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Neil Jameson O'ryan

A skilled mercenary capable of complete selfless loyalty and extreme brutality, but also capable of pure acts of kindness.

0 · 238 views · located in Hartera

a character in “War Of Factions”, as played by ROLAND


Neil Jameson O'ryan
Member of Room V

O'ryan was born in Naurry, to a top officer of the Colored Knights and a tavern wench almost forty winters ago. Since he was of noble birth but still a bastard, he was deemed a ward of the army.

With his father in such a high position within the military, Neil was fast-tracked into training four years earlier than any other boy. He showed remarkable talent with most weaponry, favoring Heavy Armor, the Short Short and the Lance. His training was going well and the boy seemed very capable of climbing the ranks as his father did. Until his betrayal.

Neil never knew why his father murdered his commander. Nor did he understand why the headsman came for him as well.

A wanted man who was just barely old enough to be called a man, he was forced to run for his life. All the while being hunted by his former training Officers and fellow recuits alike. He used the skills they taught him to evade passing patrols and fight off roving bands of brigands until he was safely out of the reach of the Lyri'an military machine.

That was when he met Jackson.

Immediately recognized as a man of top fighting talent (and broken faith), Jackson was able to recruit (emotionally manipulate) Neil into serving in the newly formed Room V (5 in roman numeral not the letter V). Where for twenty years he fought alongside what came to be known as the most effective group of sellswords in the known world.

Height: Just under 6 feet tall
Weight: 161. 210 with full armor and gear.

Neil is an older man, but looks ten years younger than he is. He's quite thin, (ribs on both sides) but is capable of physical feats often done by men much larger than he is. (such as fight effectively in heavy chromed armor) He has short, dark blonde hair with a reddish tint, and deep blue eyes. He has a Black Legion tattoo on his right shoulder which depicts a snake curled around a sword. Although he is appropriately scarred as any soldier would be, there are no scars that would set him apart from any other soldier, save for the scars left when he took four crossbow bolts to the back.

Sanity: Neils sanity is surprisingly stable when seen from the outside. He is a seasoned soldier who has both seen and committed horror both on the battle feild and off. However it should be noted that he is is incredibly good at hiding his demons and his very severe level of melancolie (which is the medival term for depression). Once alone, however, he makes no effort to hide his emotions from himself.

Disposition: Around other people, Neil is a strikingly positive and charming person. He loves joking, singing, and acting like a complete child. But once alone, he is gloomy, despondant and detached.

Morals: one word... ambiguous. He's capable of doing anything, but not avoiding any guilt that follows. Anything more than a kill or be killed situation weighs heavily on his conscience.

All of the following equipment is made of tempered Obsidian
Full breast plate and stomach plate
Full greaves
Gauntlets (only his hands are exposed)
Short Sword (left handed)
Buckler (right forearm.)
Mid-Lance with a steel core.

Leather boots with chain leggings up to the knee
Cured Leather gloves with steel knuckle inserts
Bronze Dagger

Stitching kit
Waterskin (half full)
Pack with Blanket, Reusable torch (handmade), Flint (for making a fire), Sharpening stone, compass, region map.
Apothecary satchel with bandages, poppy milk, aloe leaves, roots from a highly hallucinogenic plant (which he does recreationally in small doses)
Gold pouch with 10 gold pieces and 20 silver. (not sure about currency so ill just wing it)

Lance (Expert), Shortsword, Sheild, Knife, Fists (not too good a brawler actually). He is a capable tracker as well, but not much of a hunter.
In combat he is very quick despite his heavy armor and excels in dueling as per his former position as a Duelist in Room V. Since Room V is well known for it's skilled assasains, he is familiar with poisons and human anatomy and physiology as well as psychology (or the earliest forms of it)

Unbeknownst to most, he is also a skilled writer and while he doesn't make many close friends, he is very good at social politics and for some reason, always knows what to say to get a desired emotion out of someone.

Allies: Kyle Beyd (Room V)
Jeremy Toole (Room V)
Thomas Jackson (Room V founder and leader)
Curtis Longstreet (Room V)
Doctor Henry Watson (Room V)

Room V Details
rough number of active soldiers, spies, non combat personel: 3,813
Number of active operators in Hartera: 55
Strengths : Very Highly Skilled and diverse in terms of skills, and personalities.
Weaknesses : Low group cohesion. Often times different squads of Room V compete against one another for contracts, sometimes ending violently. Also since they are a mercenary organization, they are niether well liked, nor trusted by most factions.

Since their presence in Hartera isn't established, the few operatives in the kingdom are acting as more of an advanced scouting party in the opening stages of the game. Keep in mind that Room V aren't your average foot soldiers.. They are typically individuals who are trained to fight from childhood. They claim no titles, no nobility. May own no lands, take no bride, and father no children. Room V is very strict about these guidlines and any breach of contract or failure to abide by the code usually results in death.

Other members of Room V in Hartera.

Kyle Beyd - Commander of the advanced party. Kyle Beyd is known among the other members of Room V as the best swordsman who has ever lived. In his younger days, he was known to be nearly unbeatable. Now, as he reaches his 63rd year, he finds himself in a command position, which has taken to with great enthusiasm. Even though his skills have diminished over the years as he body aged and turned against him, he is still a renowned, and greatly feared fighter.

Doctor Henry Watson - While not a soldier per-say, the rumors surrounding the good-doctor are too numerous to all be true. Rumored to have been tutored by a great mage, the doctor has spent his life in pursuit of knowlege. Of life, death, humanity, war, and the arcane. Doctor Watson is known in some circles as the angel of death, a testament to an incident in Lorian Pass. The Pass was a great fortress in the mountains far to the south. The twenty-thousand strong force garrisoned there were all dead within a week of the Doctor's visit. Some say he used black magic, others say he brought death itself. But the result is the same.. The Pass is now firmly in the hands of Room V.

Curtis Longstreet - A brute of a man. Standing at nearly seven feet tall, Longstreet is an intimidating force to behold. He is assigned as Doctor Watson's personal bodyguard. Although the Doctor claims to need no protection, a rather large, violent creature is usefull in scaring off most aggressors.

Jeremy Toole - The youngest, and newest member of Room V. He was found wandering the streets of Volcanus alone. An orphan who never knew his parents. His youth and his frail appearance is his greatest asset; He his the most effective assassin to come under Jackson's employ. He's killed kings, knights, and preists, all before his 17th birthday. Although young and naive (some would say strikingly overconfident) He is remarkably articulate, and well educated.

So begins...

Neil Jameson O'ryan's Story


Characters Present

Character Portrait: [NPC] Bartender Character Portrait: Keizer Shosolas Character Portrait: Alexius Lyt'hart Character Portrait: Hope Character Portrait: Neil Jameson O'ryan Character Portrait: Lennex Cucor Character Portrait: Hartera.
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The God of Continents watches over his creation from his throne atop his Castle perched upon the skies.

He sees all that is happening, all that has happened, and all the will come. He sees great nations, prosperous nations like Noveria,
falling into disrepair, now only a shadow of its former self. He sees great heroes, such as the Lyt'Harts of Lyri, Uniting nations to fight against a hardened enemy. He sees impending war, between all the factions of Hartera, as the God of Continents has wished. He sees lesser known unnamed nations joining the war. He sees opportunistic mercenaries like that of the group Room V making their own gains in the war.

Individuals begin to manifest themselves in the Mind of Hartera, future tyrants, war heroes, and those doomed to meet their own fate on a desolate battlefield.

The Conflicts have began, Relations are breaking down as Hartera watches from his perch.

The only thing Hartera cannot see is who will step inside the chambers of Hell and Oblivion. Who will go into the blood bath and come out the other side the victor, if they come out at all. Will it be that of the Lyt'Harts finally gaining what they believe is rightfully theirs? Will the Sanguine Legion achieve their goal of perfect unity? Will Noveria climb out of their own economic despair and steamroll their way into sovereignty?

He sees all of this, as the leaders of Noveria, the Lyt'Harts, and the Sanguine Legion gather for one final attempt at diplomacy, the only factions to even entertain the idea any more.

Across the land, on a far away beach, a forward recon team for Room V begins their landing procedures. Hartera smiles as he begins to bask in the tension in the air around him, feeling the hostility. Hartera's plans are falling into place, by the end of this he will have found the perfect nation.

Even so, should the nations all lead themselves into destruction, Hartera will have had entertainment for the moment. A sick game played by a curious god. Hartera laughs to himself as he watches.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Neil Jameson O'ryan
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#, as written by ROLAND
For months they have been watching, waiting, planning. From the shadows of pubs, stables and barracks, the members of Room V have been hiding with too small a force to have any effect on the war. Orders were given before their departure from Volcanus almost a year ago. Keep quiet, keep hidden, keep out of sight.
Of course that didn’t stop the fifty five mercenaries from performing small contracts. A bandit hideout that needed to be routed, a small territorial dispute between rival villages, an archbishop that needed to be assassinated. All those were fitting contracts for the mercenary group. Providing there was some profit to be gained. Playing all sides of the board requires a certain degree of tactics and discression, and that was all fine for Neil.
He had been observing the situation in Illire for more than a month now, and had worked his way into the city, doing odd knife-work. The inhabitants of his former homeland had a knack for holding grudges, and more than enough money to have them settled without having to dirty their own hands.
Feuding nobles were the best source of steady employment, but occasionally, the town guard would put up bounty notices and requests for ‘Discreet, One-Time Service’. Neil knew the game well. Don’t ask questions, just do the job and get paid.
But once the army started moving, with a Lyt’hart commanding, Neil knew he had to check in with his commander. Beyd and Doctor Watson were set up no more than a days walk from Illire.

Wondering the roads alone was a dangerous endeavor. Bandits, highwaymen, Hill-tribes, even passing Lyrian troops who might mistake him for a bandit. Travelling in a group was always safer, but Neil couldn’t risk drawing any attention.
The gamble, sadly, did not pay off. Right around sundown, Neil found himself beset by several shaggy looking men. They all had thick beards, rotted teeth, and sores on their face from the highly unsanitary conditions they likely lived in.

“Beautiful Evening, mate.” Neil said cheerily. He knew the men weren’t interested in talking, but in the off chance he was wrong he did not want to provoke them. One of them, the leader, was adorned with an ox-skull fitted into a helmet, with a large, crude axe in his left hand. His garbs were mainly leather and fur, and instead of shoes, he wore bandages wrapped around his feet. He brings his axe up.

“Won’t be for you.. shiney man.” He grumbled to Neil. “After you’re feedin’ the grass, I’ll bet that armor will look good on me.”
“Unlikely..” Neil says out of the corner of his mouth. He takes a step back. Things were about to get very ugly. There was no avoiding it… these men had to die.

“Oh, he looks pretty.” A larger one shows a chilling smirk. “Tasty too.” He licks his chops.
Neil puts his hand on his head and exhales. Inside, he was already warming up.

“You must be one of the Hill-tribe men, aren’t you?” Neil asked. He had to buy time until he could appraise the situation. He counted ten men; Two with large axes, Four with swords, Two with crossbows (Neil reflected on how odd it was that these men had such weapons), and two others who carried a small axe and a crude, turtle shell shield.

“No matter what we are.” The leader replies, pointing his axe at Neil. “We’ll be looting your corpse it what we be…”

Neil cups his hand over his ear. “Sorry mate, didn’t quite catch that last part.”

The leader steps closer. So close that Neil could smell the rotted breath.

“I said..”

With almost unfathomable speed, Neil unsheaths his sword in a straight forward motion, smashing his adversaries nose, making a sound like a snapping twig. Once was enough. He now had enough room to get his obsidian sword out of his scabbard, then brings it across the savages face, splitting it in two with a spray of blood.
The other tribes men look on as Neil kicks their former chief’s body to the ground.

“Oh, I’m sorry.. was he supposed to be your leader?” He taunts at the others. Still vastly outnumbered, Neil smiled at the thought that the situation had tilted slightly in his favor. “WELL COME ON, YOU BASTARDS!” He screams with his muscles tensed. “I HAVEN’T GOT ALL DAY!”