[Characters] Harris Brothers

[Ulfgar Bloodcrier]

Post a link to your character sheet and a copy of your application here. Also choose a contact name. (ex. Brandon = "The Bee", Derrick = "Dirt")

[Askaran]

http://www.rpgcrossing.com/profiler/view.php?id=7623


FIRST NAME: Patrick "Paddy" Harris
CLASS: Strong Hero
APPEARANCE: Exceptionally tall, around six and a half feet with a lean, athletic build. Pale despite lots of time spent in the sun with well defined musculature and a tattoo of a grenade on his right hand aswell as a pair of dice on his left wrist, with noose facing up instead of dots. His balck hair is cut short, in an almost millitary manner though its spiked up. His facial features are angular and symetrical his nose pointed. Usually wears blue-jeans with a plain belt and black boots, likes to wear button up shirt and wears a plain wooden rosary around his neck.

PERSONALITY: If one where to walk around the neighborhood and overhear people talking about Patrick, or Paddy as he's affectionately known. One would hear about a kind, generous light-hearted man devoted to his family his friends and his religion. This is true, he may be a professional killer but unless your some criminal who he's been payed to kill he'll usually try his best to be your friend. Among the brothers he's one of the better marksman though his skill lies mostly in his talent with a knife and his hands and feet.

YOUR LAST CONTRACT: It was a cold, crisp morning as Patrick Harris made his way down the street, Dressed in plain blue-jeans with a leather jacket and gloves, he didn't look all to conspicuous as he made his way into a small pub in a sleazy new-england town. Making his way to the back by way of a bribe, the hitman walked into a smokey back-room. Sitting there where a trio of men, their clothes ragged and non-descript, their chins covered in stubble and their eyes red-rimmed and weary. Sitting down, the irishman introduces himself, though his usually brogue was absent, replaced instead by a rather boring western-american accent, "Names, Roy! I hear you boys got some cards ta play?" Paddy fakes his best crooked grin, succeeding in appearing genuine as if the three drunken men cared. An hour or so passed with only a few crude jokes tossed back and forth as Paddy succeeded in playing very averagely until another figure joined the party. This one was a cut above the others, his dress fine and his face clean-shaven. In his mouth sat a dark cigar, its end smoking furiously as its user took a large huff, a meaty hand moving to remove a brown fedora from atop his head, "Whose this boys?" Boss Leone asked? His eyes moving suspiceously towards paddy. "Oh! he's alright, boss. A real standup guy! Names Roy." With a scowl the newcomer looked on, "Really now? Standup guys arent the types to be associating with us.." At this Patrick stands and offers the cigar-smoking man an apologetic dip of his head, "My apologies, friend.. dont want to cause any trouble." and promptly moves to leave, stopping just at the door and reaching into his jacket, quickly pulling out a silence, 9MM pistol which he brings to bear cleanly and efficiently as he shoots each man in the room clean in the head. His job over and done, Patrick Harris left the pub through the back of the building, heading out of an alley and catching a cab after disposing of his pistol down a drain pipe and removing his gloves.

[orangehatter]

Bishop "Bigs" Harris

CLASS: Fast Hero/Gunslinger
APPEARANCE: 6' 2" and 182lbs., Bishop is the youngest (and possibly the shortest) of the brothers. With a toned athletic build and well-defined musculature he was often placed as a power player in any football or rugby games he engaged in. He had also gained his moniker "Bigs" for his wide and heavy forearms. This fact alone has served as both the proponents of intimidation and the brunt of countless masturbation references. His head is crowned with a shaggy curtain of curly black hair. It is held out of his face with a thin navy headband. His eyes, large and brown, are framed in round sockets. His slender nose maintains an aristocratic hump and his lips are exceptionally well-shaped.

Bishop's face is heart-shaped and his ears stick out ever-so-slightly. The right lobe is pierced with a small silver gauge, sometimes opted for an earring in more formal settings. This young man is also a fan of tattoos. One sprawled across his upper back has the words "Family Ties" in a Celtic-Inspired font. His shoulder has a large golden crown with the name of each brother (written in intricate cursive) on each stem.

Bishop's usual dress is casual. He keeps in his wardrobe tight-fitting A-shirts and T-shirts in a myriad of colors. No color, though, is ever loud or too vibrant. His jeans all fit comfortably low on his hips and loose in the leg. He prefers the lightness of his navy-white sneakers, but often opts for steel-toed low cut boots. A short black leather jacket covers his upper torso on most any evening. "On the job", is hands are consistently adorned with black fingerless gloves; a sizable piece in the back of the glove is cut out as a square vent. Lastly, his neck is decorated with a silver chain possessing a trinket designed as a miniature war axe.

PERSONALITY: Bishop is low-key and loosely free-spirited. While he remains close with his brothers, he looks up the most to his oldest brother Brandon. He is social but not very outgoing, preferring to keep light company. To add, Bishop is blunt without abrasion, finding conflicts as just a necessary trail to any given solution. He has a good control over his temper, but he lacks patience. He is prone to a "quick to act" method. When he does actually pause to think, he often comes up with creative resolutions. Whichever way he chooses in going about things, he remains discreet. In addition, Bishop is a fan of the ladies, but despite his somewhat attractive features, he is hard-pressed to find company. He is also very active, often engaging in the newest sport sweeping the country, Le Parkour.

YOUR LAST CONTRACT:

Number #9 I think I'm getting the hang of this thing. As he stepped out of the elaborate elevator, Bishop's mind went back a couple of years ago, to when he was first preparing his trade. The wash of nervousness, the second-guessing, the cold-blooded fear; these things all seemed to be left in the past. Or at least belittled to something akin with stage fright. He knew very well he still had a long way to go. Practice and experience had paid off handsomely, and his previous insecurity was replaced with a deadly focus. His walk down the corridor was accompanied by the sound of squeaky wheels as he pushed a trolley laden with food. His destination was merely yards away, marked by a burly man taking up station outside a heavy fiberglass door. "Suite 714" was the finest room offered in the establishment, and Bishop "Bigs" Harris walked towards this place with little regards for its presence. The guard used his meaty hand to motion for Bishop to come closer. By way of body language, Bishop knew he was going to be searched. And searched he was. From the man's wide fingers running through his blonde-bleached hair all the way to an inspection of all the food times on the cart. He's thorough, Bishop admired, unshaken or perturbed by his light molestation. Once the search was completed, he was admitted into the room with a cursory nod of a large head. A short walk down the marble-floored corridor (or a long walk if you consider that this is personal hotel room) brought Bishop to another heavy door. Along the way, several lightly armed guards chatted and walked idly about. They seemed to pay no attention to Bishop dressed in the black and gray trim of the hotel staff. The false reading glasses even seemed to change the colors of his eyes. His dead end set him before the room of his current job. This time the portal was gold-trimmed oak and seemed to miss a doorknob. A light tingle sounded at the corner of the wall as he approached. "Hroom servees?" The heavy German accent punctured Bishop's sensibilities from a speaker just at his head. Here in Manhattan, where he just re-acquainted himself with the New York dialect, he didn't expect to hear such a weight to the man's voice. "Yes sir. Your food is ready." He could only hope his well-practiced American mannerisms and speech would not rouse suspicion. For a moment, his doubts were strengthened as a testy length of silence left him stock still. "Jat's guuuud! Very gud! Gum Een!" The door slid soundlessly aside and Bishop purposefully strode into the illuminated quarters, the squeaky carts wheels breaking the serenity previously set by the room's mood. The smell was punctuated with fresh and acrid cigar smoke, and Genardo Sigismund himself sat back in a lounge chair with a plush made of the fur from a nearly extinct animal. As Bishop drew close, Genardo sat up and placed his Swedish cigar in the self-standing crystalline ashtray. "Ju ken move eet over there." The man was neither fat or fit, which was uncommon in Bishop's previous appointments. Genardo was somewhere in the area of six and a half feet tall, and skinny enough to blow over. his face was long and his visage seemed to hang. Supposedly the man was 42 years old, but he certainly seemed much older then what the memo had stated. Bishop maneuvered the food cart over to the small dining table just to the side of where the man currently sat. With a twist, the German entrepreneur shifted his chair to the table and gazed over Bishop expectantly. Bishop froze for a short moment before wordlessly making the round to set the food on the table. Genardo remained silent while the soft clinking of plats and bowls tapped the table. Bishop clumsily removed the lids to the dishes and set them on the carts second shelf. Silverware was produced and assembled incorrectly, with Genardo's bright blue eyes scrutinizing every detail. Still, he remained silent. Just as Bishop finished, Genardo said something that was very unpredictable. "Taste my fuud..." Ah. He's a smart one. With feigned hesitation, Bishop used his gloved hands to cut away ungainly pieces of the man's food, chewing slowly and keeping a steady stare at the floor between his feet. he couldn't help but think that it was the best meal he had in some time. "Ju must be nuu." Bishop nodded sheepishly as he swallowed his mouthful of an unidentified bird. The man forced half of a smile to his face and sighed. "Puut my nap'kin on. And see you don't jchoke me." A green napkin was produced from off the cart and Bishop moved to stand behind his charge. This damned hotel needs to find a better staff trainer. Good help is so hard to find. These were Genardo's last thoughts as the plastic razor slipped into his throat. His scream was muted well by the fountain of blood that rushed out of his mouth and the cut. The force of Bishop's jab sent the small blade completely inside his neck, hidden from view and leaving the evidence trace much harder to find. Bishop used his other hand to hold down the man by his shoulder as he shook in his last death throes. Once he finished, Bishop finished tucking the napkin into the man's collar. Never leave a half-assed job. Afterwards, Bishop quickly changed his gloves, disposing of the bloodied clothing in the food burner still lit on the tray. Covering the ashes with a food tray lid, he began the simple process of going back out the way he came. Only 5 minutes later, Bishop was out of the door in the street. He still retained the uniform dress even as he hailed a cab towards his motel on the outskirt of town. He would catch a bus, then a plane out of the country back to Boston, where he would rendezvous with his client before heading to the bar to meet with the Brothers.

[Vaarsuvius]

FIRST NAME: Jeshua "Archer" Harris

CLASS: Fast Hero

APPEARANCE: Jeshua is 24 and fairly tall, standing at 6"3' and weighing 185 lbs. Although he is pretty toned, he's probably the least muscular of the brothers but makes up for it with his swift reflexes. He has low cut brown hair and brown eyes with a little face stubble. On an average day he usually wears very casual clothes T-Shirts and Jeans with sneakers.

PERSONALITY: Jeshua is a risk taker, usually putting his life in danger with almost everything he does, And because of this his brothers usually have to keep an eye on him. He is a bit of a loose cannon and doesnt really take anything too serious. With him women come and go as they never tend to stay for very long once they get to know him.

YOUR LAST CONTRACT: His job was to take down Henry Trevors a local drug lord who was selling information to the law to keep himself out of prison, his location, a hotel room on the 12th floor. Obviously going into the hotel to take him out was out of the question, Henry was too paranoid and had tons of guards. Jeshua would have to enter the parking garage next to the hotel which luckily had a perfect view into Henry's room, Unfortunately Henry knew this and set up a dozen of his men in the garage. So far Jeshua had taken out 3 guards hand to hand with 10 floors to go. Cursing to himself about the amount of walking he's done so far. Only running into about 5 more guards until he reaches his sniping position, Jeshua takes off his bag and assembles his rifle. Giving himself only 5 minutes or so before someone notices the missing guards Jeshua sets up for the shot. Henry was sleeping in a pitch black room which was unlucky for Jeshua who only brought a basic scope and didn't know where the bed was, angry with himself for forgetting a night vision or thermal scope Jeshua waits a little longer. Five minutes later a man walks into Henry's room and turns on the lights, the man was most likely a guard warning Henry about the missing guards. As the man woke up Henry to remove him from the room Jeshua knew he only have a maximum of 2 minutes to take the shot. As soon as the man grabbed Henry to remove him from the room Jeshua took the shot "Game Over".