Post by Bharune on Mar 26, 2011 18:05:23 GMT -5
Name: Draith Nathaniel Rook
Nicknames/Alias: None
FF: FFVIII
Age: 25
Height/build: 5’10, fairly muscular
DoB: August 9th
Weapon: Usually just his good old fashioned fists, though he has a black, wide-bladed falchion (referred to as ‘Ophelia’) that he uses when he needs to. Does his dashing charisma count?
Level: 41
Strength: 123
Physical: 83
Magical: 20
Agility: 20
Special Skill(s): Street-fighting, automotive mechanics, having a good time~ bit of a gambler, great at cards, and a playful flirt (though not always smoothest). He also has a wonderful voice, which he uses quite readily.
Magic: Berserk, Thundara, Dispel, Regen
Summon: None
Appearance: Rook is a devilishly handsome individual with a perfectly toned, rippling body and thick, lady-killing locks – that’s how he likes to think of it, at least. He’s not exceptionally tall or broad, but he gets the job done (and looks good doing it~), and years of combat training and general labor have left him nicely worked and lightly tanned. His thick, brunette hair flows just past his shoulder blades, and his light green eyes always contain a bright, charming glint.
Personality: Light and charismatic, many find Rook either incredibly endearing or just a little on the obnoxious side. Still, he’s usually very easy to get along with, so few complain about his presence unless he’s just being loud (or hitting on their girl). He enjoys drinking and having a good time, but when it comes to work he always gets his job done, whatever that might be. He doesn’t mind working hard and he’s quick to lend a helping hand, but he can be impulsive and insensitive at times so he gets himself into trouble. But despite those rough edges, he can get attached to people quickly, and is extremely protective. The only thing he loves more than a pretty girl, a cold beer, and the innards of a car is good music, particularly the heavier stylings of Deling’s garage bands.
History: Born and bred as a respectable citizen of the Duchy of Dollet, Rook’s beginnings were quite unremarkable. His mother always told him his father was a traveling photographer, and one day he would return to them, but he has no idea how much of that is truth, if any. It would be a miracle if his mother even knew who his father actually was, since she had quite the habit of entertaining wealthy tourists.
But, whatever, right? He tried not to judge her for that, though in his adolescent years he remembered the resentment that had begun spawning in his chest. Maybe that was what had sprouted the overwhelming desire to leave Dollet altogether.
Because it was just the two of them and whatever lover his mother currently had around, it fell upon Rook to do most of the providing. He learned plenty of labor skills from local workers, and picked up what jobs he could at an early age – repairs and construction, mostly. On the side, he learned automotive mechanics, and made small money doing the easy car work so the experienced mechanics could tackle the rough jobs. And, of course, he had to protect his mother, so he learned pretty quickly how to hold his own against the less savory flavor of men. Turns out, sometimes a good punch in the face is the only way to get the message across.
As Rook grew closer to his eighteenth birthday, though, he found himself less and less satisfied by life in Dollet. He wanted to get out, maybe go to Deling, or even as far as Trabia. His mother understood his youthful wanderlust and encouraged him to go and see the world to slake his thirst for adventure. So Rook set out for Deling but, once there, had difficulty finding his niche. Utilizing his typical impetuousness to its fullest extent, he signed up for the Galbadian Army.
It wasn’t that it was a bad decision necessarily, just that it came at a bad time. In fact, Rook quite enjoyed boot camp and combat training – for the most part – and didn’t mind the military grunt work at all. It wasn’t until the siege on Dollet that things started to go downhill very quickly.
Knowing he was from there, his superiors didn’t assign him to Dollet when the Galbadian troops filtered in to take over the communication tower, but it seemed to have been the start of greater problems for the average Galbadian soldier. After that there was that whole Timber fiasco – yes, he had been stationed for that one – and then the sorceress Edea killing President Deling and...well, Rook had never been good with all that political stuff, he just knew things got very chaotic very fast.
SeeD quickly became a problem. A very big problem.
See, the Galbadian army is both massive and lazy, and a single soldier received nowhere near the treatment and conditioning of a SeeD. Most of them were expendable, and who would waste time and money honing the skills of the front lines? Not only that, but they were offered only the very basics of para-magic to work with, not like SeeDs who could enhance their physical and mental prowess using a much more complicated form of Odine’s junctioning system. It wasn’t natural, but it was sure as hell damn effective. As a squad leader back in the day, Rook’s orders were supposed to be his first priority, but it turned out he valued the life of his unit more than his sense of duty. So when his men were commanded to buy the lieutenant some extra time by confronting the SeeD, Rook ordered them to stand down after it became painfully clear that they were outmatched.
Problem was, his superiors didn’t like that too much, so he was, of course, demoted. Not too long afterwards he found his squad dead at the hands of SeeD, their new captain too focused on duty to understand that sometimes retreat is the only viable option.
After that, Rook decided he didn’t like the army none too much, so he took his leave and never went back. He decided to lay low in Deling, working under the table at the car rental shop and the adjacent garage and staying out of the army’s radar.
‘Course, with all the chaos of everything going to hell in a handbasket, nobody’s looking for a rogue military deserter anymore.
