Post by Takkuri on Jan 31, 2007 1:45:32 GMT -5
Name- Ritchie "Curly" Sanchez
(For all those curious, he came up with his nickname- in "Old Western" culture, a "curly wolf" was a tough, solitary guy. Ritchie, who likes to appear tough but isn't quite solitary enough to make the grade, based the name off his status as a lycanthrope and now has grown quite attached to it.)
Age- 17
Date of Birth- September 11
Homelands- The Sanchez Palace
-The name is a bit of a joke in itself. The Sanchez "Palace" is a small shack ringed by old, broken wagons. The grass is green but trampled and ripped from the ground in many places by the lean Apaloosas that, tethered to stumplike posts, sniff and nip at it. The walls of the shack are barely intact; it is more of a box of rotting wood, its sides leaning dangerously to the center, peppered with holes. Inside the shack sits a revered, untouched ring of small round stones. Nature has made a perfectly precise circle, as it does so rarely, one blessed and unnaturally characterized by the world. A fairy circle. Here, Ritchie was born, and here he'll return when he's prepared to die.
Race- Lycan (Human/Coyote)
Class- Geomancer
Final-
(Curly Finale)
[Named by the playful lycan himself (obviously) this is a vicious finishing attack that Ritchie can use on an opponent once it has been forced to the ground or knocked unconscious. In the infamous quick-kill way of wolves who hunt small prey, he embeds his jagged teeth into the neck or chest of his adversary and flings it away from him while still clutching to whatever vital organs he can reach. Obviously painful and usually fatal, the Curly Finale wouldn't be much good against enemies larger than him just by itself, so naturally he's added stabbing said victim multiple times wherever he can reach simultaneously.]
----------------------------
{Weapon Information}
(Curly Claws)
A short knife, this weapon is composed of a bone hilt wrapped in grip-enhancing leather, which forks into two stumps into which are fastened a pair of curved, razor-sharp bear claws. This hooklike knife easily tears into flesh and can carve rock if enough force is applied. It's also more accurate than a single blade and causes more damage if Curly's in a hurry and can't focus on where exactly he wants to stab. (Morbid? Slightly.)
[enchantments]
None.
(La Ritchabo)
His only weapon whose name derives from his own birthname and not his nickname, this bo is long, stout, and reliable. He keeps it on hand for battles against foes where he can't get in close enough to use his teeth and "claws." The Ritchabo is not only handy, it delivers a nice punch and the small circular ends can be used to jab more precisely than his usual hard swings and clouts. It is made of plain old elm wood. There are small rings of decorative red paint on each end.
[enchantments]
None.
{Armour Information}
None.
{Accessory Information}
(La Curliness)
Curly's favorite comb. It's gray like his fur and striped with bright pink. He keeps it tucked into his pants, believe it or not. Ask him for a comb and he'll always have it on hand... but honestly... do you really want to use that?
[what it does]
Combs his hair, tail, the fine hair on his ears and down his back, and very curly bangs like magic! Wow!
{Physical Description}
Curly is an attractive boy. He knows it, you know it and everyone around him knows it. After all, he works hard to cultivate that Curly charm (usually when he should be studying). He's generally an affable color of gray: gray hair, eyebrows, and fur. His hair is quite curly (naturally) and coats his head from nape to eyebrows. From his forehead down we find his bangs, which curve up into themselves in an upside-down wave pattern. They sink into his straight, stubborn brows, which hang over a set of amiable golden-green eyes set slightly deeper than the normal into his head. His large, cupped coyote's ears twitch a bit to the sides of his center part. A small, slightly damp nose and a widely smiling mouth complete his full countenance. His canine teeth are longer than his others, which are all slightly pointed, so he looks a bit scary if you don't know him in person. If you do, he's just a big fuzzy puppy.
Usually wearing loose jeans and an equally fuzzy sweater, he smells like dust and vanilla, his favorite flavor of just about anything. He goes barefoot most of the time. About six foot one in height, Curly's canine side is a coyote, so the gray fur of his tufty tail and the stripe of it along his back are peppered with reddish brown. On the full moon, his "werecoyote" form is a bit smaller than the average wolf one, but the wild glint in his eyes makes up for that.
He's the type of boy who isn't afraid to get physical to prove a point, but he's fiercely protective of girls- he likes the opposite gender, likes them a lot, and he strongly dislikes guys who are rough or unfair to them.
Ah yes, and he's left-handed.
{Background}
Ritchie will eagerly tell you that he doesn't have much of a past. He will earnestly insist that it's neither impressive nor upsetting nor a bit sad.
Of course, Ritchie would be lying.
He was born in a fairy ring to a troupe of travelling prodigies, or so the Sanchez caravan liked to call themselves- they were more commonly known as the sideshow freaks. There was the ambidextrous man who served as Ritchie's father, Jordan Sanchez, a big fellow with fists the size of hams and a heart the size of a Thanksgiving turkey, who (if you must have everything explained) had quite a love for food; the "Wolfwench," his birthmother, who was actually half coyote, not wolf (but who would ever care? It was a freak show); the "Timer," a small human who could shout out the correct time whenever asked without assistance from the sun or a watch; and various others, unimportant, none of them true freaks to Ritchie, the boy who knew them. Ritchie, the "Wolfboy." He was an even greater attraction than his mother because he was the true freak- neither human nor beast, a truly grotesque, bestial thing. Come ladies, come gentlemen, but don't bring the children! Scar instead your own eyes as you look upon him- is the moon full? It is?! Oh, terrible day! It's a good thing he's chained! Watch, ladies! Gentlemen! Watch as the fur bubbles to his skin, the snout bursts from his bloody face, the curse takes hold and man becomes true beast...
The advertisements, the announcements- they still ring in his coyote's ears.
It was a life he doubted he could escape from, but lo and behold, as always in such a story, he had to. And he did, at the age of twelve, where he found the high life. Being a freak, odd as it seems, pays; and it was with amazement that he realized that the money he had been saving and saving since he was born and could be properly displayed was quite the fortune in the "real world". And what a real world it was. Food. Servants. Plush carpets under his bare, callused feet and a personally embroidered hat with a lovely white feather in it. Ah, the good life.
The good life...
But he found it to be only a good lie, and this bothered him. It was with malcontent that he practiced his geomancy every day in the forests and lakes about his ornate home, a skill he'd always kept secret, even from his parents. At sixteen living alone was too much for him; he had to get a friend or get out of this whole messy matter of life, it seemed, so he went searching for one. No luck. Even with the disarming, playful personality he naturally harbored, his enduring sense of humor, and his forget-them-not looks, there were no friends where he was. From this sense of loneliness came the decision to move to the city.
All details aside, it was the city where he learned to fight properly and found himself some real friends of all the wrong sort.
It was the city where he got the letter, lounging in his small unpainted apartment with a girl and a beer, at the age of seventeen. Here he is.
Are you ready for the fabulous-
The glorious-
The complete and unbridled-
CURLY SANCHEZ?
Really?
Us neither. Maybe we should sent him back for now.
But where's the fun in that?
{Pictures}
None, of course.
(For all those curious, he came up with his nickname- in "Old Western" culture, a "curly wolf" was a tough, solitary guy. Ritchie, who likes to appear tough but isn't quite solitary enough to make the grade, based the name off his status as a lycanthrope and now has grown quite attached to it.)
Age- 17
Date of Birth- September 11
Homelands- The Sanchez Palace
-The name is a bit of a joke in itself. The Sanchez "Palace" is a small shack ringed by old, broken wagons. The grass is green but trampled and ripped from the ground in many places by the lean Apaloosas that, tethered to stumplike posts, sniff and nip at it. The walls of the shack are barely intact; it is more of a box of rotting wood, its sides leaning dangerously to the center, peppered with holes. Inside the shack sits a revered, untouched ring of small round stones. Nature has made a perfectly precise circle, as it does so rarely, one blessed and unnaturally characterized by the world. A fairy circle. Here, Ritchie was born, and here he'll return when he's prepared to die.
Race- Lycan (Human/Coyote)
Class- Geomancer
Final-
(Curly Finale)
[Named by the playful lycan himself (obviously) this is a vicious finishing attack that Ritchie can use on an opponent once it has been forced to the ground or knocked unconscious. In the infamous quick-kill way of wolves who hunt small prey, he embeds his jagged teeth into the neck or chest of his adversary and flings it away from him while still clutching to whatever vital organs he can reach. Obviously painful and usually fatal, the Curly Finale wouldn't be much good against enemies larger than him just by itself, so naturally he's added stabbing said victim multiple times wherever he can reach simultaneously.]
----------------------------
{Weapon Information}
(Curly Claws)
A short knife, this weapon is composed of a bone hilt wrapped in grip-enhancing leather, which forks into two stumps into which are fastened a pair of curved, razor-sharp bear claws. This hooklike knife easily tears into flesh and can carve rock if enough force is applied. It's also more accurate than a single blade and causes more damage if Curly's in a hurry and can't focus on where exactly he wants to stab. (Morbid? Slightly.)
[enchantments]
None.
(La Ritchabo)
His only weapon whose name derives from his own birthname and not his nickname, this bo is long, stout, and reliable. He keeps it on hand for battles against foes where he can't get in close enough to use his teeth and "claws." The Ritchabo is not only handy, it delivers a nice punch and the small circular ends can be used to jab more precisely than his usual hard swings and clouts. It is made of plain old elm wood. There are small rings of decorative red paint on each end.
[enchantments]
None.
{Armour Information}
None.
{Accessory Information}
(La Curliness)
Curly's favorite comb. It's gray like his fur and striped with bright pink. He keeps it tucked into his pants, believe it or not. Ask him for a comb and he'll always have it on hand... but honestly... do you really want to use that?
[what it does]
Combs his hair, tail, the fine hair on his ears and down his back, and very curly bangs like magic! Wow!
{Physical Description}
Curly is an attractive boy. He knows it, you know it and everyone around him knows it. After all, he works hard to cultivate that Curly charm (usually when he should be studying). He's generally an affable color of gray: gray hair, eyebrows, and fur. His hair is quite curly (naturally) and coats his head from nape to eyebrows. From his forehead down we find his bangs, which curve up into themselves in an upside-down wave pattern. They sink into his straight, stubborn brows, which hang over a set of amiable golden-green eyes set slightly deeper than the normal into his head. His large, cupped coyote's ears twitch a bit to the sides of his center part. A small, slightly damp nose and a widely smiling mouth complete his full countenance. His canine teeth are longer than his others, which are all slightly pointed, so he looks a bit scary if you don't know him in person. If you do, he's just a big fuzzy puppy.
Usually wearing loose jeans and an equally fuzzy sweater, he smells like dust and vanilla, his favorite flavor of just about anything. He goes barefoot most of the time. About six foot one in height, Curly's canine side is a coyote, so the gray fur of his tufty tail and the stripe of it along his back are peppered with reddish brown. On the full moon, his "werecoyote" form is a bit smaller than the average wolf one, but the wild glint in his eyes makes up for that.
He's the type of boy who isn't afraid to get physical to prove a point, but he's fiercely protective of girls- he likes the opposite gender, likes them a lot, and he strongly dislikes guys who are rough or unfair to them.
Ah yes, and he's left-handed.
{Background}
Ritchie will eagerly tell you that he doesn't have much of a past. He will earnestly insist that it's neither impressive nor upsetting nor a bit sad.
Of course, Ritchie would be lying.
He was born in a fairy ring to a troupe of travelling prodigies, or so the Sanchez caravan liked to call themselves- they were more commonly known as the sideshow freaks. There was the ambidextrous man who served as Ritchie's father, Jordan Sanchez, a big fellow with fists the size of hams and a heart the size of a Thanksgiving turkey, who (if you must have everything explained) had quite a love for food; the "Wolfwench," his birthmother, who was actually half coyote, not wolf (but who would ever care? It was a freak show); the "Timer," a small human who could shout out the correct time whenever asked without assistance from the sun or a watch; and various others, unimportant, none of them true freaks to Ritchie, the boy who knew them. Ritchie, the "Wolfboy." He was an even greater attraction than his mother because he was the true freak- neither human nor beast, a truly grotesque, bestial thing. Come ladies, come gentlemen, but don't bring the children! Scar instead your own eyes as you look upon him- is the moon full? It is?! Oh, terrible day! It's a good thing he's chained! Watch, ladies! Gentlemen! Watch as the fur bubbles to his skin, the snout bursts from his bloody face, the curse takes hold and man becomes true beast...
The advertisements, the announcements- they still ring in his coyote's ears.
It was a life he doubted he could escape from, but lo and behold, as always in such a story, he had to. And he did, at the age of twelve, where he found the high life. Being a freak, odd as it seems, pays; and it was with amazement that he realized that the money he had been saving and saving since he was born and could be properly displayed was quite the fortune in the "real world". And what a real world it was. Food. Servants. Plush carpets under his bare, callused feet and a personally embroidered hat with a lovely white feather in it. Ah, the good life.
The good life...
But he found it to be only a good lie, and this bothered him. It was with malcontent that he practiced his geomancy every day in the forests and lakes about his ornate home, a skill he'd always kept secret, even from his parents. At sixteen living alone was too much for him; he had to get a friend or get out of this whole messy matter of life, it seemed, so he went searching for one. No luck. Even with the disarming, playful personality he naturally harbored, his enduring sense of humor, and his forget-them-not looks, there were no friends where he was. From this sense of loneliness came the decision to move to the city.
All details aside, it was the city where he learned to fight properly and found himself some real friends of all the wrong sort.
It was the city where he got the letter, lounging in his small unpainted apartment with a girl and a beer, at the age of seventeen. Here he is.
Are you ready for the fabulous-
The glorious-
The complete and unbridled-
CURLY SANCHEZ?
Really?
Us neither. Maybe we should sent him back for now.
But where's the fun in that?
{Pictures}
None, of course.
