Name: Michael Green
Gender: Male
Age: 38
Skills:
- Marksmanship
- Spearman
- Javelin throwing
- Motorcycle Driving Proficiency
- Great singing voice (woohoo)
Background: The red dust always looked like it was on fire when the sun set. The sky would burst with throes of passion as the land swallowed it up to bring the cool of night. This beauty stains Michael's mind with the constant picturesque.
Michael remembers his childhood with fondness, because sharp smells and bright images colour his recollections. His family was rather high in the rankings of their tribe. Bright reds and white tassels adorned their uniforms, and it was from a very young age that he was taught to hold and shoot a gun.
Michael believes that there is no shame in violence. The only shame is in returning home with nothing to show for it.
For, out on the desert sand, the roving Burgandies are scavengers. They prey on the weaker. The mothers support it, even help train their children towards it, and Michael, of the Greenbloods, is expected to be the best, because his bloodline was furnished with the best.
But in his first raid, Michael was thrown from his vehicle. He fought as best he could, struggling against their grasp, but with ropes they bound him, and with stones they knocked him senseless.
He served as their prisoner for 7 years. More a slave than anything, he was cursed that the chieftain's wife favored him. He could not understand their language, nor their customs, but he understood their brutal ethic. They fought for sport, and loved blood and pain. Torture here let them remember they were alive.
Michael believed this was because they did not watch the blossoming sunsets, nor feel the comforting caress of the wind.
The face of brutality is not in violence alone, but in the selfish imposing of one's desires onto the other. This did Michael learn from the chieftain's wife, whose blatant stares and favor-some smiles seemed at first harmless, even beneficial. He could hear, though he did not understand the language, she and her lover quarrel with explosive, clanging noises that erupted in their tent each night. He had assumed that she interceded for his life, since he had watched all the rest of the prisoners be bled to death and then eaten. So he returned her silent admirations with an accomodating, and grateful smile, an inclination of the head. It became a common thing for her to separate from her lover, and stand beside him as he labored over the tents, or carried the weighty packs of this barbarous tribe. At least that was how things went for the first few years. By about the fourth year, she became bolder. Touch an arm here, brush by his leg there. Michael thought the contact comforting -- he had been alone for so long with only his thoughts for company -- but as he gained the chieftain's ire, he came to despise the wife for it. Weekly beatings, from warriors, though when the chieftain stepped in they were the worst, became the norm, and however loudly he demanded she desist, the wife continued, even being at times more blatant. Michael came to believe that he was only a pawn to anger the chief, a toy in their dispute.
On the equinox of Spring, the day of transformation, her lover drank much drink, and slumbered deeply. The chieftain's wife stole into Michael's exiled side of the camp, and fell upon him with singleminded intent. The encampment was alerted by his cry of surprise and fear, and the warriors that rose from their slumber were unforgiving, and beat him senseless, and continued even after. When he awoke the next morning, bloodied and swollen, tied to a slobbering camel, he could only wonder at what had transpired.
He did not know the way home, and had little in his possessions. It was sheer luck that had him picked up by a passing crew of dust runners. He took up arms as a loader for their crew, and after the gunner was shot down for cheating in a poker game, he took up the guns and made a fine run of it.
Bad blood was seeded between the brothers that worked as driver and engineer, however. When they came to blows and turned feral on one another, he knew he had to get out, since such disunity would get them all killed and neither brother would step down from their position.
So at the first town, Michael took his leave of them, and wished them all the best in finding his replacement.
To be cut loose required his purse, so every cent was given to the brothers Venn that his freedom might be bought.
Equipment: Brown pants and a white shirt that in good fortune he managed to snatch from a clothed corpse. In addition, he carries in his boot glass wrapped into a knife. Tied to his back or carried in his left hand is a long, flexible line of metal that has a long needle-like point at its end.
