Post by Declan Moss on Jun 15, 2010 23:55:28 GMT
Name: Declan Moss
Age: 24
Sex: Male
Class: Low/Thief
Appearance: Play-by: Joshua Hartnett
Declan Moss is an unassuming individual, he neither exudes an aura of aggression or anything more sinister then honest geniality, leading many people to believe him to be nothing more then a simple wanderer or tradesman. His clothing leads many to assume that he is fairly slim, but in truth he is covered in hard slabs of muscle that make him far bulkier then at first evident. These muscles are not the perfectly sculpted tissues like most martial artists and narcissists, but the product of hard labor and an adequate diet. In short, his body is as hard as the earth his parents used to worship. With a wide smile and surprisingly attractive features for a peasant it is easy for Declan to make friends. There is always a tune on his lips and a hop in his step, as if music follows in his footsteps. His body is a tapestry of scars paying homage to his troubled history. Some were from simple accidents, some were self inflicted, and other were suffered at the hands of his enemies. But one in particular, stands out above all the rest. On the back of his right hand is a large T, branded into his skin by the local magistrate when he was caught stealing food as a boy. It marked him as a thief to the world, and ensured that a thief was all he would be allowed to become. His smiles aren’t elicited from idle humor, so much as from the much larger joke of a monarchy. Loyal subjects, benevolent dictators, the sheer audacity for one family to believe themselves worthy to rule the lives of the underclass. It is a sick joke that Declan can do nothing about, save for smile.
Character:At heart, Declan is an incredibly unsympathetic individual. Despite this fact many consider him to be one of the friendliest people around. This is in no small part thanks to his endearing smile in seemingly innocent demeanor. Though he is fairly poor, he always has time to help out those in need of it, and always minds his manners. When in public Declan will almost always be sporting a slight, friendly, smile. When alone however, this appearance is far more somber. Its no wonder that with his tendency towards selfless, some would say generous activities, many people confuse him as being a kind hearted, and genial wanderer. He typically wishes to avoid fighting as much as possible and would rather eat sweet treats instead of drinking liquor. This aversion to alcoholic beverages is due to his checkered history. When he was younger, namely in his late teens and early twenties his reputation as a heavy, and often times violent drinker was well known. Eventually he realized the dangerous repercussions drinking was having on his health, and sobered up
Strengths and Weaknesses:
Strengths
- Muscial Talent
- Silent Movement
- Picking locks, pockets and just about anything else
- Despite being a thief, Declan can take a beating
- Great Reflexes
- Charming
Weakness
- Pretty Faces
- Children
- Takes unnecessary risks
- Has a scar marking him as a thief
- Gets seasick easily
- Tends to daydream to much
- Trusts no one
- Cannot handle his liquor
Magic: Declan was raised as a druid originally and learned a handful of relatively benign spells. He can sense other living beings around him, even manipulate the emotions of some animals. What makes his magic unique however, is that while, on his own he is a magician of only average skill, music acts as a temporary boost to his power. He can’t throw lightening, he can’t conjure fire or even levitate things, but his spells do have the ability to confuse, pacify and disorient the unprepared. His music can carry vast distances, and whats more it can seem to emminate from just about anywhere, or everywhere so long as he is in the area. Eventually, he may have a minimal amount of control over the weather. It should be noted, that the more powerful the spell, the more frantic and complicated the songs are.
Weaponry Skills: While combat has never been paramount to Declan’s success, he has had some deal of training, most of which involved gaining, and then striking from, an advantageous position. He is an average swordsmen by the most generous estimations, as he has little desire to actually stand toe to toe with an opponent. He isn’t an endurance fighter, standing in armor, or striking with massive blades are out of the question. His fighting style typically utilizes Stileto daggers designed to pierce chain mail, and vials of poison. Beyond that, the only true weapon is a long chain, which is more of a tool then a weapon. Each end is weighted, allowing Declan to wrap it around objects. Of course, he rarely uses his weapons. While not a martial artist in the traditional sense, he knows quite a bit about brawling. Though it is mostly in relation to chokes and ways to put people on the ground. While he has always had a talent at arcehry he never felt the desire to spend money on ammunition, or lugging it around. Longbows tended to be unwieldy while crawling through narrow windows.
Character History: The life of a druid promised peace, tranquility, days of spent with nature, and nights spent beneath the glowing heavens that shown down on his northern Irish village. For a time Declan knew peace, and while always mischievous, never showed signs of becoming the disenchanted malcontent that he is currently. He had a father, a mother, even a pet dog named Rahl. Life was great, he would play, he would learn how to use his magic to commune with nature, and at night, he and his friends would stalk the woods, and chase deer through the narrow trees and gullies surrounding their small village. During his childhood, he never once wondered what lay beyond his forest home, so contented was he in the daily happens of his small world.
Like all dreams this happy reverie came to an end, this time by his fathers own selfish sense of adventure. He had always been one to travel, and had only truly settled down so that Declan would have a safe place to grow up. Once the young boy turned six however, his father decided it was time to move on, this time to an entirely different island. They left the emerald shores of Ireland for the land of Britain, and the promises of wealth and civility that it promised. Noble lords and caring leaders making life better for their vassals. In the end, he never made it to shore, dying of some ailment during the trip. Once on British shores things only got worse. They ended up in another small village, doing the same work, with less enjoyment and the ever present presence of the threat of taxation. One day, Declan and his mother went to one of the large settlements to the west, and, with sheer childish audacity he reached out and snatched a piece of bread from a vendors stall. He was caught, and his mother had to watch as they held his little eight year old hand on an anvil, and placed a glowing hot brand along the back of his hand. He passed out from the pain, and couldn’t do any work for several months as he waited for it to heal. His mother was executed shortly there after, when she was discovered using magic to help accelerate his healing. He watched the execution from hiding, and left everything but his flute, the only remaining item left from his father, and the young Declan was forced to find an alternative means of survival. He went to the largest city he could find, and worked as a beggar, playing music in the streets and living off the pity of the crowds, of which there was little. As hunger began gnawing at his ribs he became desperate and began picking pockets. It was a method of trial and error, but he was good. By the time he was fifteen he had fallen into a gang of sorts. It was a rough life, full of beatings and brawls, but he was alive. He even began to take pride in his work. He practiced his magic sparsely. Preferring to make it as undetectable as possible, instead of increasing its power. He got great at infusing his music with magical properties, effectively manipulating the people around him into feeling happier, or more generous. Then at night, he and his friends would loot, rob, steal and plunder to their hearts contents. By the time he was eighteen he was a well known thief that had the city watch on their toes every night. Unfortunately most of his reputation was about his drikning habits then his thieving, which many people never thought to trace back to him. Most of his late teens were spent in a stupor, and one night he got drunker and angrier than usual, and killed a man in bar brawl by slamming his head against a cobble stone street.
It was around this time that he and his first love, a girl by the name of Anna, had a child. It was the first time in his life that he had something to live for other then himself, and fearing that he would spend the majority of his sons life in prison, decided to flee the city and set up shop somewhere else. They never made it far. One of his fellow gang members sold him out for the bounty on his head. Apparently the man who he had slain in the tavern was a servent of nobility, and as such a valued member of society. The night they were to leave, their home was raided. His wife was killed in the ensuing scuffle, and Declan was forced to flee from the bedroom window. He attended her cheap, paupers funeral in disguise, and learned that his son had been placed in the care of the nearby monastery. It was a far safer life then Declan could ever afford his son and so, whether out of cowardice or courage, he let his son go, and began focusing on the real enemy that had plagued him his entire life. Civilization. He made his way towards Camelot, making money by playing his music, hoping to find a way to put an end to the senseless form of government known as the monarchy.
Additional Information: He is skilled in using many musical instruments. Also, hopefully Declan can join up with the Brotherhood.
Sample Roleplay: (An rp sample from Star Wars: What is known)
The dull hum of electronics permeated the VCX-700’s interior, echoing down the empty halls of the cargo hold and crew quarters like a meandering spirit before whispering in the ears of the ships pilot, completely asleep at the controls. To the weary bounty hunter the hum was a familiar presence that calmed his nerves almost as effectively as the spice he kept stashed about the ship. A true spacers lullaby. It had been a long journey to here from the outer rim, but the VCX-700, affectionately dubbed the Dirty Jawa hadn't had any troubles. It was his third ship, and arguably faster and deadlier then its predecessors. It had been in ruins when he first discovered it, but after countless months of refurbishing and upgrading, it was proving to be as stubborn and enduring as its owner. He had a connection to every nut, bolt and grate in this vessel, and though he failed to recognize it, thought of it as much a part of himself as the blood pumping through his veins.
A chime rang in the cockpit of the Dirty Jawa, waking Mal from his spice induced slumber. His eyes blinked in confusion as he wondered why he was here, and not back on Nar Shadaa with Reyes, working on installing the new Surro Sub Engines they had salvaged on their last run. He blinked again, his tongue tracing the small scars in his mouth as he tried to keep the memory of his dream at the forefront of his mind. The chime came again, this time accompanied by a commanding voice.
“I repeat, unidentified vessel we require your docking clearance, please acknowledge or your ship will disabled and impounded, "
“Oh damn it,†groaned Mal as he flicked on the headset he was wearing and sat up in his chair. “Flight control, this is The Dirty Jawa out of Naboo, sorry for the delay, we are experiencing a minor communication malfunction.†His hands were busy at the flight console as he spoke, “Transferring registration and clearance for verification now. " He said finally before sitting back in his chair, one calloused hand running through his hair as he exhaled loudly. It was getting harder to wake up lately, and the Grey Gabaki blend he was smoking only helped him get to bed, it did nothing to shake off the groggy feeling the morning seemed to bring. At least he didn't have to be worried about being red flagged by security. All of his information had been faked simply to avoid being red flagged like all bounty hunters invariably were. His ship was supposed to be transporting food items from Naboo, a seemingly legitimate purpose for his presence planetside, and was strong enough to pass the cursory inspections of Coruscant flight control.
The middle aged pilot could see Coruscant below him through the cockpit window and realized that somewhere down on that planet, in the cavernous belly of the great metropolis, waited his little sister. Hopefully, I can get to her before anyone else does. He thought as his left hand absentmindedly found its way into his breast pocket, drawing out a rolled stick of Grey Gabaki. He hadn’t seen the girl in years, so long in fact that he hardly recognized the picture in the bounty that had been placed on his doorstep. It had come as a letter from his twin brother, and while it didn’t contain anything but the bounty, posted on a piece of flimsy that looked as though it had been torn from a cantina wall, the message was plain. The family needed help, and Mal, despite having run so far from home, was still within the reach of familial obligation. The bounty wasn’t so high to attract the attention of the big fish in his line of work, but it was still high enough to make him worry. The description in the bounty was vague, but the fact that it was being posted by a Hutt meant that she had gotten involved with the worse kind of filth. He knew the appetites the Hutts were plagued with, and could only imagine the kind of terrors she must have been forced to endure. The stick of Gabaki hung loosely from his lips as he pulled out his lighter, the metal striker creating a small flame that danced before his eyes moments when he froze. His eyes caught a brief image of himself in the reflective surface of a nearby console and was startled to see a haggard, sunken eyed ruffian staring back. What the hell is happening to me? He wondered as he flipped the lid of his lighter closed.
“Permission granted, proceed to platform 54317. Welcome to Coruscant Dirty Jawa.†came the flight controllers reply. It was time to get back to reality. Mal flipped a switch and typed in a handful of commands before standing up from his chair, and stretching until he could feel the bones in his back pop. The ship was on autopilot, which while usually worthless, would be able to follow the flight path the controller had laid out for him, and land without difficulty. Assuming their weren’t any weather complications. In the meantime, he figured it would do him well to get ready, not look like a strung out junkie. It was time to move on, and at least now he had a direction to move in. He headed for the small lavatory located in the crew section of his freighter, maybe after a quick cleaning he would look more like himself.
[Optional] OOC Section:
Name: Mike
Location: U.S.
How long have you been RPing for: A while
Any other characters on the site?: nope
Age: 24
Sex: Male
Class: Low/Thief
Appearance: Play-by: Joshua Hartnett
Declan Moss is an unassuming individual, he neither exudes an aura of aggression or anything more sinister then honest geniality, leading many people to believe him to be nothing more then a simple wanderer or tradesman. His clothing leads many to assume that he is fairly slim, but in truth he is covered in hard slabs of muscle that make him far bulkier then at first evident. These muscles are not the perfectly sculpted tissues like most martial artists and narcissists, but the product of hard labor and an adequate diet. In short, his body is as hard as the earth his parents used to worship. With a wide smile and surprisingly attractive features for a peasant it is easy for Declan to make friends. There is always a tune on his lips and a hop in his step, as if music follows in his footsteps. His body is a tapestry of scars paying homage to his troubled history. Some were from simple accidents, some were self inflicted, and other were suffered at the hands of his enemies. But one in particular, stands out above all the rest. On the back of his right hand is a large T, branded into his skin by the local magistrate when he was caught stealing food as a boy. It marked him as a thief to the world, and ensured that a thief was all he would be allowed to become. His smiles aren’t elicited from idle humor, so much as from the much larger joke of a monarchy. Loyal subjects, benevolent dictators, the sheer audacity for one family to believe themselves worthy to rule the lives of the underclass. It is a sick joke that Declan can do nothing about, save for smile.
Character:At heart, Declan is an incredibly unsympathetic individual. Despite this fact many consider him to be one of the friendliest people around. This is in no small part thanks to his endearing smile in seemingly innocent demeanor. Though he is fairly poor, he always has time to help out those in need of it, and always minds his manners. When in public Declan will almost always be sporting a slight, friendly, smile. When alone however, this appearance is far more somber. Its no wonder that with his tendency towards selfless, some would say generous activities, many people confuse him as being a kind hearted, and genial wanderer. He typically wishes to avoid fighting as much as possible and would rather eat sweet treats instead of drinking liquor. This aversion to alcoholic beverages is due to his checkered history. When he was younger, namely in his late teens and early twenties his reputation as a heavy, and often times violent drinker was well known. Eventually he realized the dangerous repercussions drinking was having on his health, and sobered up
Strengths and Weaknesses:
Strengths
- Muscial Talent
- Silent Movement
- Picking locks, pockets and just about anything else
- Despite being a thief, Declan can take a beating
- Great Reflexes
- Charming
Weakness
- Pretty Faces
- Children
- Takes unnecessary risks
- Has a scar marking him as a thief
- Gets seasick easily
- Tends to daydream to much
- Trusts no one
- Cannot handle his liquor
Magic: Declan was raised as a druid originally and learned a handful of relatively benign spells. He can sense other living beings around him, even manipulate the emotions of some animals. What makes his magic unique however, is that while, on his own he is a magician of only average skill, music acts as a temporary boost to his power. He can’t throw lightening, he can’t conjure fire or even levitate things, but his spells do have the ability to confuse, pacify and disorient the unprepared. His music can carry vast distances, and whats more it can seem to emminate from just about anywhere, or everywhere so long as he is in the area. Eventually, he may have a minimal amount of control over the weather. It should be noted, that the more powerful the spell, the more frantic and complicated the songs are.
Weaponry Skills: While combat has never been paramount to Declan’s success, he has had some deal of training, most of which involved gaining, and then striking from, an advantageous position. He is an average swordsmen by the most generous estimations, as he has little desire to actually stand toe to toe with an opponent. He isn’t an endurance fighter, standing in armor, or striking with massive blades are out of the question. His fighting style typically utilizes Stileto daggers designed to pierce chain mail, and vials of poison. Beyond that, the only true weapon is a long chain, which is more of a tool then a weapon. Each end is weighted, allowing Declan to wrap it around objects. Of course, he rarely uses his weapons. While not a martial artist in the traditional sense, he knows quite a bit about brawling. Though it is mostly in relation to chokes and ways to put people on the ground. While he has always had a talent at arcehry he never felt the desire to spend money on ammunition, or lugging it around. Longbows tended to be unwieldy while crawling through narrow windows.
Character History: The life of a druid promised peace, tranquility, days of spent with nature, and nights spent beneath the glowing heavens that shown down on his northern Irish village. For a time Declan knew peace, and while always mischievous, never showed signs of becoming the disenchanted malcontent that he is currently. He had a father, a mother, even a pet dog named Rahl. Life was great, he would play, he would learn how to use his magic to commune with nature, and at night, he and his friends would stalk the woods, and chase deer through the narrow trees and gullies surrounding their small village. During his childhood, he never once wondered what lay beyond his forest home, so contented was he in the daily happens of his small world.
Like all dreams this happy reverie came to an end, this time by his fathers own selfish sense of adventure. He had always been one to travel, and had only truly settled down so that Declan would have a safe place to grow up. Once the young boy turned six however, his father decided it was time to move on, this time to an entirely different island. They left the emerald shores of Ireland for the land of Britain, and the promises of wealth and civility that it promised. Noble lords and caring leaders making life better for their vassals. In the end, he never made it to shore, dying of some ailment during the trip. Once on British shores things only got worse. They ended up in another small village, doing the same work, with less enjoyment and the ever present presence of the threat of taxation. One day, Declan and his mother went to one of the large settlements to the west, and, with sheer childish audacity he reached out and snatched a piece of bread from a vendors stall. He was caught, and his mother had to watch as they held his little eight year old hand on an anvil, and placed a glowing hot brand along the back of his hand. He passed out from the pain, and couldn’t do any work for several months as he waited for it to heal. His mother was executed shortly there after, when she was discovered using magic to help accelerate his healing. He watched the execution from hiding, and left everything but his flute, the only remaining item left from his father, and the young Declan was forced to find an alternative means of survival. He went to the largest city he could find, and worked as a beggar, playing music in the streets and living off the pity of the crowds, of which there was little. As hunger began gnawing at his ribs he became desperate and began picking pockets. It was a method of trial and error, but he was good. By the time he was fifteen he had fallen into a gang of sorts. It was a rough life, full of beatings and brawls, but he was alive. He even began to take pride in his work. He practiced his magic sparsely. Preferring to make it as undetectable as possible, instead of increasing its power. He got great at infusing his music with magical properties, effectively manipulating the people around him into feeling happier, or more generous. Then at night, he and his friends would loot, rob, steal and plunder to their hearts contents. By the time he was eighteen he was a well known thief that had the city watch on their toes every night. Unfortunately most of his reputation was about his drikning habits then his thieving, which many people never thought to trace back to him. Most of his late teens were spent in a stupor, and one night he got drunker and angrier than usual, and killed a man in bar brawl by slamming his head against a cobble stone street.
It was around this time that he and his first love, a girl by the name of Anna, had a child. It was the first time in his life that he had something to live for other then himself, and fearing that he would spend the majority of his sons life in prison, decided to flee the city and set up shop somewhere else. They never made it far. One of his fellow gang members sold him out for the bounty on his head. Apparently the man who he had slain in the tavern was a servent of nobility, and as such a valued member of society. The night they were to leave, their home was raided. His wife was killed in the ensuing scuffle, and Declan was forced to flee from the bedroom window. He attended her cheap, paupers funeral in disguise, and learned that his son had been placed in the care of the nearby monastery. It was a far safer life then Declan could ever afford his son and so, whether out of cowardice or courage, he let his son go, and began focusing on the real enemy that had plagued him his entire life. Civilization. He made his way towards Camelot, making money by playing his music, hoping to find a way to put an end to the senseless form of government known as the monarchy.
Additional Information: He is skilled in using many musical instruments. Also, hopefully Declan can join up with the Brotherhood.
Sample Roleplay: (An rp sample from Star Wars: What is known)
The dull hum of electronics permeated the VCX-700’s interior, echoing down the empty halls of the cargo hold and crew quarters like a meandering spirit before whispering in the ears of the ships pilot, completely asleep at the controls. To the weary bounty hunter the hum was a familiar presence that calmed his nerves almost as effectively as the spice he kept stashed about the ship. A true spacers lullaby. It had been a long journey to here from the outer rim, but the VCX-700, affectionately dubbed the Dirty Jawa hadn't had any troubles. It was his third ship, and arguably faster and deadlier then its predecessors. It had been in ruins when he first discovered it, but after countless months of refurbishing and upgrading, it was proving to be as stubborn and enduring as its owner. He had a connection to every nut, bolt and grate in this vessel, and though he failed to recognize it, thought of it as much a part of himself as the blood pumping through his veins.
A chime rang in the cockpit of the Dirty Jawa, waking Mal from his spice induced slumber. His eyes blinked in confusion as he wondered why he was here, and not back on Nar Shadaa with Reyes, working on installing the new Surro Sub Engines they had salvaged on their last run. He blinked again, his tongue tracing the small scars in his mouth as he tried to keep the memory of his dream at the forefront of his mind. The chime came again, this time accompanied by a commanding voice.
“I repeat, unidentified vessel we require your docking clearance, please acknowledge or your ship will disabled and impounded, "
“Oh damn it,†groaned Mal as he flicked on the headset he was wearing and sat up in his chair. “Flight control, this is The Dirty Jawa out of Naboo, sorry for the delay, we are experiencing a minor communication malfunction.†His hands were busy at the flight console as he spoke, “Transferring registration and clearance for verification now. " He said finally before sitting back in his chair, one calloused hand running through his hair as he exhaled loudly. It was getting harder to wake up lately, and the Grey Gabaki blend he was smoking only helped him get to bed, it did nothing to shake off the groggy feeling the morning seemed to bring. At least he didn't have to be worried about being red flagged by security. All of his information had been faked simply to avoid being red flagged like all bounty hunters invariably were. His ship was supposed to be transporting food items from Naboo, a seemingly legitimate purpose for his presence planetside, and was strong enough to pass the cursory inspections of Coruscant flight control.
The middle aged pilot could see Coruscant below him through the cockpit window and realized that somewhere down on that planet, in the cavernous belly of the great metropolis, waited his little sister. Hopefully, I can get to her before anyone else does. He thought as his left hand absentmindedly found its way into his breast pocket, drawing out a rolled stick of Grey Gabaki. He hadn’t seen the girl in years, so long in fact that he hardly recognized the picture in the bounty that had been placed on his doorstep. It had come as a letter from his twin brother, and while it didn’t contain anything but the bounty, posted on a piece of flimsy that looked as though it had been torn from a cantina wall, the message was plain. The family needed help, and Mal, despite having run so far from home, was still within the reach of familial obligation. The bounty wasn’t so high to attract the attention of the big fish in his line of work, but it was still high enough to make him worry. The description in the bounty was vague, but the fact that it was being posted by a Hutt meant that she had gotten involved with the worse kind of filth. He knew the appetites the Hutts were plagued with, and could only imagine the kind of terrors she must have been forced to endure. The stick of Gabaki hung loosely from his lips as he pulled out his lighter, the metal striker creating a small flame that danced before his eyes moments when he froze. His eyes caught a brief image of himself in the reflective surface of a nearby console and was startled to see a haggard, sunken eyed ruffian staring back. What the hell is happening to me? He wondered as he flipped the lid of his lighter closed.
“Permission granted, proceed to platform 54317. Welcome to Coruscant Dirty Jawa.†came the flight controllers reply. It was time to get back to reality. Mal flipped a switch and typed in a handful of commands before standing up from his chair, and stretching until he could feel the bones in his back pop. The ship was on autopilot, which while usually worthless, would be able to follow the flight path the controller had laid out for him, and land without difficulty. Assuming their weren’t any weather complications. In the meantime, he figured it would do him well to get ready, not look like a strung out junkie. It was time to move on, and at least now he had a direction to move in. He headed for the small lavatory located in the crew section of his freighter, maybe after a quick cleaning he would look more like himself.
[Optional] OOC Section:
Name: Mike
Location: U.S.
How long have you been RPing for: A while
Any other characters on the site?: nope
