“Colin Roche. Killer and… Well, killer just about sums me up. At your service ma’am.”
Name: Colin Roche
Age: 27
Sex: Male
Race: Human
Class/Sub-class: Duel-Wield Rogue/Duelist
Abilities:Dance of Death – He gains confidence and control with each defeated opponent, giving him the strength to keep on fighting.
Unforgiving Chain - His daggers are a blur and he is an opportunist, this with his speed and stamina make him a deadly foe to fight for any extended duration.
Combat Movement – He dances around his enemies awaiting the fatal flaw in their defence.
Coup de grâce – Against stunned or badly wounded opponents he is death itself, able to deliver brutal finishers to multiple weakened foes.
Deft Hands, Fine Tools – His colourful past has left him with some useful, but usually criminal skills.
“No shit we could be killed! Did you not know that entering this fight!? He's got a great-sword you idiot, it's not like it's going to tickle!”
Personality: Colin is courageous, impulsive, angry, prone to violence and sarcastic as hell. He's generally just in it for gold and good times and doesn't really care what “it” happens to be as long as there are people to fight and renown to be earned. He very much enjoys fighting, especially with his fists and takes great pleasure in toying with friends and foes alike who take combat too seriously, which is just about everyone. He's confident in his abilities, arrogant most would say and it shows both in and out of combat. Over everything else he wants glory.
“I think I’d make a good dwarf. Don’t reckon I could pass though.”
History: Colin grew up in the city of Denerim in Fereldan, the son of a local tavern wench. He never knew his father and he never really cared. His mother took great care of him despite his constantly getting intro trouble as a child. He’d fight nearly every other day as a kind of youthful distraction. Him and a few good friends would group up and fight kids from the cities other neighborhoods for no other reason than that they were bored. It wasn’t too long before they found out that their reckless energy could be used to get gold and soon they were acting in cut-purse units. One or two kids causing a distraction and one, usually Colin sneaking in and cutting the purse strings. At this time however it was more for a bit of fun than anything else.
A couple of years later a sickness swept through the slums of Denerim and Colin’s mother took sick and simply didn’t get better. Colin was 10 at this time, and it was then that his practice as a cut-purse and fighter would start to really matter. From then on cut-pursing became a regular part of his life, and it wasn’t simply for a laugh anymore. He found as the next couple of years went on however that people were getting more and more careful with their purses and the city guards became ever watchful. It was then that a good friend introduced him to lock-picking and burglary. He had a knack for all things thievery it seemed, and learned how to pick locks quickly. He made a lot of money selling things that didn’t belong to him, but eventually made the mistake of selling some goods to an apparently honest man.
So he lost a finger for that crappy 80 bit vase. It definitely wasn’t worth it, but shit happens. He was around fourteen years of age now and the years had been reasonably kind. He stole enough to keep him relatively well fed and he and his friends still had fun fighting in the back alleys. It was at that time when he first discovered the fighting pits. Back alley fights where people placed bets and the fighters were paid well. Colin thought he’d discovered his dream job. Luckily he was big for his age and convinced the fight organizer that he was sixteen instead of his true age. Not that the bloke actually cared about anything more than the money. So at fourteen he entered his first real fight. He was beaten bloody. Worst beating he’d ever taken at that age, and he’d taken more than a few. Still, he was undeterred. Three months and several unofficial gang fights later he was back in the ring. Once again he was beaten, but this time he gave quite the beating in return. A month later he was back and this time he won, dodging most of his opponents strikes, dislocating his arm and pummeling his face. As he stood and his opponent didn’t he felt better than he ever had before in his life. Power. Pride. Something. He loved it.
He found himself back in that ring over a hundred times in the next six or so years. He became incredibly skilled in hand to hand combat and for a time he was the main attraction of the pit-fighting world. Eventually though someone made a comment about fighting with steel being real fighting and for some reason he couldn’t get it out of his head. Maybe he’d get that feeling again. That feeling he had felt after winning, truly winning for the first time.
So, because of a stupid remark by a random person he joined The Blackstone Irregulars and began training with his first two iron daggers. He wasn’t that great with blades at first but luckily some skills from fist fighting were transferable. He moved very well, he was patient for kill opportunities and best of all he was seemingly fearless. Once again he learned quickly and it wasn’t long before he was sent out on contracts. Over the next seven years he killed deserters, guarded merchants, killed bandits, recovered stolen supplies and did all other types of petty soldier work. The man was right about one thing. Killing was exhilarating, but there were things that he despised about the job. Firstly, he wasn’t paid very well. Secondly he didn’t get any of the glory of his actions. Everyone he killed, every contract he did well, all of the thanks went straight to the Blackstone Irregulars.
It was that little fact that made him decide to leave the company and instead start out as an independent sellsword. He wanted the gold and glory he bought so often with others blood.
Member
