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Chip
08-19-2010, 05:45 AM
Ahhh, it's been a long time since I last wrote something on here! OK, a bit of backstory - I've been trying to get into an IKRPG game for absolutely ages, and one of my players has finally agreed to run a game in Five Fingers! Hooray etc! After sitting down to work out my character (who, after a few seconds of thinking it over, I have decided on this beauty (http://privateerpress.com/files/products/iron-kingdoms/valeria-alvaro-ordic-pistoleer.png)), I found myself writing a full background from her perspective. Eventually, I figured I may as well put it on here and ask for c&c :)

Natalia Lochlan, citizen of Five Fingers

I was born Natalia Lochlan, daughter of a Thurian thug-fer-hire and a Tordoran *****, not that it matters none – I ain't Thurian, and I'm not from Ord. I were born in Five Fingers, I grew up in Five Fingers, and I'll mos' likely die in Five Fingers. The only variable on them odds are skill an' luck, and that'll only change when.

For the first twelve year of me life, I grew up in Beggar's Maze on 'Ospice Island, spittin' distance from Kithgrav Bourg. I 'ad me first real brush with crime at the age o' three when me father got too smashed fer 'is own good, stumbled down th' wrong alley in Kithgrav and got beaten to within an inch of 'is miserable life by a gang o' Trollkin. It were two years later when he was shot dead in front of me by a Dwarf that had caught him cheatin' at cards. I believe it was these two events that were the cause of my ever-apparent fondness for Trollkin and firearms.

Suddenly 'omeless, I were taken in by a gang of similarly dispossessed children that called 'emselves the “Floaters”. At the time, all I could think was that this meant that, come time to sink or float, we was assured we would float. 'Course, I was a naive little cow back then. By six, I had picked me first pocket an' by twelve, I had 'elped in me first mugging. My big break came at fifteen when, to impress some lad whose name I don't even remember, I second-storied some house and found a pistol and a few bullets.

Lookin' back, I can't 'elp but wonder if I did that person a favour – that gun were so close to scrap that any sane adult must have been itchin' to get rid of it, but to a fifteen year old girl with no education save that learnt on the streets, it were close to magic. For the next month or so, I became increasingly arrogant, robbing increasingly audacious targets until I eventually met my match leadin' a raid on a rival gang in Kithgrav. The Trollkin overpowered us and gave us what, to a Trollkin, is probably quite a light punishment – they broke our arms with white-hot metal clubs. As the leader, I also got me several ribs broken. Just broken, not burnt, may as well thank Morrow for the small blessings.

I learnt me lesson good that night – don't get caught.

I don't know what 'appened next, it's all a red haze of pain and fear, but somehow I found meself in the chapel of Ascendant Rowan at the middle of Hospice Island. I've always had a special understandin' with religion, it don't judge me and I don't kneecap it but, that night, I just 'ad nowhere else to turn. I'll admit, I was surprised at the response of the priests. Far from the sanctimonious, judgemental buggers as told by me friends, they were warm, friendly and willin' to take me in and care for my wounds, no questions asked. While I'm not too proud to admit that I spent much of the next day wishing I were dead (and in a literal sense too, not just like 'aving a bad hangover), the priests set my bones and kept me calm through the worst of the pain.

It was a full three years before I recovered enough to truly fight again. Sure, I went on jobs and waved a gun in people's faces, but I could barely walk without doubling over in pain for the first few months, and still couldn't truly handle the kick of a gun without bracing for almost another year.

By the time I was fighting fit again, I had new rules – The mark had to be able to afford being robbed, and 'ad to be capable of fighting back. To be honest, I started lookin' forward to the challenge rather than the payoff. There's an indescribable rush to risk being crippled or worse for some kind of reward. Eventually, my love o' the game left me with more Galleons than I knew what to do with, most of which went towards an anonymous donation to that little chapel what had looked after me all those years ago.

At the age of nineteen, I left the Floaters. I was growin' ever more bored and they wanted a planner who worked out jobs that paid easier. Can't even remember 'ow it happened, but I eventually found myself on Captain's Isle, signing on with a group seemingly put together to take my kind of risks, just for the hell of it.

Time to find out how well I'll do in the real world – float or sink?

Alienated One
08-20-2010, 08:14 AM
This is a great concept story. Kudos! If only my players could have come up with something like this. :)