Post by John Taylor on Oct 14, 2009 20:02:12 GMT -5
{ I CAN'T FEEL MY SENSES }
name:: TAYLOR; John
age :: 43
gender :: Male
Occupation:: Detective{ I JUST FEEL THE COLD }height :: 1.90 m
weight :: 90 kg
hair :: brown
skin :: Caucasian
clothing style :: Brown clothes, black coat.
tattoos or scars :: Scars of various wounds cover his body.
other distinguishing features :: None{ ALL COLORS SEEM TO FADE AWAY }powers :: Has an ability he calls the 'vision'. A kind of mental eye he can open. By doing so, he opens his mind, allowing him to see things no mortals can see. Things around him, or far away. In the future, the present or the past. With this vision he can also see tiny details in his surrounds otherwise missed.
lifespan :: Mortal (suspected)
faction :: Impartial
race :: Demi-god
other interesting abilities/talents :: Is an excellent marksman.{ I CAN'T REACH MY SOUL }likes :: There aren't a lot of things John Taylor likes. He considers himself too old for that. He likes to watch fine woman while sipping a fine whiskey on the rocks, if anything.
dislikes :: Life itself, perhaps. You get used to the cruelty around you. So much that eventually, you don't even notice it anymore.
fears :: Shadowland. Fearing the place you live. John Taylor lives with the fear, he has mastered him.
dreams :: Hell, he doesn't even dream of ever leaving the Shadowland's anymore. Maybe he dreams of that fine young woman and him, sharing a fine whiskey on the rocks, if anything.
quirks :: Smokes too much. No doubt, it will be the end of him. If the ghouls don't catch him first.
general personality :: Cold, distant, but not unkind. Rather uncaring. Seems more interested in the money than anything else, though he will only help you if he thinks you're a good person. He's just that kind of a person. Got to have some self respect in this hellhole, right?
other informative facts ::{ I WOULD STOP RUNNING }mother :: Morrigan. John Taylor does not know it, but his mother is a god, one of the creator's of Shadowland, it is even whispered. She left him with his father when he was a baby.
father :: John Taylor Sr. A drunk who died when John Taylor Jr. was 17. Never a help. But how can a man who's always drunk, help a kid when they live in the bad side of the Shadowlands?
siblings :: None
other relatives :: None
hometown :: Shadowlands
history ::
John Taylor. The man who finds things that don't want to be found. A detective. Everyone in the Shadowlands knows by now. If you need something or someone found, you ask John Taylor.
Unknown to John Taylor, his powers originate from his mother, who was one of the goddess' that created the shadowlands. After falling in love with John Taylor Sr., she became pregnant with him way too fast. When the child was born, she returned to John Sr and handed him the child, leaving forever.
John Sr. quickly became a drunk, not being able to handle the fact that his lover had left him, to care for this baby. Not able to tell his son the truth, the young John Jr. practictly raised himself on the streets of Shadowlands. He learned his abilties to see things hidden from others.
When he was 17, his father died, leaving him a little money. John had, by then, learned to vend for himself. He rented a crummy office (where he also lived) and started working as a detective.
Over the years, he's worked up quite a reputation for himself. He is fierce and the best, if not gloomy.
If you need something found, you get John Taylor.
other historical revelations :: Has also made quite a lot of enemies in the Shadowlands.{ IF I KNEW THERE WAS A CHANCE }ooc name :: Yvon
rp experience :: 7 years
how did you find SL? :: advertisement
rp example ::
In the small town of Sibolci, two brothers owned a tanning shop.
Among tanners, they were the best. Their shop was small and humble, but the quality of their goods was amazing. All thanks to the younger of the two brothers: Alphonse.
The oldest of them was skilled too, in finding the best hides at the cheapest prize. Because without fine skins, you cannot make fine leather.
Everyone bought from the Tanner brothers. The church bought it by the dozen for their church benches. The army bought it to make the strongest backpacks. The finest horse breeders bought the leather to make saddles. Even the royal family adored the fur skins, lining their most precious robes with it.
And still, the brothers were poor. They suffered from a glorious case of bad luck. Whether their cart broke down, the house burned down or the donkey died. And on one of those occasions, even George, the oldest Tanner brother, took to the bottle, and they would drown the rest of their money in alcohol and tears.
Another day, and another argument had fired up. The workbench had broken down. And it was a relatively new one too. This would cost them again. The two had screamed at one another and tossed objects around, resulting in even greater financial loss.
Fuming, George moved to the horse market, hobbling on his stick as he did. He sat down at a bench and watched the horses.
Alphonse went into the woods, unaware of the interesting discovery he would make there...