Victor Cephas Gennings II (Ilheod Alt. Shocking!)
Jan 2, 2017 15:06:33 GMT -6
Post by Victor on Jan 2, 2017 15:06:33 GMT -6
Name:Victor Cephas Gennings II
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Class: Hero (Exotic seal, Whip, Killing Edge start)
Age:24
Born in:Western Isles
Appearance:
Appearance: His appearance is contrasted by the activity.
The Hunter
The world is a dangerous place. Infection. Disease. Plagues can spread over night. Monsters roam and beasts can enter a town unabated in most parts of the western isles. A place where violence is often the first solution. So hunters garb themselves often from literally head to toe. Layered leather that can insulate while offering light protection without inhibiting mobility. It is this look that reveals the true purpose. Traits of a huntsman. The hat keeping light and heat away during the day, and at night time helping insulate heat with side while the mask raised up around the nose helps to filter breathing while also forcing exhalation to keep the chin and neck warm. This can serve to create an unnerving impression however, as only the eyes are visible. Expressions unable to be discerned, it adds to the ease at which misconception is born. Oft appearing as naught more than a butcher toting weapons so clearly designed for their trade, hiding most of themselves behind veils of sable fabric. His eyes are slow to scan but observant. Drinking in every minor detail and favoring the general scan to a series of swift varied "lock on's" so to speak.
Like most hunters, he stands out. People usually adorned in a single layer of clothing or two, and nothing exuberant blend with one another while Victor wearing multiple layers and so foreign to the common citizen stands out like a sore thumb. It's hard to visibly judge him as a person when he's preparing for, or on the hunt. Further distancing themselves from them in perception. When the veil drops however...
Victor reveals himself to be surprisingly soft spoken. Even kind. A lack of expression no longer evoking something inhuman, but instead more relateable. No longer focusing on piercing bright green eyes alone but the warm smile or faint tilt of head in a welcoming curiosity. Spending most of his life within the western isles, Victor does find nearly everything evocative of an inquisitive nature and almost always wants to know more. This expression is seldom hidden. He wears his heart on his sleeve visibly.
He is fairly balanced, at a height of Five foot, ten inches, with a weight of one hundred and fifty pounds. Most of which is muscle from his line of work, but no distinguishable heavy tone or bulk. Instead building up to a fairly average frame that is well concealed behind leather jackets and pale tunics beneath his coat. His messy somewhat wild pale hair can differ in shade. With even the faintest light it looks closer to a golden hue. However it is visibly white and in darkened places can stand out ever so slightly.
Beneath the cloak are a slew of scars. As one would expect from a professional huntsmen. Long red sections of torn flesh. Burns along his left pectoral. Remnants from a series of lacerations the length of his lower back to upper right shoulder, and similar markings on his lower abdomen. His body proof, that at any moment, the hunt can turn. The hunter, can become the hunted.
Personality:Victor is a simple fellow. Helping people. Removing problems. Anything he can do to validate his existence to himself really. Such joys are fleeting but the momentary victories seem to amount the most. Little gestures of token kindness. All he's known through out his life was brief jaunts into the surrounding towns to his families guild house, and the experiences hunting in the wilds. These were what attributed to his preference to what he deemed simple deeds, for that was often all they'd exposure to. Doubly so growing up within a monstrous house hold bound to family, in a environment where family was all you could rely on.
Had he grown up simply living a normal life he might have developed normally. Victor however is...not normal. He was raised to be a hunter. His families motto is true by him.
"We are Born, in the hunt. Made men, by the hunt. So shall we die, by the hunt."
It is all they truly live for. The thrill. The hunt is not always a clean business. It's not always some local bear that killed a child and her mother. Sometimes they are paid to kill people. Good people. Innocent people. However, to make a living one can not afford to be picky. The preservation of a life in nature is never so morally aligned as to simply doing good deeds to live in all corners of the world. Especially in a place where laws are determined by the strong and the strong alone. Sights of gore. Viscera. The feeling of a weapon sundering flesh and bone. These are as familiar to him as the feeling of a hammer to a nail for a carpenter. No different than making chairs. His eerily cheery demeanor while killing or performing a job is often unsettling. For him it is simply a job he does, does well, and enjoys. Others chose words like butchery, murder, or slaughter. Yet the butcher does not begrudge his job, oft, he makes the best with song in his heart...no?
He has always had a love for the hunt deep down. Not aggressively violent, yet reveling in the thrill of competition. It is here that he often interacts with his family. Who can amass a higher contribution to their contracts? Who can complete the most contracts in a month. Who can complete the biggest contracts? They contribute to both a greater bond and an effective supply of service for all their clients. For seldom, is there a low demand in aspiring killers.
History:Victor Cephas Gennings II, was born to Victor Cephas Gennings I, and Marceline Silene Miquen. The middle child, with a younger sister, two Younger brothers, an older brother, and an older sister. His first toys were ones of wooden carving. Pirates and boats. Huntsmen and bears. Beasts mythical and natural. He grew to listen for the sound of heavy boot-falls when his father returned. Often, heavy with the scent of blood and occasional gore upon his weapon still. Victor would often help his mother clean his father's garb and tend his weapon. Learning from a young age how to sharpen blades. How to tend them properly. He learned how to repair tears in fabric and mend leather. Basics, that every hunter needed to know. When he was older, he learned more of their trade.
The Gennings family had been "Hunters" for generations. Though their family's wall hangings could only trace back to the eighth, it was implied through journals of their eldest relatives that the bloodline had continued many generations prior. With a colossal guild-hall for a home and ample territory around belonging exclusively to the family of hunters, he had never known what it was to live in a confined condition. Always able to roam at his leisure, Victor took to exploration as a hobby when he was quite young. This would serve him well as Victor came to know what it was to hunt. Small contracts initially. Hunting with blade, whip, and knife he struggled early on. Procuring raccoon pelts for those without the skill to hunt. Until raccoons became wolves. Eventually, when he was older, wolves would become bears.
Their estate was nestled within a mountain upon one of the smaller islands on the western isles. A single miniature chain of mountains, three to be precise, occupied the bulk of the islands center land-mass. An Apline Tundra above and Subalpine forest beneath that led to the oceanic climates below. The span of clashing environments caused rain often when whether conditions mixed within the three. The sides of the mountains often bleed from forests into marshlands before giving way to the beaches. A series of small towns littered the western coast line. These towns were the source for most of the families contracted jobs. Most hunters looked distinct enough that people could approach them directly with requested hunts. Before Victor could be recognized in full as one however, he had a rite to pass.
Hunters had a variety of foes to face. Blades were reliable on wolves, who moved in linear patterns when striking. They were less so against smaller faster foes, or enemies like traditional humans who could interact in obscure ways or without pattern. However you could not bring more weapons than what you could carry on your person, and to survive as a hunter one couldn't afford to be weighed down needlessly. This lead to the families trademark craft. Altered weapons.
Utilizing mechanics from standard engineering, and almost a year of schematically tweaking and testing, Victor found a happy blend he'd often struggled prior. The base body of a blade. Larger and heavier to house small gears and a trigger system similar to Nabatan Katar daggers, he was able to run a length of rope like chord through his weapons with metal pins to lock segments of the swords blade to it while placing locks along the sides. Allowing his blade to unfurl, into segmented blades attached to a bulk spring like metal chord. A bladed whip of sorts.
To say he'd needed to Practice with it...was an understatement. His first hunt, he'd nearly gored his back while trying an over hand lash. The added weight opposed to a normal whip caught him off guard in the heat of combat and he hadn't cracked the whip hard enough; allowing the blades to sink into his back as it fell behind him idly. However as his body developed further muscle he was able to utilize more force and finer technical control. Until eventually, he became accustomed to the obscure attack angles it utilized. Once he'd begun to master it though, it felt perfectly at home within his hands and became a weapon unique to himself.
Years continued, and Victor developed into a fine young hunter. Defeating enemies human and beast alike. Though rarely, he'd sometimes gotten to face horrific fiends that he'd hear of only in nightmares as a child. A unique foe, it proved to him especially challenging at times. However his biggest contract. His true hunt, would start on a fateful night merely a few months back. The hunt that sundered his family, and rendered him his own hunter.
A small village had been struck with plague. Such that a local man of wealth seemed to want them dead so he could simply bring in additional citizens and get it back into condition as a receptive dock town. A large enough hunt with enough pay, that the family heads, his father and uncle, considered it a task worthy of the entire family. So it was, that the Gennings family in full count at 36 entered the dreary fishing village and port town of Hendrickson.
Simply wiping out the population of a small town riddled with illness itself seemed easy. The family simply told to split up and clear the town, Victor took to the far northern most streets. However, it soon became clear that these were not simply villagers. There, victor saw the true horror that could be, a human. His first target. A man hunched over the street, sifting through contents within a small barrel. At the sound of approach as Victor's boots echoed upon stone bricked cobbled so well, he saw not the face of a man. Instead, guttural hissing and snarling. Veins streaking to trough the whites of his eyes, and a visibly horrid sight at the blood tipped digits partially severed from his hands as if ground away from clawing upon harder surface, and the male wailed as if his mind had left him. His savage look while charging had, for the first time, caused Victor to feel a curiosity. Not in what he saw, but why he saw it.
The man was no monster. He was no fiend. He was no wolf, nor bear. He was a human. No human he'd seen acted like this. Playing to his advantages, he flicked his wrist with a swift crack before lashing to the mans shoulder with his whip-blade. Alas, when he tore through the mans arm after a brief exchange, and removed it entirely he was shocked visibly to see the man unfaltering in his counter attack. As if the damage he received mattered not to him. No sign of pain. No sign of anguish. So when the man lunged and missed, Victor lunged for and removed his head. After which he paused to hear in the distance. Screams. Shouts. Death. Not like this man and his frenzied snarls though. Familiar screams. Familiar shouts. His family.
A harrowing two weeks began. For they were hunters. Danger in the face of a contract was irrelevant to the completion of the job. It did not lessen the sting of deception from their contractor .For they had to ensure that they completed their task. Hiding within buildings ensured to be empty. Cooking and burning food purely to ensure it's plague ridden state no longer of threat. Scouring alley ways and darkened streets, bathing in blood admist slaughter when caught or noticed by frenzied foes. It was a lesson in the pure daunting struggle to survive. Close-fisted, and merciless was the teachings of life. Of the thirty six that entered. Only four would leave. Victor. His oldest sister. His oldest Brother. His youngest brother. This experience spoke to Victor. Their contractors identity was lost with the passing of his father in the chaos, as they had not divulged the information. However, it was clear for even his simple mind that they'd been exploited. Under the guise of hunting ill citizens they entered a home of death and brutality. A contractor had lied to them. This was unforgivable. His family broke apart. No lynch pin in the form of father or mother or uncle to hold it together. No interest to , it also seemed.
Of his own volition, Victor wrote up for himself a contract. One fulfilled for pure self gain. To find the contractor for their family. To execute him. To end the potential for other hunters, if they existed, to be deceived as they were. This was no mean feat. This could take months. This could take years. However it was what could drive him to see more. Take contracts elsewhere, perhaps in exchange for information.
So his hunt began. What a long hunt, it would be.
NPC fight:Alt Account
PC fight:Alt account
Class: Hero (Exotic seal, Whip, Killing Edge start)
Age:24
Born in:Western Isles
Appearance:
Appearance: His appearance is contrasted by the activity.
The Hunter
The world is a dangerous place. Infection. Disease. Plagues can spread over night. Monsters roam and beasts can enter a town unabated in most parts of the western isles. A place where violence is often the first solution. So hunters garb themselves often from literally head to toe. Layered leather that can insulate while offering light protection without inhibiting mobility. It is this look that reveals the true purpose. Traits of a huntsman. The hat keeping light and heat away during the day, and at night time helping insulate heat with side while the mask raised up around the nose helps to filter breathing while also forcing exhalation to keep the chin and neck warm. This can serve to create an unnerving impression however, as only the eyes are visible. Expressions unable to be discerned, it adds to the ease at which misconception is born. Oft appearing as naught more than a butcher toting weapons so clearly designed for their trade, hiding most of themselves behind veils of sable fabric. His eyes are slow to scan but observant. Drinking in every minor detail and favoring the general scan to a series of swift varied "lock on's" so to speak.
Like most hunters, he stands out. People usually adorned in a single layer of clothing or two, and nothing exuberant blend with one another while Victor wearing multiple layers and so foreign to the common citizen stands out like a sore thumb. It's hard to visibly judge him as a person when he's preparing for, or on the hunt. Further distancing themselves from them in perception. When the veil drops however...
Victor reveals himself to be surprisingly soft spoken. Even kind. A lack of expression no longer evoking something inhuman, but instead more relateable. No longer focusing on piercing bright green eyes alone but the warm smile or faint tilt of head in a welcoming curiosity. Spending most of his life within the western isles, Victor does find nearly everything evocative of an inquisitive nature and almost always wants to know more. This expression is seldom hidden. He wears his heart on his sleeve visibly.
He is fairly balanced, at a height of Five foot, ten inches, with a weight of one hundred and fifty pounds. Most of which is muscle from his line of work, but no distinguishable heavy tone or bulk. Instead building up to a fairly average frame that is well concealed behind leather jackets and pale tunics beneath his coat. His messy somewhat wild pale hair can differ in shade. With even the faintest light it looks closer to a golden hue. However it is visibly white and in darkened places can stand out ever so slightly.
Beneath the cloak are a slew of scars. As one would expect from a professional huntsmen. Long red sections of torn flesh. Burns along his left pectoral. Remnants from a series of lacerations the length of his lower back to upper right shoulder, and similar markings on his lower abdomen. His body proof, that at any moment, the hunt can turn. The hunter, can become the hunted.
Personality:Victor is a simple fellow. Helping people. Removing problems. Anything he can do to validate his existence to himself really. Such joys are fleeting but the momentary victories seem to amount the most. Little gestures of token kindness. All he's known through out his life was brief jaunts into the surrounding towns to his families guild house, and the experiences hunting in the wilds. These were what attributed to his preference to what he deemed simple deeds, for that was often all they'd exposure to. Doubly so growing up within a monstrous house hold bound to family, in a environment where family was all you could rely on.
Had he grown up simply living a normal life he might have developed normally. Victor however is...not normal. He was raised to be a hunter. His families motto is true by him.
"We are Born, in the hunt. Made men, by the hunt. So shall we die, by the hunt."
It is all they truly live for. The thrill. The hunt is not always a clean business. It's not always some local bear that killed a child and her mother. Sometimes they are paid to kill people. Good people. Innocent people. However, to make a living one can not afford to be picky. The preservation of a life in nature is never so morally aligned as to simply doing good deeds to live in all corners of the world. Especially in a place where laws are determined by the strong and the strong alone. Sights of gore. Viscera. The feeling of a weapon sundering flesh and bone. These are as familiar to him as the feeling of a hammer to a nail for a carpenter. No different than making chairs. His eerily cheery demeanor while killing or performing a job is often unsettling. For him it is simply a job he does, does well, and enjoys. Others chose words like butchery, murder, or slaughter. Yet the butcher does not begrudge his job, oft, he makes the best with song in his heart...no?
He has always had a love for the hunt deep down. Not aggressively violent, yet reveling in the thrill of competition. It is here that he often interacts with his family. Who can amass a higher contribution to their contracts? Who can complete the most contracts in a month. Who can complete the biggest contracts? They contribute to both a greater bond and an effective supply of service for all their clients. For seldom, is there a low demand in aspiring killers.
History:Victor Cephas Gennings II, was born to Victor Cephas Gennings I, and Marceline Silene Miquen. The middle child, with a younger sister, two Younger brothers, an older brother, and an older sister. His first toys were ones of wooden carving. Pirates and boats. Huntsmen and bears. Beasts mythical and natural. He grew to listen for the sound of heavy boot-falls when his father returned. Often, heavy with the scent of blood and occasional gore upon his weapon still. Victor would often help his mother clean his father's garb and tend his weapon. Learning from a young age how to sharpen blades. How to tend them properly. He learned how to repair tears in fabric and mend leather. Basics, that every hunter needed to know. When he was older, he learned more of their trade.
The Gennings family had been "Hunters" for generations. Though their family's wall hangings could only trace back to the eighth, it was implied through journals of their eldest relatives that the bloodline had continued many generations prior. With a colossal guild-hall for a home and ample territory around belonging exclusively to the family of hunters, he had never known what it was to live in a confined condition. Always able to roam at his leisure, Victor took to exploration as a hobby when he was quite young. This would serve him well as Victor came to know what it was to hunt. Small contracts initially. Hunting with blade, whip, and knife he struggled early on. Procuring raccoon pelts for those without the skill to hunt. Until raccoons became wolves. Eventually, when he was older, wolves would become bears.
Their estate was nestled within a mountain upon one of the smaller islands on the western isles. A single miniature chain of mountains, three to be precise, occupied the bulk of the islands center land-mass. An Apline Tundra above and Subalpine forest beneath that led to the oceanic climates below. The span of clashing environments caused rain often when whether conditions mixed within the three. The sides of the mountains often bleed from forests into marshlands before giving way to the beaches. A series of small towns littered the western coast line. These towns were the source for most of the families contracted jobs. Most hunters looked distinct enough that people could approach them directly with requested hunts. Before Victor could be recognized in full as one however, he had a rite to pass.
Hunters had a variety of foes to face. Blades were reliable on wolves, who moved in linear patterns when striking. They were less so against smaller faster foes, or enemies like traditional humans who could interact in obscure ways or without pattern. However you could not bring more weapons than what you could carry on your person, and to survive as a hunter one couldn't afford to be weighed down needlessly. This lead to the families trademark craft. Altered weapons.
Utilizing mechanics from standard engineering, and almost a year of schematically tweaking and testing, Victor found a happy blend he'd often struggled prior. The base body of a blade. Larger and heavier to house small gears and a trigger system similar to Nabatan Katar daggers, he was able to run a length of rope like chord through his weapons with metal pins to lock segments of the swords blade to it while placing locks along the sides. Allowing his blade to unfurl, into segmented blades attached to a bulk spring like metal chord. A bladed whip of sorts.
To say he'd needed to Practice with it...was an understatement. His first hunt, he'd nearly gored his back while trying an over hand lash. The added weight opposed to a normal whip caught him off guard in the heat of combat and he hadn't cracked the whip hard enough; allowing the blades to sink into his back as it fell behind him idly. However as his body developed further muscle he was able to utilize more force and finer technical control. Until eventually, he became accustomed to the obscure attack angles it utilized. Once he'd begun to master it though, it felt perfectly at home within his hands and became a weapon unique to himself.
Years continued, and Victor developed into a fine young hunter. Defeating enemies human and beast alike. Though rarely, he'd sometimes gotten to face horrific fiends that he'd hear of only in nightmares as a child. A unique foe, it proved to him especially challenging at times. However his biggest contract. His true hunt, would start on a fateful night merely a few months back. The hunt that sundered his family, and rendered him his own hunter.
A small village had been struck with plague. Such that a local man of wealth seemed to want them dead so he could simply bring in additional citizens and get it back into condition as a receptive dock town. A large enough hunt with enough pay, that the family heads, his father and uncle, considered it a task worthy of the entire family. So it was, that the Gennings family in full count at 36 entered the dreary fishing village and port town of Hendrickson.
Simply wiping out the population of a small town riddled with illness itself seemed easy. The family simply told to split up and clear the town, Victor took to the far northern most streets. However, it soon became clear that these were not simply villagers. There, victor saw the true horror that could be, a human. His first target. A man hunched over the street, sifting through contents within a small barrel. At the sound of approach as Victor's boots echoed upon stone bricked cobbled so well, he saw not the face of a man. Instead, guttural hissing and snarling. Veins streaking to trough the whites of his eyes, and a visibly horrid sight at the blood tipped digits partially severed from his hands as if ground away from clawing upon harder surface, and the male wailed as if his mind had left him. His savage look while charging had, for the first time, caused Victor to feel a curiosity. Not in what he saw, but why he saw it.
The man was no monster. He was no fiend. He was no wolf, nor bear. He was a human. No human he'd seen acted like this. Playing to his advantages, he flicked his wrist with a swift crack before lashing to the mans shoulder with his whip-blade. Alas, when he tore through the mans arm after a brief exchange, and removed it entirely he was shocked visibly to see the man unfaltering in his counter attack. As if the damage he received mattered not to him. No sign of pain. No sign of anguish. So when the man lunged and missed, Victor lunged for and removed his head. After which he paused to hear in the distance. Screams. Shouts. Death. Not like this man and his frenzied snarls though. Familiar screams. Familiar shouts. His family.
A harrowing two weeks began. For they were hunters. Danger in the face of a contract was irrelevant to the completion of the job. It did not lessen the sting of deception from their contractor .For they had to ensure that they completed their task. Hiding within buildings ensured to be empty. Cooking and burning food purely to ensure it's plague ridden state no longer of threat. Scouring alley ways and darkened streets, bathing in blood admist slaughter when caught or noticed by frenzied foes. It was a lesson in the pure daunting struggle to survive. Close-fisted, and merciless was the teachings of life. Of the thirty six that entered. Only four would leave. Victor. His oldest sister. His oldest Brother. His youngest brother. This experience spoke to Victor. Their contractors identity was lost with the passing of his father in the chaos, as they had not divulged the information. However, it was clear for even his simple mind that they'd been exploited. Under the guise of hunting ill citizens they entered a home of death and brutality. A contractor had lied to them. This was unforgivable. His family broke apart. No lynch pin in the form of father or mother or uncle to hold it together. No interest to , it also seemed.
Of his own volition, Victor wrote up for himself a contract. One fulfilled for pure self gain. To find the contractor for their family. To execute him. To end the potential for other hunters, if they existed, to be deceived as they were. This was no mean feat. This could take months. This could take years. However it was what could drive him to see more. Take contracts elsewhere, perhaps in exchange for information.
So his hunt began. What a long hunt, it would be.
NPC fight:Alt Account
PC fight:Alt account
Kirala-Daughter