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Most Recent Posts
Cat's (or wolf) got claws, huh? :D I imagined Dunn's response might rile up some emotions. He never was a very good smooth talker...
Good to hear, Crabmeat. :) As they should, Lilian!
Also, if anyone wondered why I've edited my post, it's just 'cus I noticed some spelling errors. It always is when I edit a post and don't mention it in the OOC. Just a heads up!
Also, if anyone wondered why I've edited my post, it's just 'cus I noticed some spelling errors. It always is when I edit a post and don't mention it in the OOC. Just a heads up!
So, in the post I just made, I wrote about Dunn's relation to Raleigh that I just toally invented, Crabmeat. If you think it a bad idea, I'll of course revise my post. Either way, let me know what you think!
Anselm Dunn - Giant of Albion
Dunn stood quietly in the background next to a stone, with his bag firmly held in his left hand and a cigarette in his right. He often drank and smoked excessively, but it didn't bother him as the weakening of his curse several hundred years ago had also seemingly allowed him to once more use substances without becoming addicted. Previously, during the middle ages and early renaissance, Anselm had been somewhat of a raging alcoholic, no doubt something that had impaired his research. In fact, he often wondered whether the alcohol might be the reason he still hadn't been able to lift the curse. Nevertheless, he kept drinking even after his addiction left him, partly because he wasn't as enthusiastic about lifting the curse as he once was. No, shake that fuckin' thought.
He had quietly looked on as the others spoke. Dunn had little reason to mingle. He often found himself too bitter, resentful and slow-minded to gain anything from casual conversation with supernatural being. And Dunn was the only natural being there. The only supernatural thing about him was the damned curse. Moreover, the only folk he had met of those gathered at the stone circle was Atticus Mac Cléirich and Raleigh Oakwood. He respected Atticus. Despite his demonic heritage, the man had proved just and surprisingly honest. Not that these were traits Dunn could claim to possess himself, but he respected them in others. Yet Atticus' powers were unnerving to Dunn. The idea of an ability to tamper with someone's mind, making them do things they otherwise never would have thought of unnerved Dunn, and was the reason he would never really trust Atticus.
Raleigh Oakwood, however, was the sole person assembled whom Dunn did trust. He had first met Raleigh thousands of years ago, when Dunn was yet anything but a giant, and knew Raleigh as a protector of the natural, and someone who had fought a human invasion of Albion much like Dunn had. Unfortunately, with the same ending, too. They hadn't met after those ancient years until they both found themselves in the employ of the Bain & Howle company, in the 1800's. Since then, the two had on several occasions been paired on assignments, Raliegh providing intelligence, cunning and charm as the lead, with Dunn providing brawn and vast amounts of knowledge about the Veiled World. Personality wise, Raleigh was on most accounts the opposite of Dunn, and Dunn appreciated him for it.
The two knew where they stood, and merely nodded to each other in recognition as the assembly formed. As the mingling settled and Atticus spoke up, Dunn listened intently. A personal matter? What the hell? While respecting the man, Dunn felt no obligation to Atticus. Disinterested, he gazed at the map and passed it on. It was not a company mission, he didn't know the bastard they were asked to risk their lives to save, and he stood nothing to gain from doing so. As such, he presently held no intention of volunteering for this farce, unless something changed. Dunn flicked his cigarette and looked at Atticus. Bluntly, as always, he spoke up.
"Give me a tangible reason to follow, and I will."
Dunn stood quietly in the background next to a stone, with his bag firmly held in his left hand and a cigarette in his right. He often drank and smoked excessively, but it didn't bother him as the weakening of his curse several hundred years ago had also seemingly allowed him to once more use substances without becoming addicted. Previously, during the middle ages and early renaissance, Anselm had been somewhat of a raging alcoholic, no doubt something that had impaired his research. In fact, he often wondered whether the alcohol might be the reason he still hadn't been able to lift the curse. Nevertheless, he kept drinking even after his addiction left him, partly because he wasn't as enthusiastic about lifting the curse as he once was. No, shake that fuckin' thought.
He had quietly looked on as the others spoke. Dunn had little reason to mingle. He often found himself too bitter, resentful and slow-minded to gain anything from casual conversation with supernatural being. And Dunn was the only natural being there. The only supernatural thing about him was the damned curse. Moreover, the only folk he had met of those gathered at the stone circle was Atticus Mac Cléirich and Raleigh Oakwood. He respected Atticus. Despite his demonic heritage, the man had proved just and surprisingly honest. Not that these were traits Dunn could claim to possess himself, but he respected them in others. Yet Atticus' powers were unnerving to Dunn. The idea of an ability to tamper with someone's mind, making them do things they otherwise never would have thought of unnerved Dunn, and was the reason he would never really trust Atticus.
Raleigh Oakwood, however, was the sole person assembled whom Dunn did trust. He had first met Raleigh thousands of years ago, when Dunn was yet anything but a giant, and knew Raleigh as a protector of the natural, and someone who had fought a human invasion of Albion much like Dunn had. Unfortunately, with the same ending, too. They hadn't met after those ancient years until they both found themselves in the employ of the Bain & Howle company, in the 1800's. Since then, the two had on several occasions been paired on assignments, Raliegh providing intelligence, cunning and charm as the lead, with Dunn providing brawn and vast amounts of knowledge about the Veiled World. Personality wise, Raleigh was on most accounts the opposite of Dunn, and Dunn appreciated him for it.
The two knew where they stood, and merely nodded to each other in recognition as the assembly formed. As the mingling settled and Atticus spoke up, Dunn listened intently. A personal matter? What the hell? While respecting the man, Dunn felt no obligation to Atticus. Disinterested, he gazed at the map and passed it on. It was not a company mission, he didn't know the bastard they were asked to risk their lives to save, and he stood nothing to gain from doing so. As such, he presently held no intention of volunteering for this farce, unless something changed. Dunn flicked his cigarette and looked at Atticus. Bluntly, as always, he spoke up.
"Give me a tangible reason to follow, and I will."
Hellis said
You mean you haven't had a single friend play wow during its popularity over here?It was merely stating what I see and experience, you can't really disagree with experiences as they are stuff that happened >_>. I mean, it was even in news papers at one point about how big it was over here.Edit: These days all my friends are playing LoL/DotA instead of wow though.
No, I don't have a friend who ever played it (that I know of). What do you mean I can't disagree? You swore we averaged 4 computers a household. I disagree, as it is not true. I disagree that there is no "nerd stigma" here, and I disagree with the statement that "everyone plays WoW".
What I don't disagree with is your personal experiences, like what you, your friends/teachers/boss have done, as I know nothing of it.
Hellis said
Well it was worse before, but I literally knew entire families who played it during it's peak. Then again. I am swedish, we average 4 computers per family at this point I swear. Also the "nerd" stigma is practically non existent over here at this point.plus my bosses at the time, every teacher I had etc. Like, it was insane.
I'm Swedish too, so... Yeah. I disagree.
Hellis said
People who claim nerdyness over WoW confuse me, EVERYONE plays that game. Now the SC2 tourny however...I stopped WoWing after burning crusade, so many better mmorpgs out there.
I don't know a single person in real life who plays it. Depends on the crowd you hang with.
Not sure I feel the need to make another post as of yet. My character would likely do fuck all and just patiently wait around until Atticus gets to the point, unless someone initiates contact.
This is, however, assuming he doesn't have any real history (good or bad) with the people gathered. If someone can think of a good fit, let me know.
As such; don't wait for me when it's time to move forward. ;)
This is, however, assuming he doesn't have any real history (good or bad) with the people gathered. If someone can think of a good fit, let me know.
As such; don't wait for me when it's time to move forward. ;)
Anselm Dunn – Giant of Albion
The morning light was dim, grey and dull. A slow, thick and wet mist clutched the small town of Kirkwall in a firm grip. Few people moved about in the depressing weather, but an old, ragged figure that looked as if spawned by the cold mist sat slumped onto a bench by the stony beach. Anselm Dunn was dressed in a brown, patched coat that looked as old as the man himself, with worn-out, pale blue jeans and a simple grey shirt beneath the coat to match. Dunn took a deep, heavy breath. The smell of fresh sea salt filled permeated the air. Dunn didn’t think much of the old, sturdy capital of the Orkney Islands, yet found himself being drawn to the place all the same. It was similar to his homelands, which stretched from the Loch Linnhe to the Cromarty Firth on the Scottish mainland, although he had lived all over Albion. Rugged and dark but strangely beautiful in its calm all the same.
A good fifteen minutes passed by. Dunn lost himself in memories of old, as he often would. Torn between his heritage and his literally cursed humanity, Dunn usually found the two sides of him at odds. There was his hate for humanity and everything it stood for, and yet at the same time he had grown accustomed to it for well over a thousand years, finding his personality more human than giant. And he despised himself for it. Yet it had its perks – Dunn would be lying to himself if he claimed he hadn’t had a sort of intellectual awakening. His mind was surely far sharper than that of any giant before him, his reasoning quicker and his conclusions more accurate. Yet compared to other humans, Anselm was little more than average. On top of that, there was the fact he had lost his taste for human meat over the years, now finding the thought as repulsive as the average human would. While in giant form that was a different matter entirely, however.
“I have two thirds of the money. Surely that’s enough?” The sudden voice abruptly ended Dunn’s trail of thoughts. He looked up at the man who stood in front of him. He was in his fifties, sported a fisherman’s hat and a thick beard well suited to his potato nose and tiny pig eyes. Dunn turned his gaze to the bag the man held in his hands.
“You are as dumb as you look if you think that’s enough.”
“I can’t get that much!” the man exclaimed with a panic-stricken voice, before lowering it again. “There is 200 000 pounds in this bag. Enough to buy a fuckin’ house!”
“I don’t want a house, Berrett, I want my money. All of it.”
“Listen Dunn, Clark took 200 000 instead of the 50 000 he was supposed to, it’s not right to put that greedy fuck’s faults on me!”
“As you’re well aware, Clark is gone, and my money with him. You’re his boss, and I’m holding you responsible. We’ve been over this before, Berrett. I want my money.”
Berrett looked around as if hoping to find a solution standing beside him.
“I might be able to get another twenty, but I really can’t scrape together any more than that, Dunn. I won’t get by!” He was shaky and Dunn could see sweat drops forming on the wrinkled face.
Keith Berrett was a local scumbag. An embezzler and a thief, and Dunn had used the man and his brother, Clark Berrett, to find and take a large sum of money – 400 000 British pounds, to be precise – that had previously been stolen from someone that in turn hired Dunn to solve the mess. A freelance job. The client didn’t want his money back, instead offering it as a reward to Dunn if he could find it. His job had instead been to find and kill the culprit who stole it. That task had been performed, but he hadn’t been able to find the money, instead opting to hire talent. All had gone well until Clark Berrett decided to keep half of it for himself, fleeing the country and leaving Dunn shy of a hundred grand, as the last 100 000 was supposed to be split between the Berrett brothers.
Dunn stood up from the bench, looking the far heavier Keith in his eyes.
“I will feed you your entrails if I am not given the other hundred by sundown.” As Keith’s eyes widened in shock, a faint sound was heard from the west followed by a small, metallic globe that gently landed in Dunn’s left hand. Keith appeared to be equally shocked by the globe. Dunn opened it, and read the contents.
“Looks like this is a shitty day for you, Keith. I need to go to Cork, and something tells me your sorry ass won’t still be here when I get back.” As the meaning the sentence carried with it dawned on Keith, he put up his hands as his lips tried to form a word. Dunn guessed the word was wait, but didn’t wait to find out. He shoved a .38 snub nose up Keith’s chin and fired. The bullet travelled through Keith’s chin, mouth, nose and frontal lobe before continuing on the other side of Keith’s head. As the body slumped to the ground, Dunn picked up the bag of money from the ground and left Kirkwall behind him.
As Dunn arrived at the stone circle in Ardgroom, he did so with the same clothes and bag that he left Kirkwall with. A rather large amount of figures was gathered at the circle, some of whom Dunn recognized by face, and some by sheer reputation. Undoubtedly whatever operation Atticus was about to divulge would be a huge change of pace from what Dunn had been doing recently. He let the bag switch hands and greeted the incubus.
The morning light was dim, grey and dull. A slow, thick and wet mist clutched the small town of Kirkwall in a firm grip. Few people moved about in the depressing weather, but an old, ragged figure that looked as if spawned by the cold mist sat slumped onto a bench by the stony beach. Anselm Dunn was dressed in a brown, patched coat that looked as old as the man himself, with worn-out, pale blue jeans and a simple grey shirt beneath the coat to match. Dunn took a deep, heavy breath. The smell of fresh sea salt filled permeated the air. Dunn didn’t think much of the old, sturdy capital of the Orkney Islands, yet found himself being drawn to the place all the same. It was similar to his homelands, which stretched from the Loch Linnhe to the Cromarty Firth on the Scottish mainland, although he had lived all over Albion. Rugged and dark but strangely beautiful in its calm all the same.
A good fifteen minutes passed by. Dunn lost himself in memories of old, as he often would. Torn between his heritage and his literally cursed humanity, Dunn usually found the two sides of him at odds. There was his hate for humanity and everything it stood for, and yet at the same time he had grown accustomed to it for well over a thousand years, finding his personality more human than giant. And he despised himself for it. Yet it had its perks – Dunn would be lying to himself if he claimed he hadn’t had a sort of intellectual awakening. His mind was surely far sharper than that of any giant before him, his reasoning quicker and his conclusions more accurate. Yet compared to other humans, Anselm was little more than average. On top of that, there was the fact he had lost his taste for human meat over the years, now finding the thought as repulsive as the average human would. While in giant form that was a different matter entirely, however.
“I have two thirds of the money. Surely that’s enough?” The sudden voice abruptly ended Dunn’s trail of thoughts. He looked up at the man who stood in front of him. He was in his fifties, sported a fisherman’s hat and a thick beard well suited to his potato nose and tiny pig eyes. Dunn turned his gaze to the bag the man held in his hands.
“You are as dumb as you look if you think that’s enough.”
“I can’t get that much!” the man exclaimed with a panic-stricken voice, before lowering it again. “There is 200 000 pounds in this bag. Enough to buy a fuckin’ house!”
“I don’t want a house, Berrett, I want my money. All of it.”
“Listen Dunn, Clark took 200 000 instead of the 50 000 he was supposed to, it’s not right to put that greedy fuck’s faults on me!”
“As you’re well aware, Clark is gone, and my money with him. You’re his boss, and I’m holding you responsible. We’ve been over this before, Berrett. I want my money.”
Berrett looked around as if hoping to find a solution standing beside him.
“I might be able to get another twenty, but I really can’t scrape together any more than that, Dunn. I won’t get by!” He was shaky and Dunn could see sweat drops forming on the wrinkled face.
Keith Berrett was a local scumbag. An embezzler and a thief, and Dunn had used the man and his brother, Clark Berrett, to find and take a large sum of money – 400 000 British pounds, to be precise – that had previously been stolen from someone that in turn hired Dunn to solve the mess. A freelance job. The client didn’t want his money back, instead offering it as a reward to Dunn if he could find it. His job had instead been to find and kill the culprit who stole it. That task had been performed, but he hadn’t been able to find the money, instead opting to hire talent. All had gone well until Clark Berrett decided to keep half of it for himself, fleeing the country and leaving Dunn shy of a hundred grand, as the last 100 000 was supposed to be split between the Berrett brothers.
Dunn stood up from the bench, looking the far heavier Keith in his eyes.
“I will feed you your entrails if I am not given the other hundred by sundown.” As Keith’s eyes widened in shock, a faint sound was heard from the west followed by a small, metallic globe that gently landed in Dunn’s left hand. Keith appeared to be equally shocked by the globe. Dunn opened it, and read the contents.
“Looks like this is a shitty day for you, Keith. I need to go to Cork, and something tells me your sorry ass won’t still be here when I get back.” As the meaning the sentence carried with it dawned on Keith, he put up his hands as his lips tried to form a word. Dunn guessed the word was wait, but didn’t wait to find out. He shoved a .38 snub nose up Keith’s chin and fired. The bullet travelled through Keith’s chin, mouth, nose and frontal lobe before continuing on the other side of Keith’s head. As the body slumped to the ground, Dunn picked up the bag of money from the ground and left Kirkwall behind him.
As Dunn arrived at the stone circle in Ardgroom, he did so with the same clothes and bag that he left Kirkwall with. A rather large amount of figures was gathered at the circle, some of whom Dunn recognized by face, and some by sheer reputation. Undoubtedly whatever operation Atticus was about to divulge would be a huge change of pace from what Dunn had been doing recently. He let the bag switch hands and greeted the incubus.
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