Description

Name
Alexander 'Doc' Atreides

Age
44

Sex
Male

Role
Combat Force

Appearance

Doc Atreides is a thin man, almost unheathily so the people who might see him while in some state of clothed that falls short of fully dressed. The glasses are merely for show, as are the goggles as neither would do any sort of vision correction as the man has clear vision as it is. His blue coat hides a holster under his left arm that he stores his personal pistol of choice while his rifle often will be seen slung along his back when not in use. Under his button up vest is, in fact, a thin piece of armor that, while not very useful against plasma or heavy gunfire, might stop a round or two and, more importantly, help prevent slashing damage to him. His slacks have nothing special about them besides matching the rest of his attire, while the soles and tread of his dress shoes were replaced with better, more gripping material to dig in and hold on better.

Height
5'9"

Weight
151lbs

Personality
Doc isn't the sort of person who would seem like an extreme range killer, not when you first meet the man. Polite and respectful towards guests aboard the Rooster, often times advocating a quiet or peaceful solution to problems when he can, and generally going about scholarly pursuits on his free time, one would question why such a man is working on a Train crewed by a ragtag team. One simply needs to look into his past for that, coupled with his rather drastic shift in personality when the going gets tough, and complete and utter lack of morals rarely helps.

Start a serious fight with the man, and out the window goes all the polite, gentleman of a medical professional. No remorse, no pity, no regrets are three ways to define him when a fight gets real serious. He won't bother with attempting a peaceful solution, or even register it exists, instead unfeelingly gunning down whatever happens to be hostile to the crew that forced him into this mindset. He will usually revert without a single bit of drama or fuss, and be as kind and pleasant as always, just without the guilt that someone with a moral compass might feel for the slaughter they just participated in.

Likes
Quiet Contemplation and Study
Intelligent People
Aiding those honestly ill or injured
His Emerald Herald
Story Telling

Dislikes
Using false illness to escape responsibility
Egotistical, Prideful Mages
Being asked the story of his Emerald Herald
Interruptions to his Work
Attempts to check his morality

Sexual Preference
Heterosexual

Abilities
Medical Savant:
True to his nickname, Doc Atreides is indeed a trained medical professional. Coupled with his constant research, study, and experimentation on captured pirates, wildlife, and bandits, he has a complex and thorough biological understanding of what makes people and other creatures tick, how to keep them ticking or, if need be, more effectively stop their ticking for good. Whatever is required of him in the grand scheme of things, and as it has often been said by the man: "Medicine can be as divine or as damning as anything, people just find it far more horrifying when it is used to kill vice heal."

Combat Skill Breakdown:
Doc wouldn't make a terribly good member of the Rooster's fighting crew if he couldn't handle himself in a fight, and you put enough space between him and his target, and he can place a round right on their forehead. That being said, he is anything but helpless up close thanks to his anatomical knowledge, but he will not outbrute or outpace anything beyond cannon fodder grunts. Thankfully for him, he rarely has to keep in a fist or blade fight, often creating enough distance for his pistol or, preferably, set up and start picking off foes with his longrifle of choice, taking longer to fire but landing far more shots than your common thug, proud of his talent at taking impossible shots and proving them possible.

Scholarly Pursuit: Doc is a smart man, and not in his chosen profession of practical medicine. He spends much of his free time learning and reading and can recall and use large portions of the infromation he had read up on and practiced. He has been known to make commentary in languages unlike what is commonly spoken, or dealing with other cultures that do not normally play well with their Train and company. Beyond that, he has plenty of stories that, scholarly or no, can keep folks amused for a time.

Equipment
Doc's Repeating Rifle:

A custom job that originated from between his departure from armed service with the Royal Kingdom and joining up with the Rooster and crew, the weapon was originally a basic issue rifle to security forces that were seconded to Kingdom sponsored Trains, such as the one that Doc first landed freelance work on. By the time Doc joined up with the Rooster's crew, it was barely recognizable as such. The weapon keeps loosely the same frame, but has been overhauled for a larger caliber round. It kicks like a mule, carries five rounds (six if including one in the chamber), and has an odd graduated sight for extreme range rather than more traditional optics. Doc claims this is so he can use iron sights without having to do more than flip the extra sight down and its less maintence on an already tempermental weapon. But Doc swears by it, and he does his job well with it.

Emerald Herald:

Doc refuses to ever relate the story as to how this unique weapon, that is as much a piece of art as it is a sidearm, came into his possession. From a combat perspective, the thing is a handcannon, heavy on the recoil, loud and distinctive, and low on ammo capacity due to its design. However, the sheer power behind each shot and its accuracy is above average for a sidearm, and the recoil forces a shooter to reset their aim, taking time to make shots land by design. It is a break action, so the front half swings down to allow removal of spent cartridges, and loading of fresh ones, either by hand or a loading device.

Medical Kit:
Part military issue, part scavanged and collected tools and supplies, Doc is never seen without his shoulder slung bag stuffed full of everything from sutures, needles, bandages and scalpals to a collection of herbs, odd looking liquids, a rather large serrated blade for limb removal (Or in emergencies, self defense) and a stained notebook. Said notebook contains the notes, analysis, and diagnosis of every person he has ever worked on, both to heal, kill, or literally pick apart via dissection. One could see it as a personal journal of sorts as well, as it also has his own private musings on each person, injury, illness and medical oddity he has ever come across.

History
Doc has been working on trains for at least twenty years now, from running medical on emergency state sponsored Trains, to little more than hired thugs on the pleasure rides, the aging man has seen all sorts of trials and tribulations. Born to a family of misfits and soldiers, though, no one who knew his family would have expected any sort of normal life for the boy. Raised in the Royal Kingdom, itself a central location between the various other kingdoms, his family had long since either been soldiers for the Crown, or Train crewmembers. Raised on the stories of both, it was little surprise that, once he was of age and there was no Train in at the time, he followed in his father's footsteps and swore himself to defend the kingdom from all enemies.

Doc learned of his knack for medical work here, and without a shred of magic to help him along with it. He was trained as a healer, and kept in reserve to aid injured knights and soldiers as they returned. This was not the life he had forseen himself having, fighting grand battles like the stories of old. So after spending six years mastering what medical skill was available to one ungifted in magic, he vanished. While his family suspected the truth, they never spoke a word as to where he might of went. And a Train sped away from the Royal Kingdom, a fresh faced doctor was working alongside the security forces on the machine. Twenty years would stretch ahead of him on this path, and it would be a winding and rampant adventure for the rapidly maturing lad.

Seeing the filth, scum, and worse seemingly walking side by side with the best and brightest of the realm had a profund effect on his outlook on life. He lost any moral code or ethics his family instilled in him, growing distant from his fellow man in a subtle way. He had nothing to inhibit his research and studies, and working as a crewmember of the Trains was simply a means to this end. Even on the rare moments a pleasure train was heading the same way he was, where guards off duty would gladly partake in the more earthly pleasures, he would seclude himself away and work, practice, and study. When pirates struck, one could find Doc in the thick of it, sprinting from one end of the train to the other, shots barking from his rifle as he picked off incoming pirates. At some point he was aboard a Train that was part of a 'cursed' expedition, and as one of the only survivors its a rare tale he will not tell, though some suspect his sidearm is linked to these events.

Whatever the case of those events, for twelve years he drifted from Train to Train, crew to crew, never really finding a place he was comfortable or, sometimes, welcome to stay for long periods of time. He would eventually cross paths with the Rooster, a humble enough name in Doc's opinion, and their crew's Captain had welcomed the man to the crew. And he just never moved on, signing on for the long term aboard the Rooster. He couldn't really pin why, it was a ragtag bunch that were hardly the best outfitted, trained, or even paid at times. But he never felt the old urges to move on, through thick or thin, so he would just have broken his eight year point serving with the Rooster and her crew when, unknown to them, a princess of rather notable stature would come aboard and, no doubt, proceed to make their lives rather interesting.

Theme Song
The Good Doctor

Additional Notes
Doc received his nickname aboard the Rooster, and often answers to it faster than his own given name.

Has been known to blow up some of his stories a bit more than the truth really was, for the sake of entertainment and passing the time.

So begins...

Alexander 'Doc' Atreides's Story

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Setting

Arcania

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Alexander 'Doc' Atreides

Character Portrait: Elisabeth Whitefield

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#2015-05-24 22:28:51, as written by Eisenhorn

Elisbeth and William, as detestable as the mage might be, were right about one thing. Other people were, in fact, already awake and doing their jobs. One such man was Alexander Atreides, although most folks called him Doc aboard the train that actually knew the man. Several hours prior to those two awakening, the good Doc was already awake and moving about his humble cabin. He was one of the more senior members of the combat force, both in an age and positional manner, so he was required to attend the three meals with the rest of the important members of the crew. No, required was not the word used last time he skipped out for a week doing his job. Requested was the word he remembered, considering the daily reports he was supposed to keep a running record of. Supposed to, being the key words. He didn't like relying on paperwork to keep track of security matters, it could too easily be forged and altered. No, good security came from better methods then that. And he relied on his memory to keep a running tally of crew, passengers, authorized and unauthorized individuals and where they were and weren't supposed to be. Others used paperwork and notebooks, but not him. But he digressed, as he shook his head clear of that train of thought with an amused smirk. Morning routine, he needed to shave before getting dressed and arming up.

Walking over to the small sink, if one could call it that, Doc went about sifting through his medical bag until a blade that suited his purposes was found. Splashing his face with water, he carefully cut away the unwanted facial hair. He kept the sideburns and mustache trimmed and neat, as it was part of his look after all. If one could not take pride in what they chose in grooming standards, how could they stand going out and dealing with the public world on a daily basis? They couldn't, and as he finished cleaning himself up and washed the small blade off, he made sure it was sterile before returning it to his medical bag. He believed in clean equipment, infection was a terribly irritating complication to have to treat, after all. And it was so easily avoided to, he lamented, as so many other practitioners seemed to always forget. But with his daily grooming finished, he dressed himself in his work attire of choice. Button up white undershirt, tucked into his trousers so no excess hanged about. Sleeveless vest, also tucked into his trousers to prevent unprofessional hang about. Pulling on his dress shoes and tying them off nice and snug, he grabbed his shoulder harness, with his pride and joy already holstered. Emerald Herald, chambered in .44 Magnum, was a cannon in and itself, and it was also something he never discussed. But he did talk to her though, an odd quirk of his as of late. "And good morning to you, Emerald Herald. Ready for another hopefully uneventful day, I hope?"

With her secure, Doc pulled on his coat and straightened it out, buttoning his cuffs as he looked over himself in the mirror. Pocket watch slightly dangling out of a pocket, no matter how he wore this blasted coat, that thing never stayed in his pocket. Cleaning off his glasses, he replaced them and grabbed his rifle, which he wore openly slung over his back. His medical bag at his side, just in case, he walked out of the small cabin to do his morning rounds. He checked on passengers that had gotten ill during the trip and ensured they were as comfortable and well treated as he could manage, crew that had injured themselves since his last check, and in general made note to have anything that was a waiting accident fixed by the appropriate persons, should they be in any position to do so. Swinging by his cabin to start his security sweep, he grabbed his bowler hat, since he was going to be on the outside of the train for periods of time to verify physical security of the exterior. Securing it on his head, he began checking the various nooks, crannies, and various areas off limits to non crew to make sure no one unwelcome had wandered back in those spots, on purpose or by accident. Diligence required him to get up as early as he did, and the check between cabins, and outside where he could readily reach while in motion, were without incident. Doc finished his personal routes in time for breakfast, according to his watch. Shame he didn't find anything to preoccupy him from such events.

Doc wasted no time making his way to the very same, very posh, far too elegant portion of the train. He entered to find two others already having arrived, and he quietly wished he really did not have to be here right now. Ms. Elisabeth Whitefield he had no problems with. Professional, did her job well, and caused no trouble, all things Doc could gladly work with. And there came the other one, the Mage. William Caeronvar, considered himself the single most important man aboard this ship. That sort of ego just rubbed Doc the wrong way. But he never betrayed that, that would give him too much satisfaction no doubt. Instead he smiled briefly, removing his hat for the sake of manners and inclined his head in a brief bow to both of them. "Ahh, good morning Ms. Whitefield, Mr. Caeronvar. I do hope both of you had a quiet night's rest and the morning finds you both well."

Ms. Whitefield had already claimed the best spot for watching the door, but Doc contented himself with a spot near the door, but on the side it would swing towards, so he would be obscured by anyone walking in either unwelcome or welcome for a critical few moments. Well enough to have Emerald Herald drawn and ready to ventilate their heads. And he could keep all the windows tracked as well, in case some pirates attempted non standard boarding methods. But beyond that, he quietly served himself a light breakfast while he awaits the rest of the crew to arrive and the brief to start.

Setting

Arcania

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Nathaniel "The Priest" Kain

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#2015-05-25 17:55:38, as written by RCJJ23

Nathaniel had sat in the small room that had been deemed the chapel, for the better part of the morning. It had various religious symbols of many major religions, and despite first and foremost being a disciple of Cairn, Nathaniel had provided some insight and advice to the more religious passengers and staff. Objectively, of course. He wouldn't allow his own faith to disrupt others. He wasn't one of the Dogs of Cairn anymore, despite his own armaments and armor saying he was. He had removed all symbols of the Order from it, despite the difficulty in doing so. It was nearly time to eat breakfast, so he said his last prayer before leaving the chapel.

"Cairn, may you guard our souls and stay thyne blade and gift us another peaceful day, but if you demand it, may you guide my blade and let my shots fly true, for it is in your name that I do all that I do. Azen."

Nathaniel stood. He had only dressed in his plain grey t-shirt and oak brown slacks, though he had both of his weapons on him. His chainsword was clipped to his right hip while his revolver was in his holster on his left. He would pull on his armored robes first. This would take him the rest of the time he had, which was about twenty minutes, before breakfast would start to be served.

By the time he had reached there, a few of the crew had already sat down and started to eat.

"Good morning Ms. Whitefield, Mr. Caeronvar, Ms. Vrahl, Doc. I trust it has been a peaceful morning so far?" he said in way of greeting. He saw that both Alexander and Elizabeth had both taken the more prime spots for defending the doors into the dining hall, he decided to pick a spot next to Alexander. He was more likely to be spotted than him, but it would still give him ample time to react. Besides, his armor would likely take the shot or stab for him, and it wasn't like he was extremely slow or anything. He served himself a heartier breakfast than Alexander did, but still on the healthy side. He ate in silence, until someone spoke to him, or was addressed generally.

Setting

Arcania

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#2015-05-25 23:53:20, as written by Imp

She had let herself to a few short moments (sitting moments even) of peace, dozing of as she stared out the window without really seeing much at all. For a second or two, her own reflection caught her eyes. She looked oddly fair there in the glass, as if presented with a more refined version of herself.
A less tired and greasy one at least.
She frowned, but then smiled a little, giving her a small dimple at the corner of her mouth. Silly thoughts to have indeed.
The contents of the platters before her soon caught hold of her interest as her insides once again recalled to her the fact that it indeed had been a morning without breakfast. So far. She threw a quick glance around her as the dining compartment kept filling up with the rest of the Roosters meaty content, then peaked under the lid of the platter closest to her. Eggs.
The people around her were more or less familiar. She hadn't really talked much to anyone. She had only been aboard for a few weeks, and those weeks had mostly been spent trying to show off in order to keep her place aboard. Luckily enough, she had found herself knee deep in what could only be called "The Great Rooster Mess" and with a long list of things to do. She believed herself to have done good so far.

As "The Doctor", or at least that was what she'd begun calling him in her head, entered, she turned from the window and faced the room more frankly. He was a hard character to miss, even aboard the Rooster. She had know to place her feet when around him from the very beginning. His greeting to two of the never arrivals was as dressed up as the rest of him. One of them, a girl she believed to be called Ms. White... Whitefield it was, apparently, as she overheard or rather listened to the short conversation, gave the impression of not being someone whom the word "effortless" would ever match. But Miandra did not mind that at all, as long as the work got done properly and all. The man, on the other hand...

"...I'm asking because you left it on a stack of other people's stuff without strapping it to anything..."
She quickly looked back at the young woman again.
...It's a small box sitting on a big box. Even if it slides, it has plenty of room...
Her eyes went to the man again.

"Oh, really.."
She mumbled to herself, feeling her mood slowly turning fouler. That man, was the reason she had been up all morning tapping pipes in order to find the source of that sound (that had been the crater-of-apparently-THAT-mans-books-banging-against-an-air-went)? She followed the rest of the louder parts of the two's conversation with her chin in her hand as her elbow balanced on the edge of the table behind her. These two, or at least the man, did not sound a bit better than some of the more self-proclaiming passengers. A thought that only made her irritation grow. To her surprise, this young stripling rose up and approached her with a greeting. A quite smirky one at that. She leaned her head back in her hand which made a stripe or two of her blond hair loosen themselves from behind her ears.

"...You,"
She said as her frown grew a little,
"Are absolutely right."
She leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest, pouting out her sore chin in a slightly challenging way.
"That box of yours isn't that heavy,"
She waved one of her fingers warningly,
"...what really amazes me thou, is that you apparently found it easier to staple your, if I may say it myself, rather heavy, box upon all the other crates, instead of just.."
She gave up both her hands in an ironical gesture
"Well, I don't know. Just strap it to the floor hooks like the rest of the smaller junk?"
She widened her eyes in a faked expression of pure amazement, and then replied to the priest, Mr Kain's greeting:
"Peaceful? I wouldn't say that. But I guess I'm hoping for lunch now that I'm done hunting crates for the morning."
She turned to the Roosters Engineer, whom had just entered.
"Hey, Mahrone. I apparantly need you to close off the air through some sections of the cargo's vents. I need to weld one of the vents back in place."
She glared back at man in front of her.

Setting

Arcania

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#2015-05-27 02:20:53, as written by Eisenhorn

Doc quietly chewed on a piece of his breakfast meal while listening to the mage dig himself deeper and deeper into a hole that would threaten to bury him alive under alienation and hate from his female coworkers he was so rudely making insinuations towards. For the sake of a peaceful remainder of the trip he would have to speak up. Well, not him specifically, but someone should probably at least attempt to curb the man's tongue before it got him any deeper into the shit list than it already apparently had. So with a quiet clearing of his throat to redirect momentary attention, Doc spoke in his 'medical professional' tone of voice that was reserved for trying to prevent someone from doing something, or continuing something, incredibly stupid. Because, like the egotistical damn mage or not, he was necessary until they reached their destination at a minimum. "As the on board medical professional and adviser, Mr. Caeronvar, I would highly recommend you cease that particular chain of commentary and offers. Some might find them offensive, and considering the able crew members you are dealing with, a couple stitches and mandatory bed rest won't be nearly enough to assuage the damage done should you push someone over their natural limits."

Could Doc repair damage short of outright murder? Certainly, enough to get the mage in a condition to keep the train moving forward as scheduled. But none of the parties involved would enjoy that experience one bit, and he could guarantee that. And hell, Doc thought with an internally amused smirk, if the Mage went and got himself killed by Ms. Mahrone his fellow in security, Mr. Kain, could see to it he had a proper burial as they figured out how to get the train the rest of the way to its destination. In continuation of keeping the situation defused though, he directed his next small statement at the two engineers, Ms. Mahrone and Ms. Vrahl. "And if it proves necessary, Ms. Mahrone, Ms. Vrahl, that our....Proud mage is going to get his head clubbed in, do please inform Father Kain so he has time to drum up something nice to say at the funeral. And try not to do it on the train, or else I would be further obligated to make an attempt to keep his insides right where they belong, inside the skin and bone, where applicable."

A slow smirk was on Doc's face, so whether he was really joking about what he said, or not, was certainly up in the air. But it was clear he addressed most everyone the exact same, in a respectful and polite manner, barring William Caeronvar on occasion. Bad blood with egotistical and egocentric mages faded slowly, and only in the face of positive examples. Mr. Caeronvar was hardly one. But he had indeed addressed Mr. Kain subtly differently, in a manner showing a more friendly vice strictly professional approach. Working security alongside the man tended to create such situations, and while Doc himself was not a religious man, he respected the beliefs of others in that regard. It was none of his business what a man, or woman, believed so long as they did their jobs to the best of their ability. Beyond that, he treated the various members as respectfully as he could, which for some was not nearly as much as for others, and never told them how to do their jobs. They did not tell him how to fix a living person, so he did not tell them how to fix their professional problems, so long as it did not interfere with security of the Rooster. He did finally respond to Kain, having addressed the situation at hand as best as he could for now. "As peaceful as one could expect with this crew, Father Kain. The morning security sweep is taken care of, so all you'll need to worry about until the PM is the spot checks and alarm response, should one be raised. I hope the morning has found you without conflict thus far?"

Setting

Arcania

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Alexander 'The Reaper' Castion

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#2015-06-10 07:09:13, as written by Eisenhorn

Doc listened to Ms. Vrahl as she spoke about the ease of dealing with the vents. One less burden on his shoulders, security wise then, as he made small notes into his journal as she spoke. It was equal parts tracking addressed problems, complications in others, and possible solutions. The other part was a further documentation of each person on board the Rooster, expanding on Ms. Vrahl's entry in this case. Each crew member on board the Rooster had an entry, entailing various ailments and injuries each might have sustained over the years he had been the medical professional on board the Rooster, the cure and any necessary follow up. He also had tried his hand at analyzing people in his footnotes, based on his observations on each person. Everyone from the Captain to the humblest cook or janitor had entries, some more in depth than others. But Doc looked at Ms. Vrahl as she finished her brief with a comment towards their ever so beloved mage.

"Believe me Ms. Vrahl, Mr. Caeronvar has not made himself many friends. But his powers are necessary, even if his pride is not. Or he would have no doubt been removed already. I cannot promise anything with the windows, last time I mentioned them, the Captain effectively told me it was not a top priority. I can bring it up next time he asks about issues with the train, but I cannot promise any progress. I appreciate any work you can do, jury rigged or otherwise. And boarding up some of the windows in places not used for passengers might be wise. It is not a perfect solution, but it could be considered a stop gap measure until more permanent means to fix them might be enacted. And, frankly, leave Mr. Caeronvar's window for last to be replaced, should it suit you. If he has any further complaints about the window, feel free to direct him to me. I will explain, in detail, why his window clattering holds a low priority in the list of problems that need to be addressed for the Rooster."

Doc inclined his head towards Ms. Vrahl in a bid farewell. She was smart, and would probably have the issues she could fix figured out in no time flat. Good hands were so hard to come by, so the fact the Rooster was such a condensed number of them was an oddity indeed. Walking down to help deal with the passengers, on going and off going, he checked in on random locations and places, spot checking for problems. One such place happened to have him stumble upon Mr. Lesner, a rather new addition to the crew with an interesting choice in attire. He had little documented information on him yet, but that did not stop the older man from being polite towards the young man. Especially if he was handling dishes, which could be a possible sanitary problem if not done properly.

"Good morning, Mr. Lesner, does the day find you well enough? Any problems you might have noticed, or are suffering from, that I might be able to address?"

Setting

Arcania

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#2015-06-10 08:25:01, as written by FamishedPants

Terrance Lesner

"Good morning, Mr. Lesner, does the day find you well enough? Any problems you might have noticed, or are suffering from, that I might be able to address?"

The voice that tore his attention from the sink and plates he had within it was the familiar voice of the train's one and only, Doc. His limited experience with the man meant that Terrance could not exactly say he knew what the guy was thinking, but generally he saw the Doc as a kind, calm man who lived by that old "treat people as you wish to be treated" motto. That was good considering that he'd at least heard chatter about the Doc getting serious about something, and it did not seem like something Terrance wished to witness, if possible. Terrance was, after all, doing his best to avoid bring any attention on himself so as to give the authorities as little as possible to work with.

"Oh, hello there, Doc." Terrance replied with a warm smile as he continued to scrub the dishes in his hands. "I have not seen anything of note. But I might be inflicted with despair at the sight of all these dishes. Seems people want to eat quite a bit before the next stop or something like that, I would guess." giving himself a small chuckle and changing the now-cleaned dishes out for dirty ones, he continued. "And how have you been? You and some others had a meeting earlier, right? Or was that simply a codeword for breakfast?"

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