[CHAR] The Kin Bane - A Wild West Style Undead Hunting Campaign - Closed

[Afina]

Name: Angpetu Dulain

Age: 32

Nationality; Sioux/Irish

Profession: Kin Bane/Recruiter

Appearance/Clothing:

Combat Skills: Rifle, Bataireacht (Irish Stick Fighting), Scuffling, Bow, Knife

General Skills: Hunting, Tracking, Trapping, Kin Lore, Swimming, Survival, Horseback Riding, Bareback Riding

Languages: English, Sioux, Gaelic, Latin

Weapons: Blacktorn Stick, Sharps Creedmoor Rifle, Bow/Quiver, Russell 6 inc butcher knife

Possessions: Pryor Mountain Mustang, clothing, assorted cartridges and arrows of unique composite, pack of basic survival gear

Personality: Ang is a complex woman whose personality can change on a dime if she feels she is not getting the needed outcome for the situation. Good of heart she tends to trust a little to fast but she is also quick to tell someone to go to hell if she feels they are over stepping their grounds.

History:Ang is the only daughter of a Sioux woman and an Irishman. She was raised with both of them in her tribes village until she was 17 years of age, learning all she could of both her mother and fathers people. When she was 17, her tribe was slaughtered by an unknown creature; rumored to be the anger spirit of the ancestors. She was the next and last to die when a group, of what she believed were travelers, came along and slaughtered the creature. Since she was the only one left they brought her into the fold and taught her the ways of the "Kin Bane" - a small group of roaming undead killers that were entrusted to hunt down and bring "peace" to those poor unfortunate souls. Her group was recently hunted down and murdered when she was away taking care of a lesser demon. Now she is charged to recruit new individuals and bring them into the fold to keep up the fight.

[Warrior in the Shadows]

Name: Cyrus Pendleton
Age: 45
Nationality: American, English and German descent.
Profession: Bounty hunter, quick-draw, ranch hand, cattle rustler, and sometimes farmer.
Appearance/Clothing:

Picture

He's 6'1". He's very strongly built, and can take a good beating. His hair is light brown, with hints of gray. His eyes are blue. He has a lot of hair covering his body(who the fuck "man scaped" in the old west? Nobody. That's who. Yes, I know that means hairy women, too).
He wears corduroy work pants, with suspenders. He'll wear either a dark blue or a dirty stained white pullover three button shirt. He usually wears red long underwear(onesie) underneath everything, if the weather permits. He wears two gun belts if the need arises(because he has two pistols). He wears black leather boots that go up just below his knees. He wears the same kind of hat in the picture. He'll sometimes wear a blue wool vest and/or a large black trench coat(weather dependent). He wears a earthen gray thin cloth scarf(it looks like a shemagh).

Combat skills: A fairly good marksman with the rifle. He can hit a man or beast at 100 yards with his Winchester rifle. He excels in close quarters with his pistols and can outdraw a lot of people. He can pistol shoot and horseback ride at the same time, able to be at a full gallop and still hit a target at 20 yards. He can street brawl and can use a lot of inordinate objects to his advantage. Usually when hand to hand fighting, or knife fighting, he'll take hits just to land better hits. He can go punch for punch with anybody. He lacks finesse in any fighting style.

General Skills: Horseback riding, hunting, trapping, tracking(learned from guerrilla war fighting during the civil war and bounty hunting and from when he was a sheriff), fire making, a little bit of bushcraft, and he can go a good distance on his own two feet with a rucksack.

Languages: English. Can read latin and english.

Weapons: Winchester rifle chambered in .44-40 winchester. A single action colt army, chambered in .44-40 winchester. A colt model 1871-72 open top, chambered in .44 Henry rimfire. Bowie knife.

Possessions: Clothes. A draft mustang. A few hundred cartridges dispersed between his saddle bags and rucksack. About 60 rounds between his cartridge belts for his two handguns. Each cartridge belt has 40 loops for 40 rounds. He uses the same rounds from his pistol for his rifle, so the one belt for his colt single action army and his rifle. He lets his other handgun hang from his saddle, using it for when he is riding and firing(not all that often). He also has an assortment of items for living on the trail. He has a small pipe, but he'll usually roll a cigarette. He has plenty of tobacco.

Personality: He usually comes across as a very content man, but troubled from his old life. He can be bitter at times and often has flashbacks from the horrors he's witnessed and the losses he's had. He is generally more of a gentle giant, but he has a fiery temper. He's wise from years of experience and will beat anyone over the head with his wisdom, as he's tired of losing people. He is something of a Christian man, but being on the move doesn't always make one out to be devout.

History: He was raised in Missouri, growing up on a farm. He mostly just worked the soil and grew edibles with his family. He started dating a girl when he was a 20 year old man. She became the center of his world. She finally bared a child for him, but it being out of wedlock. His family nearly ostracized him, but he went ahead and married her. When the civil war came, him and his family were first unconcerned, but they took up sympathy with the Confederacy. Cyrus's father was part of the Missouri State Guard, and got killed in the first year of the war.

Cyrus didn't follow his father's footsteps, instead, journeying to Tennessee and joining up with the Army of Tennessee in 1862. His wife had agreed to it after much coaxing. He became a cavalryman and learned to be a very good one. He knew and lost many friends during the war and invested a lot into the war of secession.

He ended up fighting at the Battle of Bentonville and was one of the 90,000 surrendered by Johnston to Sherman. He was bitter and disillusioned after the war ended, but he was content going back to his wife and child. However, he returned home to a vacant plot of land, except for two graves. His wife and child had died months before the surrender, killed by some band of the numerous units of Redlegers and Jayhawkers.

He went into a very bitter place after finding their deaths, never having been able to say goodbye, or anything. With that, he became a drifter, until he settled in a mining town in the Dakota territory. He stayed there a few years before becoming a deputy and then the sheriff, after the retirement of the old sheriff. He was a great sheriff, settling down and beginning a love affair with a single mother who had just moved there. Everything seemed peaceful, until his town was set upon by a gang of bandits. The bandits began harassing and stealing from anyone. They almost got control of the town, until Cyrus took on their leader in a duel and gunned him down in the streets. It seemed like everything would be alright, until the town was burned to the ground by the bandits.

His girlfriend was killed in the ensuing chaos and he left the town, not waiting to see whether or not the town recovered. He needed to leave and drift again. His mind was not right for settling down again.

[Goldeagle1221]

Read opening post first

Seriously read the opening post

I'll kick you

Did you read it yet?

JUST READ IT

(unfinished)

Name: Mark Twain (no not the novelist)

Age: Born April of 1861 (The month and year of the beginning of the Civil War) , 23 years of age

Nationality: Descendant of english colonizers, (Bostonian)

Profession: Sophisticated Badass

Appearance/Clothing: Dark suit, brimmed city hat. He has dark brown hair, and striking blue eyes painted on a masculine face. Fit but not bulky, spry and light footed.

Combat Skills: He knows five different forms of martial arts , not a bad shot and he trained with John L. Sullivan for a while.

General Skills: Rhetorics, Surgeon and Doctor, swimming, boxing, athletics, pogo stick, tight rope, writing, reading, advanced medical and anatomical knowledge, philosophy, advanced historian

Languages: English, German, Latin

Weapons: small snub, lethal fists
Possessions: Medical kit, surgeons kit, a bunch of glass jars, wit
Personality: Kind and virtuous, but not very average or settled.
History:

[shi12]

Name: Grace Baur

Age: 27

Nationality: American of English-Romanian descent.

Profession: Blacksmith’s/ Gunsmith’s “Assistant”

Apperance/Clothing:

Grace

Grace stands at 5’7 with a thin and toned frame. Her skin is lightly tanned with several small scars scattered across her arms where she has accidentally been burned or even cut herself during work. She has light brown eyes.
Usual work outfit consists of a simple mid-length sleeved blouse, a pair of trousers, and a pair of brown leather boots. She dresses this way to avoid incidents when she is working.

Casual outfit

Combat Skills: Knife, decent markswoman, explosives, quick on her feet in close combat.

General Skills: Weapon repair, Weapon construction, explosive/gunpowder knowledge (She can make her own TNT and other explosives.) , Horseback riding, Cooking, Negotiations, and swimming.

Languages: English and Romanian.

Weapons: Smith and Wesson model 3, an altered Colt Single Action revolver, and a personally crafted double edge dagger.

Possessions: Clothing, small tool kit for repairing/constructing weapons including explosives, rounds, gunpowder, Belt with holsters for her weapons, whatever money she made from working, and a black American Quarter Horse.

Personality: Strong willed, loyal to a fault, quick learner, confident, cunning, and fiery in spirit and in temper.

History: Grace Baur was born to Vivian and Luther Baur, a Romanian immigrant who spoke little English and a smithy born in the United States. They lived a humble life in Brogden , her father owning a blacksmith and gunsmith store in town. She was four when the Civil war broke out and with it her father was recruited into the army, separating the man from his only daughter and wife for four years. Her mother died of TB when she was ten, leaving her father on his own to raise his little girl.

With no womanly influence Grace was practically raised like a boy. Her father taught her his trade, took her hunting with him, taught her how to fight. Sure, it wasn’t usual but Mr. Baur wanted his daughter to be able to take over the family trade when he retired and making sure she could fend for herself was one of his top priorities. Her grandmother, who hardly visited, disapproved and when she was around she made sure to teach Grace etiquette and more feminine hobbies. Grace was more fascinated with weapons though, working alongside her father when he finally let her. She goes by assistant to keep her aging grandmother happy but she does the same work her father does.

[Wraithblade6]

Name: Ashtar Lakota "Dream Walker"
Age: 23
Nationality: Sioux (for convenience sake)
Profession: Tribal warrior, hunter, shaman by heritage.
Apperance/Clothing:



Combat Skills: knife fighting, blind fighting, archery, wrestling, fist fighting, shooting, mounted archery.

General Skills: Riding, cooking, swimming, fishing, tent making, clothing making, skinning, plant identification, tracking, running, herbal medicine, poisons, wound care, smoking, psychic voyage/getting high.

Languages: english, sioux, small amount of other tribal languages.

Weapons: bow and arrows, large knife, bola, hand gun.

Possessions: Tribal shaman.

Personality: Nature loving, peaceful, pensive, respectful.

History: Ashtar was the first son of the tribe shaman. He learned the ways of his people but his visions told him that he must leave them for a long journey. He would like to see peace between all tribes, even white ones, and tries to generate that influence in his travels. He spent time as an ambassador when he was very young to the immigrant Europeans and learned their language. He recently lost his father to a mysterious illness, but since then his father has spoken to him in dreams, telling him to seek the walking spirits...

[Noxious]

Name: Maeve Devlin

Age: 17

Nationality: Irish

Profession: Opportunist, most often working in a saloon

Looks

Clothing

Combat Skills:

Basic shooting - Knife fighting - Throwing knives - Scrapper/dirty fighter - Evasive maneuvers

General Skills:

Horseback riding - Pick pocket - Lock picking - Poker - Bartending - Alcohol tolerance - Lying & telling when others are - Moral flexibility - Generally devious

Languages:

English - Gaelic

Weapons:

Martini-Henry Rifle - Throwing knives - 1880 Bowie knife

Possessions:

Clothes - Ammo - Flask - Tobacco - Moderate money stash - Dapple quarter horse - Friends in low places

Personality:

She wasn’t raised in a community that valued fair play or fair fights. The girl can take a punch. She’s learned to work with what she’s got and adapt to survive. Even at a young age she became a manipulator; using others almost instinctively. Sleight of hand and quick with her tongue. Lies fell from her lips without notice while her true self was locked away.

She has extremely good control over her emotions, mind and body. She can act with a clear head even in extreme pain or chaos. She pushes her emotions down and centers her energy on a goal, scheming with patience.

But with all that said, she’s outwardly very sweet. She seems a little ditzy even. Acting 101: Damsel in distress. She has the giggle and blush down, but getting on her bad side would be a mistake. She’ll slit your throat while you sleep without thinking twice and then cry at your funeral with no one the wiser. In such a cruel world, who suspects the young helpless girl?

History:

Her family came to America in 1874, landing and staying in New York. Her father was a miserable drunk since mom got sick, as long as she could remember. After her mother passed her father got worse. With the help of her brother she put him out of his misery. The problem with killing their last parent was that soon they were homeless. She became tough.

On the streets they survived any way they could. It was during this time that she met James. His family favored illicit activity and used the swelling numbers of homeless youth as their personal army. They taught her to be tougher. She learned to keep her ears open. Secrets were a valuable commodity, but they alone didn’t keep her fed though so she also picked up a variety of other tricks.

One of these such tricks got her hauled in by the police, who decided to sentence her to one of the correctional orphan asylums. At first she thought it would be a nice reprieve from the street; but she was surrounded by the dregs of society. She became tougher still.

When she was fourteen James offered to marry her so she would be released to his custody. The first time he hit her was seven months later. She became tougher. She drank and smoked and prayed for infertility once James decided to consummate.

James was a monster; she had to believe that. She shot him in the chest for their second wedding anniversary. She used his rifle, the same one she carries today. She cleaned out the safe and took any easy to trade valuables and headed out of town. Her husband was a monster, but then again, so was she.

[Afina]

Holding Spot For Kin Sheets

[TheWizardLizard]

Name: Bill Cooper
Age: 65
Nationality: American
Profession: US Marshall
Apperance/Clothing:

Bill Cooper

Combat Skills: Bill is a skilled marksman, either with his rifle or revolver, and is also very capable in a fist-fight or brawl, tending to fight very pragmatically with little regard for 'fair play'.
General Skills: Horseriding, tracking, and wilderness survival from his youth. He's also acquired a fair talent for investigation and information-gathering from his time as a Marshall.
Languages: English fluently, can communicate in Sioux.
Weapons: An 1873 Winchester rifle that he wears on his back, an 1875 Outlaw revolver at his belt, a knife in his boot and brass knuckles in his pocket.
Possessions: His old horse Daisy, his broad-brimmed hat, and precious litle else.
Personality: Bill is, above all things, a determined man, full of elderly grit and weather-worn toughness. He's not quite a no-nonsense guy, having a penchant for sarcasm and dry humor, and he can show a softer side around friends, especially those much younger than him. Finally, he also displays incredible personal courage in the face of danger, almost bordering on a lack of self-preservation.
History: Extensive, though I'll just provide the basics here. He was born 1819 in Virginia, and on the day of his eighteenth birthday traveled west to grow up with the country. He's had a great number of occupations on both sides of the law, fought for the Union in the Civil War, and has spent the last decade and a half as a US Marshall in the Dakota Territory. He has little in the way of family, except for a niece in Central City, Colorado.

[Melkor]

Roy Evans

Name: Roy Evans

Age: 27

Nationality: British

Profession: Soldier

Apperance/Clothing:

Roy(link)

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Combat Skills:
-Marksmanship
-Hand-to-Hand, brawling he learned at the academy.

General Skills:
- Horsemanship
- Stealth

Languages: English

Weapons:
- x1 Springfield Model 1884
- x3 Colt Single Action Army Revolver
- x1 Enfield Mk II Revolver

Possessions: Holster harness to keep his weapons - two on each side. On his back he carries his rifle. On his side is about sixty rounds for his rifle, on his other side, in pouches, is ammunition for his colts and on his harness is an additional sixty rounds for his Enfield Revolver. He rides a draft mustang and wears

This(link)

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when he's trying to be stealth at night or in the woods.

Personality: Roy is a quiet, collected man, with a serious but courteous demeanor. He is viewed by his peers as the model of a perfect soldier; strictly disciplined and extremely rational, he rarely relaxes when on the job and is usually tasked with keeping his colleagues on track. Though from the outside he might seem strict, rigid, and even a little mean, Evans is not as cold and distant as he may appear. Those close to him know that there is more to him than his no-nonsense attitude; beneath Roy's professional aura is a kind soul who understands the difficulty of carrying a heavy burden.

History: "Name: Roy Daniel Evans. Age: twenty seven, I'll be twenty eight in a few months for what it's worth. If you can't tell, I'm britsh... History... I'll start where it matters. I attended Woolwich, graduated thirteenth in my class and was given the rank First Lieutenant. I was assigned to Clemsford's unit. I fought in a few skirmishes with organized crime in my time.

" None of it even compared to what war was... My first real battle... No more training, no dummies, no target practice... These were people. They could think and they could kill. We had just crossed the Blood River and set up camp at Islawanda. Clemsford's decided to not set up defenses, the damned fool, he said that an attack was unlikely.

"I had shut my eyes for the night and fallen asleep. Little did I, or anyone else, know the camp had been surrounded. I woke up with a... A large African man in my tent, he stood over me having just killed James, one of my best mates from the academy. He didn't even have time to scream.

"It was like some outside force had taken over me. I reached under my pillow and grabbed my combat knife, shot up and stabbed the man in the back, his blood soaked my hands as I continued, silently, stabbing. By the time I had finished, I was crimson. My whole torso, my head, arms... It was dripping down my body.

" I realized that he wasn't the only one... There must've been more. I gathered my rifle, my pistoles... I used the stealth training I'd gotten and made my way to a free outside of camp. I climbed, loaded my gun and began shooting.

"War... War is different for a sniper. Most combat is blind, shooting and hoping you hit something... It's different for us, we see our target... Stare at them, size them up... Then, we kill them with the flick of a fingure, I am not God... I shouldn't have that power. War is different for a sniper... ... ... ...

" After the war, I transferred to intelligence, under Captain Warren. I'm in America on a few months of leave. I thought I'd take my mind off of things by seeing the Wild West."

[Horrid]

Name:
Anita Lambert.

Age:
26.

Nationality:
British-American.

Profession:
Street Doctor/Animal Caretaker/Scholar.

Apperance/Clothing:
Anita's hair is black and smooth, her eyes are bright blue and her skin is sun-kissed, slightly tanned. She stands at 5 feet and 9 inches. All over her neck and collarbone are horrible scars from a dog mauling earlier in her life.

Basic appearance.

Usual attire on the right, minus the hat, rifle and bustle.

Combat Skills:
Excellent knife-work. Good at running away.

General Skills:
Conventional medicine, triage care, field surgery, animal handling/care, horse riding, some mechanical and sciences knowledge, running, swimming, climbing, cooking, reading, writing.

Languages: Understands English and American Sign Language.

Weapons:
A short blade hidden at her inner thigh. Her father's British Bull Dog revolver.

Possessions:
Doctor's bag (containing scalpels, tweezers, razors, scissors, gauze bandaging, suturing material, bullet probes, bullet extractors, stethoscope, mercury thermometers and laudanum vials), canteen, eyeglasses, writing implements.

Personality:
Anita is a reclusive woman. She prefers to keep to herself, even when in groups, as her injury makes it difficult to interact on a person-to-person basis. Most times she does not bother. She is, for the most part, uncomfortable and favors avoidance of social interaction. Though, when necessary, she can hold a conversation if the other party has either the patience or the ability to understand sign language. When alone, she is rather whimsical and subject to fantasy, due to spending most of her life with her nose in a book. She can occasionally be found dancing in a rather uncoordinated manner. Her bedside manner as a practitioner of medicine, official or not, is extremely gentle and serene. Anyone in her care would do well to respect the silence, as disruptions can make her nervous. She does not operate well under pressure or threat. Or around dogs. When her trust and respect is gained, she can be an extremely loyal companion and friend. Her fascination with the sciences sometimes overrides her fears and anxieties. All in all, she is a kind soul.

History

"Ohhh, my poor Anita. Such a lovely girl. A soft soul. When she was born she was so tiny, so weak. The doctor's told us she would die when the cold came. But when winter came, she was fine. The wind would batter at the windows and she would giggle as Frederick and I scrambled to keep the house from blowing down. When we were snowed in so heavy that the door splintered, she was crawling around and squealing with joy, like it was a big game."

"When it came time for the move to the Americas, Anita was a girl of 8 years. Frederick was honorably discharged from Her Majesty's Royal Forces. And I was with child again. Things were going wonderfully. The move went as smooth as it could have and we settled in nicely. The Americas seemed to call to Anita, she was so excited by everything. When Frederick introduced her to caring for the livestock, she took to it like a duck to water."

"Everything was perfect. Frederick and I urged Anita to pursue scholarly interests, and she took to that just as well. Frederick read to her every morning and every night until she was 14. She loved him to bits for it. They were inseparable even as Anita turned from young girl to young lady. She would rather spend time with him out in the fields or buried in a book than with me. I didn't mind, she was happy."

"Then one day, we were out at a gathering. The nature of which escapes me. We were on our way home, in the dark of the night. The same way we always walked. But at this hour, there was a gaggle of those awful men that hold the dog-fights. All drunk and brazen and... ugh, just repulsive in their behavior."

"We walked past quickly, but one of the dogs got loose, and tackled poor Anita to the floor. The beast was more muscle than dog, but that didn't deter Frederick when he saw his beloved daughter in danger. The mutt tore at her neck, there was so much red. I could hear her screams becoming muffled and weak before giving way to wheezing and gurgling. Had Frederick not been quicker, poor Anita might have been dead right there."

"But... he pulled out that shooter of his and put two rounds into the hound. The hound hit the floor and I picked Anita up as best I could. The owners of the beast had more than a few choice words for Frederick that night. Much more. I didn't even see the knife come out, but it was only a moment, and we were off in search of a doctor."

"Frederick, he... we arrived at the doctor's office and he... fell. Right there in the street. His blood seeping onto the stones. He yelled at the doctor and I, to get her help and make sure she survived. He thought of her and her only, right until the moment he stumbled in to die beside the table she was on. A few more minutes and she wouldn't have survived. Her throat was torn, ravaged, by that disgusting thing. She never spoke after that, whether she could physically or not. She never cried or screamed or mourned either. She simply... stopped feeling. Became cold."

"For a number of years it was like that. The doctor told me that with the damage that had been done, she would never speak again. But I never anticipated how lonely it would be. At the dinner table she struggled to swallow her food, and when she reads, the only sound form her is that unholy rasping wheeze. She coughs like she's on her deathbed. She is still a beautiful girl, but between her scars and her demeanor, no suitor will go near her."

"I just want her to find herself. Outside of those books and bags of steel horror. I want my happy daughter back."