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Screw you gaiz.
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I didn't even know she was there.
28 years old
your basement.
Born June-4-1990
I'm a veteran, oldschool reunion style.
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Former Identities: Firsalin...?
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Joined: 1-July 08
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Last Seen: 2nd August 2009 - 01:47 AM
Local Time: Feb 18 2019, 08:26 PM
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Current Mood: arting
FETO Profile

RP Data
My Content
14 Jul 2008
OOC: Alrighty gaiz. It's us from Going Back to Orochi and we're ready for something EPIC. yeah.

Or just really really long.

In either case, Lance and I are pretty open with this one, unless he or one of you miraculously develop a plot. I'm good at entrances and introductions, but plots? Not so much. We're ready for anybody to join. 8D

I'm also leaving this one open to foul language and secks. It's not guaranteed to be in existence, but I don't want anybody to feel boxed in once it gets going. Besides, I'm known to swear anyway. 8D

So. Here I go!

It was too early to be dark, but dusk was certainly late enough to start drinking. And hard.

A tavern's busted lantern hung from the door and steamed in the cool rain outside, and a raucous of laughter and clattering rattled the windows. Warm orange light poured through the glass and left glimmering shapes on the cobblestone as smoke and sweat and the smell of barely seeped out from the open door. Come happy hour and the place was hopping. The owner of The Blue O'Hare was in partnership with the inn next door, but they were two very separate organizations with a lax barkeep and a prim hostess. Due to the constant noise of the low-class restaurant, the prices of the rooms on the other side of the wall were subpar and horribly cheap; a perfect place to pass out after vomiting four pints of ale. (Or hard alcohol, depending on one's picked poison.)

The weeknights were rowdy, and weekends were worse, and this was nothing less than a typical drunken Friday night.

And judging by the group of lavish individuals striding in like they owned the place, it was going to be a little bit more than a typical drunken Friday night.

"Search them out and keep an eye on anyone that looks good." A man in teal and grey stood by the door next to a richly-dressed Lord. The other four men that entered with them were dispatched and spread out through the mobscene. He turned and looked at what was obviously his commander. "I'm hoping that there'll be more success and less blood in this one," he mumbled as he tipped his head aside to free his eyes of some dirty blonde hair. "It's been quite a search, but it's hard to find good, strong individuals in a town that's sauced ninety percent of the time... We don't need another barfight."

The lord didn't seem too interested and looked more tired and frustrated than optimistic, and instead decided to ignore his attendant and surveyed the occupancy of the room with his own eyes.

If anyone didn't like suspicious, audacious behavior, it was Rick Sealing seated at the bar. He was about to order another, stiffer drink when he was distracted by the sudden onslaught of expensive personnel. His eyes searched out the source of the new flittering of noise, and he slowly lowered his drink. He didn't particularly care for attention and had tucked himself away and on the last stool, so it was easy to watch the activity without being conspicuous about it. His flagon of ale had suddenly been completely forgotten. Something about those newcomers rubbed him the wrong way. It wasn't the fact that they looked expensive that bothered him, it was just the way they moved through the crowds like sharks, pulling and pushing and shoving about. He turned around in his seat and started paying even closer attention when one of them knocked aside a scrawny young man seated at a table near the fireplace. It was as though the officers in velveteen were screening the bar-goers the way one sorts meat.

Rick shifted his eyes across the room to watch one of the other three pick through a table of brawnier individuals.

Slowly, quietly, he turned back around and decided it wasn't going to be his business. Whether they were government or freelance, he didn't like the idea of man-handlers strutting about. He couldn't kick them out, but that didn't mean he had to deal with them.

One man, cloaked in that dark velvet gruffly tapped another armored subject on the shoulder. "What about you?"

2 Jul 2008
Name: Richard "Rick" Sealing
Age: 27
Homecountry: He never exactly had one because he was born to traveling merchants and never knew one place.
Affinity: Earth
Gender: Male
Height: 6'1"
Weight: 205 lbs

Personality: Rick is quiet and reserved, patient and balmy. His actions on the battlefield belie his true nature underneath, and despite the swift movements and gory outcomes, he is a gentle, kind, and brotherly man. He never talks about his personal life, and keeps conversations to a minimum. Never chit-chats.

Loyal and careful, he's the kind of person you could rely on to keep you safe while you slept, but also someone you could tell a secret to and know it would be safe too. He is very patient and reliable, but he is also very sensitive and emotionally vulnerable. It doesn't take a lot to hurt his feelings.

He's also a very skilled fisherman, and takes great pride in it. He is never seen without his fishing pole, nor without a small jar of tackle and a few hooks. His cooking skills are also fairly difficult to match, because fish can be made into anything, and it isn't difficult for him to make something out of nothing.

(I even made a picture! 8D ah did it last night and all this afternoon! Took a lot more time to do that than to write it, but it's far more effective! 8D hooray for me. I still like to draw, gaiz. srsly.)

Rick is actually fairly tall and very widely built, with broad shoulders and muscular arms. He refuses to ride horses, so his legs have carried him over hundreds of miles and have been chiseled into powerful muscles. Despite his size, his arms have got him into trees and have saved his skin from bears more than once. (Fishing during spring? 's dangerous. Bears want the salmon too. And you just don't argue with a bear.) Heavy loads are no big deal, and he's easy to persuade into doing some heavy lifting.

His skin has received a healthy tan from spending so much time on the water, and his left shoulder and breast is detailed with black tattooing. His hair is a deep purple, messy, and hidden under a simple bandanna. What is visible of his mop of hair is pulled back with old ribbon and tucked out of the way. He sports no facial hair, save for his thick, dark eyebrows, which usually don't convey a lot of expression. (Save for... maybe... worry. Or confusion. He's not very expressive. D:)

He wears thick, durable fabrics in place of leather, since he doesn't like the idea of wearing dead animal skin, nor does he particularly like the smell. (He doesn't have anything against leather or killing cattle. He just doesn't like wearing dead animal skin.) His armor is made of heavy steel, and is left very simple without embellishments or designs. The heavy metal covers enough of his body, but not all of his body, so he does have a few weakpoints that he can't cover 100% of the time. His quick movements usually make up for it, but no one's perfect, and no one's armor is impenetrable.

Bio: Rick traveled a lot until he was old enough to part ways from his family. He was a rolling stone for several years thereafter, and made a living off his fishing. From city to city, he had many lovers and many affairs, but they never really lasted very long. He soon found a small, quiet village near a lake during his twenty-third year and made angling his profession. There he met a young woman and fell deeply in love with her, swearing that once he had the money, he would buy a house for the both of them and they would marry.

She remained by his side until one horrible winter night, when the entire village was wiped off the map. Marauders had come down from the mountains in search for supplies and had destroyed everything in their path. Rick had picked up the ax to defend as many people as he could, but his attempts were futile, and the only survivors were the ones that had fled in time. His fiancee was no exception.

He grieved her death for days at a time between long hours of silence, until he could no longer stay in the charred ruins of the village. Taking the ax with him, he left, swearing to himself that something like this would never happen again if he could help it.

Rick took to roaming and went back to his old ways, going from city to city, eking his way through life with just enough. However, having lost his last real love in the destruction of the village, he called off the search for another lover. He no longer sought women out, and he no longer went out of his way to make himself available. His appetite had been lost when he found that beautiful woman's body charred and burned, never to kiss him, never to touch him again. It would take a lot more than an offering of an evening of fun to get his spirits up again.

Class: Brawler
Level: 1

Weapons: Iron ax (typically used for splitting wood)
Weapon Levels: E

Additional Notes/Comments: Rick doesn't mind company but doesn't look for it. He usually plays body-guard and security blanket, rather than a talkative friend to hold deep conversations with. But he does keep secrets very well, and makes a good diplomat between conflicting parties.

He likes kittens.

And kittens like him.
Last Visitors

4 Jun 2012 - 7:30

4 Jun 2010 - 13:00

4 Jun 2010 - 9:37

4 Jun 2010 - 8:56

7 Oct 2008 - 20:03

Happy birthday :3
4 Jun 2012 - 7:31
Yaaay! I'm hoooome!
I hate airplanes.
14 Jul 2008 - 19:45
Hey gaiz. Hopefully I'll be here this week-end and the following week, coz I wanna roleplay.
But since I'm going to Michigan on the Fourth, there's a strong chance the fucking cabin won't have Wi-Fi and I won't be back for a week. DX
But I'll be back after that, I swears. And I'm up for almost any offer for joining a roleplay. 8D coz. i want to.
3 Jul 2008 - 1:50
I am in your base, killing your doods.
...Not rly.
2 Jul 2008 - 2:39


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