Character
A:10/D:3/V:6
B:7/A:8/P:7/C:7/I:3

Player: Blazer
Name: Nathanial
Gender: Male
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral/Good (Leans towards Neutral)
Age: 30
Species: Cat (Burmilla)

http://www.burmesen-online.de/pics-all/burmilla/burmilla2.jpg

Combat Stats:

ATK (attack) 10
DEF (defence) 3
VIT (vitality) 6
HP (hitpoints) 18/18
FP (fate points) 4/6


Role-playing Stats:

Bod (body) 7
Agi (agility) 8
Per (perception) 7
Cha (charisma) 7
IQ (intelligence) 3


Character Quirks

- Close Quarters Specialist (Close Combatant) - You gain an additional point to spend on your combat stats or two additional points to spend on RP stats – however, you are completely unable to make attacks at range. You must have at least 5 ATT to take this quirk.
- Lethality (Critical Strike) - Whenever you roll the maximum on an attack roll again and add the result. If you roll a 1 you fumble and lose your next turn. Characters with critical strike may not use Fatepoints to reroll 1’s. The extra damage from Critical strike is -not- multiplied by SM’s such as charge attack or double damage.
- Resourcefulness (Patience) - Your character gains two extra points for Non-combat attributes but rolls 1d6 for initiative.

Special Moves

- Deadly Focus (Never Miss) Make an attack roll as normal. If you miss re-roll with a +2 direct bonus to the result (not the sides) ignoring any or all defensive Sm’s your target uses. If the attack still misses the target must continue to reroll his defense until it does hit. NM may be activated after the attack and defense rolls are made rather than before.
- Execution (Charge Attack) - Spend one turn charging this attack. On your next turn, make an attack as normal, but roll two dice instead of one adding the results. Note: For the purposes of quirks such as Critical strike, only the ‘first’ roll counts.
- Longevity (Reinforce) - When attacked roll DEF as normal. If you survive heal yourself 1dVIT HP

Description

Long warbraided gray hair and with silvery gray fur with few dark stripes over his body along with plenty scars make a decent looking battle worn feline warrior. Tall (approximately 6') and slim for a cat with a fit shaped body enough wield a sword with ease. His pale amber eyes are covered by the dark gray hood he usually wears to keep him from the eyes of others because he doesn’t want to stand out amongst many. Not really what you can call a quiet person but not entirely the most talkative as well, his voice could be best described as rugged and torn due to an old wound, received many years ago. Even when trying to be funny his serious and scarred face doesn’t really show much of the fun when he is trying to show it, making him look grumpy most the times even when trying to smile, but that changes as the hearty laugh shows the true emotions behind the time washed face face.
Dressed in the dusky gray colors of clothes underneath the leather armor and brigandine, while having affinity to remain well protected with enough flexibility so it doesn’t hinder his movements he tends not to think about how his clothes are fashionable; which is proved by simple gray clothing we wears more commonly when seen out of his full battle gear. Usually having more then enough spare weapons by his side making his armed to the teeth, literally armed from head to toe as his two bastard swords are in black scabbards over his shoulder, and while carrying a crossbow that he uses for quick actions while not tending to rely on it too much. Though carrying by his side throwing daggers that are concealed within the leather satchels over his thighs and two more additional daggers that remain crossed over his belt, finally a concealed dagger is placed in his right boot if he were ever to be disarmed or captured to have a chance of escaping.

http://img254.imageshack.us/img254/4744/nathanial.png

http://fc01.deviantart.net/fs70/i/2011/277/9/3/bounty_hunter_by_scorchingblaze-d4buu4q.jpg

Background
	Son of Alndor and Ivette, born into a small feline family in Enelmiar where his childhood was stripped away from him forcefully with the death of his parents due to a bandit attack that was made upon his home village that overlooked the great ocean to the West. Now parent-less, along in the world he only took a glimpse of a as a mere child who wandered the roads of Enelmiar. Struggling to survive among cities through where his little legs carried him, he could barely even get enough coin for a loaf of fresh bread. Mostly eating tasteless swill from hospice that was kind enough to share its supplies with those less fortunate. Finding himself doing small ‘services’ and 'errands' for others, the little he earned was enough for hm not to starve. Though life for a child so young, but it payed off. Able to take care of himself at young age, he quickly learned how harsh this world can be towards everyone. Being well aware of this face, he earned whatever he could to take care of himself while trying to help others with what little he possed. For two winters has the feeling of being trapped within the gray cold walls of cities burdened him, his thirst of seeing the open world only grew stronger and so did the lust for freedom became more then just an idea. Barely of age to hold a sword he proved himself to be quite skilled with after picking up a sword from a fallen guard to help fending off war dogs and common brigands. Mercenaries that were payed to guard the caravan saw little Burmilla’s finesse to wield a blade and was picked into a group of mercenaries where he worked under the commander called Moorin for the local guilds as body guard and regular mercenary who takes lives for blood earned coin.
	Mercenaries being his new family where he was trained and molded into a fine warrior, knowledgeable about weapons and armors as he was appointed to one of the camp’s weapon masters. Being a long standing tradition among this mercenary clan who reffered to itself as “Lodge of the Dale” in honor of the valley where the warband first came to be. Fresh recruits being appointed to veteran warriors who were as their masters and trainers, from whom they would learn the basic things about this rough life in warrior society. His appointed master was an old war veteran, the scarred old man Weyland who passed on his teachings to Nathanial about respecting a fellow warrior, mother earth that gives life to all and father thunder that protects all dear to him. While most importantly passing on his knowledge of weapons and equipment they had in possession, being it light or heavy protection he learned how to handle them with care. Outfitting warriors for combat, keeping the weapons sharp and strong, fletching the arrows and bolts for the archers, keeping the forge burning to help remake the dented or destroyed equipment, removing the blood and rust from them as well were just first of his tasks old man Weyland gave out to a fresh recruit that could barely wield a blade which was appointed to the seasoned Keeshond.
	After proving himself and seen fit to join the real battle and after the first successful skirmish where his ‘test’ was set, he was called upon to take the oath to become full fledged warrior and sword brother of Clan of the Dale. Swearing upon the oath alongside his brothers and sisters in arms in front of the “War Council” which consisted of four master warriors and leaders who led this warband. Now appointed to one of the camp masters where the warriors of every calibre were constantly trained, honed to very perfection of becoming brutal soldiers under the harsh whip of Myra, who was to most like a mother who believed in tough love. Almost everyone called her in her honorary title of “Hellspawn” due to harsh training she placed upon the others which she took pride in. Discipline and endurance being most admirable of traits which she held dear which through the rough training and strong grip of her command proved to be lifesavers to many as they would have perished long time ago if it were not for such professional training.
	Each scar had its story to tell but those stories weren't keeping the void around his heart filled as growing ambition for adventure wasn’t sated after the siege of Ravenfall, where he witnessed a bloody massacre and took place in it. As the siege had begun and the warhorns were sounded, trebuchet, siege towers, battering rams took their charges. Under the heavy rain and the constant bombardment by ballista’s and the arrows the already war torn soldiers pushed. As soon as the first tower was in place, so did the morle rose up. Two regiments including the one where Nathanial was serving in, made advance with the orders to carry out, which was simple; secure the gatehouse and the inner townsquare, or die trying. Death was not an option, but many did suffer the ultimate price as the fought their way inside the city against the trained knights, soldiers and militia. The battle wasn’t in their favour as the noblemen who brought in their professional soldiers didn’t even bother to join the fight, instead they came as victors, taking in all the glory and gratitude for their services as they simply killed off the already broken defenders. Not a word was passed as the lower ranked officers and mercenaries picked up the spoils and crumbs of whatever is left while licking their wounds. During the siege he came across the crossbows path as soon as his regiment charged out of the siege tower that finally got in place, receiving what would’ve been easily a fatal wound over his collarbone, near his neck. Luck somehow smiled his way as the sorcerer who was trained in healing arts was standing few paces away from him, quickly tending to his wound and saving his life, by pure luck he survived, but his voice was partially taken away from the Burmilla as the old wound takes in, making it difficult to talk.
	His unwillingness to obey the task of slaughtering the remaining citizens which was given to their commander from the Crown prince of Enelmiar who purchased their services to fight for him. As one of the best soldiers within the ranks and for standing out amidst the raging battle, he did not suffer an execution for disobeying the High command but was punished so that his mark can be seen to all. Given to him by his commander who he held in high respects because of his leadership and art of war, forever changing his respect into hatred for him for breaking the sworn oath. A hideous scar over his left eye served as a warning to those who don’t follow the order, no matter how hard they might fall on the one who does the task.
	The life he dreamt of having a family seems to be slowly fading away with each passing year as his past habits cannot seem to abandon him making him wander from place to place working as bounty hunter and a blade for hire. Years of such –service- made him cold and precise when it comes to killing, scarred and battle hardened from years of his past life he came to Caignwell as a 'recommendation' from one of the barons he helped while serving with mercenaries two years back, at the age of twenty three. To look for a better life in a new province....