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    1. Squrmy 11 yrs ago

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I am.. somewhat confused as to what I should do next. :u

I need to get something up for Tyler, and Aaron needs to link up with someone at some point - and I'm pretty open as to who that someone is! /desperation
Alrighty, cool - I'll get a post up for him sometime over the next few days, all being well.
I'm still here! I'm in a play, though, that's two weeks away from opening night - and then we've got a week and a half of solid performances. So, I've been.. quite busy. I don't think I'll be able to get anything up for a while, unfortunately - feel free to resolve conflicts Daeros is involved in without my input, if it gets this moving again. I don't want it to die on my account.
“And don’t fuckin’ come back, ya poor bastard!” The words - bellowed by a portly-looking woman, dressed in the long, flowing black dress of a retired courtesan - were emphasised by the actions of two large, bull-like men under her employ; who proceeded to heave the man whom she had unceremoniously addressed from the top step of one of the side-entrances of a brothel onto the pavement of the alleyway outside it - facefirst.

Aaron hit the ground hard, a somewhat muffled grunt leaving his lips as his body collided with the cold, hard pavement - facial features protected only by his hands, the palms of which were torn and bloodied as they slid along the wet bricks of the narrow alleyway. Despite his ungraceful exit from the interior of one of the most expensive brothels in Kingstone, Aaron was quick to get to his feet - flipping his middle finger up at the portly matron and her bouncers as they disappeared back inside the building; the sturdy metal door slammed shut and locked with a definite air of finality.

Bleary-eyed, the man looked around his surroundings with some confusion. Aaron had been on a drinking bender for days, and it took him a moment to collect his thoughts enough so that he could figure out just where he was. “Fuckin’ hell,” He muttered to himself, in the thick accent of someone who’d grown up in some of the more lower-class areas of Kingstone - running a hand through his messy blonde hair.

Turning on his heel, the half-drunk man made his way up the deserted alleyway towards The Promenade - brushing off his bloodied palms on his baggy brown leggings. Aaron was dressed in clothes that would originally have looked smart: a well-fitting button-up white shirt with the flowing, frilly sleeves that were fashionable at the time (untucked and crumpled), a grey-and-navy jacket which had been hastily pulled on in his forced exodus from the brothel, a pair of brown leggings that were stained with a weeks’ worth of food, alcohol, vomit and bloodstains - and a pair of knee-high boots, relatively expensive, crafted from soft brown leather to make them more comfortable.

The tired, confused and grumbling Aaron eventually made his way to the main street of the Croome District - which was already packed with Kingstone’s citizens making their way to work, dodging the actors trying to promote their company’s performances which would be taking place that evening. Any of the actors that might have approached Aaron were put off just by the look of him - his blonde hair was tied back in a messy ponytail, there was a weeks’ worth of stubble on his cheeks, his clothes were stained and messy, his eyes were bloodshot and the handle of a pistol could be seen sticking out of the back of his leggings; which would normally have been concealed by his tucked-in shirt.

After about forty-five minutes of meandering around the city, Aaron eventually got back on track - finding himself walking down a street packed with miserable-looking workers who were heading towards the Industrial Centre of the city. He pushed his way past them, heading towards their source - the Old Commons, where he’d been forced to stay when he’d begun to run short on funds; about a month and a half ago.

The commission he’d received from the ships he’d helped to capture during his last sea voyage would have been more than enough money to last him for a few years, if he’d spent it wisely. But, unfortunately, ‘wise’ was not a word often used to describe Aaron’s behaviour. He was an alcoholic, an occasional heroin abuser, a frequent visitor of brothels - and, worst of all, he was a gambler. He’d pissed away almost half his savings during his first fortnight back in the Union - all in fucking card games which - he told himself, frequently - had definately been rigged.

He received a base wage for the time he’d spent in the Navy, but as he was no longer in active service it was hardly enough to live off - and Aaron didn’t want to get by. He wanted to live. So, once he’d begun renting his room in one of the Old Commons’ cheaper taverns (a shithole, in other words) he’d began to advertise himself for work - and, quickly, he was approached to take on a job for a Criminal Syndicate operating out of the area. Once he proved himself competent by completing the job, he was quickly approached by many more men - and more frequently. A freelancing bruiser of sorts, Aaron made a fair wage - and could have got of the Commons (or, at least, into a nicer room) by now; if he hadn’t been pissing his money away every few weeks by going on drinking and gambling benders that lasted for days at a time.

As he approached the entrance into the Old Commons - which was heavily guarded by grim-faced Watchmen, more to search the men coming out of the District rather than those going in to it - Aaron took a moment to make himself look a bit more presentable; after all, he didn’t want to give the Watchmen an excuse to arrest him. Once he’d tucked his shirt back in and got rid of the worst of the stains on his shirt and leggings, Aaron made his way into the Commons - tugging a previously-rolled cigarette out of his jacket pocket, lightning it with a match he struck upon the bottom of his boot.

Puffing at the smouldering papers, Aaron discarded the burnt-out match down onto the poorly-paved surface of the Commons’ first road; exhaling a cloud of blue-grey smoke through his nostrils. Wandering through the tightly-packed, smelly district, Aaron knew he was being watched - but by whom, he didn’t know; he just felt it.

The Commons was loud by nature - drunks roaring their heads off despite the early hour, the general din of marketplaces as Aaron passed them by, shopkeepers hawking the few wares that they had, and the sound of the distilleries and factories located nearby, situated in the district because of the cheap price of the Real Estate. Despite these noises, however, Aaron was careful to listen closely - for any tell-tale sound that a move was being made against him.

He turned a corner, making his way somewhat more briskly than he had been before down a narrow alleyway. Almost as soon as he’d started down the narrow street, Aaron knew he’d made a mistake - the hairs on the back of his neck were on end, and he felt uneasy. After a few moments, he glanced back over his shoulder - and felt a sinking feeling in his stomach at the sight of two grim-faced men following behind him. Looking forwards again, Aaron saw three more approaching him from the other end of the alleyway - and there was no other way out. Nowhere to run.

Aaron stopped in his tracks, holding up both hands by his shoulders - an appealing expression painted on his facial features. “Now, boys - I’m sure, whatever you want, there’s another way to get it, eh? Why don’t we try an’ talk things out?” One of the two men who had been approaching Aaron from behind grinned - showing a mouthful of cracked, unhealthy teeth; but otherwise, not a word was said by any of the thugs. “Guess that’s a no, eh?” Aaron mused, a small smile on his lips despite the seriousness of the situation; typical Aaron, to make a joke of being in danger.

The men were quickly closing in on him, confident of their chances because of their superior numbers. And Aaron, despite himself, found himself placing his bets on them - after all, there was five of them. Wiggling his fingers, Aaron cast a glance at both groups of men - who had stopped on either side of him, about five paces away each, holding a variety of weapons. One man, who was built like an ox, wore a matching pair of knuckledusters on each hand.

“Knuckle dusters, huh? I ain’ seen them in ag--” Aaron, who’d begun speaking in a conversational tone to catch the men offguard, immediately broke off - pulling his pistol from its position in the back of his pants, thumbing back the hammer, and taking aim at his target in one smooth motion; and it only took him a few seconds. Immediately afterwards, he squeezed down on the trigger - the acrid smell of gunpowder filling the air, along with an unmistakable bang that was yet another of the unsavoury but regular sounds associated with the Commons. The heavyset man with the knuckledusters fell back, a hole in his chest and gurgling blood, as his companions stared at Aaron with open mouths for a half-second - before charging for him with a unanimous roar.

Well, shit, Aaron thought to himself, sidestepping one of the men’s clumsy lunges with a dagger - shoving his pistol back into its place in the waistband of his leggings, and cracking the would-be murderer in the jaw with a strong right hook before dancing back a few paces. Now that both men who had been tailing him from the back were dead, Aaron only had to focus forwards; as the alleyway was narrow, about one-and-a-half men across, and he had no danger of being flanked.

He pulled his own dagger out of the top of his boot by the hilt, narrowly avoiding a slash at his neck - which, instead, was taken upon his cheek; cutting it open, warm blood trickling down his face and off his chin. “Cheeky bastard,” Aaron growled from between gritted teeth, lunging upwards to bury his dagger in the thug’s underarm; twisting it upwards, signing the fellows death warrant as he quickly danced back again, bringing his weapon with him.

Now, there was only two men left - and they looked slightly uneasy, eyeing the man holding the bloody dagger. “Aw, scared now, are we?” Aaron inquired, grinning - gesturing to the fallen corpses of the thugs’ companions. “Smart men, you are. Can’t say the same about your fr-,” He broke off, interrupted by the angry bullrush of one of his remaining assailants. The charge was easily dodged, and Aaron slashed the man’s neck open as he charged past; the razor-sharp edge of his dagger gleaming red as a beam of sunlight flashed upon it.

Apparently learning from his fallen friends’ mistakes, the last thug tried to make a run for it - but Aaron didn’t bother to chase after him. Whoever it was that had wanted him dead would have a hard time hiring more men as soon as word of the fate of the survivors’ companions got around. Sighing, Aaron turned back to the four corpses (or soon to be corpses), and set to the task of looting their corpses for anything of value.
I've written up another sheet - he's a Union Spokesman and a Socialist, and he's seeking reforms/equal rights for the United Kingdom's Working Class. Cold, I was thinking that he'd probably be a good character to pair up with your own - and Sini's Tanner, who's mentioned in his first post.

Name: Tyler Jennings
Age: 37
Profession/vocation: Socialist/Union Spokesman/Civil Rights Activist
Affiliation: Tyler is the spokesman for a number of the United Kingdom’s different Workmen’s Unions, which have only recently begun to spring up in order to fight for the rights of the Working and Lower Classes. He is also a strong believer in socialism, and has an immense distaste for the monarchy.

Skills: A man who has worked his way up from humble beginnings, Tyler has quite a mixed skillset. As he spent a brief period of time in His Majesty’s Army, he is proficient with firearms and knows how to swing a sword - but his greatest skill is by far his ability to inspire those around him. Tyler always had a knack for public speaking, but his skills were refined by the Union Leaders who recognised his talents. His speeches are talked of by factory workers throughout Kingstone, and have begun to put ideas in their heads of better working hours, wages and civil rights.

Traits:
Tyler is a very ambitious man, and will do near anything he has to to achieve his goals.
Although he has ambition, and wants to achieve reforms for the lower classes in the Union’s society, Tyler is also known to stick to his values - he will not compromise on a political or ethical belief, and nor will he accept deals meant to pacify him from the upper classes - because he plans to achieve reforms in society, and will do so by revolution if necessary.
When not giving fiery speeches from a well-defended podium, Tyler is really quite an easy man to get along with - he’s funny, relatively easygoing, and does his best to get along with everyone.

Personality: Tyler Jennings is an outgoing and easy-to-get along with sort of fellow, and has been publicised to be a very ‘down-to-earth’ man, despite the relatively powerful position he has risen to. He has very strong political and ethical beliefs, and is a staunch believer in socialism - Tyler believes that all men are equal, and deserve a say in how their country is run; he has been known to refer to the Union’s Government as a dictatorship, and finds it appalling that near everyone in the King’s Parliament are descended from noble bloodlines. He wants to achieve equal rights for all men - including freedom of speech, the right to vote, and equal opportunities - Tyler does not believe that anything should belong purely to the upper class, and wants to relieve the suffering of the lower and working classes who are being abused by those above them.

Appearance: Tyler is a handsome man, but not in a particularly original way - perhaps the only striking feature about him would be his electric blue eyes, which are often the way he is recognised in public. His skin tone is pale, like most of those who have never lived outside the United Kingdom, and his blonde hair is cut short and is often slicked to the right side of his face.

His jawline is chiseled and well-defined, and his cheekbones are slightly more high-set than most. Usually, he is cleanshaven, but can occasionally be seen sporting stubble or a five o’clock shadow. His eyes sit on either side of a medium-sized nose, an equal distance apart, and are perhaps his most noticeable feature.

He’s not particularly tall - standing at 5’10” - and nor is he particularly brawny. His shoulders are not too broad nor too narrow, and he’s relatively well muscled. Over the last few years, he’s put on a bit of weight, but he’s by no means fat - just slightly more padded than he used to be; which is good, in a way.

Usually, he dresses in suits when he’s out and about the city, but can be seen in more casual clothing when not on business.

Biography: Tyler was born in Kingstone, in The Old Commons. He grew up amongst the hardship and suffering that was regularly experienced in one of the United Kingdom’s poorest districts, and was exposed to his fair share of it in his youth. Tyler’s father worked in a shoe-making factory, and received a very poor wage in return for the long days and all the hard work he put into his occupation. With seven children to provide for, of which Tyler was the middle child, the Jennings struggled to get by.

When Tyler was eight, his older siblings - after much deliberation by his parents - were pulled out of school and sent to work in a textiles factory; just 10, 12 and 11 years old. This made the standard of living in the Jennings household slightly higher, but essentially condemned Tyler’s older brothers and sisters to a lifetime of suffering - just like their parents, they would remain uneducated - exploited by Kingstone’s upper classes and industrialists.

Tyler graduated from primary school, but was told by his parents that they simply didn’t have the money to send him to secondary education: after all, as he was told, education wasn’t free - and what use were books, when there was no bread on the table and youngsters to look after? At 11, Tyler began work in the same textiles factory as his older siblings - and hated it immediately. The hours were long, the work was hard, demeaning and repetitive, and the pay was atrocious. The Jennings (and all other workers, young or old) had little to no rights, and were constantly told they could easily be replaced if they didn’t keep working hard.

One day, during a particularly long shift, Tyler looked up from the loud and busy work floor of the factory to see another boy, about his own age, looking down at him from the walkway above - where the Master (as the owner of the factory was called) would walk about with his supervisors, eyeing the efficiency of the workers in his employ. However, unlike Tyler (with bleeding hands from overwork, a sweaty and dirty face, struggling to get the necessary nutrition he needed to grow properly), the young boy was dressed in clean and expensive clothing, and was pudgy. Pudginess was something that Tyler had never seen before, except on the occasional pig-eyed constable who sometimes walked the beat through the Commons. It was this event - seeing someone of the same age and gender, but in an entirely different and better state - that first inspired Tyler to fight for equal rights; but, at the time, there were no unions - no workers’ rights.

Tyler continued to work in the factory until he was seventeen, and a recruitment drive for the Royal Army was occurring. After much deliberation with his parents, Tyler was given a tearful permission to hand his resignation in to the factory and join up with the Infantry - after all, they were fed, clothed and looked after by the government - and there would be a lot more money coming home to his family than if he’d continued working in the factory.

Soon after basic training, he was shipped over to the Continent, to fight in one of His Majesty’s many wars. Three years Tyler spent in the Army, and three years he saw the pointless suffering that people experienced because of the selfishness and ignorance of the wealthy and privileged aristocracy that ran most of the modern and developed world. His worldview developed throughout his deployment, and when he returned to the Union - scarred mentally but, luckily, not physically - he was among the first men to listen to the ideals of the movement of Socialism.

Tyler wanted reform, and he was committed to achieving it - he joined a Workers’ Union, and began to help in any way he could. Initially, it was running errands and helping to set up for other speakers, but he was eventually given a chance to speak - and his speech was breathtaking. He had a knack for drawing in a crowd (usually made up of loud, rowdy workmen who would quickly boo and hiss if they didn’t like what was being said or became bored) and told a story about how his sister had been raped, and the police had done nothing about it - because they’d been paid off. About how he’d worked long days since he’d barely left his mother’s side, and about how he’d been abused - made to work harder, and paid no more, because he was told he’d be replaced if he didn’t. His speeches seemed to work, and Tyler - at the tender age of twenty-eight - quickly became a popular figure for the Socialist movement, and was taken under the wing of the Workers’ Unions’ leadership. He was trained in public speaking, and used as a spokesman for the rights of the people from that day onwards.

Nine years on, Tyler is a powerful and influential figure, and represents the wants of the Working Class - change. An outspoken and determined man, Tyler is a man whom the Inquisition have been keeping an eye on for many years; after all, if he were to incite a revolution, he could easily break the King’s Peace.
I'll get a post up.. sometime soonish, hopefully!
Well, I'm still here.

Dunno what's going on, though. xD
I'd say we're still accepting, broheim! The more the merrier, as Sini always says! =)

I'm looking forwards to this taking off; I might get a few more character sheets up, but I'll mostly be focusing on the character I've already created.

Did anyone wanna talk about setting up past/present relationships with characters? It'd be good if at least a few characters knew one another before we launched into things; it might help the first few posting rounds go more smoothly.
Yeah, I really like this RP, too!

I'm.. still kinda confused by what's happening, though. ;v
Hi!

Repost of my CS:

Name: Aaron McScott
Age: 32
Profession/vocation: Mercenary/Man-for-Hire/’Criminal’
Affiliation: N/A
Skills:
-Educated; a result of the questionable circumstances of his birth.
-Skilled brawler; was trained as a boxer during his time in the Navy.
-Tinkerer; Aaron likes to fiddle with gadgets, and has found he has a knack for repairing clocks and other small gadgets. He also has a fascination with explosives and other more destructive inventions.
-Ex-Navyman; Having served in His Majesty’s Royal navy for nineteen years, Aaron knows how to handle himself in a fight. He’s skilled with a sword, and knows how to use a pistol or musket if he has to.
-Public Speaker: Aaron has a knack for inspiring those around him, and was occasionally used to boost morale by ships’ captains during long sea voyages while he was in the Navy.

Traits:
-Outgoing
-Easily amused
-A bit of a clown, but serious when the situation demands it.
-Stubborn - he likes to hold grudges.
-Very strongly opinionated.

Personality: Aaron is an easygoing, outgoing fellow - he’s always quick to offer a smile and a nod to those he passes in the street, and will almost always go out of his way to help those he deems in greater need than he. He’s stubborn, and will always stick to his morals; and, God help anyone who gets on the wrong side of him - he’ll do everything in his power to ensure that they regret making the decision to cross him.

However, born a bastard of a well-off nobleman, and denied the privileges that he would have had, had his parents’ union been legitimate, Aaron harbours a resentment for the nobility - and, ultimately, the monarchy. He deems the King and his Government unfit to run the United Kingdom, and is a strong believer in democracy - a belief that could possibly get him hung, if he was too vocal about it.

Biography: Aaron was born as a result of the illegitimate union between his mother, Nancy Scott - a serving wench in a Kingstone waterfront tavern - and his father, Lucian McLawrence - a highly respected, decorated and recognised nobleman and a high-ranking member of His Majesty’s Royal Navy. Lucian was a charming, kind-hearted fellow - who had the misfortune of being married to a woman whom he hated, and who was - in his own words - “committed to making his life a living hell.”

Aaron never knew his father, but his mother - still smitten, even though she had been left to raise a child on her own at the tender age of nineteen - always spoke of him fondly. Lawrence’s wife forbid him from ever meeting Aaron, but he did send - and continue to send, until Aaron’s eighteenth birthday - more than enough money for Nancy to provide Aaron with a comfortable upbringing if she continued working a few nights a week; something she was eternally grateful for, as she knew many women in the same position as her who did not receive the funds that she did.

Although his father was painted as a saint by his mother, Aaron despised him - and hated that, as he was always told, that he had his blonde hair and blue eyes. A troubled and angry child, Aaron was nothing but trouble for his loving, kind-hearted mother - whom he cared for greatly, even if he never showed it.

When he was thirteen, Aaron’s mother received a letter from Lawrence - requesting that Aaron join the Navy, and serve on his father’s vessel for a three-year long voyage. Aaron outright refused his father’s offer, but, with some persuasion from his mother, he was convinced to agree to join the Navy and serve on his father’s vessel; and bid his mother farewell in the sixth month of his thirteenth year.

Aaron served on his father’s vessel - one of the largest in His Majesty’s Navy - for three years, sailing around the world and doing battle with the United Kingdom’s enemies; and it was one of the best experiences of his life. When he returned home - no longer a troublesome boy but a disciplined young man - he was met with the sad news that his mother - always a fragile woman, although she’d never had admitted it - had passed away during his time away from home.

He was devastated, and arranged for his mother to be buried in a nearby cemetery after a few weeks of drunken grieving. Aaron immediately went back to the docks - and, now recognised as a relatively skilled sailor - and was hired on to another of His Majesty’s Vessels, and spent the next sixteen years of his life sailing around the world, serving the Navy.

Aaron rose through the ranks quickly (partially due to his father’s influence, behind the scenes, but mostly because of his own talent) and was at the rank of First Mate when he discharged himself from the Navy three months into his thirty-second year, upon his return to Kingstone from a particularly long seavoyage.
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