Haereticus
Jaysus H.
Hey there.
Hopefully, I've landed in the right place for this. It's my first time doing a character sheet (any kind of roleplaying/writing, actually), so was wondering if any of you kind souls could give it a look over and drop me some feedback?
It's from the following : Hierarchy.
Probably worth reading to get the idea?
Thanks in advance.
Hopefully, I've landed in the right place for this. It's my first time doing a character sheet (any kind of roleplaying/writing, actually), so was wondering if any of you kind souls could give it a look over and drop me some feedback?
It's from the following : Hierarchy.
Probably worth reading to get the idea?
Thanks in advance.
Francis "Frank" Courter
-
Basics
-
Name: Francis Courter
Age: 42
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Straight
Current Rank: 1,023
Occupation: Freelance Personal Security
Short Term Goal: None, really. Life in B suited him just fine and far surpassed anything his last name promised at birth. "Don't do anything to jeopardise that", if you can call that a goal.
Long Term Goal: The nature of Frank's work, though it paid incredibly well, often threatened to curtail that short term goal. "Two more years," he told himself whenever work got rough. A scrape, a scuffle. A knife, a bullet: "Two more years."
One youthfully ignorant year long binge when he landed the gig aside, Frank had always been reasonably careful with his money and planned himself an early retirement. Since formulating this grand plan for himself, however, two more years had become five more. Five had become ten. And on it goes.
-
Appearance
-
Height: 5' 11"
Build: Average.
Hair: Black with the early signs of graying, worn medium length and slicked back.
Eye color: Dull blue.
Scars/Tattoos: A thrice busted nose and a two-inch scar running down the right side of his neck aside, Frank's other, mostly work-related "distinguishing features" are hidden from view.
-
Background
-
What class was he born into? E class, born to a pair of 32,000ers. "Upper lower class, hmph!" his father used to exclaim with a degree of pride that, on reflection, saddens Frank.
Is he in the same class he was born into?
Frank has ascended so far above the class of his birth that the dank streets, overcrowded living centers, and choking smog spewing from the factory chimney stacks are naught but a distant memory to him. "Hard work, knowing the right people and luck. In that order." is how Frank explains his ascension. The details he doesn't care to recall.
Feelings about the ranking system:
Years of privilege have lulled Frank into an almost complete apathy toward the ranking system. It's the accepted way of life: a lazy yet all too common opinion for people in his position.
Given the circumstances surrounding Frank's rise to the 1,000s, he does sometimes fleetingly question the honesty of it all.
How does he feel towards people with higher/lower ranks than him?
Given Frank's origins, a pang of sympathy still resonates whenever he encounters those of the lower ranks. It's a feeling that's dulled over the years, however, given it's usually those people making Frank and his occupation a necessary precaution.
What does he think about the rankless?
For reasons he couldn't quite place, the cautionary tales of Frank's long dead mother still occupied some dusty crypt of his mind. Tales of seemingly endless desert swallowing you whole. A vast nothing, interspersed with shantytowns and makeshift hovels, housing the vilest and most wicked of men. Packs of almost feral marauders, having cast their cuffs into the molten sand, roaming the desolate lands between the Great Cities. Surviving at any cost.
Most frightening of all to a young Frank: the fable of The Wraith of the Wastes. Said to be the very first banished soul; Frank's mother would tell the story of misbehaved children ripped from their beds in the dead of night, never to be seen again. So work hard, be polite.
Because though they may only be mother's tales: everybody knew that a digit over 50,000 was tantamount to a death sentence.
Does he live with anyone?
Two childless and, eventually, loveless marriages later, Frank lives alone.
Personality: Ruthlessly short, frequently sarcastic and the eternal, world-weary cynic, Frank isn't the easiest person to be around for extended periods. Several rounds of hard liquor reveal a forgotten sunnier disposition from a time before.
-
Writing Sample
-
The shrill ring of his phone split the air like an axe. Frank stirred, immediately feeling like he'd been hit in the head with one.
He rolled onto his back, the first light of the day assaulting his senses and bringing with it a vague, kaleidoscope recollection of the night before. He knew Murphy's was a bad idea but he was too wired after the day's excitement to simply go home. Besides, the place currently occupied a special place in his heart. More currently, however, it occupied his bladder. To capacity.
Frank rolled to his side and squinted in the approximate direction of the infernal bleeping. The electric buzz as the phone vibrated against the wooden side table seemed like unnecessary extra punishment. He reached out, grasping for the blurry object, missing completely twice before fumbling the thing to the floor on the third attempt. Frank groaned, stuffing his face into the pillow as the phone persisted from below.
He lay on his stomach for a while, long enough for the phone to fall silent, yet also long enough for his bladder to remind him of its urgent need for emptying. Reluctantly, Frank rolled over and sat up. Planting his feet on the floor snapped the Earth back to its axis and stopped the room spinning, which he was grateful for.
Another groan with his head in his hands was followed by a cacophony of arthritic clicks and pops as Frank stood and stretched. He gingerly made his way toward the bathroom, carefully navigating the assault course of discarded items of clothing he'd left for himself the night before.
...
Having parted ways with what felt like a reservoir of Murphy's top shelf and feeling a little less foggy for having splashed his face with water and taking double the recommended dose of aspirin, Frank staggered back to the bedroom. The phone had resumed its incessant racket.
He slumped back onto the bed, running one hand through his hair and fishing the phone from under the bed where it had landed with the other. 'RS.work', insisted the phone. Frank answered.
"Roy."
"Valanquez job debrief. Outside."
Frank's temples throbbed. He tried in vain to massage them with the index finger and thumb of his free hand.
"Coffee?" Frank sighed, making his way over the window.
"Nope."
A nondescript, black Ford idled half on the curb opposite Frank's house. The only movement a thin sliver of smoke rising from the driver's window.
"Five minutes."
Click.
Last edited by a moderator:
