Alright, lets see if I can hammer the mechanics out to start with.
Name: Brock
Age: 21
Class: Fighter Trainee-Bandit-Berserker
Special:
Character Skill: Daunt (Is this a good choice?)
Affinity: -
Personal Fault: Reckless Anger: -10 DG when under 50% HP
Personal Skill: Seeing Red: +2 Base Damage when under 50% HP
Preferred Stats: Str, HP
Weapon Skill: Axe (E)
Level: 1
Total Level: 1
Base Stats:
HP: 20 (70%)
STR: 6 (50%)
MAG: 0 (0%)
SKL: 2+2 (65%)
CON: 6
AID: 5
LUK: 1 (30%)
DEF: 3 (50%)
RES: 0 (10%)
SPD: 2+2 (55%)
MOV: 4
Levels Gained:
Current Stats:
HP: 20 (70%)
STR: 6 (50%)
MAG: 0 (0%)
SKL: 4 (65%)
CON: 6
AID: 5
LUK: 1 (30%)
DEF: 3 (50%)
RES: 0 (10%)
SPD: 4 (55%)
MOV: 4
Inventory:
Name | Type ( ) | Rng | Wt | Mt | Hit | Cr | Ql
Hatchet| Thrw (E)| 1-2 | 5 | 4 | 85 |5 | 35/35
Vulnerary 3/3
Bio:Brock was a Izzarran native, his parents being simple farmers as were their parents before them, so on and so forth. Those in the family tended to be built like bulls, as such they were fairly successful in this mundane profession. That isn't to say they were rich-nothing could be farther from the truth- but they weren't starving either, and were perfectly content with their lot in life for the most part. Naturally, the happy times ended when the occupation began. Falling further and further into poverty every day, the occupation was having an obvious effect on his family (two loving parents and two younger siblings, a brother and sister of 15 and 12 respectively). Rather then becoming depressed, he had become angry. Those who knew him always said he had a temper like a lightning bolt-quick to flare up, fiery and hot while it lasts, and over just as quickly as it started. It had always gotten him into trouble, but this time it was bigger than a street fight or shouting match. A drink in hand-surrounded by friends and neighbors, he violently ranted about the situation of the country to eager ears. Our families are starving, with no benefit to anyone but far-off foreigners, and we are just sitting here and doing nothing about it? We deserve better! His friends joined him in arms (or at least, pointy tools and sharp farming equipment, passable weapons in the eyes of the not-entirely sober group).
If you want to think he ran toward the revolution with open arms, here is were you will be disappointed. Their goal wasn't revolution, it was coin. They reasoned that trying to fight would do more harm then good- their homes and families could easily be caught in the crossfire, and all who have opposed the occupation had been defeated with no positive results. So they set their sights on the south, running to Chilcinne for a life of banditry. After all, if we were going to be bled dry at the wrong end of a sword, why not do the same someone else in return? Everyone who left was one less mouth to feed back home, and the riches they would receive would more then make up for the lost labor. At least, that was the plan. It wasn't long before everyone's heads were clear of liquor and rage, but by then it was too late. They had already dedicated themselves to this, turning back now would be betraying everyone else.
Also as it turns out, inexperienced young farmers tend to make poor bandits. Chilcinne was already full of competition, leading Brock's group to fight for scraps that either were not worth the time of other groups or managed to slip through their cracks. They barley made enough to sustain themselves-let alone send anything back home. Their condition as bandits was even worse than the condition back home, many longing for even their simple farm houses. Naturally, this made Brock angrier and angrier, growing daily as he contrasts his suffering with the imagined riches of those who put him in this situation in the first place. Far from his normal flash-in-the pan rage, it had begun to burn within him like a wildfire. Once again following his anger, he returned to his home country to fight the resistance. He still didn't like its odds of success, he simply felt that if he was going to get cut down over coin he might as well do it in a place he could call home. The fact this would put the hurt on Mordo was just a bonus.
At least he was gone long enough for those not close to him to forget who he was. At least his family wouldn't be targeted. To this day, he goes only by his first name. His real last name would naturally put his family in danger, while he felt a fake one would be an insult to them. Naturally, he has yet to contact his family, out of fear for their safety, out of fear for what may have happened to them, and out of fear for what they would think of him...
. Will read more into the stuff to get the actual character out later.
(Basic head transplant using these suggestions and mug bank as a base. Minor scar removal used. I used Gimp, and when I converted it to Jpeg it turned the transparent background white >_>).