Difference between revisions of "Arthur"
(Adding pictures.) |
(Moody, self-depreciating lyrics? You better believe that's a soundtrackin'.) |
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| Character name = Arthur Dunlaw | | Character name = Arthur Dunlaw | ||
| Model name = Spyros Christopoulos | | Model name = Spyros Christopoulos | ||
− | | Sample = | + | | Sample = Arthur1.jpg |
}} | }} | ||
{{Warning|Type=warning|Msg=OOC Information: All information is considered Out-Of-Character until you learn it through In-Character means.}} | {{Warning|Type=warning|Msg=OOC Information: All information is considered Out-Of-Character until you learn it through In-Character means.}} | ||
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<div style="background-color:#000; line-height:300%"><font style="color:#d10219; font-size:14pt; font-variant:small-caps"><center>'''Soundtrack'''</center></font></div> | <div style="background-color:#000; line-height:300%"><font style="color:#d10219; font-size:14pt; font-variant:small-caps"><center>'''Soundtrack'''</center></font></div> | ||
− | <div style="text-align:justify; padding:5px" | + | <div style="text-align:justify; padding:5px"> |
− | + | :'''Used To Be My Girl - Last Shadow Puppets''' | |
− | + | :''Don't make no mistake'' | |
+ | :''I'm a liar, I'm a cheat'' | ||
+ | :''A leech, a thief'' | ||
+ | :''The outside looks no good | ||
+ | :''And there ain't nothing underneath'' | ||
+ | -------- | ||
+ | :'''Death Is A Girl - Mini Mansions''' | ||
+ | :''I'm not afraid of the light'' | ||
+ | :''I never wanted to die'' | ||
+ | :''I want to live in a world where there's only one day'' | ||
</center></div> | </center></div> | ||
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<div style="text-align:justify; padding:5px"> | <div style="text-align:justify; padding:5px"> | ||
− | Arthur stands at perhaps a inch or two below 6", his build lean and wiry. His hair, a faded brown with the occasional wisp of weathered grey, falls loosely around his neck, cut short just before it touches his shoulders. An angular, heavy face is framed within; wide, thin lips, surrounded by a thick mustache and thinner beard; a strong nose, widest in the bridge; heavy brow and jaw; sunken cheeks and dulled bags beneath sharp, bright green eyes. | + | Arthur stands at perhaps a inch or two below 6", his build lean and wiry. His hair, a faded brown with the occasional wisp of weathered grey, falls loosely around his neck, cut short just before it touches his shoulders. An angular, heavy face is framed within; wide, thin lips, surrounded by a thick mustache and thinner beard; a strong nose, widest in the bridge; heavy brow and jaw; sunken cheeks and dulled bags beneath sharp, bright green eyes. Tattoos, of seemingly no solid theme, are scattered sparsely across his body, most prominently the fingers of his left hand (a series of horizontal straight lines, perpendicular to a central pillar, on the beginning of each finger, just after the first knuckle) and neck (mostly hidden by clothing, but usually what looks like a crooked branch creeps up from his collarbone to just below his earlobe). The backs of his hands are scored with thin scars. |
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</div> | </div> | ||
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<div style="text-align:justify; padding:5px"> | <div style="text-align:justify; padding:5px"> | ||
− | + | Arthur's past is the usual sob story, or so he'd tell you, if you managed to get him talking about it. Born in Dublin, parents passed away early, and he spent the early days of his formative years running from various different foster homes. One day, they didn't come looking for him. From then on, it was sleeping in hooded alleyways, picking tourist's pockets and scuffling with other street kids for what little possessions he had left. Necessity demanded posturing, posturing demanded strength, and it wasn't too long until he was doing odd-jobs for local gangs, and throughout the years he found out he was quite good at it. An interest in the occult, started early by old Irish folk tales, eventually led him to the door of a particularly vicious Stormcrow, and the rest, as they say, is history. | |
+ | |||
+ | Arthur remained in Ireland for a few years after his Embrace, tied quite solidly to his sire as she used him as a disposable wrecking ball for whatever walls were put up in her way throughout the courts of the country, which earned him no small number of enemies, for those who didn't differentiate between sire and childe. Eventually, he managed to slip out of his blood bond enough to kick up a bit of a ruckus, start a few fires to misdirect, and get the hell out of Dodge, somehow managing to get to America without hitting sunlight. Since, he's travelled from city to city, trading his sword-arm for favours, never staying too long: he's quite conscious of the fact his blood has never informed him of his sire's death yet. | ||
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* '''Axe-for-hire:''' Need someone roughed up a little? A door guarded? Hell, a enliveningly vitriolic argument? Arthur's for hire. He's relatively young when it comes to supernaturals, so he mightn't be the best at tangoing with those (though he has experience), but he's more than willing to hear out a job at the very least. | * '''Axe-for-hire:''' Need someone roughed up a little? A door guarded? Hell, a enliveningly vitriolic argument? Arthur's for hire. He's relatively young when it comes to supernaturals, so he mightn't be the best at tangoing with those (though he has experience), but he's more than willing to hear out a job at the very least. | ||
+ | |||
+ | * '''Peripheral Chorister:''' Arthur's sire was an Acolyte, albeit an independent one. While Arthur was never formally introduced into the Circle, nor told any of it's secrets, you might be familiar with his sire, or the bloody work she had him do on the Circle's behalf before he managed to slip her bonds. | ||
</div> | </div> | ||
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<div style="text-align:justify; padding:5px"> | <div style="text-align:justify; padding:5px"> | ||
− | + | *[[Haliburton]] -- "First contact with Kindred here in Chicago. Offered me Haven. Will see later if that bites me in the arse." | |
+ | *[[Heloise]] -- "Smells funny. Somethin's not right with her, but I'll be fucked if I know what it is." | ||
+ | *[[Five]] -- "Seems trusting. Mortal, I guess." | ||
</div> | </div> |
Latest revision as of 16:30, 11 October 2022
Arthur stands at perhaps a inch or two below 6", his build lean and wiry. His hair, a faded brown with the occasional wisp of weathered grey, falls loosely around his neck, cut short just before it touches his shoulders. An angular, heavy face is framed within; wide, thin lips, surrounded by a thick mustache and thinner beard; a strong nose, widest in the bridge; heavy brow and jaw; sunken cheeks and dulled bags beneath sharp, bright green eyes. Tattoos, of seemingly no solid theme, are scattered sparsely across his body, most prominently the fingers of his left hand (a series of horizontal straight lines, perpendicular to a central pillar, on the beginning of each finger, just after the first knuckle) and neck (mostly hidden by clothing, but usually what looks like a crooked branch creeps up from his collarbone to just below his earlobe). The backs of his hands are scored with thin scars. Arthur's past is the usual sob story, or so he'd tell you, if you managed to get him talking about it. Born in Dublin, parents passed away early, and he spent the early days of his formative years running from various different foster homes. One day, they didn't come looking for him. From then on, it was sleeping in hooded alleyways, picking tourist's pockets and scuffling with other street kids for what little possessions he had left. Necessity demanded posturing, posturing demanded strength, and it wasn't too long until he was doing odd-jobs for local gangs, and throughout the years he found out he was quite good at it. An interest in the occult, started early by old Irish folk tales, eventually led him to the door of a particularly vicious Stormcrow, and the rest, as they say, is history. Arthur remained in Ireland for a few years after his Embrace, tied quite solidly to his sire as she used him as a disposable wrecking ball for whatever walls were put up in her way throughout the courts of the country, which earned him no small number of enemies, for those who didn't differentiate between sire and childe. Eventually, he managed to slip out of his blood bond enough to kick up a bit of a ruckus, start a few fires to misdirect, and get the hell out of Dodge, somehow managing to get to America without hitting sunlight. Since, he's travelled from city to city, trading his sword-arm for favours, never staying too long: he's quite conscious of the fact his blood has never informed him of his sire's death yet.
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