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Post by Vincent Vanlighet on Jun 22, 2011 19:31:46 GMT -5
Vincent|Vanlighet THE|BASICS[/b][/size][/color] |Vincent Vanlighet [/font] AGE|21GENDER|maleSEXUALITY|heterosexualGROUP/ALLIANCE| He used to be a rebel, but now he is good friends with a ship captain and became her first mate of sorts on a pirate ship OCCUPATION| He does whatever work comes his way: assassinations, body-guarding, practically anything to do with fighting, or if he’s really desperate even menial labor. [/ul] THE|CHARACTER [/b][/size][/font][/left] [/b][/size][/color] | : Vincent Vanlighet stands tall at 6 feet with piercing grey-blue eyes and jet black long hair that falls just past his ears. Pushed up on his forehead are his brass goggles with lenses tinted purple. He has a watch chain dangling out of his front pocket looped into the button of his vest. He dresses casually formal in a button up shirt with a vest and on most days, a pitch black trench coat. At his side can always be found his sawed off, double barreled shotgun that he named Alice as a child. Vincent is now in his early twenties (21) and was originally a leader amongst the rebels when they first sprouted as a small scale guerilla group. An intricate tattoo runs up his right arm and onto and down his back. The tattoo consists of strange writings and formulas in a language most don’t know running up his arm till it reaches his shoulder where an alchemic circle is. From there the tattoo continues down his back consisting of odd symbols and letters swirling into another alchemic circle of equal size on the small of his back, the tattoo is the result of his grandfather’s lifetime of research into aether tattooed on Vincent for his 10th birthday, it’s much sought after.
[/font][/ul] [/b][/color] |[/size] at least 10[/font] [/color][/font][/ul][/ul] [/b][/color] |[/size] at least 10[/font] [/color][/font][/ul][/ul] [/b][/color][/size] | I slowly blinked my eyes open from deep sleep; the first thing I noticed was the red. The usually white halls and carpet were now stained red with blood splatter. The life giving liquid carpeted everything, like freshly felled snow, but much, much more gruesome. I realized I was lying on my stomach with my face and greater part of my body in a puddle of the gory substance. Alice was in my hand and I gripped her tight, I could see the broken dead body of my mother lying face down on the floor surrounded by blood its dark crimson contrasting the white. There was a knife in her back and 3 more visible stab wounds. Now standing, I began to back up, eyes wide and mouth open in disgust, when I tripped over something and landed on my back. I had tripped over a second body, my father’s, except he had no head; it was visibly torn off. I realized only one thing could do that, a 12 gauge round point blank to the face. I looked down to my hand to see Alice there; the light glinted off of her majestic, metallic barrels, the perfectly carved wood handle caressing my hand. My eyes widened in disbelief, I vomited from disgust, and I began to run to the door. I stopped as a shadow stepped in my way, he looked up at me, a devil’s smile on his face, a knife in his hand. “So much waste, they tore each other apart for the money, all I had to do was sit back and watch for the victor, dispatch him, and claim my prize… your head.” The man said. As he stepped closer, I realized he was one of my uncles. “You killed my parents?” I almost whispered, terrified. “It’s not as though you cared for them they would have killed you for the money too.” My uncle muttered matter of factly. I turned and ran, I passed three more bodies on the way, each sporting different makeshift weapons. I squeezed my eyes shut bursting from the house, but then a hand grabbed my shoulder and I felt a blade bite deep, deep into my side, burning as it moved around inside me, spilling crimson blood all over the marble floor. I traced the little rivers of blood with my eyes, watched them drip slowly down the stairs, red on white… so beautiful. I stumbled forward and the knife slipped out of me as I fell. I tumbled down the stairs, my side burning; I couldn’t feel the entire right side of my body. I looked up to see my uncle tsking at me. He walked slowly down the stairs, step by step by step. I knew what was coming; I looked to my side to see Alice not far to my left. My uncle was at the bottom now. I reached for Alice, closed my hand around her handle and knew what had to be done. [/color][/font][/ul] [/b][/color][/size] | Vincent is generally quiet around people but once you have obtained his trust he will confide in you even the most personal things. If threatened he is not afraid to fight but generally avoids it if possible. He treats weapons, women, and his friends with reverence more even than he does a bible, seeing as he isn’t a religious person, though he does believe in God. Vincent is a bit naïve when it comes to protecting his friends. If someone insults someone he’s close with, Vincent won’t be afraid to take on a group of 12 men twice his size by himself and have his ass handed to him. Vincent is a classic case of a man who cares nothing for his own well-being, but only for the well-being of his close friends. Vincent has a strong sense of honor. After Vincent stumbled into the streets bleeding and alone an underground society took him in. The society, calling themselves the Refugees of the Old World, instilled an ancient traditional code upon him, Bushido. Bushido emphasizes loyalty, honor, duty, obedience, filial piety, and self sacrifice above all else. If you observe closely, Vincent will analyze a room as he steps in sitting closest to an exit or possible weapon; these are all things he learned from the Refugees. It borderlines paranoia though, and annoys his close friends. His complex fighting methods are from years of sparring with the other young men of the society. Vincent will do almost anything if you challenge his honor with good reason. [/color][/font][/ul] [/b][/color][/size] | Vincent glared at his flask, listening to the numerous conversations coming from around the bar. People’s looseness when in company of friends amazed him. This was where one could find Vincent most nights, staring at the beautiful waitresses and bartenders or at his drink, which he never took more than a sip of. Vincent hated being drunk. The stupid things people do while drunk turned him off the idea; plus hearing tell of the horrible headaches that come the next morning was nothing he wished to partake in, hence never drinking more than one sip. While Vincent was deep in thought, a man broke into the back door of the bar, obviously intoxicated with the deliciously horrible drink, laughing manically. This being a common occurrence here, Vincent returned to his favorite activity, staring at his flask and remembering better days until a scream jerked him out of memory lane.Looking up, Vincent saw the drunk groping one of the barmaids and pulling out a gun. The drunk pointed the gun point blank to her head and stammered, “Fill me a bag wiff all the money thish mishrable plashe hash!” to the bartender.Vincent groaned and stood, “Let’s talk this out, you and me. How about I pay you double what this place has and you let that girl there go?” The drunk laughed and said, “Howsha ‘bout I jusht put thish between your eyesh and fire huh? Hah!”“What?” Vincent muttered confusedly as he thought, this guy really needs to learn better English. “Come now, how about we- AAAAGH YOU SON OF A BITCH!” Yelled Vincent as a bullet grazed his ear, but his yell was lost as simultaneously everyone in the bar began to freak out. The drunk made a confused look at two men fighting; one of the men grabbed the other and threw him onto the bar where he slid down the side, knocking into the drunk making him drop the girl and his pistol. Vincent began running over to the girl when a man grabbed him from behind; Vincent whipped around and pointed his revolver into the guy’s face, whose fist was clenched behind his head ready to punch Vincent. Vincent gave him a smile and turned around again leaving the man to stagger back into another fight. Vincent looked around violently for the drunk and the girl, when he spotted them he saw that the drunk was still holding her with one arm and groping around for his gun. Suddenly Vincent felt something connect with his side, hard. Flashbacks to his uncle smiling, blood stained the crimson against white, then back to the present. Vincent hit the ground, his pistol skittering away across the floor underneath the feet of the bar’s roiling inhabitants; his assailant was already gone by the time Vincent looked up. “Damn bar fights.” he muttered. “I have to pull myself together.” Vincent thought as he stood up. Suddenly a loud gunshot went off. Vincent cursed as he turned around; the crowds split like he was Moses telling the water to get out of the way. Down the aisle walled by people Vincent saw the drunk was standing again, looking very annoyed now, holding his pistol that he’d retrieved to the girls head. A glint caught Vincent’s eye and he noticed his pistol was sitting in a puddle of beer and blood about halfway to the drunk. He began calculating the distance and his probability of making it to the gun before the drunken bastard shot the girl or him when he realized, “I suck at math, so fuck it.” and dove. Vincent reached the gun whipped it up pointed it at the drunks head and fired. The horrible realization that he missed hit him and he rolled to the side diving behind an over turned table. Hearing a clank and seeing the girl run away, Vincent glanced over the table to see the drunk stumbling around muttering, “I’m dead, I’m dead… that damned bastard shot me….” Vincent muttered, “The damn piss drunk fool thinks he’s dead.” Vincent kicked over the table as though he meant for this to happen and walked over to the drunk; “God forgive me.” he muttered as he stabbed the man through his spine and into his heart. As the body fell to the ground the inhabitants of the bar realized their fight wasn’t done yet and went back to their pointless toiling. Vincent walked outside relishing the sweet air and glanced over his shoulder at the bar. In the distance he could hear the constable’s carriage rushing towards it, he shook his head and began walking away. It was time he slipped back into the shadows for awhile. [/font] [/ul] THE|PUPPETEER [/b][/size][/font][/left] [/b][/size][/color] |Austin just call me Volf or Vincent and I’ll respond.[/font] EXPERIENCE| I’ve been role-playing on forums for about a year (on and off) but I have been chat box role-playing with visuals for 4 years. (Video games/mmorpg’s) but you guys know that. ANYTHING ELSE?|My favorite revolver is a .357 [/ul]
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Post by Admin on Jun 24, 2011 19:09:30 GMT -5
Your app is...
ACCEPTED
I really want to see how he interacts with the other characters on the site. popcorn.gif |
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