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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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Grenville T McRalph "Oy! Lawyer Boy! Want me to sort this rapist for you? I could give him a .45 shaped hole in his head." Grenville yelled across the bar at Reggie George. "It'll cost you though."

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Grenville T McRalph "i wouldn't get caught, Brother." Grenville replied. His eyes glinting menacingly. "Ten years alone in the Louisiana swamps can teach a man to be unseen."

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 "They have now. Remember Katrina? A bunch of the escaped from the zoo. Running wild in the back alleys."

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 "You wouldn't know anything. Just one morning, he would be in his room with his head macheted off." At this Grenville drew his large machete from its sheath on his back.

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 swept into the bar, his hyena following close behind

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 sloped in through the door, pulling the brim of his stetson down shadowing his face. Slinking in beside him was a magy

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Grenville T McRalph *sloped in through the door, pulling the brim of his stetson down shadowing his face. Slinking in beside him was a mangy brown creature dotted with black spots. Slung on his shoulder was his trusty model 1887. Gripped in his right fist was a Colt .45, nickel plated with bone hand-grips.

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Grenville T McRalph walked up to the bar and ordered a drink, before spinning to face the room, Colt held loosely in his right fist. The Hyena brushed against his legs and began to prowl around the bar.

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Grenville T McRalph the Hyena yips and yaps at the bars occupants as it stalks past, nose twiching.

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Grenville T McRalph the hackles on the Hyena's back begin to stand up and a low growl rips from its throat. It bares its teeth and advances slowly towards the wolf

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 bends down and strokes the wolf's snow-white head. "Whatcha got for me wolf-cub?" he asked jovially

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 "Well i'm sorry to hear that... send her my best regards." Grenville replied as he beckond the Hyena over

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Grenville T McRalph "Just tell her to get well soon." Grenville said sypmathetically.

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Grenville T McRalph "Well that was pretty darn wierd." Grenville said to himself quietly as he straitened up, pulling the shotgun off his shoulder.

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 sloped in through the door, pulling the brim of his stetson down shadowing his face. Slinking in beside him was a mangy brown creature dotted with black spots. Slung on his shoulder was his trusty model 1887. Gripped in his right fist was a Colt .45, nickel plated with bone hand-grips.

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Grenville T McRalph walks up to the black ooze and pours some into a shot glass.

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 raises his .45 and proceeds to fire at the ooze. "Eat hellfire foul monster." He bellowed

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Grenville T McRalph turns in time to see Alkalyne's entry. The Hyena begins to growl at the newcomer and Grenville unslings his shotgun, holding it in his meaty fists.

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Grenville T McRalph snaps around, shotgun barrel tracking Alkalyne's head. The Hyena begins to bark, flashing its large, over developed fangs.

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Grenville T McRalph
strode into the bar, the night wind ruffling the collar of his jacket and the lank, slate grey greasy hair that protruded from under the brim of his stetson. The brim of the hat through his face into shadow. Hanging off his shoulder on a narrow canvas strap was his model 1887 shotgun. The thick fingers of his hand lightly carresed the weapons stock as it hung freely from his shoudler. The mangy brown spotted form of his Hyena prowled in beside him, its baleful brown eyes sweeping the crowded room