rode away, supposedly to rally his own host. A single runner made it out alive, to tell of their heroics. But he found that the King had fled, without alerting the populace. Many died, many more were captured by the Drow. There’s a fate worse than death.” Red spit on the dirt floor, but then continued. “The runner made it to the nearest Count. He sent word to his neighbors, but most of them fled and failed him. But the Count gathered every man, every boy, anyone that could bear arms, and met the Drow host. He fell in the first engagement, but his son took charge, and began an organized fallback that cost the Drow dearly. Luckily, Duke Cecil answered the Count’s call, and fell upon the Drow like a hammer on an egg. Only a few of the Count’s army survived, but every one of them that lived blessed his name. He’d done what he’d said he would - died protecting their homes and families. Loyalty like that can’t be bought, not for all the gold on Yed.” Red fell silent, staring at the dirt floor. She wasn’t crying, but she was blinking back tears.
“How old were you, when your father died?” Clara asked.
“What does that have to do with anything?” Red snapped.
“Your father was the Count. Your brother led the fallback, and he died too. Red, I’m an empath. I can read you like a book, at least right now.” Everything was clear now. Red had dropped her title, because the Crown that granted it, and that should have protected them, had run and left her father to stand alone. “Is that why you hate being called ‘Lady Serena’? Because most of the nobility failed you? Failed him? So now you don’t want to be associated with them at all?”
“Yep. It’s a club that I didn’t want a membership in anymore, if their pledge of service and friendship ends when a fight’s on. Fealty is a two way street, if you take my meaning.”
“Who rules your father’s lands now?” Clara asked in a quiet, contemplative voice.
“No one, really. A few years back, the old king gave the lands to a knight named Stephan who was then in favor with the court, but he has never once been to “his” lands to enforce the law. I understand that he sends hired swords to collect taxes a couple of times a year, and that is all the interest he takes. The title would have fallen to mother or one of my brothers, but no one was left. Mother had died several years before of a fever.” Red wiped an eye with the back of her hand. “John went down fighting over father’s body. Samuel...poor Sam. No one ever found him - dead or captured I assume. Michael led the retreat, but died even as the Duke swept down on the Drow flank. The family nurse and a few ladies raised me; all the nobles of our house had died. A handful of father’s commoners are all that survived.
“Then your time has come, Lady Serena.” Clara stood stock still, watching her friend.
“You want to run that by again?” Red replied icily. Her voice, her whole body held the warning that she had put into the words.
“My pardon, I’m new to all the titles still. Countess Serena.”
“I’m going to tell you this just once, because I like you. Don’t call me that again, or I’ll challenge you formally.” It was obvious that Red’s words held a promise, not a mere threat.
“Red, you hate the fact that the crown left your father to hold the line alone. But the people he died to defend have no one now. Who keeps the peace; who enforces the law? Who provides for the justice your father cherished? The old king is dead, and no one mourns the loss, at least to hear you tell it. But they do mourn the passing of a noble house that deserved that title. If you challenge me, I’ll stand there and let you kill me. But you are Countess Serena.” Clara watched Red’s hand knot into a fist. She was ready to get hit, and it was taking everything she had to stand there. Clara wasn’t quite done with her own challenge though, and continued. “Right now, you’re doing the running.”
Long, tense, seconds passed, before Red finally broke the silence, staring at the dirt floor. “If the current Crown won’t acknowledge me, it ends there. Will that satisfy you?”
“I’ll fall on my own sword, before I’ll call you ‘Lady’ again, if they don’t.”
