Character Biography:
Faolan, or "Mac" among friends, is not your run-of-the-mill Half-Moon. Faolan constantly obsesses over lore which he argues lends credence and support to the laws of our people. And to learn, he translates everything into music and sings to memorise what he needs to know by heart. An old Galliard of the sept was overheard remarking "that it was such a waste that he wasn't born a Galliard".
It must be said that music runs in his veins, if not his whole family. The older brother of Siobahn O'Gallagher, born of expatriate common law parents, Faolan has always been immersed in music. Encouraged by his parents, he learnt as much as he could about music.
In fact, even his First Change at the age of 18 involved music, in a way.
It happened at a heavy metal concert, when a mosh-pit had transformed itself into an ugly riot. When his sister was in danger of being trampled to death, he felt his skin crawl, stretch and twist, unleashing the heart of Rage that he carried within. The period of his First Change is hidden behind a black-out; all he knows is that he woke up, semi-naked and covered in gore, several miles away in a deserted park with his sleeping sister cradled in his arms.
A few days later, while he was contemplating what had become of him, he was set upon by a trio of lean, sickly-looking black dogs. Standing in the surf, under the light of the Half-Moon, he Changed and held his ground, following the rhythm of the waters in his defence. He was rescued by a pack of Garou which had been tracking the trio of filth. Taken to the Sept and educated by his elders, he learned quickly of what he was and what he had to do.
He also learnt that his parents were truly kin in more ways than one.
Too bad that they're presently divorced and spilt between Dublin, Ireland and Austin, Texas. His younger sister Siobahn stayed with his mother in Austin while he moved to Ireland with his father. His parents are still on relatively good terms with each other, and still visit every once in a while.
He has spent the majority of teens and young adult years travelling between both Dublin and Austin, trying to keep the family together in some form. However, most of his time is spent in Ireland, due in part to the Troubles. He speaks fluent Irish Gaellic and Mandarin.
He makes his money through his talent and passions by writing songs and lyrics for various recording studios and labels as well as by being a recording sessionist as he's able to play most musical instruments. In addition, he loves cars, with muscle cars a strange smog-filled corner of his heart. There are some rumours of him driving known IRA members around Ireland, though are enough stories of him hanging about the Black-and-Tans, as well.
He has returned to Austin due to suspicions of his sister being in some sort of trouble and the Wyrm beginning to rear its ugly head in and around Austin.
But, remember, Kin first, laddie.
... for a new chronicle.
Showing posts with label Character Sheets. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Character Sheets. Show all posts
Friday, April 18, 2014
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
>>> Find a ship...
Korree "Kore" Glavian
Gearhead Racing Pilot
Corellian Human
Smuggler
Pilot/Mechanic
... find a pilot, keep flying.
Gearhead Racing Pilot
Corellian Human
Smuggler
Pilot/Mechanic
... find a pilot, keep flying.
>>> Brothers in battle...
Battle-Brother Caendirn
Roaring Iron, Thunder's Vengeance
Deathwatch Devastator Marine
Geiarsson Krakenspear
Roaring Iron, Thunder's Vengeance
Deathwatch Devastator Marine
--
Lightning Across The Ice, Young Wolf of the Forge
Space Wolf Iron Priest
Deathwatch Techmarine
Geiarsson, before his elevation to the ranks of the Sky Warriors, was a young, tribeless hunter who wandered the seas of Fenris with his surviving kin, trading half or more of their hunts for shelter and protection of other sympathetic tribes.
While resting under the protection of another tribe, they were set upon by unknown foes while most of its warriors were away. With first bow and arrow, then blade and spear, the young hunter danced along the walls and grounds of the village, carving a bloody furrow through the numerically superior foe. Darting here and there like greased lightning, sweat and blood steaming off his body, protecting kin and ally alike with a song of the hunt and a ghostly grin upon his lips.
Until he was finally surrounded, spent of energy, covered in the bloody gore of the foe and his lifeblood trickling slowly out of over two dozen wounds. Panting heavily, he stood erect with a lopsided grin as a giant in dark crimson stalked across the blood-soaked ground. With a rumbling growl, the giant picked up Geiarsson and corralled his surviving kin, and disappeared into the wintry wastes of Fenris.
That was over two centuries ago. Since then, Geiarsson has been one of the youngest Wolves to be inducted and initiated into the Iron Priesthood, his knack for craft- and forge-work standing him in good stead. He has proven to be a hunter of prodigious skill and fortune, having hunted almost all manner of Fenrisian creatures, from the fabled Wolves of Asaheim to the almost mythic Kraken of the Fenrisian Depths.
He has sailed the Ocean of Stars amongst the retinues Great Companies, setting his own saga in iron and stone amongst the epics of another Great Hunt which set him against many foes of the Imperium, amongst them the Traitor Legions. Now, his saga has brought him to the Watch Fortress of Erioch, to lend his skills and experience to the Deathwatch of the Ordo Xenos.
Description: A giant of a man, wrapped in a leather bodysuit, stands proudly in the middle of his meditation chamber, eyes the colour of a winter storm ringed in gold looking out from a weather-beaten, darkly-tanned face criss-crossed with pale blade scars, his gigantic arms crossed across his immense chest. His scalp half shorn for the trio of electro-grafts implanted behind his ear at the base of his skull, his red mane worn long to fall over the right of his head. He is clean-shaven except for a clean, plaited goatee of red on his chin.
His left eye dons a facial tattoo, a variation of the Iron Wolf totem, its jaws wrapping around his eye socket.
Inscribed around his thick, bullish neck are Fenrisian runes that read, to those who know how, Iron Within, Iron Without, Indomitable Redoubt.
His left arm is a a utilitarian yet artistically wrought work of bionics; the colour of gunmetal, a matte sheen like oil slicked across water. The faint traceries of engravings of the lightning streaked skies, stormy oceans and ice floes of Fenris worked across its surface, the foamy waves worked into the silently howling heads of wolves, can be barely seen under the chamber's luminescent glow-orbs.
A fist-sized pendant of bone lies hung by an adamantine chain fashioned in the shape of prayer beads. Carved exactingly from the tooth of a Fenrisian Kraken into the Cog of the Mechanicus with an Iron Wolf skull at its heart and engraved with minute skulls in sectioned inlays, it glows with a faint bluish cast, projecting a chilly yet calming aura.
A wolf pelt the colour of freshly fallen snow, dusted with granite-like grey, and of unimaginable size girds his waist like large kilt, its legs dangling down and covering his thighs, claws curved downwards across his knees. Its noble head, its eyes still seemingly agleam with life, rests between the legs, teeth bared in a deadly rictus grin.
A ghost of a grin plays across his face, somewhat at odds with his martial bearing, showing off a legacy of his forbears, the elongated canines of the Space Wolf.
A true warrior, an accomplished hunter and a forge-master of Fenris. And, now, a member of the Deathwatch, waiting patiently to prove his mettle and deadly worth yet again.
Demeanor: A man proud of his skills and abilities, undaunted by the universe at large, Geiarsson possesses a calculative, highly analytical mind. Constantly assessing nearly everything around him, his creative mind shuffles and files away details for another time and possible use. Some joke that he is infected by a form of memno-virus, but it is mind that not only helps him hunt but to craft and forge, sorting through all the sensory and mental input plus stimuli to achieve his goals.
Like most Wolves, he is honest to a fault, but is tempered by a sense of tact that usually prevents others from being offended. He also does not possess the typical animosity towards Astartes of the Dark Angels and their ilk. Friendly, talkative and a good listening ear, especially over the odd tankard of Fenrisian ale, Geiarsson is a likable and respectable warrior-priest of the Adeptus Astartes and an unusual representative of the Space Wolves.
Optional: Geiarsson possesses a Data-Slate whose body was carved from the bones of a Kraken and Fenrisian Wolf into the cunning design of a puzzlebox which must be unlocked to view the screen. It's inner workings are interlocked, sophisticated systems of recording, relaying, transmitting and receiving all forms of data, with massive storage banks done in nano-detail, with a large touch-screen that can project flat, 2-D images to full holographic videos. It also posseses a port for electro-graft connections. This Data-Slate, for now known affectionately as the Bonebox, may sometimes be carried into battle under his wolf pelt, chained and maglocked to his armoured belt.
DW Geiarsson (Edit)
... clad in black and smeared with blood.
Space Wolf Iron Priest
Deathwatch Techmarine
Geiarsson, before his elevation to the ranks of the Sky Warriors, was a young, tribeless hunter who wandered the seas of Fenris with his surviving kin, trading half or more of their hunts for shelter and protection of other sympathetic tribes.
While resting under the protection of another tribe, they were set upon by unknown foes while most of its warriors were away. With first bow and arrow, then blade and spear, the young hunter danced along the walls and grounds of the village, carving a bloody furrow through the numerically superior foe. Darting here and there like greased lightning, sweat and blood steaming off his body, protecting kin and ally alike with a song of the hunt and a ghostly grin upon his lips.
Until he was finally surrounded, spent of energy, covered in the bloody gore of the foe and his lifeblood trickling slowly out of over two dozen wounds. Panting heavily, he stood erect with a lopsided grin as a giant in dark crimson stalked across the blood-soaked ground. With a rumbling growl, the giant picked up Geiarsson and corralled his surviving kin, and disappeared into the wintry wastes of Fenris.
That was over two centuries ago. Since then, Geiarsson has been one of the youngest Wolves to be inducted and initiated into the Iron Priesthood, his knack for craft- and forge-work standing him in good stead. He has proven to be a hunter of prodigious skill and fortune, having hunted almost all manner of Fenrisian creatures, from the fabled Wolves of Asaheim to the almost mythic Kraken of the Fenrisian Depths.
He has sailed the Ocean of Stars amongst the retinues Great Companies, setting his own saga in iron and stone amongst the epics of another Great Hunt which set him against many foes of the Imperium, amongst them the Traitor Legions. Now, his saga has brought him to the Watch Fortress of Erioch, to lend his skills and experience to the Deathwatch of the Ordo Xenos.
Description: A giant of a man, wrapped in a leather bodysuit, stands proudly in the middle of his meditation chamber, eyes the colour of a winter storm ringed in gold looking out from a weather-beaten, darkly-tanned face criss-crossed with pale blade scars, his gigantic arms crossed across his immense chest. His scalp half shorn for the trio of electro-grafts implanted behind his ear at the base of his skull, his red mane worn long to fall over the right of his head. He is clean-shaven except for a clean, plaited goatee of red on his chin.
His left eye dons a facial tattoo, a variation of the Iron Wolf totem, its jaws wrapping around his eye socket.
Inscribed around his thick, bullish neck are Fenrisian runes that read, to those who know how, Iron Within, Iron Without, Indomitable Redoubt.
His left arm is a a utilitarian yet artistically wrought work of bionics; the colour of gunmetal, a matte sheen like oil slicked across water. The faint traceries of engravings of the lightning streaked skies, stormy oceans and ice floes of Fenris worked across its surface, the foamy waves worked into the silently howling heads of wolves, can be barely seen under the chamber's luminescent glow-orbs.
A fist-sized pendant of bone lies hung by an adamantine chain fashioned in the shape of prayer beads. Carved exactingly from the tooth of a Fenrisian Kraken into the Cog of the Mechanicus with an Iron Wolf skull at its heart and engraved with minute skulls in sectioned inlays, it glows with a faint bluish cast, projecting a chilly yet calming aura.
A wolf pelt the colour of freshly fallen snow, dusted with granite-like grey, and of unimaginable size girds his waist like large kilt, its legs dangling down and covering his thighs, claws curved downwards across his knees. Its noble head, its eyes still seemingly agleam with life, rests between the legs, teeth bared in a deadly rictus grin.
A ghost of a grin plays across his face, somewhat at odds with his martial bearing, showing off a legacy of his forbears, the elongated canines of the Space Wolf.
A true warrior, an accomplished hunter and a forge-master of Fenris. And, now, a member of the Deathwatch, waiting patiently to prove his mettle and deadly worth yet again.
Demeanor: A man proud of his skills and abilities, undaunted by the universe at large, Geiarsson possesses a calculative, highly analytical mind. Constantly assessing nearly everything around him, his creative mind shuffles and files away details for another time and possible use. Some joke that he is infected by a form of memno-virus, but it is mind that not only helps him hunt but to craft and forge, sorting through all the sensory and mental input plus stimuli to achieve his goals.
Like most Wolves, he is honest to a fault, but is tempered by a sense of tact that usually prevents others from being offended. He also does not possess the typical animosity towards Astartes of the Dark Angels and their ilk. Friendly, talkative and a good listening ear, especially over the odd tankard of Fenrisian ale, Geiarsson is a likable and respectable warrior-priest of the Adeptus Astartes and an unusual representative of the Space Wolves.
Optional: Geiarsson possesses a Data-Slate whose body was carved from the bones of a Kraken and Fenrisian Wolf into the cunning design of a puzzlebox which must be unlocked to view the screen. It's inner workings are interlocked, sophisticated systems of recording, relaying, transmitting and receiving all forms of data, with massive storage banks done in nano-detail, with a large touch-screen that can project flat, 2-D images to full holographic videos. It also posseses a port for electro-graft connections. This Data-Slate, for now known affectionately as the Bonebox, may sometimes be carried into battle under his wolf pelt, chained and maglocked to his armoured belt.
DW Geiarsson (Edit)
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