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Grenville T McRalph

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a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by XavierDantius32

Description

Name: Grenville Thomas McRalph
Nicknames: Gren
Age: 47
Gender: Male
Birthplace: Louisiana
Height: 6'5
Weight: 170lbs

Extended Information
Appearance: Hailing from the swamps of darkest Louisiana, Grenville bears all the hallmarks of a grizzled hunter and veteran, with sunburnt, leathery skin, pockmarked with scars from childhood acne, and encounters with enumerable beasts. His face is broad and chiselled, with a crooked nose and a square jaw. Like any hunter, Grenville's eyes are keen as knife-blades, set deep in his face, shadowed by hooded brows. He keeps his hair cut close to his scalp, giving him a slightly professional look. For a man of his years, Grenville is in remarkable shape, with a well developed musculature clinging to his stocky frame, however, a large amount of time spent in the company of alcohol is beginning to take its toll, pushing the Bounty Hunter's gut out.

Much like the tribesmen of primordial earth, Grenville adorns his person with trophies taken from kills and the field of battle. The majority of these hang around his neck, on chains or cord. The largest, and most prominent is a pair of lion teeth, which hang on a sliver chain around his thick neck. Typically, Grenville tends to dress practically, sticking to combat trousers, tucked into a pair of tall leather boots. His torso is normally covered with a close fitting shirt, with a battered and faded leather jacket over this.

Personality

You don't go through war and conflict without being changed, for better or worse. Grenville's front-line expierience completely reversed his previous outlook. He is no glory hound, sniffing at the boots of fame. He has stared death in the face, and spat in his eye. As a veteren of many campaigns, Grenville has a remarkable grasp of simple battle tactics, and how to read an enemy. His hunter's instinct and drive make him a relentless and determined enemy, difficult to shake off once he has a scent. One of the less favourable traits that Grenville carries around is the unwillingness to admit that he is in the wrong, or to take orders from someone he considers unworthy of his respect. Naturally, in the rigid structure of any modern military, this would lead to a variety of dicipline issues. Grenville's background as a hunter means that he is generally wary and suspicious of people, making him an unwilling participant in any group. He also carries a certain amount of paranoia from spending so long in isolation. In regard to close relationships, Grenville doesn't form them. Years spent dispatching child soldiers in Africa have hardened his heart against sympathy. If you get in his way, be you man, woman or child, he'll put you down like a dog. At some point in his life, he may have had the capacity to love and care, but now he just doesn't. Its what makes him such a good killer. A target is just a target to him. No remorse. No regrets.

Equipment

Weapons: For his primary weapon, Grenville carries an M4 carbine. The rugged weapon performs well in most environments, and has seen him through many sticky situations. The versatility of the weapon is what impressed Grenville the most, as the addition of a pictaninny rail system allows him to mount a large variety of attachments. Mostly, he uses the weapon with a flash/sound suppressor, a 4x ACOG sight and a 40mm grenade launcher.

Grenville's backup weapon has been with him since he enlisted at 19. The M1911 Colt .45 has been in service with the U.S army since 1911, and remains a practical rugged design. Grenville's has seen every battle, and has been repaired enumerable times.

Strapped to his thigh is the broad leather sheath for his broad-bladed combat knife, which is almost as battered and knocked around as he is.

Armour: Under his jacket, Grenville carries a simple bulletproof vest, consisting of a kevlar vest, with a pouch for a large ceramic plate, affording basic protection against small arms and melee weapons.

History

Biography:
Life has always been hard on the edges of society, and this was true for the McRalphs. Living in a decrepit, hand built log cabin in the centre of the Louisiana swamps, the family of four survived as trappers, scratching a living off the skins from aligators and other animals. His father was a violent alcoholic, living on the edge of the law, often summoned to the county court for violent threats against trespassers on his property. His mother was a sorrowful introvert, who spent more time contemplating her navel than caring for her three children. Grenville recieved a brutal upbringing at the hands of his two elder brothers, who gace him a taste for violence, and the skills needed to hunt among the swamps.

School was never something Grenville found interesting. For the most part, he never attended, prefering to spend his time stalking prey across the wasteland. When court orders and angry officials pressganged him into the classroom, he was disruptive and violent. At the ripe old age of seventeen, he was expelled from High School, for the crime of dealing cannabis on school premesis. This also earned him a police caution and a custodial sentence.

Once he was done with this breif hiccup, he left the dank, festering swamps of Louisiana, for the bright lights of Miami. He spent much of his time scratching a living on the street, picking pockets and mugging unfortunate tourists. Through this informal occupation, he fell in with a gang of street punks, who took Grenville under their wing, and nutured him into one of their own. As gang-crime quickly spread across the city, the punks were assimilated into working for the mafia. Grenville sped through the ranks, through his love for violence and brutality, which earned him the respect of the higher-ups in the organisation. Unfortunatly, his first big job was to be his last. On the morning of February 17th, Grenville was handed a pump-action shotgun and several large bags, and was told to take five men and rob a high-street bank.

It had been a set-up. As he stormed the bank, guns-blazing, thirty armed policemen sprung from the vault. After a breif firefight, Grenville was in police custody. In normal circumstances, he would have been executed, his short but bloody existance ended. However, the rise of rebel tribes in Africa had threatened US assets in the continent, provoking the need for cannon fodder on the ground.

Grenville was offered a choice. Join the army, or face death in the chair. Naturally, he joined up, and was hastily shipped out to defend a diamond mine in the Congo. The fighting raged on for four long years of brutal close-quater fighting. Gone were the days of picking off your enemy from afar. The oppressive jungle gave the rebels cover. Ambushes were frequent. More often than not, the fighting dissolved into brutal melees of machete and pistols. The war hardened Grenville, turning him into a ruthless, stealthy killer.

Eventually, the mine was secured, and the war-weary troops were shipped back to the states. As they waited for a new deployment, Grenville quietly slipped away, altering the records, as if he had perished in the Congo. Now scrubbed from most records, he headed out to California, plying his trade as a bodyguard.

In the two decades that link the past and present, Grenville took on a myriad of roles ranging from a mercenary to corrupt african dictators, to a deniable operator for MI6. Through this work, he once again gained the attention of American law enforcement, earning a place on the FBI's Most Wanted list. As Marxas began to expand, the need for men in their private army grew, and thus, Grenville was discretely approached, and offered amnesty and protection, in exchange for his unique skills.

So begins...

Grenville T McRalph's Story

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 wanders in, shotgun raised threateningly and eyes set grimly

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Grenville T McRalph strides over to the bar, face shadowed by the stetson. "Awlright Scumscabs." Grenville drawled, his southern accent cutting across the room. "My name is Grenville T McRalph, and i'm here to dish out some good ol'southern justice."

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 continues to observe the room, shotgun in hand. Grenville smiles, revealing a set of yellowing snaggle teeth. "I want some scalps to sell tonight." He thought to himself, eyeing up the room for prospective targets

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Grenville T McRalph Grenville's eyes light up as he spots Silver Hawk and Oracleios. Two vunerable looking targets, prime for being ripped to shreds by his hand molded buckshot, and then having their heads removed and sold to one of his clints

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 Grenville strode in, the air displaced by the closing door caused his steel grey hair to ripple disturbingly. He wandered over to the bar and sat down, hoping to find some work tonight

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Grenville T McRalph leans his shotgun against the bar and relaxes against the hardwood. Signalling for the barman, Grenville orders a large scotch and inclines his head to observe the fight

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Grenville T McRalph downs the scotch in one gulp and picks up the shotgun again, cradeling it in his brawny arms. Deftly he snaps the gun open, checking that both "Dragons breath" shells are loaded and snaps the gun closed, cocking both hammers ominously

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Grenville T McRalph begins to tense up, massive hands curling around the shotgun. Grenville's facial muscles tighten, his hunters instincts detecting the tension in the room.

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 has picked up on the value of Tahira Ali and decides that it would be in his best interests that she survived. Grenville gets to his feet, pulling the shotgun into his hip and curling a finger round both trigers

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 narrows his eyes, picking up on the almost invisible communication between Oracleios and Silver Hawk. They were the ones to watch, Grenville thought

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Grenville T McRalph
checks that the shotgun his primed again. "Darling will take some scalps tonight.." Grenville whispered to himself. He smiled knowing no-one would be ready when Darling spoke.

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Grenville T McRalph chuckled silently to himself at the reaction of Silver Hawk. He stroked the battered wooden stock of his shotgun and locked eyes with the fopish looking pirate

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Grenville T McRalph notices Silver Hawk's movement and sweeps the shotgun up, bringing it into his shoulder with a resounding thwap. He aims the weapon and curls a finger around one trigger.

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Grenville T McRalph 's hunters instincts keep him sharp, hooded blue eyes taking in everything around him. He tightend his grip on his shotgun, hands twitching at the thought of unleashing the majesty of a [url=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dragon%27s_Breath]Dragons Breath[/url]shell

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 notices the way the Murphy's are acting and switches targets. Grenville's hands start to shake with anticipation. This was going to get messy

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Grenville T McRalph "You want bodies, I'll make 'em for you." Grenville drawled in the direction of Oracleios

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Grenville T McRalph Grenville smiles, revealing a set of yellowing teeth. He then pulls both triggers unleashing a cone of flame extending five meters across the bar, in the direction of Oracleios and Silver Hawk. In the confusion he vaults behind the bar and loads a pair of frag-12's into his shotgun

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 "Darling speaks, and yee shall listen lest yee all be damned." Grenville crooned from behind the bar.

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 pops up from behind the bar, unloading a pair of frag-12's at Oracleios

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 "Get back foul hell-spawned scum sucking deamon-leech" Grenville howled, his voice ripping across the bar. He jumper from cover, mad eyes searching for the voices owner.

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Grenville T McRalph he swept around,, loading his shotgun with a pair of dragons-breath and pointing it at Kruxis. "Listen to the words Darling speaks Hell-Leech lest yee be damned further" He cried

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 "Yee be unclean devil-scum. Listen to the words Darling speaks and yee will be saved." Babbeling incoherantly Grenville unloaded the Dragon's breath rounds at Kruxis. Again a five meter tongue of flame slashes across the bar, torching everything in its path

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 "Damn yee to hell you Daemon man. Be yee still or yee will face hell-fire again." Grenville begins to shake wildely, eyes rolling back in his head.

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 Grenville collapses to the floor, clutching his weapon to him. He is soon snoring like a baby, the exhalation of air causing his goatee to gyrate.

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 Grenville sat up, hands clutching at his weapon. proping himself up against the bar, he grabbed a bottle of scotch and downed it all in an effort to clear his head.