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WEAPON(S):1- hunting/utility knife 7" blade
1- curved fighting knife (similar to a karambit)
1- camp or trail hatchet (usually packed away until needed)
1- hand and a half long sword of fine quality
CLOTHING:3 shirts and pants
1 pair well worn thin soled boots with boiled leather shin guard - black
1 ranger's long coat - dark oiled brown
1 jack of plate vest - black
1 blue steel manica covering each arm
1 pair leather gauntlets (fingerless)
MOUNT(S):A bad tempered, aggressive, bity, and largely self centered black friesian horse named Pig. She is just out of her youth and rather taken with her own beauty and large size. Pig likes to push her weight around and bully just about anything she can, from hapless shrubbery to a dragon if she could manage it. Magnus seems to be the only partial exception to her natural superiority over all other things.
OTHER:1 7'x7' canvas tarp serving as a bundle to wrap up:
-A churchwarden pipe and tobacco
-Enough coin to see to most immediate expenses when in town.
-Mortar and pestel and most basic alchemy tools for field work
-A hank of rope
-Flint and Steel
2 smaller saddlebags containing
-Enough dried food for a rationed week
Magnus Murdock is largely only concerned with plying his trade, earning enough coin to survive, and side stepping any snares that pull him into the schemes of those who tell him what to do.
The most interesting thing about Magnus is that even he does not understand himself most of the time. Internally he drifts through life in a haze of looking for ways to feel normal like other people but never quite knowing how to feel about people in general. This usually leads to people thinking he doesn't care or has no compassion for anyone around him. His trade takes him on lonely journeys that allow long stretches of introspection that never turns up any results, and brief but blissful rushes of giving over to pure instinct and not caring about anything else but how to survive.
Outwardly Magnus can be fairly enjoyable to be around but oddly never really connected, or part of what's going on around him. In that way he's like a wild bear with a lot of personality that just happens to be walking the same way as everyone else. Its fun and would even be sort of cute if it was a puppy and not a potentially unstoppable hairy murder beast. Its his eyes that give away the presence of that something dangerous. The way his smile never reaches them regardless of how genuine he makes it.
Murdock has some strange and usually unsettling views about the world however and those that engage him on the topic usually give him a wider birth than before. Yes, he's oddly likable, and quick with dry humor, but its hard to make friends with him. He doesn't let people close and hides under the camouflage of being personified as a meat head most of the time. He himself isn't sure if that's from necessity, habit, or just not knowing how to be like other people. His life has and will always be about violence and you just can't get clean from that much violence.
To the unacquainted or the casual eye Magnus Murdock is unpredictable, unreliable, alien, and boorish. Watch closely or spend the time to understand him and its obvious that anything he does is not random. There's a baffling and complex design to his actions that speaks of someone who sees the world in a singularly unique way.
The specific set of events that are required to churn out a being like Magnus Murdock are rare but still far to common place. The totality of his sorry life began one night when a girl ran from her father. From the family barn. From the way he'd used her like something less than animal. She ran from town to town, city to city, surviving by any means at her disposal. She ran so hard she ended up running from her humanity and became some wild thing. She ran south as far and as fast as she could, intent on reaching the edge of the known world, until she ran into more of what she had escaped.
Caught just inside of the Free Lands the woman was the subject of a few quick purchases once sold into slavery. She lived the last three months of her life in a dirty kitchen in Rivia. Complications in child birth coupled with a total and utter lack of wanting to live any longer drained the energy from her before her owner could summon a doctor to save his investment. The son, however, could be useful.
Until he was 10 Magnus lived a life in which he only knew pain and suffering. He was beaten so he would know how to deal with pain. He scrubbed the kitchen floor for hours on end so he knew his place in life. He slept in a tiny room with ten other children, a dirt floor, and one blanket so he would know how to get what he wanted or freeze in winter. Once he was 10, though, the Daggerend Fangs had a use for a small, tough little man like him. He grew as fast and vicious as a pit dog in two short years until he ran afoul of the wrong traveler. The man he tried to stab and rob in an alley was a Hexer and saw some kind of potential in the no-name boy he would come to call Magnus Murdock. Caliban was a hexer of no few years and the boy twice tougher than a coffin nail but the older man threw him into wall after wall like water droplets flying off a shaking dog. The thrashing was solid but Caliban still had to strangle Magnus into blackness before he could tie him like a game animal and sling him over his horse's rump. It was three full days before Magnus woke up from the small coma and by then Caliban had taken them into inhospitable mountains where running away would mean certain death. There was no choice but to follow the Hexer to whatever his fate was to be.
Over the next eleven years the boy evolved into a Hexer, a monster hunter for hire. He got faster, focused his violence to a deadly point, and learned to reshape his fear and rage into calculated action. A monster among people and apex predator among monsters. The attack and burning of Wurtheim, the only place he had known as home, drove the feeble and abused heart from his chest; leaving only looming blackness. He hasn't looked back and travels between all the lands that will have him to trade his skills for enough coin to survive just one more day.
|BIRTHDAY:||1 January 1987|
|LOCAL TIME:||Jun 18 2018, 01:58 PM|
|POSTS PER DAY:||0.1|
|LAST ONLINE:||Jun 17 2018, 06:19 PM|
|YEARS RPING:||5+ Years|
|BACKGROUND:||I come from the net. Through systems, peoples and cities to this place: Forge. My format: cranky old bastard, to grumble and shake an angry fist. To poke with prickly personality my new found friends, their hopes and dreams. To waylay them from their aspirations with complaints and general antics from one who's losing his mind. They say characters are just brain children from people who live outside the net, and write about them for pleasure. No one knows for sure, but I intend to find out! REALLY, what are you still reading this for, you pillock? Go away! Ad libbing the Reboot monologue was all the creativity I have for now. Shoo, go on, get.|
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