Grey Hound
■ ALIAS Grey Hound ■ NICKNAMES Rem (rarely); Grey ■ RACE & CLAN Miqo'te, Seeker of the Sun ■ GENDER Male ■ THEME Snake Eyes |
■ CITIZENSHIP Unaffiliated ■ RESIDENCE Mists, Ward 1, Plot 60 ■ OCCUPATIONS Dcotor/Healer; Tracker; Investigator ■ PATRON DEITY Not practicing ■ HEIGHT 5 fulms, 8 ilms ■ TV TROPES Unscrupulous Hero; Snark Knight; Reformed, But Not Tamed
|
GENERAL APPEARANCE
He obviously does not get enough sleep: his eyes are perpetually dark-ringed, indicating poor sleeping habits.
Scars & Markings: The grotesque scarring of his right eye is the clearest identifier of his person. Whatever assault caused the damage was not clean, but brutal, leaving a line of uneven scarring from his brow down his right cheek, almost entirely blinding the eye.
While not immediately evident considering his penchant for being heavily-clothed, the rest of his body is thickly road-mapped with scars. They're of varying ages and sources, from burns to puncture wounds to long slashes, a testament to a life spent previously in highway robbery, currently spent in mercenary-type jobs.
His left leg was severely damaged during a routine job for his Free Company, leaving the limb crippled and the Miqo'te lacking his previous agility and physical capabilities. If the leg is seen, there are several puncture-like looking wounds around the knee, and it seems like a large chunk of muscle was removed from the inner thigh just above the knee.
Voice: His accent and word usage is difficult to place; it's as if he's adopted a variety of ways to say the same thing. Perhaps due to travel, or perhaps a deliberate attempt on his part. His voice is usually soft, calm, and his stoic nature tends to leak into his tone. Even when angered, his voice tends to level.
Clothing: His attire is pieced together from leathers and simple cloth, the occasional scrap of bone (some of... questionable source) adding to the ensemble. The leather is boiled, offering sturdier protection than mere wool or cotton would provide. He keeps a small, wickedly-sharp hunting knife sheathed at the small of his back, and his gauntlets are tipped with razor claws. No longer needing a stave to help him walk, relying solely on the brace encasing his left leg, the only other weapon he carries is an astrometer. He favors a canine-like mask and wears it constantly, rarely removing it.
MISCELLANEOUS
- Ambidextrous (though he prefers to use his left hand).
- The right eye is not entirely blinded and can detect movement.
- Has a pet Gaelikitten, who he is uncharacteristically fond of.
- Functional alcoholic.
- Illiterate. He's quick to come up with an excuse as to why he can't read something as opposed to admitting this.
- He doesn't have much interest in learning, it frustrates and flusters him uncharacteristically quickly.
- Bad habit: grinding his teeth. He does it when annoyed, but can also be caught doing it when he's in deep thought or trying to come up with a strategic answer to something.
PERSONALITY
The Miqo'te displays little emotion most of the time. Though he can and does offer the occasional grin or snark, his disposition is usually fairly stoic. He has a tendency to be stubborn in his opinions and beliefs and is slow to change his mind once it's been set. While his intentions are often undeniably good, he often falls into the 'ends justify the means' trap and has no qualms with doing terrible things for a righteous goal. There is a genuine desire to be the 'hero' in him, wanting to be the good guy and aid people, but he often regresses to his brutal and violent tendencies while trying to accomplish this improbable goal.
As a lead in his sister's Free Company, he can be seen as strict and almost unforgiving. His expectations are high, and he would be the first, albeit reluctantly, to admit that he expects too much too soon from people. For his stringent, rigid attitude and how quick he can be to point out flaws or faults in someone, his loyalty is as steadfast as a hound, befitting his name. He is slow to anger, and even with his physical disabilities, once he snaps, he can get remarkably violent: on more than a couple occasions, he has taken a chunk of flesh from someone's throat with his teeth. He has a terrible knack for holding grudges with obstinance a mule could admire.
Grey's only hobbies appear to be drinking, hunting and people-watching, which he can do contentedly for hours on end, observing as if genuinely interested in the goings-on around him. After a time in his presence, it usually becomes clear that he is not entirely stable. The way his eyes wander suggest that he is looking at things that are not really there, and on occasion, if caught unawares, he has been overheard talking to seemingly no one.
|
|
|
|
|
|
COMBAT
Though crippled and lacking his former physical prowess, if hard-pressed, he would still lash out like a cornered, rabid dog. Savage and merciless, he is not averse to fighting dirty, going so far as to biting out chunks of flesh, gouging at eyes, throwing sand at an opponent's face, or going for the low blow. His potential brutality is tempered by the fact that he is an easy target, near effortless to overpower in melee with a cheap shot to his bad leg.
Forced to adapt to this lifestyle, he fell back on the art of conjury, eventually adapting this and learning astromancy. Having a knack for this lends its hand in self-defense, though his art leans more towards healing than anything offensive.
HISTORY
The Tribe
The tribe Grey was born into was atypical, functioning more like a pack of wild dogs than like a civilized nomadic people. Allegedly, the tribe had been started by a Tia who had departed the original Raptor tribe to become a Nunh on his own, hence members having the similar R suffix to their names. Regardless of whether or not this was the truth, the naming convention stuck, but the tribe itself never became anything more than a large band of murderous cutthroats who roamed the coasts of La Noscea, committing highway robbery and murder as they saw fit. Highly unconventional, the Nunh of this tribe served as both primary breader and leader, and fighting for leadership always ended in death. Another unheard of tradition the tribe practiced was to slay the newest litter of the previous Nunh upon their death, which led to many'a mother fleeing in the dead of night with child in tow... though not all of them were always successful in their escape. There was no place for softness or weakness, and children and the elderly who became too ill or too weak to keep up with the tribe were left to die on their own. |
Outriders
Grey Hound now serves in a Free Company known as the Outriders, a company his half-sister Naomi Kett founded not long after the siblings were reunited. While Grey wasn't on board with the company at first, he did eventually join and became one of the Wardens. Though not always able to join expeditions with his physical limitations, Grey has found a niche as one of the lead healers, tending to wounded company members, as well as scouting out investigative work for the company. The investigations have covered things from serial killings to unexplained disappearances and perculiar craze-inducing potions.
|
They didn't speak at first, only stood at the shoreline. The dull roar of the ocean was all that broke the silence between them, and she finally spoke, one hand worrying over the curve in her belly. She was beginning to show. "Do you still call him brother?" He wouldn't meet her gaze. Her eyes were brighter than normal, shining with tears she struggled to keep from spilling. They were wide with fear and mourning: she mourned for the slaughtered cubs, and feared for what might happen to her own. It wouldn't escape R'mihko for long that she was with child... his own brother's child. So R'mehro watched her hand smooth over her stomach, a fretful gesture she probably didn't even notice she was doing. Finally, he mustered the courage to turn his eyes up to her own, and instead of answering her question, he posed a suggestion. "We should leave." His heart sank when he saw the transformation of her expression: she wasn't relieved, she wasn't eager to go. She looked... distressed, disappointed. He moved his hands to her shoulders, trying to comfort and reassure her, and he hated how she cringed at his touch as if his fingertips scalded her skin. "Leave?" She repeated, and there was the smallest hint of disgust in her voice. She shook her head back and forth, lifting her own hands to remove his from her shoulders, not unkindly. "What of my sister, Mehro? What of K'hajii? Her baby will be of R'huan's, not your brother. He'll kill the child." "She can come with us." His tone was desperate, pleading. If they didn't leave, his brother would do the same thing to her child. Their child. "And the others?" "The Twelve take the others, they can find their own way." Could she not comprehend? What would staying solve, other than getting herself killed? Getting her child killed? What was she possibly thinking?! And then it dawned on him, a mere moment before she opened her mouth, what it was she wanted from him. "Kill him." The tears had begun to slip down her face, but her gaze had hardened, and there was no denying her plea. "Either he dies, or more do." "I can't, you can't ask that of me, Rihia. He's my brother!" She scoffed, the heel of one hand moving to swipe away the tears that stained her face. Her tail had begun to swish back and forth as her frustration grew. "After all he's done, he's still your brother? R'mehro, he killed your brothers! They were your blood, diluted or not!" "We can leave," He persisted, closing the short step of distance between them. "We can bring K'hajii, and... and whoever else might want to come--" "Coward," She spat, wrenching from him, turning away. She might have meant to leave him there, to storm off in her anger, but then R'mihko was upon them. How he had found them, neither R'mehro or K'rihia would know. Later R'mehro would wonder what sparked the attack: was it that they had been discussing the possibility of killing him, or had it been the discovery of their unborn child? The sea came rushing in as he toppled over, flat onto his back in the sand. The temperature was mild, warm, yet the water felt like ice and it stole away his breath as it washed over him. R'mihko was on top of him then, and the combined weight of the brothers had their tangled forms sinking an inch or so into the hard-packed sand. Just as quickly as it'd advanced over him, the water was retreating again, allowing R'mehro to gasp for air without choking down mouthful after mouthful of salty water. He coughed and sputtered, struggled to pull one clean breath of air, and then R'mihko began to press a forearm to his throat. His air was cut off again then, and what little breath he'd been able to suck in wouldn't sustain him long. He could hardly see as it was, eyes awash with sea water, and now the edges of his vision began to darken. It was the shock of it all, the lack of air, the lack of bloodflow to his brain. He caught only snatches of images: his brother's face, twisted with anger and hatred, teeth bared in a fierce and triumphant grin; the moon, full and high above them, illuminating the scene of violence in shades of dark blues and greys; the water, eagerly charging back at them. He could hear K'rihia screaming, but her words were muffled, incomprehensible, lost among the sound of the relentless waves and his brother's snarling. The water was coming back. This was all R'mehro could think of as he began to struggle, not wanting to die like this, pinned to the ground, drowned in a mere foot or so of water. His first thought was his knife, his skinning knife, sheathed at his hip. He managed to claw it from its sheath, but then he fumbled, and the smooth hilt slipped between his wet hands. He drew his legs up, kicking wildly, hoping to catch R'mihko in the stomach. His hands, accepting of the loss of the knife, moved to gouge at the other Miqo'te's face, trying to find purchase, trying to inflict enough pain to so that the nunh's hold might weaken. His fingertips found R'mihko's left ear, and he latched on with his waning strength. He dug his nails in and begin to twist his hand back and forth, ripping, shredding, doing his best to mutilate the ear. There were a few distressing moments where R'mehro was sure his brother would merely endure the pain, but then the weight was gone, and a roar of agony and fury were loosed from R'mihko as well. R'mehro rolled onto his stomach, promptly throwing up the sea water he had swallowed in the struggle. His vision began to clear, and the first thing his eyes lit upon was a potential weapon. Barely three fulms away, the jagged edge of a rock jutted from the sand, and he began to scramble forward immediately. What a turn things had taken: he'd been adamant about not killing his own brother not even a full minute ago, and now he was frantic to do just that. His eyes widened as the waves came back in, obscuring the rock from his sight. He propelled himself forward, using the toes of his soggy boots to dig into the sand, and blindly groped for the rock. His fingertips grazed the rough edges and he began to dig at the sides of it in a frenzy, trying to uncover it enough so that he might pry it up, make use of it. His nails splintered and broke on the surface of the rock, as he clawed violently at it, and he was hit with the sudden fear that it was a massive thing, three or four fulms long and deep, that this was only the tip, that it was false hope to think he could uncover and wield it. He had only a moment or two to realize this fear before he was winded again, his brother pouncing on his prone form. He could feel large hands grasping at the back of his head, and then R'mihko was forcing his younger brother's head down towards the few inches of water, the edge of the rock still hidden beneath the withdrawing water. R'mehro tried to get his hands beneath himself, tried to brace for the impact, knowing the rock was there, but it did not good: through the sound of the sea, K'rihia screaming, and the savage roaring of his brother, the sound that R'mehro's face made as it connected with the rock was still audible. It was a sickening crunching sound as his cheekbone broke, and a sharp edge of the rock pierced the flesh from brow to cheek, puncturing the eye. The pain was immediate and exquisite. When he opened his mouth to howl in pain, he only took in more sea water, and it very well would have been the end for him had K'rihia not taken it upon herself to intervene. She had found R'mehro's discarded skinning knife, and she darted forward deftly, sinking the short three ilms of blade into R'mihko's side. Once again, the nunh was forced off of his quarry, loosing another agonized snarl. His eyes, the same bright green as his brother's, fell upon K'rihia immediately, and R'mehro was quickly forgotten. She had stabbed him...?! He would ensure it was the last mistake she ever made. When the waves went rushing back out to sea again, they took a fair share of blood with them this time. Even as R'mehro forced himself up to his hands and knees, coughing water, the blood continued to stream down his face from his mutilated eye. The cheek had already begun to discolor and swell, and for a few short moments, he wasn't entirely sure where he was. It was the sound of the struggle that brought him around, and he turned quickly, too quickly; his vision darkened dangerously from the suddenly change in direction, and he could see R'mihko atop her, the sand painted with blood. Much of it was his brother's. The blade was no longer pinned in his side, and the blood that poured from the wound was immense. And yet... much of it was hers, too, because the blade that had been in R'mihko's side was now carving out K'rihia's belly. It turned out the rock wasn't some massive stone buried beneath the sand. With the waves receding, R'mehro was able to dig it from the ground without much trouble. It was slick in his shaking hands, and he couldn't see so well, but the satisfying crunching noise R'mihko's skull made as the rock collided with it was one of the most nauseating... and beautiful sounds he had ever heard before. She was already gone by the time he knelt in the water beside her, but he took her in his arms anyway. Even with his grievous wounds, her weight was nothing to him, and he cradled her easily in his arms as he waded away from the inbound waves, towards the drier sand, where water would not reach. R'mihko was left to the whims of the sea, and he never cared to glance back and find if the water had washed his body away or not. |
RELATIONSHIPS
♥ Family – ☀ Platonic – ∞ Involved – ღ Romantic – ♡ Passionate –❣ Physical – ♦ Friend – ★ Acquaintance – $ Business – ✝ Deceased – ✔ Positive – ✖ Negative – ● Neutral – � Unsure – ☠ Enemy
|
|
|
OOC NOTES
RP Limits I only really have limits on ERP, and those limits are I don't. If it were to ever come to that, fade to black. Swearing, violence, gore, none of that I mind. Grey's RP tends to hover in the sort of gritty crime style RP anyway, so those themes crop up a lot.
Player Info I am based in the USA Central Timezone. I've got a fairly crazy work schedule as I work overnights for a non-profit organization that caters to clients 24/7 every day of the year. I'm also currently studying for my private pilot's license so my play time is sporadic at best! Either way, feel free to PM me in game any time. :)
|
|
