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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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 the Hyena slunk over to the bar and begins to whine and scratch. Grenville bent down and scratched him behind the ears, feeding him a small amount of dried meat from inside his jacket.

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 looks at NeonReaver. "Aye, Sainted be part of my possetion."

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 "Yeaahh. Sainted be her name."

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Grenville T McRalph The hyena leaves Grenville and pads over towards NeonReaver, baleful brown eyes fixed on the strange creature

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Grenville T McRalph The Hyena stares back then goes and rubs up against NeonReaver's legs. "She's taken a fancy to you." Grenville crooned softly

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 "I was fighting out in the African bush as part of a mercenary company. I got seperated from my patrol in battle." Grenville recounted. "I found myself lost in the desert for days. I just came across her one day. I think she was cast out by her clan."

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 "Seeya" Grenville crooned, scratching Sainted softly

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Grenville T McRalph sat at the bar, loading shells into his 1887. Sainted rubs her lithe body against his legs while Grenville drank for a bottle of scotch

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 feeds Sainted a piece of dried meat while checking the sights on his shotgun.

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 strides into the bar, his pet Hyena Sainted slinking along behind him. Slung by a strap over his right shoulder is his trusty Model 1887 shotgun and sticking out of a holster on his belt is a bone handled Colt .45. His battle scarred face is thrown into shadow by a wide brimmed stetson.

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 swings his head round his pale blue eyes fixing on Reggie George. "What did you say?" He asks menacingly, hand straying to the .45 on his belt

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Grenville T McRalph The Hyena begins to growl menacingly, baring its fangs. Grenville pulls the shotgun off his shoulder, pumping the lever action.

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 "Look Punk. I lost my sence of humor along while ago. If you want to say that again, i may have to turn your head to offal and feed it to Sainted down here." The Hyena contiued to growl, its hackles raised

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Grenville T McRalph lowers the shotgun, and bends down softly whispering in the Hyena's pointed ear.

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Grenville T McRalph settles himself in a booth with a large bottle of scotch, proping his shotgun against the wall. He reaches into his jacket and gives the sleek Hyena a large piece of meat.

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Grenville T McRalph scrathes Sainted between her ears while she nibbles on the meat. He yanks his .45 from its holster and lays it on the table and takes the magazine out and begins to clean it

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 ducks slightly to avoid the shot which skimmed the top of his head. "Oy. Watch where you point that thing!" He bellowed

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Grenville T McRalph watches the lawyer at the bar with suspition, eyes shadowed by his stetson

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Grenville T McRalph slams the mag back into his .45 and contiues to watch the couple at the bar

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Grenville T McRalph lays his pistol down on the table and pulls his hat brim down further. Eyes shadowed, his hand curls under the Hyena's muzzle.

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Grenville T McRalph picked up the .45 again and stood up, the Hyena following at his heels.

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Grenville T McRalph the Hyena started and began to snap at the ferret, its baleful brown eyes flashing and baring its ivory fangs

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Grenville T McRalph Sainted snarled back, its hackles raised. Grenville swept up his shotgun, snapping the lever action and pulling it into his hip.

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 "Sainty

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Grenville T McRalph *"Sainted, here girl. Leave the lady alone." Grenville called, as Sainted backed off to nuzzle his legs