Riley "Reed" Keating
Jan 21, 2018 18:15:37 GMT -6
Post by Reed on Jan 21, 2018 18:15:37 GMT -6
Name: Riley "Reed" Keating
Class: Squire
Dragon Element: N/A
Age: 15
Born in: Sacae
Appearance: Reed is a young farmhand standing at only 5'1. He has curly, short auburn hair and hazel eyes that complement his small stature. Several scars and scrapes can be seen on his rough hands from working on his parents' small farm. His regular attire consists of a brown, worn tunic cut a little below the waist and a pair of crimson pants rolled up at the bottom and tucked into a pair of boots (usually covered in mud and dirt). He usually has a green hooded cloak tied around his shoulders: a gift from his father that he idolizes
Personality: Reed is very idealistic and imaginative, but usually keeps his delusions to himself. He expresses a curiosity towards the more refined and "fancy way-a livin'", being of a rural background himself and kept mostly isolated save for his bi-weekly trips to the local marketplace. The farmhand is scatterbrained and forgetful, but makes up for it with his thoughtful and kind demeanor. Though he has his moments of bravery, Reed is well-aware of his limits and stays within his boundaries unless he is fairly confident that he can contribute in some way.
Having been raised on a farm and taught about agriculture and livestock care, he is no stranger to getting down and dirty when needed. Riley was also taught to ride at a very young age, and thus considers himself an expert at equestrian affairs. However, as a result, he is lacking in normal speech patterns and complicated scholarly subjects.
History: Reed is the son of a Sacaean seamstress and an Ilian fur trader that settled down on a small ranch, as well as the second of three children. However, he is the eldest child on the family farm due to his mother's first child perishing at the age of three from illness. Reed was a healthy, scrappy young boy who had a talent for taking care of the two horses that the family had bought as foals and was excellent at tending to crops.
By the time that Reed was seven and his father had told him stories of his journey from Ilia to Sacae, the curious boy was ecstatic about the idea of fighting and combat. Reluctantly (mostly for fear of his son misusing what he taught him), Reed's father agreed to at least teach him how to wield a lance on horseback. Though he fell more times than a drunken man on a ship, he always giggled and got back up to try again.
Currently, Reed has mostly taken charge of the family farm and is working very often on improving his horseback fighting with his aging father and some old pitchforks with the metal tongs sawed off, tending to the crops and livestock to help provide for his mother and younger sister Beth, and making trips into Bulgar to hear about (compared to understand, considering his ignorance to politics and the like) what is going on around the town.
NPC fight: "Your elbow is too straight, Riley. Keep it bent slightly, or else you're going to let go of that lance once you get hit," the broad-shouldered man stated as he tightened the saddle on his steed. Reed nodded and bent his arm ever so slightly as instructed, eyeing his father with a determined gaze. His mind was abuzz with enthusiasm and excited thoughts about today's duel: it would be one of the first times that he would be fighting without the lighter stick. He smirked. "I wouldn't be too sure about that one, Pa. C'mon, Gracie! Hyaa!"
With a firm yet gentle spur, Reed's horse bucked for a moment and sped forward slightly to the left of his opponent. Though it took all of his might to hold on to the reigns, the farmhand cocked his right arm back and fiercely jabbed it forward with a rather sloppy and poorly-aimed strike. His father simply tugged on the lead in front of him to cause his horse to step to the left out of the way with ease. With a disapproving grunt, he brought his "lance" over his head and brought it down upon his son. Reed, in a panic, threw up his weapon arm to intercept the blow before it struck him. The stick had found its mark directly on the back of his hand, causing him to cry out and drop the lance as he massaged his wounded knuckles. One more horizontal swipe of the dull wood sent him off of his horse, causing the animal to simply walk away as if this was common.
"...You still have much to learn, boy. With a technique like that, you might only live to see next year in combat if you're lucky. Come on, call Ol' Gracie back here and we'll try again," the man said sternly. Reed looked down at his injured hand as if he was about to cry, but immediately perked up and nodded without even the slightest trace of tears collecting in his eyes.
"Heh, let's do it! I'm not stoppin' until we're usin' the real lances 'n armor, ya hear? I'm gonna show you and Ma both that I'm ready!"
PC fight: With a grit of his teeth and a nod, Reed tugged on the reigns of his mount and caused his horse, galloping across the breezy, open field, to charge forward. Luckily for him, the archer that had provoked an attack wasn't a very great shot and had barely missed through a stroke of luck. Though he was terrified beyond belief from the initial unprovoked attack, he refused to let the unfortunate circumstance appear as if it had dampened his mood- which it had, considering it was hard to aim any higher than a good day at the marketplace. With a brand new lance and leather padding for good measure in his possession, Reed silently prayed that it wouldn't be the first and last time he would use the gear.
"Gonna have to try a lil' harder'n that to catch me!" he shouted confidently (in contrast to how fast his pulse was racing and how much his mind was flooded with panic) as the distance between him and the archer dwindled. Once he felt that he was in range only a few yards away, the squire tugged on the saddle's harness to make his steed take a leap up into the air. Not being very well-versed in how to ride while angling an attack, it took all of his might to grip the saddle with his left until his palms had marks from where his fingers had been pressing. Any less effort would practically guarantee that he'd become capable of using projectiles, with him as the entity being launched! Gripping the cold iron in his hand, he let out a shaky shout as he swung the lengthy weapon down in front of him aiming a vertical blow towards the archer's chest.
Class: Squire
Dragon Element: N/A
Age: 15
Born in: Sacae
Appearance: Reed is a young farmhand standing at only 5'1. He has curly, short auburn hair and hazel eyes that complement his small stature. Several scars and scrapes can be seen on his rough hands from working on his parents' small farm. His regular attire consists of a brown, worn tunic cut a little below the waist and a pair of crimson pants rolled up at the bottom and tucked into a pair of boots (usually covered in mud and dirt). He usually has a green hooded cloak tied around his shoulders: a gift from his father that he idolizes
Personality: Reed is very idealistic and imaginative, but usually keeps his delusions to himself. He expresses a curiosity towards the more refined and "fancy way-a livin'", being of a rural background himself and kept mostly isolated save for his bi-weekly trips to the local marketplace. The farmhand is scatterbrained and forgetful, but makes up for it with his thoughtful and kind demeanor. Though he has his moments of bravery, Reed is well-aware of his limits and stays within his boundaries unless he is fairly confident that he can contribute in some way.
Having been raised on a farm and taught about agriculture and livestock care, he is no stranger to getting down and dirty when needed. Riley was also taught to ride at a very young age, and thus considers himself an expert at equestrian affairs. However, as a result, he is lacking in normal speech patterns and complicated scholarly subjects.
History: Reed is the son of a Sacaean seamstress and an Ilian fur trader that settled down on a small ranch, as well as the second of three children. However, he is the eldest child on the family farm due to his mother's first child perishing at the age of three from illness. Reed was a healthy, scrappy young boy who had a talent for taking care of the two horses that the family had bought as foals and was excellent at tending to crops.
By the time that Reed was seven and his father had told him stories of his journey from Ilia to Sacae, the curious boy was ecstatic about the idea of fighting and combat. Reluctantly (mostly for fear of his son misusing what he taught him), Reed's father agreed to at least teach him how to wield a lance on horseback. Though he fell more times than a drunken man on a ship, he always giggled and got back up to try again.
Currently, Reed has mostly taken charge of the family farm and is working very often on improving his horseback fighting with his aging father and some old pitchforks with the metal tongs sawed off, tending to the crops and livestock to help provide for his mother and younger sister Beth, and making trips into Bulgar to hear about (compared to understand, considering his ignorance to politics and the like) what is going on around the town.
NPC fight: "Your elbow is too straight, Riley. Keep it bent slightly, or else you're going to let go of that lance once you get hit," the broad-shouldered man stated as he tightened the saddle on his steed. Reed nodded and bent his arm ever so slightly as instructed, eyeing his father with a determined gaze. His mind was abuzz with enthusiasm and excited thoughts about today's duel: it would be one of the first times that he would be fighting without the lighter stick. He smirked. "I wouldn't be too sure about that one, Pa. C'mon, Gracie! Hyaa!"
With a firm yet gentle spur, Reed's horse bucked for a moment and sped forward slightly to the left of his opponent. Though it took all of his might to hold on to the reigns, the farmhand cocked his right arm back and fiercely jabbed it forward with a rather sloppy and poorly-aimed strike. His father simply tugged on the lead in front of him to cause his horse to step to the left out of the way with ease. With a disapproving grunt, he brought his "lance" over his head and brought it down upon his son. Reed, in a panic, threw up his weapon arm to intercept the blow before it struck him. The stick had found its mark directly on the back of his hand, causing him to cry out and drop the lance as he massaged his wounded knuckles. One more horizontal swipe of the dull wood sent him off of his horse, causing the animal to simply walk away as if this was common.
"...You still have much to learn, boy. With a technique like that, you might only live to see next year in combat if you're lucky. Come on, call Ol' Gracie back here and we'll try again," the man said sternly. Reed looked down at his injured hand as if he was about to cry, but immediately perked up and nodded without even the slightest trace of tears collecting in his eyes.
"Heh, let's do it! I'm not stoppin' until we're usin' the real lances 'n armor, ya hear? I'm gonna show you and Ma both that I'm ready!"
PC fight: With a grit of his teeth and a nod, Reed tugged on the reigns of his mount and caused his horse, galloping across the breezy, open field, to charge forward. Luckily for him, the archer that had provoked an attack wasn't a very great shot and had barely missed through a stroke of luck. Though he was terrified beyond belief from the initial unprovoked attack, he refused to let the unfortunate circumstance appear as if it had dampened his mood- which it had, considering it was hard to aim any higher than a good day at the marketplace. With a brand new lance and leather padding for good measure in his possession, Reed silently prayed that it wouldn't be the first and last time he would use the gear.
"Gonna have to try a lil' harder'n that to catch me!" he shouted confidently (in contrast to how fast his pulse was racing and how much his mind was flooded with panic) as the distance between him and the archer dwindled. Once he felt that he was in range only a few yards away, the squire tugged on the saddle's harness to make his steed take a leap up into the air. Not being very well-versed in how to ride while angling an attack, it took all of his might to grip the saddle with his left until his palms had marks from where his fingers had been pressing. Any less effort would practically guarantee that he'd become capable of using projectiles, with him as the entity being launched! Gripping the cold iron in his hand, he let out a shaky shout as he swung the lengthy weapon down in front of him aiming a vertical blow towards the archer's chest.
