Post by Korgin on Apr 16, 2009 8:56:57 GMT -5
Name: Andris Rhys Revenayah "Hunts the Shadow"
Age: Appears 35, Actually 28
Race: Human
Hair color: Blonde
Facial Hair: Five oclock shadow
Eye color: Pale blue
Occupation: Drifter/Hunter
Possessions: Clothes on his back, his horse Whisper, Winchester rifle, two .44 Schofield revolvers, .45 Peacemaker revolver wolves howling at the moon etched into the pommel, tentacles withdrawing from the handle along the barrel. Dreamcatcher worn as a charm around his neck, brace of ten inch long knives (Bowie knives). A portion of his ammunition is either cast in silver or has a cross somewhere on the bullet.
Attire: Andris favors light attire when traveling, a brown weather beaten duster, black hat and white shirt and leggings. When he is actually Hunting something he will tend for dark browns and greys, more fearthy colors, as well as clothes that are tighter fitting
Ever since Andris was younger he knew that something was wrong with the world. His family lived out in the frontier attempting to make their living by striking it rich. Their closest neighbors was a small tribe of Native Americans..or as his Da called them Injuns. Now his family wasn't racist against them, quiet to the contrary so Andris had no idea how people were supposed to react around them. When little Andris was around the age of eight or so late one night he heard some wolf howls. Scared he got up to go to his parents for some comfort from the things that go bump in the night. What he heard and saw would change his view on things. His Da was sitting on the porch talking to a couple of wolf men. He didn't have a weapon out and they seemed to regard him with some respect, not coming onto the porch. These things were about nine or ten feet tall and looked like wolves on their hind legs. Scared for his Da Andris ran back to his room and got his wooden carved gun and ran out to defend him. The sight of the little warrior drew a startled sound from his father, and amusement from the wolves. One sat back and shifted, changing shape, to that of an elderly indian. Laughs-at-the-moon was smiling at Andris and his dad. What the man said would stick with Andris for the rest of his life. "You have quiet a son there, white brother, among our people we shall call him Hunts-the-shadow, and like you, he will always be welcome in our camps." The elder handed him a small object from his clothes, an elaborate dream catcher, small beads of turquoise danging from leather strands. Then they turned and headed out into the night.
Six years later, Andris now reached the age of fourteen. He had spent many nights running with the wolven indians, having learned they were called Skindancers. As before Andris was awoken by voices downstairs. These however were ones that were new to him. Creeping down the hall he saw the worst thing he could think of. A couple white men were confronting his dad, they were dressed in black coats and hats, likewise dark tunics and pants and boots. What they held in their hand is what caught his attention. It was the severed head of the indian chief. He wouldn't be able to remember what was said between his father and the men but what did followed were events that would shape the path Andris would follow. The newcomer's faces grew more feral, their skin seemed colder as if all body heat was leaving it. The second man in his home hissed and lunged at his Dad when a roar and flash of smoke filled the room. His father held a smoking revolver in his hand, aimed at the strangers. The air went silent for a few minutes before the man holding the head let out a laugh. At that the second thing rushed his father, two more coming in through the door way. The screams and cries were things it would take Andris a long time to forget. His father would kill one of the things, it's blood almost a black color. But his father and mother were slated to suffer the same fate as the indians, over powered, heads cut off to be carried off as trophies. Andris could swear that the man who had ordered the attack was looking right up at Andris while the fighting went on.
The next morning Andris came down stairs, staring at the bloodfilled room and bodies of his parents. The gun that his dad had used remained in his hand, not touched by the marauders. Sniffing and fighting tears, Andris reached down to take it, for the first time noticing the designs along the barrel and handle, wolves running underneath a full moon ran along the handle, lunging up at the barrel..where tentacles drew away from them. He spent the rest of the day looking for some clue as to what the men had been after, finally coming to his father's study. With some looking and alot of luck he found a plain bound book, addressed to him. Within were notes of creatures fantastic and terrible. As well as a note from his father. The note explained that his Mother and Father were Hunters, people who sought to protect the innocent from those things in the night that preyed on the mortals. The book went on with his Father's personal findings how some things, such as the skindancers were just as worthy of respect and protection as a normal mortal.
By dusk that night Andris stood over two freshly dug graves, his father's horse Whisper stood near by loaded with what he could think to carry. With a final prayer he turned from the graves. A match was struck and tossed inside, catching the gun powder and burning, quickly causing the house to flicker, smolder, and catch fire. He then mounted Whisper and guided his horse west, towards the setting sun.
(Eh? Eh eh? Whatcha think Moribug?)
Age: Appears 35, Actually 28
Race: Human
Hair color: Blonde
Facial Hair: Five oclock shadow
Eye color: Pale blue
Occupation: Drifter/Hunter
Possessions: Clothes on his back, his horse Whisper, Winchester rifle, two .44 Schofield revolvers, .45 Peacemaker revolver wolves howling at the moon etched into the pommel, tentacles withdrawing from the handle along the barrel. Dreamcatcher worn as a charm around his neck, brace of ten inch long knives (Bowie knives). A portion of his ammunition is either cast in silver or has a cross somewhere on the bullet.
Attire: Andris favors light attire when traveling, a brown weather beaten duster, black hat and white shirt and leggings. When he is actually Hunting something he will tend for dark browns and greys, more fearthy colors, as well as clothes that are tighter fitting
Ever since Andris was younger he knew that something was wrong with the world. His family lived out in the frontier attempting to make their living by striking it rich. Their closest neighbors was a small tribe of Native Americans..or as his Da called them Injuns. Now his family wasn't racist against them, quiet to the contrary so Andris had no idea how people were supposed to react around them. When little Andris was around the age of eight or so late one night he heard some wolf howls. Scared he got up to go to his parents for some comfort from the things that go bump in the night. What he heard and saw would change his view on things. His Da was sitting on the porch talking to a couple of wolf men. He didn't have a weapon out and they seemed to regard him with some respect, not coming onto the porch. These things were about nine or ten feet tall and looked like wolves on their hind legs. Scared for his Da Andris ran back to his room and got his wooden carved gun and ran out to defend him. The sight of the little warrior drew a startled sound from his father, and amusement from the wolves. One sat back and shifted, changing shape, to that of an elderly indian. Laughs-at-the-moon was smiling at Andris and his dad. What the man said would stick with Andris for the rest of his life. "You have quiet a son there, white brother, among our people we shall call him Hunts-the-shadow, and like you, he will always be welcome in our camps." The elder handed him a small object from his clothes, an elaborate dream catcher, small beads of turquoise danging from leather strands. Then they turned and headed out into the night.
Six years later, Andris now reached the age of fourteen. He had spent many nights running with the wolven indians, having learned they were called Skindancers. As before Andris was awoken by voices downstairs. These however were ones that were new to him. Creeping down the hall he saw the worst thing he could think of. A couple white men were confronting his dad, they were dressed in black coats and hats, likewise dark tunics and pants and boots. What they held in their hand is what caught his attention. It was the severed head of the indian chief. He wouldn't be able to remember what was said between his father and the men but what did followed were events that would shape the path Andris would follow. The newcomer's faces grew more feral, their skin seemed colder as if all body heat was leaving it. The second man in his home hissed and lunged at his Dad when a roar and flash of smoke filled the room. His father held a smoking revolver in his hand, aimed at the strangers. The air went silent for a few minutes before the man holding the head let out a laugh. At that the second thing rushed his father, two more coming in through the door way. The screams and cries were things it would take Andris a long time to forget. His father would kill one of the things, it's blood almost a black color. But his father and mother were slated to suffer the same fate as the indians, over powered, heads cut off to be carried off as trophies. Andris could swear that the man who had ordered the attack was looking right up at Andris while the fighting went on.
The next morning Andris came down stairs, staring at the bloodfilled room and bodies of his parents. The gun that his dad had used remained in his hand, not touched by the marauders. Sniffing and fighting tears, Andris reached down to take it, for the first time noticing the designs along the barrel and handle, wolves running underneath a full moon ran along the handle, lunging up at the barrel..where tentacles drew away from them. He spent the rest of the day looking for some clue as to what the men had been after, finally coming to his father's study. With some looking and alot of luck he found a plain bound book, addressed to him. Within were notes of creatures fantastic and terrible. As well as a note from his father. The note explained that his Mother and Father were Hunters, people who sought to protect the innocent from those things in the night that preyed on the mortals. The book went on with his Father's personal findings how some things, such as the skindancers were just as worthy of respect and protection as a normal mortal.
By dusk that night Andris stood over two freshly dug graves, his father's horse Whisper stood near by loaded with what he could think to carry. With a final prayer he turned from the graves. A match was struck and tossed inside, catching the gun powder and burning, quickly causing the house to flicker, smolder, and catch fire. He then mounted Whisper and guided his horse west, towards the setting sun.
(Eh? Eh eh? Whatcha think Moribug?)