Foster (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
phlogistos) wrote2012-11-26 05:24 am
phlogistos) wrote2012-11-26 05:24 am
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exsilium app
» PLAYER INFORMATION
Player NAME: Rama
Current AGE: 21
Player TIME ZONE: MST
Personal JOURNAL:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rama_pi
IM & SERVICE: AIM - r4mapi
Player PLURK: ramamama
Current CHARACTERS: n/a
» CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character NAME: Sebille Forrester; goes by Foster
Character PULL-POINT: Headed to London
Character AGE: 232
Character ABILITIES: Foster is a fairy! Specifically he's a salamander, which is to say, he's a fire elemental. I'll note here that fairies in his world are creatures made out of... souls or energy or life force or whatever word you wanna use for that. They are intensely connected to the natural world and draw influences from it that affect them on a physical and mental level. Foster has a good chunk of human in him so he's far more set in his ways then most, but big changes to the world would at least shake him up a little. For instance, in exsilium the devastation of the natural world by unnatural means will probably start to corrupt him over time... like years and decades, really, but still.
So! Because he's mostly a soul, his body doesn't react the way a normal human's would! He's stronger, faster and has a far higher stamina then a human. He can go for days without eating and it won't aversely affect him (though he prefers not to, thank you) and altering his body chemistry is extremely difficult so poisons and drugs don't bother him unless they're really potent. He's also immortal unless he's killed.
As a fairy, he can use Glamour, which is a kind of proto-magic that lets him appear however he wants. As a salamander, he's immune to being burned, can climb walls like a lizard............. and also manipulate fire. While he prefers using fire that's already struck, he can create it from nothing if he really has to. This tends to tire him out a lot quicker though.
HOWEVER, he's also got some handicaps! Iron acts a corrosive on his skin and poison in his body, bell tones make him viscerally uncomfortable, he can't cross running water and he's compelled to answer any question that's asked three times. I've got the tl;dr version of this right over here. Also, if someone knows his full Name and they say it out loud, they can control him entirely... which is why he uses a psuedoname!
Unrelated to his being a fairy, he's also a decent fighter particularly if knives are involved though he's proficient in a bunch of different weapons, an excellent sniper and a passable cook.
Character HISTORY: Here is some world information.
Born the bastard fairy daughter of a rather important changeling, Foster spent his youth growing up in the midst of high international tension. The world outside English borders was starting to push back, resisting the imperialist invasion coming out of Western Europe and there was very little doubt that soon, war would break out. His mother, being the influential woman that she was, served as a defense adviser to the government during this period, helping military branches in various cities across the country with developing new weapons, new strategies for the coming conflict. So it was that Foster spent a large chunk of his formative years moving around. He was rarely in one place longer then a year or two, which was ultimately a blessing to him. He was an odd child, quiet and observant, but more importantly, he was a fairy amongst humans. While his mother never allowed him to be deliberately mistreated, there were looks, long judgemental stares, and a kind of casual disdain that instilled in him the sense of being something Other that would stick with him long after he'd grown up.
His traveling came to an end when he was ten and his mother settled into London where she was most needed. Three years later, the war finally came. And it tore through the country, tore through the whole world. It was truly the war to end all wars and here was Foster in the middle of it, watching bodies pile up and people tearing each other apart for reasons he did not fully understand. Eventually he stopped trying to get it, accepting the wartime scramble for what it was and learning to survive in it. Most importantly, he learned to fight, serving as his mother's bodyguard when she would let him. When he was seventeen, he came out to his mother as her son (a process that went quite smoothly for him due to a far more fluid perception of gender in his version of England), adopted the Glamour he uses to this day with only minor variance, and a year later, he joined the military, one of the few willing amongst thousands of conscripted soldiers.
He passed through training with a startling ease, took to soldiering like he'd been born for it, and though his place there was never disputed, he continued to receive the mild judgement he'd gotten all through his childhood. He was never close with anyone in his company so when he was cut across the face during combat one day, he downplayed how much it hurt. Turns out, this was an exceptionally bad idea! The knife had been iron and the wound eventually got so infected, Foster lost his eye and was incapacitated for nearly a month. By the time he'd recovered, he'd been deemed too damaged to return to his company and was discharged.
He spent the last year of the war and the decades afterwards with his mother again, taking up his position as her guard with rather more confidence and competence then before. Once again, he was traveling across the country with her while she worked the political side of things, the treaties and the agreements. When he wasn't by her side, he worked in constructing and rebuilding the ruined cities. Naturally a decade long world war left quite a lot of damage to heal over, politically, financially and physically. He and his mother were kept busy for decades, staying close, continuing to travel, usually so often that Foster's nature as a fairy wasn't obvious and he was able to keep it secret, something which he found he preferred immensely.
He eventually found reason to leave this pattern of traveling and fixing and traveling again, around fifty years after the war when tensions began rising again. He was not permitted back into the military because of his missing eye, but his skills were recognized and he was quietly hired on a mission by mission basis for nearly twenty years, usually working in reconnaissance and information gathering, until peace was achieved again, without another war thankfully. It was the first time mercenary work had occurred to him as a job he could do, and he took to the idea rather easily. As much as he was aware he could help with rebuilding, he had grown up thinking himself a soldier. He was far more comfortable wielding a gun then hammer and nails, serving as something destructive rather then constructive.
The only thing that kept him from pursuing the career was his mother, who was growing more and more sickly as the years passed, her age finally catching up to her, her changeling body beginning to lose stability. As soon as the military was done with him, he parted ways with them and returned to her side.
They settled in the little country town where she had grown up nearly a thousand years ago and for the first time, Foster was completely sedentary, slowly becoming a part of the community around him. It was not something he took to particularly easily, giving in to his wanderlust once or twice before his mother worsened even further. He was rather off-putting at first, keeping to himself the way he always had which had worked fine for him when he was moving around every few years, but now just meant he seemed rather shady and suspicious, particularly given his heritage. Not wanting to be thrown out while his mother needed him, he learned how to work with people over the course of several years, getting a crash course in interpersonal skills and how not to immediately piss people off. By the time his mother died, he'd gained at least some sense of charisma and had a few close friends and occasional lovers.
However, it was in dealing with his own grief that he was finally driven away again. He lasted half a decade before the squabblings and daily human troubles started to strike him as petty and ridiculous. He watched a new generation growing up in peacetime and he got angry, with them for being so short-sighted and small, with himself for being complacent, for allowing himself to grow comfortable with this stable, stagnant life.
So he ran away, slipped from everything he had come to care about in his own muted way, and he lived off the land for awhile instead, slowly learning how to survive wild and how to use his abilities as a salamander which he had avoided for so long in the interest of appearing human. In the middle of his first winter, trying to find shelter away from the snow which did nothing but melt and sting on contact with his skin, he met Cernunnos, the Fae King of the Forest, who took startling pity on him and taught him a few tricks that let him survive. He parted from the encounter with a slightly higher respect for Court fairies... which served him well the couple times he encountered them, taking their brief hospitality without complaint but leaving again as soon as he was able.
By the time he returned to the human world, he had settled into the smooth spoken, utterly unshakable person he is now, learned to tame his fire and smother his grief instead of ever coming to terms with it. His first mission was to get himself a new gun, working odd jobs until he had the money to afford his gorgeous sniper rifle which he has only rarely let fall out of his sight since buying it. And it was shortly after that that he began his mercenary work for various shady organizations or the impossibly rich people who could afford his services. He never worked often enough to be traced and when he did work, it was under various psuedonames and Glamours, rarely appearing the same between jobs, letting him stay free and continue traveling, something he never gave up again.
Most recently, the city he was staying at was attacked by fairies, a result of the growing instability between humans and the Seelie Court. For the duration of a few hours, he fell back into his old survival instincts, killing the enemy fairies so efficiently he garnered the attention of the local guard. He was asked to stay in town a few days afterwards before he was called in and informed he was wanted in London, that the guard there was looking for people who could combat the steadily worsening assault on the city. He agreed for the excellent pay he was promised and the lack of anything better to do, and a week later was on the road towards the capital.
Character PERSONALITY: So you know those mercenaries who are jerks with a heart of gold who have trouble gaining trust because they're mercenaries and clearly their loyalty lies with the person paying them more? Well Foster is the kind of mercenary that gives mercenaries that reputation. He will do anything in his power if the pay seems good enough. Hell, sometimes even if the pay isn't good. Money's the goal. He'll do whatever he can to get more of it.
This is not out of greed as you might expect. His is a soul that grew up in the midst of a war. Resources were scarce for years even after the war ended and he has had survival drilled into him for his entire life. He takes what he can, as much of it as he can handle, as often as he can get it, because he is never sure how long it'll last. There is no sense to moderation in his opinion because if the next famine strikes and he's left starving, it's his own damn fault for not stuffing himself while he could. Survival is the highest virtue in his mind. There is nothing so morally bankrupt that he won't do it if he means he'll get another day, another week, another year.
Which is not to say he's a sociopath. He is never cruel for no reason, preferring the path of least resistance over any other. He is in fact more likely to help people then not since committing a crime puts him in danger while helping out can only get him into the good graces of the community. Even as focused as he is on his own well-being, he still knows he lives in a society and that societies are run on cooperation. He can at least step back and recognize the good of the many trumping the good of the few... though even with that knowledge, he will always side with whichever outcome will work out better for him until that time when another option looks more appealing. He is, to be blunt, terminally self-interested.
He tends towards emotional distance for this reason. He is a traveler who is loyal to himself first. Attachment on his part or someone else's just leads to awkward hurt feelings when he inevitably moves on again, and it is, after all, easier to kill someone he has no particular feelings about then someone he loves or hates. This is also something of a defense mechanism. A fairy living a more or less human life tends to be received with suspicion at best and outright hatred at worst. Two hundred years has taught him this much and so he is accustomed to keeping his business to himself. He trusts slow and gives his loyalty out even slower, and being as private as he is is far easier when he's holding everyone at arm's length. He hates being openly vulnerable in front of strangers more then anything in the world.
Because of this, he's taught himself how to be calm under all but the worst circumstances, letting insults or attacks roll harmlessly off him. Again, the path of least resistance. He'd rather be happy and relaxed then angry and he'll make active efforts towards suppressing all but the most chill of emotional responses. He never engages in fights that don't serve a purpose and his temper is molasses slow. He can go years without being anything more then faintly irritated.
But when his temper does strike, it hits hard and vicious and always for one of two reasons. Either someone threatened his life or his freedom and they did it with enough insistence that he had to take them seriously. It is in these moment's that his nature as a flame becomes most obvious, in his casual destruction, in the way he builds and builds until he can't anymore or, more likely, something puts him out. Usually he does this himself, burying his anger under his familiar placid calm, but there have been occasions when he had to be knocked out before it took. Despite how nasty he can be when provoked though, he never holds a grudge. If the situation hasn't dealt with itself after an outburst, then it's not worth investing his energy into. He can just as easily move on and let everything resolve itself somewhere far from him.
In the end, he is something of a directionless wanderer. He has not cared deeply for anyone since his mother died and he is honestly still mourning her, unable to find his way past his grief. He is stalled out, lost in some ways, running his wheels in place, refusing to reach out to choose a path or a purpose to dedicate himself to. As long as he is alive and moving, he can trick himself into thinking he's happy.
» EXSILIUM INFORMATION
Chosen WEAPON: He'll be using his own rifle! Right now, it's fairly outdated by modern standards so it'll evolve to match modern technology, probably with a nifty scope and more durable material and the like. Maybe it'll gain the ability to swap between .50 cal rounds and the .32 cal it takes now?? Something like that!
Character INVENTORY: Foster travels constantly and has for decades which means he carries everything he owns with him on the road. Anything he can't fit in his jacket is carried in a pretty decently big duffel bag! Except the rifle. That's strapped to his back.
on his person
Clothes
---high collared shirt
---heavy work pants
---pashmina scarf
---double-breasted wool coat
---1½ inch heels
Pack of cigarettes; open, missing four
Matchbox; half empty
Sniper rifle; bolt-action, military grade, ~WWI level technology
Knife belt
---machete
---two fighting knives
---push dagger
---two throwing knives
---kris; enchanted with an extremely short range explosive spell meant for last ditch escape attempts, damages both the wielder’s knife hand and anyone who has hold of their wrist
in his pack
Couple changes of clothes
Hiking boots
Nine .32 caliber bullets
Marijuana; eight grams, high potency
Sewing kit
Rations; two weeks worth
~£10; in various coins
Tripod
Grenades; gunpowder & shells & three fuses, all the pieces are kept separate until he needs them
» PREVIOUS GAME INFORMATION ( IF APPLICABLE )
Previous GAME(s):
Previous GAME SETTING(s):
Previous GAME CR:
Your character's DEVELOPMENT:
» SAMPLES
First PERSON: [The video opens with him looking thoughtfully off to the side, a faint crease of annoyance right at the edge of his eye as he takes a long drag off an almost finished cigarette. Then a distinctly irritated huff. Then he looks back and... brightens significantly. Or well... smiles a little bit anyway]
Oh shit, is it on now? [An easygoing chuckle! Cause apparently that's laugh worthy... and then he's slowly bending down, peering at the camera from below as if he might be able to see through it to the other side] There's people out there, right? I dunno, that's what they told me. Guess I'm supposed to trust you all now, huh?
[Leans back again, taking one last pull and moving to carefully stub out his cigarette off camera]
Long as I get paid, I guess. Shouldn't be too bad. [Takes a pack of cigarettes out of his coat and draws another one out] Gotta say though, conscription's a hell of a thing. Unwilling soldiers're bad soldiers, far as I can tell. [Lights dat cigarette] Good luck, you poor bastards.
Third PERSON: Bar sounds are comfortable to him, the clink of glasses and the crowd murmur. He finds the furthest corner usually, sliding into a chair at an unoccupied table where he can watch the world go by without worrying about being spotted.
Today is no different even if he's here on business technically. He forgoes the drink, knowing his current employer is a good enough woman to at least buy him something for all his trouble, and settles into the cushy booth chair, leaning against the wall with his legs propped up, already scanning.
There is a woman in the corner trying not to look lonely as she sips something lime green with a little twist of lemon on the rim. He looks at the vacant chair by her side, smiles to himself. Either someone's late or she's been stood up. Time will tell, he supposes. He keeps watching her swilling a toothpick through the drink as he searches through the inside pocket of his jacket, first for a little brown bag, tied with gold string, and second for a pack of cigarettes. The bag goes to the table, his eyes go down the bar to two men, one talking excitedly and pointing towards a young, tired looking blond. Trying to convince his friend to talk to him probably.
Back to the woman waiting, and he strips the packaging from his cigarettes, tugging one free. There's a group of five getting drunk in the opposite corner from him, and a couple having dinner at the table next to him, who both give him a nasty look when he lights up. He only grins calmly in return, knowing by the glance they give each other and the smooth ironed lines of their clothes that they're too interested in having a good night to pick a fight with him.
The door opens and a small group piles in from the late winter air, one breaking away from the rest immediately. He follows the man sliding through cramped chairs, bumping into people at the bar, until he comes to a stop at the woman with the lime drink, apologizing profusely by the look on his face. Foster smiles wider. A happy ending. His favorite.
"Callahan," says a voice he recognizes and he turns his eye back on his employer and her little posse of guards, still shivering from the cold. He knows the deal of course, and so he slides over the little brown bag with her rival's pinky finger inside before he expects any money. She grins this mean little grin that makes him wonder what she is that she gets such visceral joy out of such a thing, and then she calls over a waiter for drinks, settling into the booth across from him to check his catch and discuss his next job.
» ADDITIONAL NOTES
Because he's connected to his earth and that connection is going to get severed on coming to exsilium, he'll probably be a little ill for a week or so while he adjusts!
Player NAME: Rama
Current AGE: 21
Player TIME ZONE: MST
Personal JOURNAL:
rama_piIM & SERVICE: AIM - r4mapi
Player PLURK: ramamama
Current CHARACTERS: n/a
» CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character NAME: Sebille Forrester; goes by Foster
Character PULL-POINT: Headed to London
Character AGE: 232
Character ABILITIES: Foster is a fairy! Specifically he's a salamander, which is to say, he's a fire elemental. I'll note here that fairies in his world are creatures made out of... souls or energy or life force or whatever word you wanna use for that. They are intensely connected to the natural world and draw influences from it that affect them on a physical and mental level. Foster has a good chunk of human in him so he's far more set in his ways then most, but big changes to the world would at least shake him up a little. For instance, in exsilium the devastation of the natural world by unnatural means will probably start to corrupt him over time... like years and decades, really, but still.
So! Because he's mostly a soul, his body doesn't react the way a normal human's would! He's stronger, faster and has a far higher stamina then a human. He can go for days without eating and it won't aversely affect him (though he prefers not to, thank you) and altering his body chemistry is extremely difficult so poisons and drugs don't bother him unless they're really potent. He's also immortal unless he's killed.
As a fairy, he can use Glamour, which is a kind of proto-magic that lets him appear however he wants. As a salamander, he's immune to being burned, can climb walls like a lizard............. and also manipulate fire. While he prefers using fire that's already struck, he can create it from nothing if he really has to. This tends to tire him out a lot quicker though.
HOWEVER, he's also got some handicaps! Iron acts a corrosive on his skin and poison in his body, bell tones make him viscerally uncomfortable, he can't cross running water and he's compelled to answer any question that's asked three times. I've got the tl;dr version of this right over here. Also, if someone knows his full Name and they say it out loud, they can control him entirely... which is why he uses a psuedoname!
Unrelated to his being a fairy, he's also a decent fighter particularly if knives are involved though he's proficient in a bunch of different weapons, an excellent sniper and a passable cook.
Character HISTORY: Here is some world information.
Born the bastard fairy daughter of a rather important changeling, Foster spent his youth growing up in the midst of high international tension. The world outside English borders was starting to push back, resisting the imperialist invasion coming out of Western Europe and there was very little doubt that soon, war would break out. His mother, being the influential woman that she was, served as a defense adviser to the government during this period, helping military branches in various cities across the country with developing new weapons, new strategies for the coming conflict. So it was that Foster spent a large chunk of his formative years moving around. He was rarely in one place longer then a year or two, which was ultimately a blessing to him. He was an odd child, quiet and observant, but more importantly, he was a fairy amongst humans. While his mother never allowed him to be deliberately mistreated, there were looks, long judgemental stares, and a kind of casual disdain that instilled in him the sense of being something Other that would stick with him long after he'd grown up.
His traveling came to an end when he was ten and his mother settled into London where she was most needed. Three years later, the war finally came. And it tore through the country, tore through the whole world. It was truly the war to end all wars and here was Foster in the middle of it, watching bodies pile up and people tearing each other apart for reasons he did not fully understand. Eventually he stopped trying to get it, accepting the wartime scramble for what it was and learning to survive in it. Most importantly, he learned to fight, serving as his mother's bodyguard when she would let him. When he was seventeen, he came out to his mother as her son (a process that went quite smoothly for him due to a far more fluid perception of gender in his version of England), adopted the Glamour he uses to this day with only minor variance, and a year later, he joined the military, one of the few willing amongst thousands of conscripted soldiers.
He passed through training with a startling ease, took to soldiering like he'd been born for it, and though his place there was never disputed, he continued to receive the mild judgement he'd gotten all through his childhood. He was never close with anyone in his company so when he was cut across the face during combat one day, he downplayed how much it hurt. Turns out, this was an exceptionally bad idea! The knife had been iron and the wound eventually got so infected, Foster lost his eye and was incapacitated for nearly a month. By the time he'd recovered, he'd been deemed too damaged to return to his company and was discharged.
He spent the last year of the war and the decades afterwards with his mother again, taking up his position as her guard with rather more confidence and competence then before. Once again, he was traveling across the country with her while she worked the political side of things, the treaties and the agreements. When he wasn't by her side, he worked in constructing and rebuilding the ruined cities. Naturally a decade long world war left quite a lot of damage to heal over, politically, financially and physically. He and his mother were kept busy for decades, staying close, continuing to travel, usually so often that Foster's nature as a fairy wasn't obvious and he was able to keep it secret, something which he found he preferred immensely.
He eventually found reason to leave this pattern of traveling and fixing and traveling again, around fifty years after the war when tensions began rising again. He was not permitted back into the military because of his missing eye, but his skills were recognized and he was quietly hired on a mission by mission basis for nearly twenty years, usually working in reconnaissance and information gathering, until peace was achieved again, without another war thankfully. It was the first time mercenary work had occurred to him as a job he could do, and he took to the idea rather easily. As much as he was aware he could help with rebuilding, he had grown up thinking himself a soldier. He was far more comfortable wielding a gun then hammer and nails, serving as something destructive rather then constructive.
The only thing that kept him from pursuing the career was his mother, who was growing more and more sickly as the years passed, her age finally catching up to her, her changeling body beginning to lose stability. As soon as the military was done with him, he parted ways with them and returned to her side.
They settled in the little country town where she had grown up nearly a thousand years ago and for the first time, Foster was completely sedentary, slowly becoming a part of the community around him. It was not something he took to particularly easily, giving in to his wanderlust once or twice before his mother worsened even further. He was rather off-putting at first, keeping to himself the way he always had which had worked fine for him when he was moving around every few years, but now just meant he seemed rather shady and suspicious, particularly given his heritage. Not wanting to be thrown out while his mother needed him, he learned how to work with people over the course of several years, getting a crash course in interpersonal skills and how not to immediately piss people off. By the time his mother died, he'd gained at least some sense of charisma and had a few close friends and occasional lovers.
However, it was in dealing with his own grief that he was finally driven away again. He lasted half a decade before the squabblings and daily human troubles started to strike him as petty and ridiculous. He watched a new generation growing up in peacetime and he got angry, with them for being so short-sighted and small, with himself for being complacent, for allowing himself to grow comfortable with this stable, stagnant life.
So he ran away, slipped from everything he had come to care about in his own muted way, and he lived off the land for awhile instead, slowly learning how to survive wild and how to use his abilities as a salamander which he had avoided for so long in the interest of appearing human. In the middle of his first winter, trying to find shelter away from the snow which did nothing but melt and sting on contact with his skin, he met Cernunnos, the Fae King of the Forest, who took startling pity on him and taught him a few tricks that let him survive. He parted from the encounter with a slightly higher respect for Court fairies... which served him well the couple times he encountered them, taking their brief hospitality without complaint but leaving again as soon as he was able.
By the time he returned to the human world, he had settled into the smooth spoken, utterly unshakable person he is now, learned to tame his fire and smother his grief instead of ever coming to terms with it. His first mission was to get himself a new gun, working odd jobs until he had the money to afford his gorgeous sniper rifle which he has only rarely let fall out of his sight since buying it. And it was shortly after that that he began his mercenary work for various shady organizations or the impossibly rich people who could afford his services. He never worked often enough to be traced and when he did work, it was under various psuedonames and Glamours, rarely appearing the same between jobs, letting him stay free and continue traveling, something he never gave up again.
Most recently, the city he was staying at was attacked by fairies, a result of the growing instability between humans and the Seelie Court. For the duration of a few hours, he fell back into his old survival instincts, killing the enemy fairies so efficiently he garnered the attention of the local guard. He was asked to stay in town a few days afterwards before he was called in and informed he was wanted in London, that the guard there was looking for people who could combat the steadily worsening assault on the city. He agreed for the excellent pay he was promised and the lack of anything better to do, and a week later was on the road towards the capital.
Character PERSONALITY: So you know those mercenaries who are jerks with a heart of gold who have trouble gaining trust because they're mercenaries and clearly their loyalty lies with the person paying them more? Well Foster is the kind of mercenary that gives mercenaries that reputation. He will do anything in his power if the pay seems good enough. Hell, sometimes even if the pay isn't good. Money's the goal. He'll do whatever he can to get more of it.
This is not out of greed as you might expect. His is a soul that grew up in the midst of a war. Resources were scarce for years even after the war ended and he has had survival drilled into him for his entire life. He takes what he can, as much of it as he can handle, as often as he can get it, because he is never sure how long it'll last. There is no sense to moderation in his opinion because if the next famine strikes and he's left starving, it's his own damn fault for not stuffing himself while he could. Survival is the highest virtue in his mind. There is nothing so morally bankrupt that he won't do it if he means he'll get another day, another week, another year.
Which is not to say he's a sociopath. He is never cruel for no reason, preferring the path of least resistance over any other. He is in fact more likely to help people then not since committing a crime puts him in danger while helping out can only get him into the good graces of the community. Even as focused as he is on his own well-being, he still knows he lives in a society and that societies are run on cooperation. He can at least step back and recognize the good of the many trumping the good of the few... though even with that knowledge, he will always side with whichever outcome will work out better for him until that time when another option looks more appealing. He is, to be blunt, terminally self-interested.
He tends towards emotional distance for this reason. He is a traveler who is loyal to himself first. Attachment on his part or someone else's just leads to awkward hurt feelings when he inevitably moves on again, and it is, after all, easier to kill someone he has no particular feelings about then someone he loves or hates. This is also something of a defense mechanism. A fairy living a more or less human life tends to be received with suspicion at best and outright hatred at worst. Two hundred years has taught him this much and so he is accustomed to keeping his business to himself. He trusts slow and gives his loyalty out even slower, and being as private as he is is far easier when he's holding everyone at arm's length. He hates being openly vulnerable in front of strangers more then anything in the world.
Because of this, he's taught himself how to be calm under all but the worst circumstances, letting insults or attacks roll harmlessly off him. Again, the path of least resistance. He'd rather be happy and relaxed then angry and he'll make active efforts towards suppressing all but the most chill of emotional responses. He never engages in fights that don't serve a purpose and his temper is molasses slow. He can go years without being anything more then faintly irritated.
But when his temper does strike, it hits hard and vicious and always for one of two reasons. Either someone threatened his life or his freedom and they did it with enough insistence that he had to take them seriously. It is in these moment's that his nature as a flame becomes most obvious, in his casual destruction, in the way he builds and builds until he can't anymore or, more likely, something puts him out. Usually he does this himself, burying his anger under his familiar placid calm, but there have been occasions when he had to be knocked out before it took. Despite how nasty he can be when provoked though, he never holds a grudge. If the situation hasn't dealt with itself after an outburst, then it's not worth investing his energy into. He can just as easily move on and let everything resolve itself somewhere far from him.
In the end, he is something of a directionless wanderer. He has not cared deeply for anyone since his mother died and he is honestly still mourning her, unable to find his way past his grief. He is stalled out, lost in some ways, running his wheels in place, refusing to reach out to choose a path or a purpose to dedicate himself to. As long as he is alive and moving, he can trick himself into thinking he's happy.
» EXSILIUM INFORMATION
Chosen WEAPON: He'll be using his own rifle! Right now, it's fairly outdated by modern standards so it'll evolve to match modern technology, probably with a nifty scope and more durable material and the like. Maybe it'll gain the ability to swap between .50 cal rounds and the .32 cal it takes now?? Something like that!
Character INVENTORY: Foster travels constantly and has for decades which means he carries everything he owns with him on the road. Anything he can't fit in his jacket is carried in a pretty decently big duffel bag! Except the rifle. That's strapped to his back.
on his person
Clothes
---high collared shirt
---heavy work pants
---pashmina scarf
---double-breasted wool coat
---1½ inch heels
Pack of cigarettes; open, missing four
Matchbox; half empty
Sniper rifle; bolt-action, military grade, ~WWI level technology
Knife belt
---machete
---two fighting knives
---push dagger
---two throwing knives
---kris; enchanted with an extremely short range explosive spell meant for last ditch escape attempts, damages both the wielder’s knife hand and anyone who has hold of their wrist
in his pack
Couple changes of clothes
Hiking boots
Nine .32 caliber bullets
Marijuana; eight grams, high potency
Sewing kit
Rations; two weeks worth
~£10; in various coins
Tripod
Grenades; gunpowder & shells & three fuses, all the pieces are kept separate until he needs them
Previous GAME(s):
Previous GAME SETTING(s):
Previous GAME CR:
Your character's DEVELOPMENT:
» SAMPLES
First PERSON: [The video opens with him looking thoughtfully off to the side, a faint crease of annoyance right at the edge of his eye as he takes a long drag off an almost finished cigarette. Then a distinctly irritated huff. Then he looks back and... brightens significantly. Or well... smiles a little bit anyway]
Oh shit, is it on now? [An easygoing chuckle! Cause apparently that's laugh worthy... and then he's slowly bending down, peering at the camera from below as if he might be able to see through it to the other side] There's people out there, right? I dunno, that's what they told me. Guess I'm supposed to trust you all now, huh?
[Leans back again, taking one last pull and moving to carefully stub out his cigarette off camera]
Long as I get paid, I guess. Shouldn't be too bad. [Takes a pack of cigarettes out of his coat and draws another one out] Gotta say though, conscription's a hell of a thing. Unwilling soldiers're bad soldiers, far as I can tell. [Lights dat cigarette] Good luck, you poor bastards.
Third PERSON: Bar sounds are comfortable to him, the clink of glasses and the crowd murmur. He finds the furthest corner usually, sliding into a chair at an unoccupied table where he can watch the world go by without worrying about being spotted.
Today is no different even if he's here on business technically. He forgoes the drink, knowing his current employer is a good enough woman to at least buy him something for all his trouble, and settles into the cushy booth chair, leaning against the wall with his legs propped up, already scanning.
There is a woman in the corner trying not to look lonely as she sips something lime green with a little twist of lemon on the rim. He looks at the vacant chair by her side, smiles to himself. Either someone's late or she's been stood up. Time will tell, he supposes. He keeps watching her swilling a toothpick through the drink as he searches through the inside pocket of his jacket, first for a little brown bag, tied with gold string, and second for a pack of cigarettes. The bag goes to the table, his eyes go down the bar to two men, one talking excitedly and pointing towards a young, tired looking blond. Trying to convince his friend to talk to him probably.
Back to the woman waiting, and he strips the packaging from his cigarettes, tugging one free. There's a group of five getting drunk in the opposite corner from him, and a couple having dinner at the table next to him, who both give him a nasty look when he lights up. He only grins calmly in return, knowing by the glance they give each other and the smooth ironed lines of their clothes that they're too interested in having a good night to pick a fight with him.
The door opens and a small group piles in from the late winter air, one breaking away from the rest immediately. He follows the man sliding through cramped chairs, bumping into people at the bar, until he comes to a stop at the woman with the lime drink, apologizing profusely by the look on his face. Foster smiles wider. A happy ending. His favorite.
"Callahan," says a voice he recognizes and he turns his eye back on his employer and her little posse of guards, still shivering from the cold. He knows the deal of course, and so he slides over the little brown bag with her rival's pinky finger inside before he expects any money. She grins this mean little grin that makes him wonder what she is that she gets such visceral joy out of such a thing, and then she calls over a waiter for drinks, settling into the booth across from him to check his catch and discuss his next job.
» ADDITIONAL NOTES
Because he's connected to his earth and that connection is going to get severed on coming to exsilium, he'll probably be a little ill for a week or so while he adjusts!