An Outsider

Muskets & Magic - Dark Fantasy RP

_{Roland Axis
New Stratton}

---

If Roland hadn’t had reason enough to hate Caleb Losthill before, he had it now. Five minutes in the New World was more than enough time for a man to grow to hate it. From the piss-angry seas that had tried to batter their boat into submission more and more the closer they got to landfall, to the corpse grey clouds that filled the sky and didn’t look like they were planning on abating any time soon, from the rotting and stinking town of New Stratton, to the dead eyed veterans who looked at him like they figured he was just so much more meat for the grinder. The sooner Roland found a way off this Gods-forsaken rock and back home the better.

He and the other recruits and conscripts were quickly led to their barracks, his new home for the foreseeable. On the way, they passed a corpse cart that seemed to be transporting one of the New World’s native demons to its final resting place. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t interested in seeing what the fabled monsters looked like, but he didn’t get too close. Tales went that the things were damned hard to kill, and even when they were seemingly dead they could still have some life in them, enough to gut a foolish recruit with those wicked-sharp talons of theirs. No way he was risking that just to satisfy his curiosity.

Roland didn’t have any belongings to store, and even if he did he wouldn’t have gotten much time to put them anywhere. He’d barely had time to lay claim to a pallet that looked marginally less louse-infested than the others when he and the other recruits were being ushered out of the barracks. They were led to what he assumed was the parade ground, then goaded, shoved, and whipped into formation by a pack of overly enthusiastic officers. One especially weasel-ly looking sergeant, sporting a set of protruding teeth the colour of dried shit, took quite a savage delight in kicking Roland in the back of the legs to make him stumble, then hammering him with a marching baton to get him back into formation.

“Back into line, swine-humping conscript!” Weasel features screeched, spittle flying from his open mouth. Roland said nothing, knowing it would earn him nothing but another beating, but marked the man’s face in his memory. When he got the chance, he was going to shove the fat end of that baton up the sergeant’s arse, then plant the fucker like a flag. He wasn’t going to let this lie, oh no.

Thoughts of his colourful revenge were put on hold when the tall, gaunt officer got up on the podium and started to talk at them. The old fellow didn’t mince his words, and that Roland could respect, even if he did forget to introduce himself, though his speech wasn’t exactly doing wonders for morale, if the former-thief was any judge. Still, there was one bright spot that Roland picked out. Twenty kills. That’s how much it was going to cost him to get home if he couldn’t find a way to smuggle himself back to Holden. Twenty kills. All that stood between him and settling the score with Caleb Losthill. It seemed simple enough.

Then again, judging by the expressions worn on the faces of the veterans he’d seen on the way in, despondent and haunted in equal measure, and all the stories he’d heard about just how short life expectancy was for the average grunt here in the New World, the number might as well have been two hundred. Couldn’t let that get to him though. Theron needed him back in Holden, and there was no way Roland was going to let his old friend down.

The speechmaking was over as quickly as it began, then it was just a matter of being sorted into squads. Roland kept an ear out for who he was being grouped with, groaning audibly when he found out. He’d been on the boat over with most of them. Kept clear of them too, for that matter. A bounty hunter mage, and a former inquisitor, if the rumours were true. Didn’t do for a known criminal to be consorting with the likes of those, even if they were ostensibly on the same side now. He consoled himself with the fact that there were a few other conscripts on his squad, even if one of them was an Akivir. Theron had always said they were an untrustworthy people, which was really something when judged by the standards he kept.

Their sergeant was a thickly built fellow named Hoff. Roland was silently impressed by the man. He looked like the kind of bruiser who could quite handily beat an orc into submission barehanded if he put his mind to it. When things got hairy, he’d be letting Hoff and his veterans do the lions-share of the work, and by the sounds of it they were going to get their chance soon.

Surely, they weren’t setting out already? Roland and the rest of the recruits had just arrived. He was going to voice his opinion, but then realized that Hoff probably wasn’t the kind of man who cared for such minor details. Better to keep his peace and try to work his way into the middle of the squad, and therefore the furthest away from danger, than to complain and risk being punished by being put on the scouting detail, or something equally dangerous. He did have one thing he wanted explained though, and it didn’t seem like the kind of query that would see him punished for asking.

“Just one thing. What the hell are shamblers? Folk have been tightlipped on just what we’d be facing out here, and I don't fancy running into these things unprepared.”

Muskets & Magic - Dark Fantasy RP

For my own clarity, do the characters just need proof of twenty kills to buy their way home, or does it have to be kills that they haven't already redeemed for credit from the quartermaster?

BlackSam's Sheets

Nah, I don't hate the Gods. I just think they got a real shitty sense of humour, and I'm getting damn sick of being the butt of all their 'funnies'.

Appearance:

Physically Roland is of average height with a slender build, however his slight frame boasts a wiry strength that's surprised many a larger man who expected him to be an easy conquest. His fingers are long and slender, equally adept at jimmying locks, picking pockets, or curling into respectfully sized fists.

He wears his dark hair long, just past his shoulders, using leather thongs to tie his tresses back at the nape to keep them out of his eyes. His face is narrow and sharply angled, too severe in countenance to be considered handsome, though striking in its own way. His eyes are easily his most notable features, being an uncommon ice blue in colour, lending a fierce intensity to his gaze that many find discomforting.

Name:

Roland Axis

Age:

24

Race:

Human

Profession:

Conscript

Personality:

Roland’s personality is somewhat at odds with his criminal past. While he looks little more than a violent delinquent, he is actually a deep-thinking man, one who finds himself constantly wrestling with the morality of his own actions.

He still remembers the stories his mother used to tell him, the ones about noble heroes resplendent in shining armour, doing great deeds and saving princesses. He’s grown up to realize that those stories were nothing more than the fantasies of a woman who was trapped in a desperate situation, but that can’t stop him wishing that he could be a little more like the heroes of those tales, to be a man she could have been proud of. Life’s not like that though, and he’s a realist, not an idealist. He’ll do what it takes for him to survive, even if that means somebody else doesn’t get too. That’s just the way things are. Still, that doesn’t mean he’s got to like it.

He can be charming and personable to those around him, even complete strangers, but has been known to fall into bouts of intense brooding, and during these periods he can be cold, even hostile, to those he loves best in the world.

He prefers to solve his problems without violence, but life has taught him that a man who isn’t willing to fight for those things that are his isn’t going to keep those things for very long, and as such he is ready to resort to brute force when he’s forced to.

He's got an impressive temper, one that he struggles to control at times. He doesn't fly off the handle at small things, but once his danders up it's hard to get him back under control, not before he says or does something incredibly stupid anyway. He realizes it's at moments like that he becomes his own worst enemy, but regardless of how hard he tries to get a reign on his emotions it still feels like he's pissing into the wind.

Backstory:

Roland was born in the Ilyan city of Holden, the only child of Garett and Cecilia Axis. His mother was a fragile and yet uncommonly graceful woman who served as a laundress to a prestigious merchant family. She worked hard, and dreamed of raising herself and her family up from their humble beginnings towards something better. Unfortunately, the Gods conspired against her to make her aspirations unattainable, throwing obstacle after calamity at her, each one conspiring to push her face further back down into the gutter. Chief amongst these misfortunes was her husband, a small-minded, loudmouthed drunk who worked as a dock worker during the day, and a leg breaker for a local gangster through the night. Every penny he made ended up being squandered, either on poor bets, cheap liquor, or cheaper women, and invariable he’d end up taking his wives earnings to settle his ever present debts. Being a man of consistency he quickly wasted those monies too.

To supplement their meager incomes Garett sent his young son to ‘apprentice’ under an old work colleague of his, Hemsey Geance, better known in Holden’s criminal Underworld ‘The Ratcatcher’. Geance was once a talented pickpocket, but after having his fingers broken by a rival he was forced to retire. However, nobody pays a pension to a retired sneak-thief, no matter how good he used to be, and so he began to train the street orphans and unwanted waifs of the city in the fine art of larceny, taking a large cut of each child’s takings as his ‘mentorship fee’, and keeping them all in line through a mixture of violence, cunning, and emotional blackmail. Roland became one of Geance’s ‘Rats’, and that small portion of his spoils that he didn’t pass onto the Ratcatcher was taken home to give to his father.

Cecilia hated the path that her husband had set Roland down, but she’d ever been a meek woman, unwillingly to argue with her volatile husband, and never quite mustered up the courage to disagree with Garett. Instead she worked as hard as she could to bolster Roland’s moral education, trying to teach him the differences between right and wrong, encouraging him to go to the local church-run Sunday school, and filling his head with stories featuring great heroes of the past. Roland enjoyed the tales, but never quite grasped the lessons his mother was trying to impart to him, not at the time. His father thought it was all a waste of time, thinking that there was no use filling the boys head with nonsense when life would beat it out of him in due course, but as long as it didn’t affect him he was happy to let his wife continue the ‘lost cause’.

Things continued that way until Roland was fourteen years old. One day, after finishing work for the Ratcatcher, he returned home to find his mother dead, her neck twisted at an unnatural angle and her body cool, while of his father there was no sign at all. There was no explanation for the scene, no broken furniture or signs of struggle. Despite all the years of taking her for granted and the scorn and verbal abuse he had heaped upon her, Garett had never so much as raised a hand against his wife in the past, and while the town watchmen who were eventually called to investigate the scene could find no evidence of violence the fact that Roland’s father had apparently fled was too much to ignore. They began a man hunt for Garett, but never found him. Reports would eventually come in that he had booked passage upon a ship that was sailing from the docks earlier that day, but by the time they came in it was too late to stop him.

Roland’s mother was dead and his father was gone. He was on his own.

Roland ran before the authorities made any plans for him. He didn’t know where and at the time he didn’t know why. It was an animal reaction, a young boy fleeing a situation that he wasn’t equipped to deal with. Truth be told the watch probably could have stopped him, or at least found him, if they’d wanted. But what did they care about him? Just one more orphan on the streets of Harndon. ‘Let him disappear,’ they thought, ‘less work for us to do’.

When he eventually stopped running he realized he couldn’t go home. No, not just couldn’t, but wouldn’t. It was a tainted place for him now. He had no other family, and no one he could turn to. So, he did the only thing he could think to do. He returned to the Ratcatcher and went to work. Geance was only too happy at this turn of events. Roland was a good earner, a hard worker and a damn fine thief. One of the best he’d ever trained. The money fairly flowed in after Roland lost his home, as there was no real reason for him to stop working, other than the occasional breaks to eat and sleep. In fact, it would have been accurate to say that the job became Roland’s whole life, but as the time he spent separating honest people from their coin grew, so too did his passion for the craft. His grafts became ever more elaborate, more sophisticated, and Geance watched on in something akin to awe as, in two short years, his student became a better thief than he ever was in his prime. Roland was made too work in the shadows, and that wasn't just because of his ability to see in the dark. It came as no surprise to the old pickpocket when he heard that Roland had captured the attention of Theron Kingmaker.

Theron Kingmaker. So named because everyone knew he was the real power in Holden, whether the politicians and nobility wanted to admit it or not. Theron had come out of nowhere about fifteen years prior and through the use of bloody violence, crooked deals and underhand tactics, he had forced the disparate gangs and criminal families of the city into something almost resembling a sophisticated hierarchy, featuring himself sitting pretty at the top of the lot. Ever since then everyone knew almost nothing happened in the city of Hardon without his says so. It was whispered that 'he had the power to turn paupers into kings, and kings into corps', which,while not quite true, went a long way to illustrating the fear and respect people held for the criminal lord. The Kingmaker virtually owned Holden in all but name, but he was no longer a young man, and his mind had started to turn to such nebulous things as ‘legacies’. He wanted to ensure that when he was gone that control of his city would go to someone worthy of it. Unfortunately, he had no sons or daughters of his own, no family of any sort, and what friends he did have had all been buried on his way to the top. He began a search to find a candidate to pass his power to, but no one suitable presented themselves. No one, that was, until Roland began making waves.

Stories of the young man’s exploits had begun to filter through the taverns, gambling dens, pawnshops, whorehouses and all the dens of iniquity of Holden, and when Theron heard them he brought the young man in for a meet. For his part Roland had heard of the infamous Kingmaker, after all, who that ran in his circles hadn’t. The young thief figured that he’d crossed the wrong man somewhere in the course of one of his heists, and now Theron was going to snuff him out. Terrified he was going to die, he still endeavored to go out like a man, refusing to show Theron the respect he was due, refusing to show just how terrified he was. It worked in Roland’s favor though, as his iron-necked tough guy act, and young mans bluster in the face of the most dangerous man in the city, went someway to impressing Theron, who decided then and there that he’d found the heir he’d been looking for.

There was still tests to pass and hoops to jump through of course, but Theron was certain that Roland would pass them all, and pass them he did, not always easily as the trials were designed to test his limits, but always with an innate self-confidence that said the young man was born to the life of a crook. He had the skills to go far, and Theron, a man who believed steadfastly in the values of a good education, spent a considerable sum to make sure that his protégé had the proper knowledge to match his new position. Subjects such as mathematics, politics, history, and refined etiquette were all thrust at Roland, while renowned pugilists and fighters such as Rabon “The Rabid” Smith were called in to test his physical prowess. While Roland could usually manage the “higher” lessons, he struggled to keep up with the professional fist-fighters and toughs that constantly challenged him, though that just encouraged Theron to increase the tutelage in that particular area. After all, practice made perfect, and the Kingmaker was adamant that his student would become perfect, even if it killed him.

Years passed, and by Roland’s twenty-third birthday it was fair to say that he was finally becoming the man Theron wanted. True, there were still rough edges from his days as a foot-pad that needed smoothing, but on the whole he was beginning to resemble what the Kingmaker liked to call a ‘Made-Man’. Which was just as well, as there was a new up-and-comer in Holden’s underworld, calling himself Caleb Losthill, who was getting ready to challenge Theron for control of the city. Many of the cities’ leading nobles were getting tired of Theron’s shadow-rule over them, and were willing to back Losthill’s play if it meant they could get rid of the old man. Theron’s power had never been more precarious, and he needed all his men at their best if they were going to weather the coming storm. Unfortunately, Roland wasn’t paying the attention that the matter at hand demanded, owing to the fact that word had just come in that his father had returned to Holden.

Garett hadn’t just sauntered into town and expected everything to go back to the way they had been nearly a decade before though. He’d slunk in the back door as it were, with a new name and look, a thick beard and died hair to cover his identity. He’d hoped it, and the time he’d spent away, would be enough to fool the town’s guard. And it had been. Things don’t change that much though, and the old fool had gone and gotten drunk one night to celebrate his return to the city of his birth, and in his stupor started blabbing about who he really was to a cheap hooker. The hooker told his story to her pimp, who worked for Theron Kingmaker, who told Roland. The young man didn’t know what he felt at the return of his father, but knew he had to go and see him. He travelled to the tavern where Garett was staying almost straight away.

Upon seeing his father, slumped at the bar and half unconscious with drink even though it was only mid-morning, Roland felt nothing. Then he remembered the body of his mother, cool to the touch with her delicate neck twisted at that unnatural angle, and a cold fury over took him, something primordial and savage. There was no controlling himself after that, but, if the truth was to be told, he didn’t want to control himself. He let himself walk towards his father, his hand dropping to the knife he wore concealed in his jacket. Somehow Garett must have heard him coming and twisted in his seat to face his son. The drink that clouded the older man’s senses, nor the years that had separated them, didn’t delay his recognition. Nor did it stop him identifying the obvious intent in his son’s eyes.

“Now son, we can speak. . .” he began, but he never finished, not before he was interrupted by the knife that plunged into his throat.

“Speak to that.” Answered Roland, his voice cold yet measured, his rage controlled yet unleashed. It was in that moment that he truly became on of the hardened criminal community, a man willing to take a life if it suited his needs. It was also in that moment that he got himself arrested. A squadron of guardsmen trooped into the tavern from the streets outside and summarily shackled him at rifle point. Roland quickly realised that he’d been set up, as the timing of guardsmen was just too convenient to be a coincidence. Later, while in the town cells, he received a message from Theron stating that he’d uncovered evidence that Garett Axis had only returned to Holden under Losthill’s urging, and it looked like Losthill had used the whole thing as a gamble to remove Roland from the board before he began his strike against Theron. The Kingmaker also told him not to worry, as now they knew Caleb’s plans, and that he would use his connections to get Roland out of prison, and together they would strike at their rival.

The chance never came though, as Losthill’s agents struck first. A crooked prison guard captain was payed a handsome sum to kill Roland in prison and make it look like an accident. The guard in question was a scumbag, but not the kind of scumbag who was comfortable with murdering someone, nor did he like the thought of ordering Roland killed by one of his men then having a potential loose end. Instead he forged expedition conscription papers for the young thief, before smuggling him out towards the nearest expedition barracks, who was then shipped out before he got an opportunity to escape, thereby disposing of Roland without ever having to wet his blade.

So, there it is, Roland’s story, and the reason why he’s part of the expedition. He’d dearly love to abandon his new comrades and return home to Holden and Theron, but as a conscript he’s watched far too closely by his suspicious officers to just run away clean, and even if he did manage to escape there’s an ocean that separates him from home now. Save the advent of a miracle it’s looking more and more like that he’s just going to have to survive this New World now, and wait for his tour of duty to end before he can make his return. But make no mistake, he is going to survive, and he is going to get home.

There’s some scores that need settling, and Roland ain’t the kind of man to let a thing like that lie.

Skills and Abilities:

• Nightvision: Roland is capable of seeing in the dark. It's a passive ability that he's had for as long as he can remember, and in fact when he was a child he just assumed it was something everyone was capable of. It's proved to be a massive boon in his adult life, but years on the street have taught him to keep the ability to himself. Theron Kingmaker is one of the few to know about it, and theorises that it may be a rudimentary manifestation of some kind of Natural magic that courses through Roland's veins.
• Stealthy: Most of Roland’s best work gets done in the dark, out of the light of day and unseen by decent people, and so he’s learnt to move silently. Ghosts and shadows could learn a thing or two from him when it comes to skulking around.
• Career criminal: Picking pockets, lifting purses, extortion rackets, conmanship, bribery, mugging, robbery, arson, insurance fraud, smuggling, littering, you name it and Roland’s done it. His favourite acts are those were nobody has to get hurt – physically speaking – but that doesn’t mean he’s unfamiliar with clubbing a man over the back of the head. . . or knifing a rival while he sleeps.
• Athletic: Fast, strong, young, and physically capable, Roland is probably as physically ready for the tasks ahead as it is possible for a man to be.
• Intelligent: Contrary to his rather humble origins, Roland has been given a rather extensive education by his patron, Theron, receiving the kind of tutoring that is usually reserved for the sons and daughters of wealthy middleclass merchants and noblemen. That’s not to say he was always the keenest of students, but that when he did apply himself to his studies his quick and able mind was usually able to quickly grasp the information presented to him. He prefers to play to the role of being a typical street dunce though, as he’s found that it’s to his advantage if people assume that he’s uneducated, and therefore less of a threat.
• Street and knife fighting: Running with street gangs isn’t anyone’s idea of a soft life, the kind of life that if you don’t get tough you end up getting dead. As a child, Roland was smaller than most of his contemporaries, and quickly learnt that a fair fight wasn’t any kind of fight at all. Dirt slinging, eye gouging, ball kicking or neck biting, if it helped him win a confrontation, didn’t matter how dirty the tactic, he was gonna do it. He’s since bolstered those hard-learnt skills after being trained by the best wrestlers, pugilists, and knifemen that Holden has too offer.
• Marksmanship: Not a skill he’s been forced to utilize as often as his others, nevertheless Theron would have been remiss if he hadn’t ensured that his protégé can handle a gun when it’s called for. However, his schooling has only really incorporated pistol wielding, and so Roland is a rank novice when using a musket. . . you know, like those etherguns that are going to be all that stand between him and a messily gory death by demonic dismemberment.
• Woodcraft and Tracking: Virtually non-existent. Rolands only ever left the city of Holden twice in his life, and even then he never went far. Put him in the woods on his own and he’s liable to starve to death within the week.

Equipment:

• Standard Expeditionary kit and uniform
• Rune Pattern Ethergun and bayonet
• A wickedly sharp, bone handled long-dirk
• A set of exceptionally fine lock picks
• Collapsible spyglass
• Compass
• Hatchet
• Tinderbox
• A battered hip-flask, still half full of some amber gut-swill that has a brass-neck to call itself brandy
• A small silver pocket watch, engraved with the words 'To Stevros, Come back to me safe, Yours forever, Love Molly'

O R I G I N A L R P: M U S K E T S & M A G I C

BlackSam's Sheets

C O N T E N T S

---

---

Roland Axis from Muskets & Magic

Prince Faen Lokison from Marvel Reborn

Magnus Arhakaine from Duplicity

Lisa Marie Walker AKA Fury from Vigilance: Blood & Justice

Nike AKA Wonder Girl from Young Justice: 2020

Malcolm Kincaid from Steamtown: Blood and Gunpowder

Fridolf from Across the Great Sea

The Batman from Absolute Comics

Muskets & Magic - Dark Fantasy RP

I can't wait for our first confrontation were the entire party huddles in terror behind one of Lt Harker's magical walls because they're all too terrified of stepping out and getting hurt, then having no one to patch them back together afterwards.

Muskets & Magic - Dark Fantasy RP

Nah, we'll be fine. I'm sure this is the kinda dark fantasy RP were no one get's hurt, and everyone lives to a ripe old age and get's their own, specifically tailored happy ending.

. . . Right?

Muskets & Magic - Dark Fantasy RP

Roland Axis

Nah, I don't hate the Gods. I just think they got a real shitty sense of humour, and I'm getting damn sick of being the butt of all their 'funnies'.

Appearance:

Physically Roland is of average height with a slender build, however his slight frame boasts a wiry strength that's surprised many a larger man who expected him to be an easy conquest. His fingers are long and slender, equally adept at jimmying locks, picking pockets, or curling into respectfully sized fists.

He wears his dark hair long, just past his shoulders, using leather thongs to tie his tresses back at the nape to keep them out of his eyes. His face is narrow and sharply angled, too severe in countenance to be considered handsome, though striking in its own way. His eyes are easily his most notable features, being an uncommon ice blue in colour, lending a fierce intensity to his gaze that many find discomforting.

Name:

Roland Axis

Age:

24

Race:

Human

Profession:

Conscript

Personality:

Roland’s personality is somewhat at odds with his criminal past. While he looks little more than a violent delinquent, he is actually a deep-thinking man, one who finds himself constantly wrestling with the morality of his own actions.

He still remembers the stories his mother used to tell him, the ones about noble heroes resplendent in shining armour, doing great deeds and saving princesses. He’s grown up to realize that those stories were nothing more than the fantasies of a woman who was trapped in a desperate situation, but that can’t stop him wishing that he could be a little more like the heroes of those tales, to be a man she could have been proud of. Life’s not like that though, and he’s a realist, not an idealist. He’ll do what it takes for him to survive, even if that means somebody else doesn’t get too. That’s just the way things are. Still, that doesn’t mean he’s got to like it.

He can be charming and personable to those around him, even complete strangers, but has been known to fall into bouts of intense brooding, and during these periods he can be cold, even hostile, to those he loves best in the world.

He prefers to solve his problems without violence, but life has taught him that a man who isn’t willing to fight for those things that are his isn’t going to keep those things for very long, and as such he is ready to resort to brute force when he’s forced to.

He's got an impressive temper, one that he struggles to control at times. He doesn't fly off the handle at small things, but once his danders up it's hard to get him back under control, not before he says or does something incredibly stupid anyway. He realizes it's at moments like that he becomes his own worst enemy, but regardless of how hard he tries to get a reign on his emotions it still feels like he's pissing into the wind.

Backstory:

Roland was born in the Ilyan city of Holden, the only child of Garett and Cecilia Axis. His mother was a fragile and yet uncommonly graceful woman who served as a laundress to a prestigious merchant family. She worked hard, and dreamed of raising herself and her family up from their humble beginnings towards something better. Unfortunately, the Gods conspired against her to make her aspirations unattainable, throwing obstacle after calamity at her, each one conspiring to push her face further back down into the gutter. Chief amongst these misfortunes was her husband, a small-minded, loudmouthed drunk who worked as a dock worker during the day, and a leg breaker for a local gangster through the night. Every penny he made ended up being squandered, either on poor bets, cheap liquor, or cheaper women, and invariable he’d end up taking his wives earnings to settle his ever present debts. Being a man of consistency he quickly wasted those monies too.

To supplement their meager incomes Garett sent his young son to ‘apprentice’ under an old work colleague of his, Hemsey Geance, better known in Holden’s criminal Underworld ‘The Ratcatcher’. Geance was once a talented pickpocket, but after having his fingers broken by a rival he was forced to retire. However, nobody pays a pension to a retired sneak-thief, no matter how good he used to be, and so he began to train the street orphans and unwanted waifs of the city in the fine art of larceny, taking a large cut of each child’s takings as his ‘mentorship fee’, and keeping them all in line through a mixture of violence, cunning, and emotional blackmail. Roland became one of Geance’s ‘Rats’, and that small portion of his spoils that he didn’t pass onto the Ratcatcher was taken home to give to his father.

Cecilia hated the path that her husband had set Roland down, but she’d ever been a meek woman, unwillingly to argue with her volatile husband, and never quite mustered up the courage to disagree with Garett. Instead she worked as hard as she could to bolster Roland’s moral education, trying to teach him the differences between right and wrong, encouraging him to go to the local church-run Sunday school, and filling his head with stories featuring great heroes of the past. Roland enjoyed the tales, but never quite grasped the lessons his mother was trying to impart to him, not at the time. His father thought it was all a waste of time, thinking that there was no use filling the boys head with nonsense when life would beat it out of him in due course, but as long as it didn’t affect him he was happy to let his wife continue the ‘lost cause’.

Things continued that way until Roland was fourteen years old. One day, after finishing work for the Ratcatcher, he returned home to find his mother dead, her neck twisted at an unnatural angle and her body cool, while of his father there was no sign at all. There was no explanation for the scene, no broken furniture or signs of struggle. Despite all the years of taking her for granted and the scorn and verbal abuse he had heaped upon her, Garett had never so much as raised a hand against his wife in the past, and while the town watchmen who were eventually called to investigate the scene could find no evidence of violence the fact that Roland’s father had apparently fled was too much to ignore. They began a man hunt for Garett, but never found him. Reports would eventually come in that he had booked passage upon a ship that was sailing from the docks earlier that day, but by the time they came in it was too late to stop him.

Roland’s mother was dead and his father was gone. He was on his own.

Roland ran before the authorities made any plans for him. He didn’t know where and at the time he didn’t know why. It was an animal reaction, a young boy fleeing a situation that he wasn’t equipped to deal with. Truth be told the watch probably could have stopped him, or at least found him, if they’d wanted. But what did they care about him? Just one more orphan on the streets of Harndon. ‘Let him disappear,’ they thought, ‘less work for us to do’.

When he eventually stopped running he realized he couldn’t go home. No, not just couldn’t, but wouldn’t. It was a tainted place for him now. He had no other family, and no one he could turn to. So, he did the only thing he could think to do. He returned to the Ratcatcher and went to work. Geance was only too happy at this turn of events. Roland was a good earner, a hard worker and a damn fine thief. One of the best he’d ever trained. The money fairly flowed in after Roland lost his home, as there was no real reason for him to stop working, other than the occasional breaks to eat and sleep. In fact, it would have been accurate to say that the job became Roland’s whole life, but as the time he spent separating honest people from their coin grew, so too did his passion for the craft. His grafts became ever more elaborate, more sophisticated, and Geance watched on in something akin to awe as, in two short years, his student became a better thief than he ever was in his prime. Roland was made too work in the shadows, and that wasn't just because of his ability to see in the dark. It came as no surprise to the old pickpocket when he heard that Roland had captured the attention of Theron Kingmaker.

Theron Kingmaker. So named because everyone knew he was the real power in Holden, whether the politicians and nobility wanted to admit it or not. Theron had come out of nowhere about fifteen years prior and through the use of bloody violence, crooked deals and underhand tactics, he had forced the disparate gangs and criminal families of the city into something almost resembling a sophisticated hierarchy, featuring himself sitting pretty at the top of the lot. Ever since then everyone knew almost nothing happened in the city of Hardon without his says so. It was whispered that 'he had the power to turn paupers into kings, and kings into corps', which,while not quite true, went a long way to illustrating the fear and respect people held for the criminal lord. The Kingmaker virtually owned Holden in all but name, but he was no longer a young man, and his mind had started to turn to such nebulous things as ‘legacies’. He wanted to ensure that when he was gone that control of his city would go to someone worthy of it. Unfortunately, he had no sons or daughters of his own, no family of any sort, and what friends he did have had all been buried on his way to the top. He began a search to find a candidate to pass his power to, but no one suitable presented themselves. No one, that was, until Roland began making waves.

Stories of the young man’s exploits had begun to filter through the taverns, gambling dens, pawnshops, whorehouses and all the dens of iniquity of Holden, and when Theron heard them he brought the young man in for a meet. For his part Roland had heard of the infamous Kingmaker, after all, who that ran in his circles hadn’t. The young thief figured that he’d crossed the wrong man somewhere in the course of one of his heists, and now Theron was going to snuff him out. Terrified he was going to die, he still endeavored to go out like a man, refusing to show Theron the respect he was due, refusing to show just how terrified he was. It worked in Roland’s favor though, as his iron-necked tough guy act, and young mans bluster in the face of the most dangerous man in the city, went someway to impressing Theron, who decided then and there that he’d found the heir he’d been looking for.

There was still tests to pass and hoops to jump through of course, but Theron was certain that Roland would pass them all, and pass them he did, not always easily as the trials were designed to test his limits, but always with an innate self-confidence that said the young man was born to the life of a crook. He had the skills to go far, and Theron, a man who believed steadfastly in the values of a good education, spent a considerable sum to make sure that his protégé had the proper knowledge to match his new position. Subjects such as mathematics, politics, history, and refined etiquette were all thrust at Roland, while renowned pugilists and fighters such as Rabon “The Rabid” Smith were called in to test his physical prowess. While Roland could usually manage the “higher” lessons, he struggled to keep up with the professional fist-fighters and toughs that constantly challenged him, though that just encouraged Theron to increase the tutelage in that particular area. After all, practice made perfect, and the Kingmaker was adamant that his student would become perfect, even if it killed him.

Years passed, and by Roland’s twenty-third birthday it was fair to say that he was finally becoming the man Theron wanted. True, there were still rough edges from his days as a foot-pad that needed smoothing, but on the whole he was beginning to resemble what the Kingmaker liked to call a ‘Made-Man’. Which was just as well, as there was a new up-and-comer in Holden’s underworld, calling himself Caleb Losthill, who was getting ready to challenge Theron for control of the city. Many of the cities’ leading nobles were getting tired of Theron’s shadow-rule over them, and were willing to back Losthill’s play if it meant they could get rid of the old man. Theron’s power had never been more precarious, and he needed all his men at their best if they were going to weather the coming storm. Unfortunately, Roland wasn’t paying the attention that the matter at hand demanded, owing to the fact that word had just come in that his father had returned to Holden.

Garett hadn’t just sauntered into town and expected everything to go back to the way they had been nearly a decade before though. He’d slunk in the back door as it were, with a new name and look, a thick beard and died hair to cover his identity. He’d hoped it, and the time he’d spent away, would be enough to fool the town’s guard. And it had been. Things don’t change that much though, and the old fool had gone and gotten drunk one night to celebrate his return to the city of his birth, and in his stupor started blabbing about who he really was to a cheap hooker. The hooker told his story to her pimp, who worked for Theron Kingmaker, who told Roland. The young man didn’t know what he felt at the return of his father, but knew he had to go and see him. He travelled to the tavern where Garett was staying almost straight away.

Upon seeing his father, slumped at the bar and half unconscious with drink even though it was only mid-morning, Roland felt nothing. Then he remembered the body of his mother, cool to the touch with her delicate neck twisted at that unnatural angle, and a cold fury over took him, something primordial and savage. There was no controlling himself after that, but, if the truth was to be told, he didn’t want to control himself. He let himself walk towards his father, his hand dropping to the knife he wore concealed in his jacket. Somehow Garett must have heard him coming and twisted in his seat to face his son. The drink that clouded the older man’s senses, nor the years that had separated them, didn’t delay his recognition. Nor did it stop him identifying the obvious intent in his son’s eyes.

“Now son, we can speak. . .” he began, but he never finished, not before he was interrupted by the knife that plunged into his throat.

“Speak to that.” Answered Roland, his voice cold yet measured, his rage controlled yet unleashed. It was in that moment that he truly became on of the hardened criminal community, a man willing to take a life if it suited his needs. It was also in that moment that he got himself arrested. A squadron of guardsmen trooped into the tavern from the streets outside and summarily shackled him at rifle point. Roland quickly realised that he’d been set up, as the timing of guardsmen was just too convenient to be a coincidence. Later, while in the town cells, he received a message from Theron stating that he’d uncovered evidence that Garett Axis had only returned to Holden under Losthill’s urging, and it looked like Losthill had used the whole thing as a gamble to remove Roland from the board before he began his strike against Theron. The Kingmaker also told him not to worry, as now they knew Caleb’s plans, and that he would use his connections to get Roland out of prison, and together they would strike at their rival.

The chance never came though, as Losthill’s agents struck first. A crooked prison guard captain was payed a handsome sum to kill Roland in prison and make it look like an accident. The guard in question was a scumbag, but not the kind of scumbag who was comfortable with murdering someone, nor did he like the thought of ordering Roland killed by one of his men then having a potential loose end. Instead he forged expedition conscription papers for the young thief, before smuggling him out towards the nearest expedition barracks, who was then shipped out before he got an opportunity to escape, thereby disposing of Roland without ever having to wet his blade.

So, there it is, Roland’s story, and the reason why he’s part of the expedition. He’d dearly love to abandon his new comrades and return home to Holden and Theron, but as a conscript he’s watched far too closely by his suspicious officers to just run away clean, and even if he did manage to escape there’s an ocean that separates him from home now. Save the advent of a miracle it’s looking more and more like that he’s just going to have to survive this New World now, and wait for his tour of duty to end before he can make his return. But make no mistake, he is going to survive, and he is going to get home.

There’s some scores that need settling, and Roland ain’t the kind of man to let a thing like that lie.

Skills and Abilities:

• Nightvision: Roland is capable of seeing in the dark. It's a passive ability that he's had for as long as he can remember, and in fact when he was a child he just assumed it was something everyone was capable of. It's proved to be a massive boon in his adult life, but years on the street have taught him to keep the ability to himself. Theron Kingmaker is one of the few to know about it, and theorises that it may be a rudimentary manifestation of some kind of Natural magic that courses through Roland's veins.
• Stealthy: Most of Roland’s best work gets done in the dark, out of the light of day and unseen by decent people, and so he’s learnt to move silently. Ghosts and shadows could learn a thing or two from him when it comes to skulking around.
• Career criminal: Picking pockets, lifting purses, extortion rackets, conmanship, bribery, mugging, robbery, arson, insurance fraud, smuggling, littering, you name it and Roland’s done it. His favourite acts are those were nobody has to get hurt – physically speaking – but that doesn’t mean he’s unfamiliar with clubbing a man over the back of the head. . . or knifing a rival while he sleeps.
• Athletic: Fast, strong, young, and physically capable, Roland is probably as physically ready for the tasks ahead as it is possible for a man to be.
• Intelligent: Contrary to his rather humble origins, Roland has been given a rather extensive education by his patron, Theron, receiving the kind of tutoring that is usually reserved for the sons and daughters of wealthy middleclass merchants and noblemen. That’s not to say he was always the keenest of students, but that when he did apply himself to his studies his quick and able mind was usually able to quickly grasp the information presented to him. He prefers to play to the role of being a typical street dunce though, as he’s found that it’s to his advantage if people assume that he’s uneducated, and therefore less of a threat.
• Street and knife fighting: Running with street gangs isn’t anyone’s idea of a soft life, the kind of life that if you don’t get tough you end up getting dead. As a child, Roland was smaller than most of his contemporaries, and quickly learnt that a fair fight wasn’t any kind of fight at all. Dirt slinging, eye gouging, ball kicking or neck biting, if it helped him win a confrontation, didn’t matter how dirty the tactic, he was gonna do it. He’s since bolstered those hard-learnt skills after being trained by the best wrestlers, pugilists, and knifemen that Holden has too offer.
• Marksmanship: Not a skill he’s been forced to utilize as often as his others, nevertheless Theron would have been remiss if he hadn’t ensured that his protégé can handle a gun when it’s called for. However, his schooling has only really incorporated pistol wielding, and so Roland is a rank novice when using a musket. . . you know, like those etherguns that are going to be all that stand between him and a messily gory death by demonic dismemberment.
• Woodcraft and Tracking: Virtually non-existent. Rolands only ever left the city of Holden twice in his life, and even then he never went far. Put him in the woods on his own and he’s liable to starve to death within the week.

Equipment:

• Standard Expeditionary kit and uniform
• Rune Pattern Ethergun and bayonet
• A wickedly sharp, bone handled long-dirk
• A set of exceptionally fine lock picks
• Collapsible spyglass
• Compass
• Hatchet
• Tinderbox
• A battered hip-flask, still half full of some amber gut-swill that has a brass-neck to call itself brandy
• A small silver pocket watch, engraved with the words 'To Stevros, Come back to me safe, Yours forever, Love Molly'

Muskets & Magic - Dark Fantasy RP

@VietmykeHopefully this addresses the issues. If not I can work on editing the CS.

Hider

A lot of this is down to not explaining myself well. He isn’t a known figure amongst the peasantry and normal merchants of Holden, but rather amongst the criminal brotherhood of the city. I imagined them swapping stories about one another’s exploits in the darkened corners of dingy pubs, each trying to outdo the other with their daring and exploits. The ones who could actually back up this boasting with action would start to make a name for themselves.

He’s not a reformed criminal, he’s a conflicted one. He doesn’t do the wrong things in life because he’s a bad guy with a complete lack of conscience, he does them because he sees them as the only recourse in the dark world he lives in. His mother was the best person he ever knew, and she died an undignified death. On the other hand Theron Kingmaker has spent a lifetime as a criminal, and now he’s arguably the most powerful man in the city of Holden. Roland’s witnessed good people be punished and the bad rewarded. He’d like to be a better man, and honour the lessons his mother strove to taught him, but he’s never been shown much reason to be good for goods on sake, and is frankly a little afraid of the personal consequences if he ever was.

The nickname was a placeholder from when I originally envisioned the character and began the CS. To be honest it doesn’t suit the man who has come out of the other end of the process. I’ll remove it.

Yeah, the guard captain was perhaps a push, but there are a few justifications I had in mind. Firstly, just because a man is corrupt doesn’t mean he’s a murderer, or is even capable of murder. I figured he was given the job but proved to squeamish to do the job himself, and didn’t like the thought of giving the task to someone else in case word got back to Losthill that he’d proved incapable, and potentially be replaced in his position as ‘the inside man’ at the prison. As it’s a dark fantasy setting I imagined it was a crapsack world, and that the resources required to forge papers for a conscript would be relatively low, thanks to a combination of inept bureaucracy, general disinterest in the individual situations of the conscripts themselves, and a high need for ever increasing numbers of ‘demon fodder’ in the New World. If I’m wrong about the world state let me now and I can change it. Like you said, it’s a means to an end, but it’s not the only one I envisioned.

I left it out of the backstory as I was trying to present the idea that it’s a gift that he has been taking for granted. As a boy, he thought it was something everyone else was capable of, and as an adult he’s been using it for so long that it’s become intrinsically part of him. He can’t imagine life without it because he’s never even tried. Conversely though he’s never investigated into why he has this ability, never thought to approach a mage or scientist to help him find a reason to explain this strange phenomenon. I was partially trying to avert the whole “woe is me, why do I have these fantastic powers that make me different from everyone else” mindset, and thought it would be refreshing to see someone who just accepted his abilities as something that life has given him. He doesn’t think he’s cursed in this regard, nor does he think he’s gifted. He just is.

Sorry for the lack of clarity, I'm not particularly fond of, nor good at CS's. I never present the information I have in my head concisely. I prefer to ease things like personality and history out over the duration of an RP, as the fluidity of that approach suits me better.

Muskets & Magic - Dark Fantasy RP

That's my CS (hopefully) finished now. If you feel I've taken some liberties with making my own City and side characters please let me know.

Knife-speaks

Nah, I don't hate the Gods. I just think they got a real shitty sense of humour, and I'm getting damn sick of being the butt of all their 'funnies'.

Appearance:

Physically Roland is of average height with a slender build, however his slight frame boasts a wiry strength that's surprised many a larger man who expected him to be an easy conquest. His fingers are long and slender, equally adept at jimmying locks, picking pockets, or curling into respectfully sized fists.

He wears his dark hair long, just past his shoulders, using leather thongs to tie his tresses back at the nape to keep them out of his eyes. His face is narrow and sharply angled, too severe in countenance to be considered handsome, though striking in its own way. His eyes are easily his most notable features, being an uncommon ice blue in colour, lending a fierce intensity to his gaze that many find discomforting.

Name:

Roland "Knife-speaks" Axis

Age:

24

Race:

Human

Profession:

Conscript

Personality:

Roland’s personality is somewhat at odds with his criminal past. While he looks little more than a violent delinquent, he is actually a deep-thinking man, one who finds himself constantly wrestling with the morality of his own actions.

He still remembers the stories his mother used to tell him, the ones about noble heroes resplendent in shining armour, doing great deeds and saving princesses. He’s grown up to realize that those stories were nothing more than the fantasies of a woman who was trapped in a desperate situation, but that can’t stop him wishing that he could be a little more like the heroes of those tales, to be a man she could have been proud of. Life’s not like that though, and he’s a realist, not an idealist. He’ll do what it takes for him to survive, even if that means somebody else doesn’t get too. That’s just the way things are. Still, that doesn’t mean he’s got to like it.

He can be charming and personable to those around him, even complete strangers, but has been known to fall into bouts of intense brooding, and during these periods he can be cold, even hostile, to those he loves best in the world.

He prefers to solve his problems without violence, but life has taught him that a man who isn’t willing to fight for those things that are his isn’t going to keep those things for very long, and as such he is ready to resort to brute force when he’s forced to.

He's got an impressive temper, one that he struggles to control at times. He doesn't fly off the handle at small things, but once his danders up it's hard to get him back under control, not before he says or does something incredibly stupid anyway. He realizes it's at moments like that he becomes his own worst enemy, but regardless of how hard he tries to get a reign on his emotions it still feels like he's pissing into the wind.

Backstory:

Roland was born in the Ilyan city of Holden, the only child of Garett and Cecilia Axis. His mother was a fragile and yet uncommonly graceful woman who served as a laundress to a prestigious merchant family. She worked hard, and dreamed of raising herself and her family up from their humble beginnings towards something better. Unfortunately, the Gods conspired against her to make her aspirations unattainable, throwing obstacle after calamity at her, each one conspiring to push her face further back down into the gutter. Chief amongst these misfortunes was her husband, a small-minded, loudmouthed drunk who worked as a dock worker during the day, and a leg breaker for a local gangster through the night. Every penny he made ended up being squandered, either on poor bets, cheap liquor, or cheaper women, and invariable he’d end up taking his wives earnings to settle his ever present debts. Being a man of consistency he quickly wasted those monies too.

To supplement their meager incomes Garett sent his young son to ‘apprentice’ under an old work colleague of his, Hemsey Geance, better known in Holden’s criminal Underworld ‘The Ratcatcher’. Geance was once a talented pickpocket, but after having his fingers broken by a rival he was forced to retire. However, nobody pays a pension to a retired sneak-thief, no matter how good he used to be, and so he began to train the street orphans and unwanted waifs of the city in the fine art of larceny, taking a large cut of each child’s takings as his ‘mentorship fee’, and keeping them all in line through a mixture of violence, cunning, and emotional blackmail. Roland became one of Geance’s ‘Rats’, and that small portion of his spoils that he didn’t pass onto the Ratcatcher was taken home to give to his father.

Cecilia hated the path that her husband had set Roland down, but she’d ever been a meek woman, unwillingly to argue with her volatile husband, and never quite mustered up the courage to disagree with Garett. Instead she worked as hard as she could to bolster Roland’s moral education, trying to teach him the differences between right and wrong, encouraging him to go to the local church-run Sunday school, and filling his head with stories featuring great heroes of the past. Roland enjoyed the tales, but never quite grasped the lessons his mother was trying to impart to him, not at the time. His father thought it was all a waste of time, thinking that there was no use filling the boys head with nonsense when life would beat it out of him in due course, but as long as it didn’t affect him he was happy to let his wife continue the ‘lost cause’.

Things continued that way until Roland was fourteen years old. One day, after finishing work for the Ratcatcher, he returned home to find his mother dead, her neck twisted at an unnatural angle and her body cool, while of his father there was no sign at all. There was no explanation for the scene, no broken furniture or signs of struggle. Despite all the years of taking her for granted and the scorn and verbal abuse he had heaped upon her, Garett had never so much as raised a hand against his wife in the past, and while the town watchmen who were eventually called to investigate the scene could find no evidence of violence the fact that Roland’s father had apparently fled was too much to ignore. They began a man hunt for Garett, but never found him. Reports would eventually come in that he had booked passage upon a ship that was sailing from the docks earlier that day, but by the time they came in it was too late to stop him.

Roland’s mother was dead and his father was gone. He was on his own.

Roland ran before the authorities made any plans for him. He didn’t know where and at the time he didn’t know why. It was an animal reaction, a young boy fleeing a situation that he wasn’t equipped to deal with. Truth be told the watch probably could have stopped him, or at least found him, if they’d wanted. But what did they care about him? Just one more orphan on the streets of Harndon. ‘Let him disappear,’ they thought, ‘less work for us to do’.

When he eventually stopped running he realized he couldn’t go home. No, not just couldn’t, but wouldn’t. It was a tainted place for him now. He had no other family, and no one he could turn to. So, he did the only thing he could think to do. He returned to the Ratcatcher and went to work. Geance was only too happy at this turn of events. Roland was a good earner, a hard worker and a damn fine thief. One of the best he’d ever trained. The money fairly flowed in after Roland lost his home, as there was no real reason for him to stop working, other than the occasional breaks to eat and sleep. In fact, it would have been accurate to say that the job became Roland’s whole life, but as the time he spent separating honest people from their coin grew, so too did his passion for the craft. His grafts became ever more elaborate, more sophisticated, and Geance watched on in something akin to awe as, in two short years, his student became a better thief than he ever was in his prime. Roland was made too work in the shadows, and that wasn't just because of his ability to see in the dark. It came as no surprise to the old pickpocket when he heard that Roland had captured the attention of Theron Kingmaker.

Theron Kingmaker. So named because everyone knew he was the real power in Holden, whether the politicians and nobility wanted to admit it or not. Theron had come out of nowhere about fifteen years prior and through the use of bloody violence, crooked deals and underhand tactics, he had forced the disparate gangs and criminal families of the city into something almost resembling a sophisticated hierarchy, featuring himself sitting pretty at the top of the lot. Ever since then everyone knew almost nothing happened in the city of Hardon without his says so. It was whispered that 'he had the power to turn paupers into kings, and kings into corps', which,while not quite true, went a long way to illustrating the fear and respect people held for the criminal lord. The Kingmaker virtually owned Holden in all but name, but he was no longer a young man, and his mind had started to turn to such nebulous things as ‘legacies’. He wanted to ensure that when he was gone that control of his city would go to someone worthy of it. Unfortunately, he had no sons or daughters of his own, no family of any sort, and what friends he did have had all been buried on his way to the top. He began a search to find a candidate to pass his power to, but no one suitable presented themselves. No one, that was, until Roland began making waves.

Stories of the young man’s exploits had begun to filter through the taverns, gambling dens, pawnshops, whorehouses and all the dens of iniquity of Holden, and when Theron heard them he brought the young man in for a meet. For his part Roland had heard of the infamous Kingmaker, after all, who that ran in his circles hadn’t. The young thief figured that he’d crossed the wrong man somewhere in the course of one of his heists, and now Theron was going to snuff him out. Terrified he was going to die, he still endeavored to go out like a man, refusing to show Theron the respect he was due, refusing to show just how terrified he was. It worked in Roland’s favor though, as his iron-necked tough guy act, and young mans bluster in the face of the most dangerous man in the city, went someway to impressing Theron, who decided then and there that he’d found the heir he’d been looking for.

There was still tests to pass and hoops to jump through of course, but Theron was certain that Roland would pass them all, and pass them he did, not always easily as the trials were designed to test his limits, but always with an innate self-confidence that said the young man was born to the life of a crook. He had the skills to go far, and Theron, a man who believed steadfastly in the values of a good education, spent a considerable sum to make sure that his protégé had the proper knowledge to match his new position. Subjects such as mathematics, politics, history, and refined etiquette were all thrust at Roland, while renowned pugilists and fighters such as Rabon “The Rabid” Smith were called in to test his physical prowess. While Roland could usually manage the “higher” lessons, he struggled to keep up with the professional fist-fighters and toughs that constantly challenged him, though that just encouraged Theron to increase the tutelage in that particular area. After all, practice made perfect, and the Kingmaker was adamant that his student would become perfect, even if it killed him.

Years passed, and by Roland’s twenty-third birthday it was fair to say that he was finally becoming the man Theron wanted. True, there were still rough edges from his days as a foot-pad that needed smoothing, but on the whole he was beginning to resemble what the Kingmaker liked to call a ‘Made-Man’. Which was just as well, as there was a new up-and-comer in Holden’s underworld, calling himself Caleb Losthill, who was getting ready to challenge Theron for control of the city. Many of the cities’ leading nobles were getting tired of Theron’s shadow-rule over them, and were willing to back Losthill’s play if it meant they could get rid of the old man. Theron’s power had never been more precarious, and he needed all his men at their best if they were going to weather the coming storm. Unfortunately, Roland wasn’t paying the attention that the matter at hand demanded, owing to the fact that word had just come in that his father had returned to Holden.

Garett hadn’t just sauntered into town and expected everything to go back to the way they had been nearly a decade before though. He’d slunk in the back door as it were, with a new name and look, a thick beard and died hair to cover his identity. He’d hoped it, and the time he’d spent away, would be enough to fool the town’s guard. And it had been. Things don’t change that much though, and the old fool had gone and gotten drunk one night to celebrate his return to the city of his birth, and in his stupor started blabbing about who he really was to a cheap hooker. The hooker told his story to her pimp, who worked for Theron Kingmaker, who told Roland. The young man didn’t know what he felt at the return of his father, but knew he had to go and see him. He travelled to the tavern where Garett was staying almost straight away.

Upon seeing his father, slumped at the bar and half unconscious with drink even though it was only mid-morning, Roland felt nothing. Then he remembered the body of his mother, cool to the touch with her delicate neck twisted at that unnatural angle, and a cold fury over took him, something primordial and savage. There was no controlling himself after that, but, if the truth was to be told, he didn’t want to control himself. He let himself walk towards his father, his hand dropping to the knife he wore concealed in his jacket. Somehow Garett must have heard him coming and twisted in his seat to face his son. The drink that clouded the older man’s senses, nor the years that had separated them, didn’t delay his recognition. Nor did it stop him identifying the obvious intent in his son’s eyes.

“Now son, we can speak. . .” he began, but he never finished, not before he was interrupted by the knife that plunged into his throat.

“Speak to that.” Answered Roland, his voice cold yet measured, his rage controlled yet unleashed. It was in that moment that he earned his byname of ‘Knifespeaks’. It was also in that moment that he got himself arrested. A squadron of guardsmen trooped into the tavern from the streets outside and summarily shackled him at rifle point. Roland quickly realised that he’d been set up, as the timing of guardsmen was just too convenient to be a coincidence. Later, while in the town cells, he received a message from Theron stating that he’d uncovered evidence that Garett Axis had only returned to Holden under Losthill’s urging, and it looked like Losthill had used the whole thing as a gamble to remove Roland from the board before he began his strike against Theron. The Kingmaker also told him not to worry, as now they knew Caleb’s plans, and that he would use his connections to get Roland out of prison, and together they would strike at their rival.

The chance never came though, as Losthill’s agents struck first. A crooked prison guard captain was payed a handsome sum to kill Roland in prison and make it look like an accident. The guard in question was a scumbag, but not the kind of scumbag who was comfortable with murdering someone, nor did he like the thought of ordering Roland killed by one of his men then having a potential loose end. Instead he forged expedition conscription papers for the young thief, before smuggling him out towards the nearest expedition barracks, who was then shipped out before he got an opportunity to escape, thereby disposing of Roland without ever having to wet his blade.

So, there it is, Roland’s story, and the reason why he’s part of the expedition. He’d dearly love to abandon his new comrades and return home to Holden and Theron, but as a conscript he’s watched far too closely by his suspicious officers to just run away clean, and even if he did manage to escape there’s an ocean that separates him from home now. Save the advent of a miracle it’s looking more and more like that he’s just going to have to survive this New World now, and wait for his tour of duty to end before he can make his return. But make no mistake, he is going to survive, and he is going to get home.

There’s some scores that need settling, and Roland ain’t the kind of man to let a thing like that lie.

Skills and Abilities:

• Nightvision: Roland is capable of seeing in the dark. It's a passive ability that he's had for as long as he can remember, and in fact when he was a child he just assumed it was something everyone was capable of. It's proved to be a massive boon in his adult life, but years on the street have taught him to keep the ability to himself. Theron Kingmaker is one of the few to know about it, and theorises that it may be a rudimentary manifestation of some kind of Natural magic that courses through Roland's veins.
• Stealthy: Most of Roland’s best work gets done in the dark, out of the light of day and unseen by decent people, and so he’s learnt to move silently. Ghosts and shadows could learn a thing or two from him when it comes to skulking around.
• Career criminal: Picking pockets, lifting purses, extortion rackets, conmanship, bribery, mugging, robbery, arson, insurance fraud, smuggling, littering, you name it and Roland’s done it. His favourite acts are those were nobody has to get hurt – physically speaking – but that doesn’t mean he’s unfamiliar with clubbing a man over the back of the head. . . or knifing a rival while he sleeps.
• Athletic: Fast, strong, young, and physically capable, Roland is probably as physically ready for the tasks ahead as it is possible for a man to be.
• Intelligent: Contrary to his rather humble origins, Roland has been given a rather extensive education by his patron, Theron, receiving the kind of tutoring that is usually reserved for the sons and daughters of wealthy middleclass merchants and noblemen. That’s not to say he was always the keenest of students, but that when he did apply himself to his studies his quick and able mind was usually able to quickly grasp the information presented to him. He prefers to play to the role of being a typical street dunce though, as he’s found that it’s to his advantage if people assume that he’s uneducated, and therefore less of a threat.
• Street and knife fighting: Running with street gangs isn’t anyone’s idea of a soft life, the kind of life that if you don’t get tough you end up getting dead. As a child, Roland was smaller than most of his contemporaries, and quickly learnt that a fair fight wasn’t any kind of fight at all. Dirt slinging, eye gouging, ball kicking or neck biting, if it helped him win a confrontation, didn’t matter how dirty the tactic, he was gonna do it. He’s since bolstered those hard-learnt skills after being trained by the best wrestlers, pugilists, and knifemen that Holden has too offer.
• Marksmanship: Not a skill he’s been forced to utilize as often as his others, nevertheless Theron would have been remiss if he hadn’t ensured that his protégé can handle a gun when it’s called for. However, his schooling has only really incorporated pistol wielding, and so Roland is a rank novice when using a musket. . . you know, like those etherguns that are going to be all that stand between him and a messily gory death by demonic dismemberment.
• Woodcraft and Tracking: Virtually non-existent. Rolands only ever left the city of Holden twice in his life, and even then he never went far. Put him in the woods on his own and he’s liable to starve to death within the week.

Equipment:

• Standard Expeditionary kit and uniform
• Rune Pattern Ethergun and bayonet
• A wickedly sharp, bone handled long-dirk
• A set of exceptionally fine lock picks
• Collapsible spyglass
• Compass
• Hatchet
• Tinderbox
• A battered hip-flask, still half full of some amber gut-swill that has a brass-neck to call itself brandy
• A small silver pocket watch, engraved with the words 'To Stevros, Come back to me safe, Yours forever, Love Molly'

Huntress looking for prey (FxF or MxF)

I've been wanting to do something Mass Effect themed if you're still keen?