Post by Marian on Apr 19, 2009 17:09:33 GMT
Roleplayer Information
starbuckadale
Age: 24
Existing characters: Allan a’Dale, elsewhere
Character Information:
First Name: Allan
Middle Name: None
Last Name: a’Dale (it means ‘of the valley’)
Status: (Peasant, guard, official title etc.): Peasant and all round scoundrel
Place of Birth: Unknown, probably near London.
Current Age:: 25-ish, he's not entirely sure.
Date of Birth: He doesn’t know. He likes to celebrate his birthday in the summer, because the weather’s better then.
Parents: Unknown
Siblings: Tom a’Dale, not a blood relative but an adoptive brother.
Current place of residency: Sherwood Forest
Support and why: Not local to Nottingham, Allan fell into Robin’s gang purely by accident. Since Robin saved his life he’s thrown his lot in with the Sherwood outlaws, and although he doesn’t feel the same impulse to put Nottinghamshire to rights, he certainly can’t deny that their cause is just.
Personality: Allan’s had a hard life and is used to relying on himself. He’s been an outlaw since his teens so first and foremost he’s always looked out for number one. It’s not that he doesn’t believe in charity, just that he does believe it begins at home. Altruism doesn’t really come naturally to him unless he actually cares about the person in question. With a sharp eye for a drunk man’s purse and an even keener one for a pert bosom, he’s used to weaselling his way out of a tight spot because unfortunately he tends to be blind to consequences until they happen. As a result he’s left town in a hurry more than once, and left a few broken hearts in his wake as well. He never means any harm, but then again, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.
Life Story: Allan was a foundling, left on the doorstep of the Battersea tanner’s guild. Abandoned children were often taken in by local confederations of workmen, and brought up as apprentices. It was a mean, miserable existence, eased by singing lewd ballads to drunken workmen at the local inn for pennies in his spare time. He was a cheeky yet adorable youngster and most of the tradesmen had a degree of sympathy for him. Before long, he’d graduated to slipping men’s change from their purses whilst they slept in puddles of sour-smelling beer and winning their wages in dice games. When an older lad from the next village over showed him how to trap rabbits for extra food as well, Allan found that he had little reason to depend on the guildhouse, with its harsh rules and boring lessons, except for the shelter it provided each night. Of course, when he refused to work for the craftsmen or learn what they attempted to teach, they soon lost patience with his lazy attitude and the luxury of shelter was swiftly revoked. At fourteen years old, Allan found himself homeless. He slept where he could, in barns and stables, earning a few coins here and there for simple manual labour, but his indolence would always win out and he’d generally abandon work in favour of stealing after a week or so. Before long, the townspeople had lost patience with him and he was ostracised, forced to make his passage out of town on a passing haywain whose driver he slipped the last of his coins to. Allan has been something of a nomad since that time until he met Robin; the period he’s spent with the outlaws so far is the longest he’s staying in one place since leaving his ‘hometown’.
Anything else? Not really!
Were you referred here by another member? If so, please state their character name: Nope.
Sample Role-Play
“Gotcha.”
The voice was familiar but Allan couldn’t place it. He looked up and immediately wished he hadn’t. Gisborne. Surely, one of the soldiers in the tavern had recognised him. There was no way that Guy would be seen dead in the Trip Inn without damn good reason.
He knew running was pointless, but he tried anyway. No use going meekly like a lamb; unlikely that it would make any difference in the long run. He bolted from the table but Gisborne wasn’t alone; a cadre of mailed bodies blocked the room’s only exit. One seized each arm whilst a third clapped irons around his wrists. They were well organised and obviously not taking any chances. He opened his mouth to swear at them but Gisborne backhanded him hard across the mouth before he’d framed the words.
“Take him to the dungeons.”
He relented then, willingly allowing himself to be marched through the muddy streets. He knew when he was beaten. If he was lucky, one of the other outlaws would see him.
He wasn’t lucky.
Ten minutes later, chained to a post and freezing cold, Allan coughed miserably. He couldn’t tell if his split lip had stopped bleeding, but it was still throbbing like a good’un. It had been a sly blow; the manacles were already on his wrists before Guy had struck. He cursed his miserable luck. All he’d wanted was a quiet afternoon in the Trip, tricking a few coppers from the guards. Nottingham’s dungeons had not been part of the plan. He winced as he remembered the self-satisfied smirk on Gisborne’s face as he’d been led away.
It was hours now since he’d left Robin and Much in the marketplace, but he knew in his heart of hearts that they weren’t coming for him. After the short words he’d exchanged with them, they were bound to assume he wanted time to himself to cool his head. Likely they’d think he was passed out drunk by now, and it was doubtful they’d even think anything wrong until he failed to appear tomorrow morning. Pound to a penny, he’d already be swinging at dawn. It was down to him to save his own neck this time. Allan knew he’d have to bide his time and save his strength if he wanted to get out of here in one piece.
starbuckadale
Age: 24
Existing characters: Allan a’Dale, elsewhere
Character Information:
First Name: Allan
Middle Name: None
Last Name: a’Dale (it means ‘of the valley’)
Status: (Peasant, guard, official title etc.): Peasant and all round scoundrel
Place of Birth: Unknown, probably near London.
Current Age:: 25-ish, he's not entirely sure.
Date of Birth: He doesn’t know. He likes to celebrate his birthday in the summer, because the weather’s better then.
Parents: Unknown
Siblings: Tom a’Dale, not a blood relative but an adoptive brother.
Current place of residency: Sherwood Forest
Support and why: Not local to Nottingham, Allan fell into Robin’s gang purely by accident. Since Robin saved his life he’s thrown his lot in with the Sherwood outlaws, and although he doesn’t feel the same impulse to put Nottinghamshire to rights, he certainly can’t deny that their cause is just.
Personality: Allan’s had a hard life and is used to relying on himself. He’s been an outlaw since his teens so first and foremost he’s always looked out for number one. It’s not that he doesn’t believe in charity, just that he does believe it begins at home. Altruism doesn’t really come naturally to him unless he actually cares about the person in question. With a sharp eye for a drunk man’s purse and an even keener one for a pert bosom, he’s used to weaselling his way out of a tight spot because unfortunately he tends to be blind to consequences until they happen. As a result he’s left town in a hurry more than once, and left a few broken hearts in his wake as well. He never means any harm, but then again, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.
Life Story: Allan was a foundling, left on the doorstep of the Battersea tanner’s guild. Abandoned children were often taken in by local confederations of workmen, and brought up as apprentices. It was a mean, miserable existence, eased by singing lewd ballads to drunken workmen at the local inn for pennies in his spare time. He was a cheeky yet adorable youngster and most of the tradesmen had a degree of sympathy for him. Before long, he’d graduated to slipping men’s change from their purses whilst they slept in puddles of sour-smelling beer and winning their wages in dice games. When an older lad from the next village over showed him how to trap rabbits for extra food as well, Allan found that he had little reason to depend on the guildhouse, with its harsh rules and boring lessons, except for the shelter it provided each night. Of course, when he refused to work for the craftsmen or learn what they attempted to teach, they soon lost patience with his lazy attitude and the luxury of shelter was swiftly revoked. At fourteen years old, Allan found himself homeless. He slept where he could, in barns and stables, earning a few coins here and there for simple manual labour, but his indolence would always win out and he’d generally abandon work in favour of stealing after a week or so. Before long, the townspeople had lost patience with him and he was ostracised, forced to make his passage out of town on a passing haywain whose driver he slipped the last of his coins to. Allan has been something of a nomad since that time until he met Robin; the period he’s spent with the outlaws so far is the longest he’s staying in one place since leaving his ‘hometown’.
Anything else? Not really!
Were you referred here by another member? If so, please state their character name: Nope.
Sample Role-Play
“Gotcha.”
The voice was familiar but Allan couldn’t place it. He looked up and immediately wished he hadn’t. Gisborne. Surely, one of the soldiers in the tavern had recognised him. There was no way that Guy would be seen dead in the Trip Inn without damn good reason.
He knew running was pointless, but he tried anyway. No use going meekly like a lamb; unlikely that it would make any difference in the long run. He bolted from the table but Gisborne wasn’t alone; a cadre of mailed bodies blocked the room’s only exit. One seized each arm whilst a third clapped irons around his wrists. They were well organised and obviously not taking any chances. He opened his mouth to swear at them but Gisborne backhanded him hard across the mouth before he’d framed the words.
“Take him to the dungeons.”
He relented then, willingly allowing himself to be marched through the muddy streets. He knew when he was beaten. If he was lucky, one of the other outlaws would see him.
He wasn’t lucky.
Ten minutes later, chained to a post and freezing cold, Allan coughed miserably. He couldn’t tell if his split lip had stopped bleeding, but it was still throbbing like a good’un. It had been a sly blow; the manacles were already on his wrists before Guy had struck. He cursed his miserable luck. All he’d wanted was a quiet afternoon in the Trip, tricking a few coppers from the guards. Nottingham’s dungeons had not been part of the plan. He winced as he remembered the self-satisfied smirk on Gisborne’s face as he’d been led away.
It was hours now since he’d left Robin and Much in the marketplace, but he knew in his heart of hearts that they weren’t coming for him. After the short words he’d exchanged with them, they were bound to assume he wanted time to himself to cool his head. Likely they’d think he was passed out drunk by now, and it was doubtful they’d even think anything wrong until he failed to appear tomorrow morning. Pound to a penny, he’d already be swinging at dawn. It was down to him to save his own neck this time. Allan knew he’d have to bide his time and save his strength if he wanted to get out of here in one piece.
