Name: Connor McKinley
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Region: Third
Class: Middle
Style: Purely defensive.
Occupation: Mercenary
Income: 800 silver
Talents/Skills:
Connor has the uncanny ability to simply survive. He has survived the complete destruction of his mercenary group, after all.
His shield is his sword, and in that respect there is none better then him. His massive shield stands like a mountain, protecting him and those behind him, while his gauntleted arm wards off anything that might pass through.
Siblings (if any): N/A
Spouse (if any): N/A
Children (if any): N/A
Relationships (if any): N/A
Physical Characteristics:
Appearance Picture or Description:
Height: 6'2"
Weight: 194 Lb
Eye Color: Brown
Hair Color: Brown
Skin color: White.
Distinguishing features: A scar makes his mouth look lopsided, with one side seemingly longer then the other. A nose that has been broken and poorly set many times sits squarely on his face, above his lopsided mouth. A massive scar in the middle of his chest and back, right below the heart.
Habits:
Practicing, a dull scythe can't harvest grain and is useless. He doesn't enjoy it, but it has been so ingrained into his daily schedule that he can't easily quit it.
Getting a bit to close to people when he's talking to them. A lot of weapons are next to useless when they can't be swung. His unconscious invasion of someone's personal space is at this point instinctual.
Hobbies:
Perhaps unsurprisingly, he loves boxing. He's no professional, his form and technique are terrible, but his raw power makes up for it, somewhat.
Greatest flaw:
When he says he's going to do something, he's going to do it. Even if that means his life.
Best quality:
His greatest flaw is also his best quality. You can rely on him to do as he says.
Summon(s): Shirou
How did you obtain your Summon?: Found it while on the road. He figured it must have dropped off some noble's or merchant's caravan.
Weapons: A massive tower shield protects the entire side of his body that it's on. And a gauntlet, more of another shield really, protects him further and adds some weight to his punches.
Strengths:
Connor's greatest strength is his, well, strength. It takes a lot of muscle to even carry the tower shield.
Whole sides of his body are protected at a time thanks to his tower shield. And should he back himself into a corner, not much will be able to get him.
Many people often forget about his gauntlet, and are often surprised when they are reminded of it. But the broken nose they receive helps them remember.
Weaknesses:
Connor is a large, mountain of a man. This means he's rather slow. Weighed down by arms and armor, nimble opponents can quickly dash to his unprotected side and bury their weapon into the cracks of his armor.
Fears:
He fears he will never obtain absolution from his sins, and that he won't be accepted into the after life.
Motivation for joining: To absolve him of his sins.
Personality:
Connor is a silent man, strongly believing that actions speak louder then words. That being said, he doesn't talk, he booms. Indoor voice, outdoor voice, they're both the same to him. And he's as polite as can be, except for his unconscious invasion of personal space that is. When he does have to fight, he's always shouting at the enemy. Block a spear thrust, yell at them in defiance. Push them back, shout in triumph. The fact that fighting helps him relieve pent up stress and anger only makes him a touch more scary when fighting. Some have compared his fighting to that of a mountain spirit's, a ferocious push towards the cliff's edge and a nudge to send the enemy over the edge. A pretty big change from the normally kind Connor.
Background: Connor was born poor, as the majority of the people in this land are. However, he realized that he had two options. His first was to do as everyone else did and keep their head down and survive the best they could. The second option that less people took for some reason was to become a mercenary. A mercenary that did the taking, and could defend themselves if someone wanted to take from them. And they got paid for it to. The great game most nobles play sometimes calls for extra muscle, and mercenaries were often that extra muscle. He decided to take the latter of the two options.
So he joined up with a mercenary band, the Band of the Red Hand, a group famous for their entrenchment combat. He was assigned to be a Shield Bearer, to stand in the front lines with a long spear resting over his shoulder. This was one of the most important positions in the band. Almost everything hinged on the shield wall that these often large men created to keep the enemy out, so the long spears could whittle the enemy down safely. After succeeding in his task in many battles, he thought he was near invincible. Nothing had managed to kill him, after all. But that would all change.
It was just another battle, one the Band of the Red Hand had fount many times. Defend this position, and don't let the enemy pass. Simple. And all the reports stated that they would be able to do this task easily. However, the reports were wrong. Whether it was a part of a plan to get rid of the Band, or it was simply wrong, is unknown. However, the enemy outnumbered them almost 5 to 1 and road beasts the like Connor had never seen before. They smashed aside the Band's tried and true battle formation, killing any that stood in their path and enslaving the rest. The only reason Connor isn't a slave now is because they thought him dead, having been impaled by a tusk of one of the vicious and mysterious beasts.
As he was lying on the ground, dying from his wounds, he saw it. He saw the afterlife, paradise and damnation. And he saw the split in the road. Standing at the split was a single guard, clad in simple armor and wielding an iron staff. As Connor tried to take the path to Paradise, the guard stopped him with his staff, and gestured towards the path of damnation.
It was at this point that he awoke, drenched in sweat and in nothing but his small cloth. He was alive. But that couldn't be right, he had just been dead a couple seconds ago. There was a hole right here. Raising a hand to where the hole was supposed to be, he found scar tissue instead. How? The tusk had gone clean through, he had felt it go out his back. He was starting to panic now, there was dark magics involved, there had to be. He was a slave, and there was nothing he could do about it. He could feel the perceived mark of slavery like a lead weight in the small of his back. But an old woman came in and assured him that that was not the case. He had been saved by her husband, who had dragged him back from that battlefield, and had been sleeping for a month. She admitted to having almost lost him several times during his slumber. How he was alive explained, he calmed down. Which the elderly couple found to be the most surprising part about it all. He had a hole when they brought him there, and he brushed it off like it was nothing.
He stayed at their home for a time, doing chores such as splitting wood, hunting, and cleaning. After a few months time, he left to seek out atonement for his sins.
Additional Notes on This Character: 
