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"Oh this? This here's for pain."

0 · 264 views · located in Earth

a character in “Weird West”, as played by palestparamour


Hannah O’dare

Alias: Striker, or ‘Come back with that!’
Age: 22
Birth date: October 14th
Current Residence: N/A Drifter
Birth Place: Unknown.
Allegiance: Does what benefits herself, or what the nice man with the gun to her head says.
Belief/Religion: Sure there was a god, but he’s dead now, clearly.
Titles/Honorifics: N/A
Profession: Cattle wrangler turned roaming criminal.
Hobby: Being a cheeky shit.
Gender: Female
Race: Caucasian
Strengths: Strong arms, high pain tolerance, sharp mind and quick reflexes.
Weaknesses: Hot tempered with a short fuse. Gets frustrated easily and isn’t good with the cold. Easily caught off guard by pretty girls.
Height: 5’11”
Weight: 127.5 Lbs
Build: Wiry and lithe, well toned with a flat chest.
Hair: Dirty blonde.
Eyes: Grey-green.
Skin: Tanned and dusty.
Handedness: Ambidextrous
Scars: Two across the jaw and in an X formation across her shoulders.
Tattoos: Twin rattle snakes at her hips, The scars across her shoulders seem to have been rubbed with soot when they were fresh, leaving them tinged black.
Basic Description: Image
Disabilities: Temperamental issues?
Most Prized Possession (Material Value): The bullwhip.
Most Prized Possession (Emotional Value): The bullwhip.
Likes: Watching clouds roll across the sky. Teaching good folk how useful bullwhips can be. Drinking. Forcing others to drink. The ladies. Heights. Dressing mostly manly like.
Dislikes: Cattle. Law men. Prissy folk. Being choked. Splinters. Being called Miss. Being made to wear lady clothing.
Goals: Wants to drown in booze and bosoms. Also wouldn’t mind not having to steal to eat.
Fears: Being choked to death, being hung, being jailed. Restriction of freedom. Cougars.
Mannerisms: Striker had the habit of always sitting with her back to a wall and sleeping in unexpected places. At every opportunity she’d be flashing that devilish grin and flirting with pretty ladies. She also that the habit of keeping her mouth busy with a toothpick or sliver of hay or grass. One could tell she was a dominant personality by the fact that she always seemed to take up as much room as possible with her body, sprawling about like a sunbathing lizard.
Psychological Condition: Stable and dominant.
Aptitudes: A veritable prodigy with a bullwhip, she wields it like an elongation of her own arm. Add the fact that she’s learned to wield it with an optional weighted modification, effectively turning it into a chinese meteor hammer, and you have a problem. She also happens to be an amazing cheat at cards and dice and a decent pickpocket.
Superstitions: A dead man’s gun has better accuracy. yes it do.
Morals: 1.) Striker never targets helpless folk, but she’ll make you think that there is no low she won’t sink to. 2.) A missed opportunity is a terrible crime.
Positive Characteristics: Clever. Opportunistic and able to adapt to her situations. Uses the smallest details to her advantage. She has amazing charisma but usually directs her roguish flirtation skills towards girls. Loyal as they come to those she considers friends.
Negative Characteristics: Tends to be reckless. Enjoys her vices a little too much. Absolutely no patience. Stubborn as a mule.
Relationships: None. Striker is interested in both genders but tends to be a bit more enthused with the female folk.
Relatives: N/A
Rivals: Everyone.
Pressures/Problems: Striker is currently rather poor and has to sleep where she can find shelter and rely on her underhanded skills to put bread on the table. She’s also a bit lonely, but ain’t no one gonna know that.

Weapon Name: N/A
Type: Bullwhip <3
Function: Pain. The bullwhip itself is wonderful for fighting. It can be used to climb, snatch, flay, and strike. Striker has the nasty habit of disarming her opponent and following up with a good crack to the face, effectively blinding them. . The technological aspect of the whip happens to be that it doubles as a taser. Joy.
Description: A 14 foot brown braided leather whip, its insides finely meshed with a poly fiber that keeps it both flexible, hard to hack through and conducts shock.
Item Value: To one who understands how to wield it? Priceless. To the average person? Its good for accidentally putting a welt on your ass.

Weapon Name: N/A
Type: Shotgun
Function: Removing large quantities of flesh.
Description: An unstable yet advanced sawed off shotgun. Striker keeps this strapped to her back and rarely ever uses it. It is worthless when it comes to range, but effective at short-range evisceration.

Current Story: Currently has taken to sleeping in alleys amongst crates and refuse.

So begins...

Striker's Story


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Striker Character Portrait: Jackson Curtiss Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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The train. The train was a hot metal vein, bringing new life to Fort Travis. The train brought new faces, it brought hope, and it brought opportunity. And that opportunity brought Striker. Out from an alley with a mouth full of dust and foul tastes, squinting beneath the brim of her hat in the mid-day sun, roused like a snake from under a rock.

She looked like hell. That long sandy mane was bound with twine, pulled back in a tangled mess at the nape of her neck. Her lips were chapped, her eyes somewhat bloodshot, and her throat dry as the town itself. It would have to wait. The rumble of the train was urging her onward. On up the railing on the side of a building, to a higher balcony where she just didn't belong. But she was often there, watching the new faces, watching for her mouse.

Lately her ability to stack a deck and cheat in general had kept her stomach full and her head down. She'd not stolen anything by force, she simply swindled her way into a meal at any chance..But it just wasn't enough. This town only had so many people to screw over...She needed something just a little more substantial. Something she hadn't quite found just yet. But today was the day. Today that train had the perfect mouse for Striker, she just didn't know yet. Today, like every other day the train rolled in, she was lounging on that rail, sipping warm stagnant water from her canteen as she observed the going on at the junction. What was being unloaded, who was leaving, who was visiting. Important stuff. She'd watch under the heat of that sun, shifting a wooden splinter for one side if her mouth to the other, weighing her options. Hell, the train was nearly empty, and worse, that Jackson fellow was lingering about the track on a horse. Well fuck that.

Striker had not had the pleasure of meeting Jackson face to face, but often she would watch him from a distance. Watching every little move he made, watching the cogs turn in his head, and doing her very best to stay out of his line of sight. The less he saw of her, the better.

She'd spit off the rail before slouching to the side and returning her attention to the train, not giving up hope just yet.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: William Silvaro Character Portrait: Lucien "The Luck" Lachance Character Portrait: Striker Character Portrait: Sharron Rose Character Portrait: Jackson Curtiss Character Portrait: Cain Cassidy
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The Posse wanted something on the mid-day train when it arrived at Fort Travis, which meant that they would need someone in the town, watching for anything suspicious that might be going on there, any unusual characters who might want to fill the outlaws with lead. The problem was, of course, that the group of men were all outlaws, in one way or another, and should any of them be recognized they'd be shot, or worse, thrown in jail and questioned. However, this was not the case with one of the newest members of the group, Doc Silver.

William had been sent on ahead of the train a few days earlier. He hadn't killed anyone yet, no one of any importance who would be missed anyway, and they had yet to put his picture on any wanted posters. He had kept a low profile, which was part of his plan. Keep a low profile, stay around with the outlaws only as long as you need to, find the man who ruined your life, and end his. A simple enough plan, but it was more complicated than that. For instance, now he sat in a saloon in the walled off town of Fort Travis, keeping an eye out for anyone who might but a damper on the Posse's plans, which meant look for anyone with a badge or a gun. It seemed like most people here carried a gun, which was a common sight anywhere, and to him, they all looked suspicious. Even the lady who sat at the bar now, drinking whiskey, waiting or something. She had come in some time earlier and watched a game of cards before she had set to drinking. Watching her down the alcohol hit a nerve with William, made his throat dry, but he knew that fire water was the last thing he needed, especially today.

But then, a man he marked as very dangerous entered the saloon. He was an odd one, wearing black robes in this head, and a hood to hide his face. The man took a seat in a dark corner, and seemed to not longer exist to the others after a few moments, which William figured to be his plan. Sit in the dark, blend into the shadows, draw as little suspicion as possible, then wait. The question was, what was he waiting on?

A short time after this, William got his answer. A rather normal looking man, with a layer of dust on his clothes from walking the streets of Fort Travis, came into the saloon and took a seat at the bar before ordering a drink. The dark figure approached him, and the two set off for the darkness to talk. After watching them talk for a bit, unable to hear anything the man in black said, William stands, finishes his drink, and lays his money on the table before walking out and back into the sunshine.

It took only a few long minutes for William to make his way over to the train station, where the train was just pulling in to stop for a time. by the time he got to the ancient platform people were moving in and out of the machine, making the doctor think of some monstrous blood transfusion. The old blood being the people, some of them flooding out of the train as if from a wound, the new blood moving into the vain that was the train through but one or two entrances. Looking around, he could see a few other people he felt should have notes taken about them. There was a man atop a horse near the tracks, who looked as though he might be the law around this town, and as he makes his way over to a bench to sit and wait, his knee starting to pain him, noticed a woman on the railing, looking as if she crawled out from the gutters, watching everything about the train and the people closely. Obviously, she was looking for something in particular, not that William was worried. Instead, he takes out his silver pocket watch and checks the time as he waits.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: William Silvaro Character Portrait: Lucien "The Luck" Lachance Character Portrait: Striker Character Portrait: Jacob Dalton Character Portrait: Cain Cassidy Character Portrait:
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#, as written by Cypher

"Fort Travis Junction!"

The shout carried down the center of Dalton's car, and roused him from his slumber. The heat of the desert they had been crossing for the last several hours had carried him off into the ether, granting him a brief reprieve from the uncomfortably hazy, bone-dry air. Jacob realized that his mouth was incredibly dry, and his suit - even made of the lightest material he could afford - was uncomfortably warm. He exhaled a dry breath and realized, suddenly, that he was not only hot and sleepy, but incredibly hungry and thirsty. His seat-mate had already up and left, and even now people were departing the train. Porters were moving towards the freight cars towards the rear; although Dalton did not notice the mercenaries standing guard nearby. He was too busy standing, as if in a trance, and slumping down the center aisle, heading towards the steps and the town of Fort Travis Junction.

Slumping onto the platform, Jacob realized that it may actually have been cooler outside than in - perhaps it was his mind, or perhaps it was the fact that the train was more efficient at baking things than a godforsaken oven - but either way he was grateful for the reprieve. He moved silently off the platform and cast his eyes about for the bar, eventually settling on a building that looked altogether like a saloon straight out of another dime novel; batwing doors and player piano and everything. Jacob smiled a bit, and adjusted his hat, working to keep the sun from his eyes. He quickly strode down the main street and into the bar.

He immediately regretted his decision. The room didn't turn and stare at him like in so many cliche western movies - rather, the air carried tension, foreboding. A man passed him on the way in, checking a silver watch. Jacob quickly stepped out of his way, his overly large steamer trunk bumping into a chair nearby. The loud noise didn't interrupt any of the conversations around him, but Jacob felt no less at ease.

He'd taken no more than three steps when he came across a disheartening sight - two men, one of them completely unremarkable, sat in a corner. As mentioned, one of them was dressed in the same dusty clothes he'd seen everyone outside wearing, but the other - well, as his father would have said, 'He was an object.' He was dressed in all black from head to toe and the very air around him seemed to shimmer with some sort of malicious aura.

Jacob suddenly didn't feel so thirsty. He hastily backed up and batted the batwing doors aside, and made his way back into the street. Along the way he passed a vendor selling some cheap food and drink, and passed a couple dollars along to him for some food and a bottle of water. His face looked ashen as he made his way to a bench nearby and sat down. He took no note of the woman standing on an upper balcony across the street from him.