Post by Captain Vaughan O’Murray on Jun 8, 2011 22:48:40 GMT -8
BEHIND THE QUOTES
NAME;
Jack Smith (yeah, yeah, I know... boring as crap name. I hate it too.)
AGE;
18
ROLE PLAY EXPERIENCE;
I was once relatively good a while back on a site forum that offered non-themed independent RP’s.
HOW'D YOU FIND US;
Know people who know people who know a few inter-dimensional beings that told me about someone who knew about this forum.
MEANS OF CONTACT;
Private Messaging
OTHER COMMENTS;
Can’t be in this for the long run, but a month or so is time to have some fun.
IN THIS SKIN
FULL NAME;
Vaughan O’Murray ((VAW-han O’MUR-ree))
ALIAS;
Just goes by O'Murray
GENDER;
Male
BIRTH DATE / AGE;
41
ALLIANCE;
Neutral
POSITION AND RANK;
Captain
SHIP;
The Aycayia Queen
PERSONALITY;
Vaughan O’Murray is the least likely pirate to ever become a captain. He has an odd talent of being able to sword fight better when he is drunk, and he is an okay swordsman on the rare occasions of being sober. In fact if you where to tell any man who had ever met him and you told them that he was now the captain of his own ship, most would take it as the most amusing thing they have ever heard, or close to it. It isn’t that he is a jackass or a bad person in any way; in fact he was hard working when he wasn’t drunk and incredibly polite and kind most of the time. It is just because he is just so incredibly average and nothing special that he would be the last person anyone would think to become a captain of his own ship. His up-bringing as the first son of a poor catholic Irish fishing family taught him strong discipline and a good work ethic.
Now that he is no longer a washed up depressed man with nothing really to live for, he has suddenly started to drink less; that’s not to say he has stopped being drunk every hour of the day, just that he has stopped drinking to pass out every hour he can of every day. Unfortunately not many have seen him completely sober and realized it, but as far as anyone who has can tell, his inebriated self is his normal sober self with a slight slur and a look of walking on a rocking ship whenever he is walking on solid land. He can also weave a tale from nothing that would captivate anyone listening and probably make him a much more respectable person—unfortunately the slur he has when he is overly intoxicated makes the stories he tries to tell sound unpleasant.
So if anyone who knew O’Murray well enough and stopped to think about him, they may see that he isn’t actually all that unlikely to run a ship. Unfortunately nobody did care enough to know him that well or to spend any time thinking about just who old O’Murray really was.
PHYSICAL APPEARANCE;
When walking within ten feet of O’Murray you would smell an overpowering stench of alcohol mixed in with a slight smell of filth. In essence, he is just like every stereotypical Irish drunk in nearly every physical sense. He is big, around 200 lbs, and starting to get out of shape but most of his weight is mussel still. His face houses a large red beard that he claims will never be shaven higher than his stomach if he has anything to do about it.
HEIGHT;
5'10"
WEIGHT;
92kg
HAIR COLOR;
Red
EYE COLOR;
Brown
ANY SPECIAL MARKINGS;
Body littered with scars from fishing accidents, brawls, and a few he doesn’t remember getting. He has a few tattoos all over his body from the time he spent with some tribes that would decorate their bodies with symbolic fetishes.
WHAT'S YOUR STORY, SAILOR?
FAMILY;;
Dead or of Unknown Whereabouts
BACKGROUND;;
As previously mentioned, O’Murray was brought up in a poor catholic Irish fishing family. He distinctly remembers every word his father had ever spoken sense his birth. On the day his father died, he heard the words “Take care son,” the only three words he had ever heard his father speak. He had never been particularly close to his father, and losing him was more like a boss you have had for years dyeing on you. This was because that was all his dad was, his boss. From nearly the time he could walk, he was out on a fishing boat with his dad and seven brothers earning his sea legs. When he was only thirteen he was a master of sailing and just as capable as anyone else to bring in fish. It was around this time that he got his first sword; he was out crab fishing one day when he pulled two small crabs and an old rusty dull sword.
Most any other fishermen would have thrown it back in the water and complained about the catch, but he put the sword in his boat and went back to shore. He spent all his savings on the sword being repaired by the town’s blacksmith. It was then that it hit him that it was nearly five years sense he saw the very thing that drew his interest to the hunk of sharp metal.
There were two men who had come into their small town for drink, food, and logging when at around the same time a few soldiers came to town. O’Murray would later find out that the two men where pirates and the soldiers had just been coming in to town on a fluke of bad luck for the men. He had been in town to fetch some bait and a new net form the market when it happened. In the town center the two men had been asking around for willing sailors to aid them in a trading embargo—he knew this because he was stopped at one point and was tempted by the men’s smooth words—when they were confronted by one of the soldiers and less than a minute later the soldiers had their swords drawn and the pirates stood with swords of their own prepared for whoever made the first move. When one of the soldiers lunged at the two pirates, the battle commenced and O’Murray was mesmerized by the clang of iron and the smooth dance of the men as they all fought with the intent of disabling their opponent by any means. In what felt like only a few moments to him the pirates where running away and the four soldiers laid on the ground, two dead and the other knocked out and badly wounded.
After this show of thrilling entertainment he wanted to learn how to fight just like them, but could never afford a sword of his own; now that he had had one, he felt invigorated and happy—a feeling that he had not felt most of the time. From that day forth, he would train in every moment he had on a log or on the mast of his small sail boat which had to be replaced several times, making his father quite angry. By the time fifteen years had passed he had pretty much become a fair self-trained swordsman; of course he had never had anyone to train on and had little actual skill.
Shortly after his thirtieth birthday his father had died of getting too sick for his old bones to deal with. Shortly after, his mother took her own life by sailing out into a storm with no deep knowledge of sailing. He and his brothers went their separate ways after their mother’s funeral, he has not heard from a single one sense. He was devastated, but he stayed behind and continued fishing as if nothing had happened; not to mention the alcohol helped greatly and it was soon after his mother’s funeral that he began his habit of drinking away all his extra money.
A few years of being the town drunk just made him hate his life even more. But around his thirty-second birthday he saw something he hadn’t seen sense he was a small boy. Two men who looked a lot like the two men who had come to town before. Only this time, they were in the bar recruiting people to crew a real pirates ship. Being drunk and slightly allured to his childhood he took the job and drank away the signing bonus he got and passed out. When he woke up he was on a ship and had an excruciating pain in his arm; when he looked at the spot, he saw a P burned into his skin. From that day on he was a pirate.
AND BEYOND…
PORTRAYED BY;
John Rhys-Davies
PICTURE;
www.councilofelrond.com/modules/My_eGallery/gallery/characters/gimli/ca_gimli013.jpg
ROLE PLAY EXAMPLE;
Unfortunately, the place where I role played no longer exists, but I do have this old idea on my computer from years ago… kind of a rough draft and was never actually posted, but it is something I suppose.
Deathly Games
Playing games is always fun;
All the way until it is done.
Winning or losing, it’s all fine;
Unless your life is on the line.
Stakes are high. Time is running out.
Faster, the game is just about…
Whoops, you lost. Quick now, try to run.
Your fate is sealed little one.
The boy’s eyes flew open and darted around, it was pitch black. He sat up, sweating and panting heavily, and for a moment, he didn’t know where he was at first. He was in his room, in his bed; he had had a nightmare; but it didn’t feel like that for some time. He sighed and turned to look at the dim red numbers on his alarm clock and fell back into reality: 3:22A.M.. He turned his head back into the darkness, sighing again, and wiped the sweat from his brow. What he was dreaming about now floated away and he no longer knew what it was that frightened him, but he was still a little scared. Slowly, his fear too subsided, and he lay his head back down on his cool pillow.
What a strange dream he had just had. He thought about it as he tried to fall back asleep. He had dreamed of witnessing his parents being attacked. It was so real, as nightmares often where, but this one was different. As he lay there, he tried to get the image of the creepy old man out of his mind so he could fall back into a comfortable slumber. But just as he was about to drift back into a far more peaceful dream, he herd something.
A low soft hum filled the room, the boy sat up, eyes pacing the room left to right; it was dark so he say nothing. The hum soon stopped, and he put off the noise as the air-conditioning turning on or something, so he lay his head down again, trying to fall back asleep. Several minutes later the hum sounded again, this time lower, louder, and it didn’t stop quickly like the first one. The boy sat up again, this time he grabbed a flashlight out of his nightstand drawer. He flicked it on in a hurried panic as the humming continued. He pointed it into the room, moving the light from one corner to the next. He saw nothing, reassured that there was nothing in his room, he set the flashlight on his nightstand and he lay his head back down on his pillow. The hum stopped, and the room fell silent; the boy was now feeling a little less scared, but he still couldn’t fall asleep.
Several minutes passed and the boy was still awake; the hum sounded again, still lower, and still louder. This time the hum was accompanied by another noise, the tap, tap, tap, of something on the wooden floor. The boy gave a whimper, this time he was not just scared, he was growing even more paranoid that there was something or somebody making that noise, and he was now sure that it was in his room. He blindly groped for his flashlight, knocking over his alarm clock. The noise grew even louder; it grew to the point where it almost hurt the poor boys ears. Then the alarm clock hit the floor, it made a loud thud as it hit the floor, and just like that, everything stopped; the hum, the taping, the room was silent except for the boy’s heavy breathing. His hands found the flashlight and he threw it on instantly, but this time it didn’t land on a white wall or a poster. A loud high-pinched cackling rang thought the room as the light focused on the face of a tall scrawny looking man holding a cane in one hand and a rag in the other. The boy dropped the flashlight and was about to scream. Just like that, all was suddenly quiet again.
[/size][/center]NAME;
Jack Smith (yeah, yeah, I know... boring as crap name. I hate it too.)
AGE;
18
ROLE PLAY EXPERIENCE;
I was once relatively good a while back on a site forum that offered non-themed independent RP’s.
HOW'D YOU FIND US;
Know people who know people who know a few inter-dimensional beings that told me about someone who knew about this forum.
MEANS OF CONTACT;
Private Messaging
OTHER COMMENTS;
Can’t be in this for the long run, but a month or so is time to have some fun.
IN THIS SKIN
FULL NAME;
Vaughan O’Murray ((VAW-han O’MUR-ree))
ALIAS;
Just goes by O'Murray
GENDER;
Male
BIRTH DATE / AGE;
41
ALLIANCE;
Neutral
POSITION AND RANK;
Captain
SHIP;
The Aycayia Queen
PERSONALITY;
Vaughan O’Murray is the least likely pirate to ever become a captain. He has an odd talent of being able to sword fight better when he is drunk, and he is an okay swordsman on the rare occasions of being sober. In fact if you where to tell any man who had ever met him and you told them that he was now the captain of his own ship, most would take it as the most amusing thing they have ever heard, or close to it. It isn’t that he is a jackass or a bad person in any way; in fact he was hard working when he wasn’t drunk and incredibly polite and kind most of the time. It is just because he is just so incredibly average and nothing special that he would be the last person anyone would think to become a captain of his own ship. His up-bringing as the first son of a poor catholic Irish fishing family taught him strong discipline and a good work ethic.
Now that he is no longer a washed up depressed man with nothing really to live for, he has suddenly started to drink less; that’s not to say he has stopped being drunk every hour of the day, just that he has stopped drinking to pass out every hour he can of every day. Unfortunately not many have seen him completely sober and realized it, but as far as anyone who has can tell, his inebriated self is his normal sober self with a slight slur and a look of walking on a rocking ship whenever he is walking on solid land. He can also weave a tale from nothing that would captivate anyone listening and probably make him a much more respectable person—unfortunately the slur he has when he is overly intoxicated makes the stories he tries to tell sound unpleasant.
So if anyone who knew O’Murray well enough and stopped to think about him, they may see that he isn’t actually all that unlikely to run a ship. Unfortunately nobody did care enough to know him that well or to spend any time thinking about just who old O’Murray really was.
PHYSICAL APPEARANCE;
When walking within ten feet of O’Murray you would smell an overpowering stench of alcohol mixed in with a slight smell of filth. In essence, he is just like every stereotypical Irish drunk in nearly every physical sense. He is big, around 200 lbs, and starting to get out of shape but most of his weight is mussel still. His face houses a large red beard that he claims will never be shaven higher than his stomach if he has anything to do about it.
HEIGHT;
5'10"
WEIGHT;
92kg
HAIR COLOR;
Red
EYE COLOR;
Brown
ANY SPECIAL MARKINGS;
Body littered with scars from fishing accidents, brawls, and a few he doesn’t remember getting. He has a few tattoos all over his body from the time he spent with some tribes that would decorate their bodies with symbolic fetishes.
WHAT'S YOUR STORY, SAILOR?
FAMILY;;
Dead or of Unknown Whereabouts
BACKGROUND;;
As previously mentioned, O’Murray was brought up in a poor catholic Irish fishing family. He distinctly remembers every word his father had ever spoken sense his birth. On the day his father died, he heard the words “Take care son,” the only three words he had ever heard his father speak. He had never been particularly close to his father, and losing him was more like a boss you have had for years dyeing on you. This was because that was all his dad was, his boss. From nearly the time he could walk, he was out on a fishing boat with his dad and seven brothers earning his sea legs. When he was only thirteen he was a master of sailing and just as capable as anyone else to bring in fish. It was around this time that he got his first sword; he was out crab fishing one day when he pulled two small crabs and an old rusty dull sword.
Most any other fishermen would have thrown it back in the water and complained about the catch, but he put the sword in his boat and went back to shore. He spent all his savings on the sword being repaired by the town’s blacksmith. It was then that it hit him that it was nearly five years sense he saw the very thing that drew his interest to the hunk of sharp metal.
There were two men who had come into their small town for drink, food, and logging when at around the same time a few soldiers came to town. O’Murray would later find out that the two men where pirates and the soldiers had just been coming in to town on a fluke of bad luck for the men. He had been in town to fetch some bait and a new net form the market when it happened. In the town center the two men had been asking around for willing sailors to aid them in a trading embargo—he knew this because he was stopped at one point and was tempted by the men’s smooth words—when they were confronted by one of the soldiers and less than a minute later the soldiers had their swords drawn and the pirates stood with swords of their own prepared for whoever made the first move. When one of the soldiers lunged at the two pirates, the battle commenced and O’Murray was mesmerized by the clang of iron and the smooth dance of the men as they all fought with the intent of disabling their opponent by any means. In what felt like only a few moments to him the pirates where running away and the four soldiers laid on the ground, two dead and the other knocked out and badly wounded.
After this show of thrilling entertainment he wanted to learn how to fight just like them, but could never afford a sword of his own; now that he had had one, he felt invigorated and happy—a feeling that he had not felt most of the time. From that day forth, he would train in every moment he had on a log or on the mast of his small sail boat which had to be replaced several times, making his father quite angry. By the time fifteen years had passed he had pretty much become a fair self-trained swordsman; of course he had never had anyone to train on and had little actual skill.
Shortly after his thirtieth birthday his father had died of getting too sick for his old bones to deal with. Shortly after, his mother took her own life by sailing out into a storm with no deep knowledge of sailing. He and his brothers went their separate ways after their mother’s funeral, he has not heard from a single one sense. He was devastated, but he stayed behind and continued fishing as if nothing had happened; not to mention the alcohol helped greatly and it was soon after his mother’s funeral that he began his habit of drinking away all his extra money.
A few years of being the town drunk just made him hate his life even more. But around his thirty-second birthday he saw something he hadn’t seen sense he was a small boy. Two men who looked a lot like the two men who had come to town before. Only this time, they were in the bar recruiting people to crew a real pirates ship. Being drunk and slightly allured to his childhood he took the job and drank away the signing bonus he got and passed out. When he woke up he was on a ship and had an excruciating pain in his arm; when he looked at the spot, he saw a P burned into his skin. From that day on he was a pirate.
AND BEYOND…
PORTRAYED BY;
John Rhys-Davies
PICTURE;
www.councilofelrond.com/modules/My_eGallery/gallery/characters/gimli/ca_gimli013.jpg
ROLE PLAY EXAMPLE;
Unfortunately, the place where I role played no longer exists, but I do have this old idea on my computer from years ago… kind of a rough draft and was never actually posted, but it is something I suppose.
Deathly Games
Playing games is always fun;
All the way until it is done.
Winning or losing, it’s all fine;
Unless your life is on the line.
Stakes are high. Time is running out.
Faster, the game is just about…
Whoops, you lost. Quick now, try to run.
Your fate is sealed little one.
The boy’s eyes flew open and darted around, it was pitch black. He sat up, sweating and panting heavily, and for a moment, he didn’t know where he was at first. He was in his room, in his bed; he had had a nightmare; but it didn’t feel like that for some time. He sighed and turned to look at the dim red numbers on his alarm clock and fell back into reality: 3:22A.M.. He turned his head back into the darkness, sighing again, and wiped the sweat from his brow. What he was dreaming about now floated away and he no longer knew what it was that frightened him, but he was still a little scared. Slowly, his fear too subsided, and he lay his head back down on his cool pillow.
What a strange dream he had just had. He thought about it as he tried to fall back asleep. He had dreamed of witnessing his parents being attacked. It was so real, as nightmares often where, but this one was different. As he lay there, he tried to get the image of the creepy old man out of his mind so he could fall back into a comfortable slumber. But just as he was about to drift back into a far more peaceful dream, he herd something.
A low soft hum filled the room, the boy sat up, eyes pacing the room left to right; it was dark so he say nothing. The hum soon stopped, and he put off the noise as the air-conditioning turning on or something, so he lay his head down again, trying to fall back asleep. Several minutes later the hum sounded again, this time lower, louder, and it didn’t stop quickly like the first one. The boy sat up again, this time he grabbed a flashlight out of his nightstand drawer. He flicked it on in a hurried panic as the humming continued. He pointed it into the room, moving the light from one corner to the next. He saw nothing, reassured that there was nothing in his room, he set the flashlight on his nightstand and he lay his head back down on his pillow. The hum stopped, and the room fell silent; the boy was now feeling a little less scared, but he still couldn’t fall asleep.
Several minutes passed and the boy was still awake; the hum sounded again, still lower, and still louder. This time the hum was accompanied by another noise, the tap, tap, tap, of something on the wooden floor. The boy gave a whimper, this time he was not just scared, he was growing even more paranoid that there was something or somebody making that noise, and he was now sure that it was in his room. He blindly groped for his flashlight, knocking over his alarm clock. The noise grew even louder; it grew to the point where it almost hurt the poor boys ears. Then the alarm clock hit the floor, it made a loud thud as it hit the floor, and just like that, everything stopped; the hum, the taping, the room was silent except for the boy’s heavy breathing. His hands found the flashlight and he threw it on instantly, but this time it didn’t land on a white wall or a poster. A loud high-pinched cackling rang thought the room as the light focused on the face of a tall scrawny looking man holding a cane in one hand and a rag in the other. The boy dropped the flashlight and was about to scream. Just like that, all was suddenly quiet again.
