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Markus O'Cyrus

That's Black XII to you. Do you wish for life or death?

0 · 201 views · located in Kingdom Of Ethieven

a character in “Stand and Deliver”, as played by Firewind

Description

A young man in his early twenties standing at about five feet, eleven inches, with broad shoulders and a farmers tan. He Wears a cloak of dark blue and black. He has shoulder length brown hair that has red highlights in certain tones of light. He bears a black bandana across his left-most eye, covering an injury long past. His eyes sparkle with a green hue about it. He is wiry and times mistaken for being a man who hasn't tasted food for days. His smiles are often friendly, yet sometimes they chill to the bone. Brown boots and black pants along with a belt with the roman numeral twelve carved in it he sports. his shirt of dark green.

Personality

He is quiet, and when he speaks he sometimes sounds almost detached from the world. in his heart for people who are wronged, sorrow, in people who wrong people, a hate that burns his heart and soul. He has opinions against both sides of the bottle, rich and poor are sometimes victims of a verbal abuse from his mouth. When it came to women however, he tried to be kind, for he is always reminded of his mother if a woman spoke softly and kindly to him.

But it matters not always how he thinks for he is always two minds of a subject. A tragedy that caused him to wear the bandana across his eye not only did that, but it caused a split within his mind, one more rage-filled then the other, who tries to seek a path that is right in which he feels both sides are equal.

Equipment

Two flintlock pistols on each side of his belt.

One Dagger hidden in his boot, two on the right side.

A longsword with the roman numeral twelve marked on the blade.

History

Markus was once a middle classed villager boy. He worked and played and sing and danced. he was the apple of every woman's eye. His life was with his family, his mother, father, brother and sister. He was happy then, so so happy. But all that changed for him.

When he was twelve, on the twelfth day of the twelfth month, brigands broke through the village and robbed and raped and slaughtered, his family were butchered in front of him. He tried hard to defend them but he was slashed across his left eye, leaving a disfiguring scar on his face, (similar to Scar's scar from the lion king.) he then was hit on the head, and knew no more.

When the smoke cleared, he was alone, everything he knew, gone. He buried his family, and went off on his own. Years later, he had learned the art of swordsmanship and decided that poor and rich were always at odds with one another. So he decided that if crime was on both ends, he'd deal both ends justly and swift, an even darker voice in his head spurring him on. The Voice's name was this, Vengeance.

And so one of the Fiercest Bounty Hunters was born, One who hated both rich and poor for being so different and imbalanced. he sought to rectify this through blood and anger. He only had one calling card. one that became his trademark symbol of fear. A card with the roman Numeral twelve in black ink. Highwaymen and corrupt nobles both have to beware and travel the shadows with caution.

Black XII was on the hunt.

So begins...

Markus O'Cyrus's Story

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"Give me the right amount this time." Markus said in a hushed and threatening tone to the man who gave him his payment every time he dragged someone into the jailhouse of Corwen, dead or alive. "Unless you want to be the next one on my death list that is." He grinned one of his chilling smiles as he said that, his exposed right eye gleamed it's emerald stare. A bag was tossed in his direction and he counted the total from the last bounty he dragged to the jail cells.

"Alright that's thirty shillings for pay to capture, two for advanced expenses, and finally forty shillings for the bounty in and of itself. That's seventy two shillings all together, thank you and good day." He said as he walked out of the jail house with one threat from the man who was tied up in the cell barking after him as he left, "Rot in hell Black XII!"

Markus sighed as he wandered towards the village square. "Now, where to now?" He said to himself. He looked about the settlement he was at. "Well if I went to the Dog I'd be attracting too much trouble and dusk is settling in. I'll probably make my way towards the Lone Yeoman or the Teamster, better then the Dog where I could get drunk with all the pompous rich traders and traveling nobles." He said rolling his eye and spitting to the ground. "I despise pompous rich men. Less of them means less poor people."

He thought it over and over again about the Dog's perks, The food, the drink, and the women. he twitched his eyebrow as the look on his face turned to disgusted to slightly interested. "But the Dog does have the best drinks. Even though it attracts both the scum and the rich, I say, 'Catch 'em on the road then drunk in a tavern or inn.' Otherwise the hunt wouldn't be as fun." He said chuckling to himself as he wandered the road towards the Dog. "Probably just gonna end up sleeping outside the inn due to no room anyway so let's waste time by walking." He silently rubbed his bandana that covered his left eye and cheek at the thought of it.

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As he got closer to the Dog, the more he heard the music and the laughing ringing in the air. Markus sighed at the sounds of the nighttime revelry, thinking about the time in his own village, when his father would take him down to the pub so he could share the stories he had and the jokes he'd tell. He smiled inside but kept his neutral face as he walked to the entrance of the Dog.

He'd go and sit down on a chair that was situated outside the entrance and looked out at the gathering dusk. "What a magnificent sight." Markus muttered to himself. He'd hum to himself a song to try and get a small amount of shuteye, as he had not slept since three days ago due to catching one of the bandits about the forest-side. He hoped no one heard his humming and mistook the Black XII for being of a merry soul.

The poor fool that would say that out loud, if he had a bounty up to say the least, would be dead on the ground as quick as you can say 'haggis'.

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If one looked closely enough to Markus as if face to face, they would notice the darting of his right eye underneath his eyelid all around as if he was dreaming. On this particular night, he was. Dreams for Markus O'Cyrus was always the same. The same nightmare, the same horrors, and the same shattered dreams from long ago.

He dreamed of walking along a road he remembers clearly, the road to the home of his birth. He went up over the hills to discover it all in flames, with brigands riding out from there. He watched as they rode past, he then saw the heads of his family on the leaders waist, like they were some kind of prize, they all seemed to be looking at him and crying out for him to save them and wake up from the nightmare he was having.

His sleeping body quivered and shook in the chair he was sitting upon, then finally, his one eye snapped open, his forehead was starting to sweat from the dream's horrid visions, he wiped the more visible part of his forehead, sniffed and sighed. He had enough shut eye for the while. He got up and went into the Dog Inn to find an empty chair at an empty table.

Markus found such a table at the very corner of the room, much to his relief and longing for further isolation from the world that took his family and hope to be a more simple man then one of the most fiercest bounty hunters in the kingdom. The world was more simpler back when he was a boy. He thought he wanted his lust for vengeance to be quelled, or simply wanted a pint or two to wash away the horrors for a little while longer.

He decided it was a beer he wanted and called out. "Pint of Bourbon! Make it stout and foamy." As he said this he set eight shillings down, showing his money on the table for the barmaid to pick up when his pint was brought over.

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Drunk and bitter. That was how Markus felt when he woke up after consuming his pint of bourbon, half swearing he thought he died and hell spat him back out due to his split soul. "Son of a.." He began before feeling ill. He shook his head several times before checking his surroundings. The large group of people that seemed to have been discussing something was gone. "Probably some no-good highwaymen off to do no good." He muttered to himself before shaking his head. "When I'm sober I'll go after them."

With that he leaned back on his chair. He sighed. "What good can I do if I hunt drunk?" He asked himself whilst having a spinning feeling in his head. "I must have a clear head. That is the First of the twelve rules I set up for meself." He hiccuped out of embarrassment. "Gah, that bourbon had a kick in it." he muttered. "I need to remind the Barmaid of the Dog to make sure that the drinks are of a good age before carting it off to a customer."

Markus eyed a nearby bucket with his one exposed right eye, as he then took it and did the usual business of a drunken man. When he was done chucking out the beer he consumed he wandered to the entrance of the inn to toss the brew aside. He had to get some ice cold water on his face to full snap himself out of the drunken stupor. Then he can go out to review any new hunts.

"After all, as they always say about me," Black XII said to himself. "I am simply, one hell of a bounty hunter."

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Markus O'Cyrus when he managed to sober up and stop blowing his guts out in a bucket a day after he noticed the group of people gone, he asked several people if they saw a group of people riding away from the Dog earlier yesterday morning. When he heard the general direction of where this ragtag group of people went he sighed. "Time to earn me some more shillings." He muttered as he walked over to where he left his last bounty and took out one of the horses near the entrance and started riding as hard as he could.

---

Three days later he started to see fresh tracks of horses as he inspected them with his one green eye gleaming and his mouth turned to a chilling smile. "I'm more then a day behind... at least." He said to himself. "If they plan to rob someone they're either bound to come back this way, but I suppose not, seeing as there are tons of hiding places in the forest.." His mind flashed back briefly to the memory of the slaughter of his family and friends at his village and his smile turned to a scowl as he decided to continue riding off the road To try and save a few miles and possibly catch the possible highwaymen off guard.

"They're bound to be here somewhere in these woods or further up the road, and I'll catch one or more of them... when I do... I'll show them the vengeance of Black XII" He calmly stated this as he looked about his surroundings and recalled the years he spent in the woods, learning how to survive, and more importantly, how to hunt. When he rode a good distance he stopped and made a small one man campfire, and lied down for a few hours of sleep. He dreamed of his mother softly singing him and his other siblings to sleep, and in his dream, he smiled softly.

By the time he woke up it was very well into the night. "Bloody heck, that's not good." He muttered as he mounted onto his horse and made sure the fire was out before continuing on, slowly getting his hunting instincts on.