Bio: Reginald didn't have a place to call home most of his life, since he was born he traveled from town to town with his parents. Never staying long in any one place before his father had to move to the next town for his line of work. In his teen years, he ran away from his roaming parents, tired of how little attention they paid him and how much they dragged him around from town to town. With little to no direction, Reg continued to just move from town to town, having to resort to stealing to feed himself. Eventually he picked the wrong pocket as it turned out to belong to a member of the local organized crime group. The man was impressed at how easily the boy pulled off his simply thievery and decided to take him in. The group became the boy's family, teaching him all sorts of skills and raising him. The boy stuck with the group until he was a full grown man, raising in standing in the group. Eventually, at the age of 50, Reg grew tired of crime, no longer wanting to profit off the suffering of others. Saying goodbye to his 'family' and taking the money he had earned while working with them, he moved out to a small country side town. There he became a Barista, opening his own cafe and serving coffee until the Imperial's invasion of Gallia destroyed his cafe. Both angered and having no where to go, Reg signed up for the militia.

Personality: Before, in his youth, he was known to be quite wild but now age has gotten the better of him, calming him down and turning him into quite a gentleman. Reg prides himself in his ability to remain calm and collective in most situations and not to let his emotions get the better of him. Despite all this, Reg isn't one to turn away from a fight. He'll even go as far as to look for them sometimes, a habit left over from his criminal days. While at first he seems like the sort of man who would try to talk his way out of tough situations, his experience with crime life taught him that a little bit of violence will get you much farther then a few nice words.

RP Sample:
Reg stood behind the counter of his cafe, cleaning a cup when a distant explosion shook the room, knocking a plate off the shelf.
"Must they train their tank operators this close to town?" He looked over to his only patron, waiting for a reply. Before the war, the cafe usually was bustling with various workers and townsfolk, but now it's empty. The Imperial invasion was getting closer to town and many people had fled deeper into Gallia. At the counter of the cafe sat another older man, a friend from Reg's past.
"What? 'fraid of a few explosions? You've gone soft, Reg."
"It's not me that's afraid, it's my paying customers. Once this war ends I'll-"
Another explosion cut him off, a wiser man would assume they were getting closer. Reg put down the cup he was cleaning and walked over to the window.
"They are really active today, maybe they are heading out soon?"
The man at the counter took a sip of his coffee, placing the empty cup on the counter-top.
"Why don't ya head with 'im Reg? Bash a few of those Imps' heads in."
"What about you? You're as able to go into the fray as I am."
Reg peaked out the window trying to spot the training tanks.
"Me head out? Did ya forget the time you shot me in the leg? I still can barley move the thing."
The man moved his leg back and forth slowly, as if trying to prove a point.
"Are you still sour over that? That was almost 20 years ago."
"Yea? An' it still hurts like a-"
A third explosion rocked the cafe. Over the horizon, Reg could spot one of the tanks. The blasted metal contraption that was causing all of this noise. The man stood up, placing some money on the table.
"Anyways, Reg. I'm headin' out. I'll tell the boss you said hi."
Reg nodded to the man as he watched the tank come back in from training, something seemed different about it from the others. Were Gallian tanks always red?