Post by Kenneth Byers on Jun 26, 2010 15:52:49 GMT -5
[/color][/font]GOOD DAY! KENNETH BYERS present.
Everyone needs to believe in something. I believe I'll have another drink.[/color]
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o u t o f c h a r a c t e r
[/font][/color]Hello, I am Gavin. I have been RPGing for Six Years.
Other characters that I play are None.
If you need to contact me, please E-MAIL/PM me at gavin.fleck@hotmail.com.
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i n c h a r a c t e r
name: Kenneth Byers
nicknames: Ken, Kenny
age: 26
occupation: Mobster
t h e l o o k s
hair: Short, slightly curly, dark brown hair
eyes: Dark brown
build: Tall, Medium Build
distinguishing features: None
face claim: James Cagney
t h e p e r s o n a l i t y
likes:
-Alcohol
-Women
-Cigarettes
-Dancing
-Fighting
-Driving
-Gambling
-Walking at night
-Big Cities
-Reading the paper
-Firearms
dislikes:
-Police
-Prison
-Loosing
-Being sober
-His father
-Hangovers
-Going to Church
-Bigots
-Being called a Mick
-Being alone
-Knives
strengths:
-Charm
-Fighting
-Alcohol Smuggling
-Looking innocent
-Well connected
weaknesses:
-Alcohol
-Women
-Gambling
-Tends to talk too much
-Afraid of swimming
overall personality: Ken is a gangster first and foremost. He is ruthless to his enemies and isn't above killing people to get his way. Since he was sixteen he has been a stone cold alcoholic, he can usually be found drinking whiskey in the local speakeasy, or passed out at the end of the bar. He has an aggressive personality and has been known to start fights over small stuff.
On the other hand he has a soft spot for women. He has never raised a hand to a woman and generally can't say no to anything they ask for. When he's not drunk he can actually be quite charming. He has a good sense of humor and likes to joke around.
t h e h i s t o r y
parents: Lillian Byers, Mother, Deceased
Stephen Byers, Father, Deceased
siblings: Andrew Byers, Brother, Estranged
other significant people:None
hometown: Queens, New York
history: Kenneth Byers was the first born child of Lillian and Stephen Byers. Both of his parents were Irish immigrants having arrived in NYC two years earlier. Lillian worked as a maid and Stephen worked at a shipyard. When Ken was three years old his father lost his job and started hitting the bottle.
His father eventually became abusive, beating both his son and his wife on a regular basis, often for no real reason. They were just an available outlet for his anger. At around the age of eight Ken began to leave home as often as possible, and more often than not he would just hand around the streets of Queens. At the age of ten his mother died giving childbirth to his younger brother Andrew. With his mother gone he was left to look out for his younger brother. He got a job working as a paperboy. When that didn't pay enough, he stole things.
When he was fifteen he was approached by a man named Paddy McDougal with a job offer. McDougal offered to have him join his gang and to pay him well to go on a job, to rob a warehouse full of imported fur coats so they could sell them at a discount and get all the profit. When the cops showed up the rest of the gang left Ken behind to let him take the fall.
Ken did a three year stint in the New York prison. While he was in his father was killed in a barfight and his brother sent off to an orphanage, he never saw Andrew again. He inadvertently followed in the footsteps of his father and started drinking. Once out of jail he went back to what he knew best, theft. For the next several years he did small jobs and earned enough money to buy himself an apartment in Manhattan. That was until prohibition. At the start of prohibition he was approached by Michael Burke, and got into the bootlegging business. For a year Ken worked in a large basement distilling cheap alcohol, then he found his real passion, transporting it. Thats where the money was. He came up with several ideas that made finding it harder and distributing it easier and he reaped the benefits. Soon he had a penthouse on Broadway and more money then he knew what to do with.
In 1925 he was doing a job, stealing imported liquor that the port authority confiscated from some rumrunners. The police caught wind of it and he and his gang got in a shootout with the police, leaving three of his friends dead, but killing seven police officers. It never got out who did it so Ken felt that he was in the clear. That was until one of his gang members offered to tell to avoid life in prison. Ken did three things. First, he payed the judicial system an extravagant amount to drop the charges. Second he murdered the little rat, and third he went south to lay low. He ended up in St. Louis and he started looking for work. He hasn't found any yet but he's sure that he can find some soon enough.
a l i t t l e m o r e
member title: Angels With Dirty Faces
where did you hear about us? Pendragon Legends Affiliation board
anything else? Nope!
password: -admin edit-
RPG sample:
Dante stopped midswing when he felt a pain like he had been punched hard in the chest. Whatever it was knocked the wind out of him. He took a quick breath inward in felt a sharper pain in his chest. It was an odd sensation. He looked down and saw the Arthur's sword was buried hilt deep in his chest. He looked at it curiously and he coughed. A thick mixture of blood and bile shot from his mouth onto the ground and onto Arthur's face. Dante looked over his shoulder and saw the blade sticking out of his back.
He staggered a few steps back and clutched the wound in his chest. Blood began to pour like a river through his fingers and he quickly fell onto his back. He could hear the crowd cheering somewhere miles away. His eyesight was blurry and his pulse was slowing. He couldn't believe what had just happened. He had won! The Prince was seconds away from death, but Dante had let his guard down. Now he was paying the price. He coughed again sending a pink spray into the air above him. His breathing was labored and his chest rose and fell spastically.
His head rolled to the side and he saw a few guards beginning to patch Arthur's arm up. Dante rolled his head back and looked up at the blue sky above him. He realized that it was the last time he would see it.
Dante slowly came to the realization that he was in a puddle of his own blood that went from his neck to his lower back, and it was spreading. He imagined that the blade had pierced his heart and one lung and that he had maybe two minutes to live. The world around him was growing darker and hazier, and the sounds of the crowd were drifting further away.
He had failed, the Prince lived. And now he was about to leave Evie and Henry behind. He knew that he would be missed and a pained smiled formed on his face for a second before it faded. He was confident that they would be able to carry on and live without him. He hoped that he was right.
Dante slowly began to slip from consciousness. His whole life he had been preparing for this moment, but now he realized that no man could ever be prepared. He was afraid to die. The world around him spun twice then became impossibly dark. His brain sent the final electrical discharge down his spine and he twitched, became rigid and a second later dropped limp.
Dante Grixis, the man born across the sea in Spain, now laid dead in an arena in Camelot. He had been an assassin for many years, he had killed countless men, and it was inevitably his profession and his pride that had killed him.
His life ending violently, exactly as he had lived.
He staggered a few steps back and clutched the wound in his chest. Blood began to pour like a river through his fingers and he quickly fell onto his back. He could hear the crowd cheering somewhere miles away. His eyesight was blurry and his pulse was slowing. He couldn't believe what had just happened. He had won! The Prince was seconds away from death, but Dante had let his guard down. Now he was paying the price. He coughed again sending a pink spray into the air above him. His breathing was labored and his chest rose and fell spastically.
His head rolled to the side and he saw a few guards beginning to patch Arthur's arm up. Dante rolled his head back and looked up at the blue sky above him. He realized that it was the last time he would see it.
Dante slowly came to the realization that he was in a puddle of his own blood that went from his neck to his lower back, and it was spreading. He imagined that the blade had pierced his heart and one lung and that he had maybe two minutes to live. The world around him was growing darker and hazier, and the sounds of the crowd were drifting further away.
He had failed, the Prince lived. And now he was about to leave Evie and Henry behind. He knew that he would be missed and a pained smiled formed on his face for a second before it faded. He was confident that they would be able to carry on and live without him. He hoped that he was right.
Dante slowly began to slip from consciousness. His whole life he had been preparing for this moment, but now he realized that no man could ever be prepared. He was afraid to die. The world around him spun twice then became impossibly dark. His brain sent the final electrical discharge down his spine and he twitched, became rigid and a second later dropped limp.
Dante Grixis, the man born across the sea in Spain, now laid dead in an arena in Camelot. He had been an assassin for many years, he had killed countless men, and it was inevitably his profession and his pride that had killed him.
His life ending violently, exactly as he had lived.
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