- Invitation Status
- Not accepting invites at this time
- Posting Speed
- One post per day
- 1-3 posts per week
- One post per week
- Online Availability
- Everyday
- Writing Levels
- Intermediate
- Adept
- Advanced
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Female
- Genres
- Fantasy, Modern, Magical, Sc-fi, Horror, Steampunk, anything really
Character Full Name: Everard Haydock Meriwether
Pronunciation: Ev-er-arhd Hay-dock Merry-weather
Personality: Everard is a brutish man. His personality can be compared to a blunt object. Not very stylish or intricate, but it does get the job done. He says what's on his mind. Does what he wants. And he has a temper that goes off quicker than a sneeze in a dusty room. Not to say that he is unpleasant to be around, but one does have to have a taste for his certain aesthetic. He drinks, smokes, gambles, and fights. The latter being how he earns his income. How many people can say that they love what they do? Everard is not one to be dour or introspective. He follows his heart, even if it gets him in trouble. Actually, it always gets get him in trouble.
What is your last memory before you came here?:
The alley was dark, a sort of encompassing darkness that squashes any light--even the moon was having a hard time penetrating it. Everard could barely make out the other man's face. He squinted, which caused his nose to ache. It wasn't going to set right. At least he still had all his teeth, or at least he had all of them for now. One was wiggling more than it should have.
"I roughed 'im up just like you asked," Everard said. "Even grabbed that strange globe-y thing off of his desk." It was about the size of his palm, gold, and had these flat discs that rotated around it. Everard extended his bloodied hand towards the man in the shadows. The action caused him to wince again. The old man hadn't gone down easy. His employer hadn't fully explained that his target had once been an officer in the army.
"It is an astrolabe, Mister Meriwether," the man said, possibly smiling--Everard couldn't tell. He took the 'astrolabe' from Everard's hand and tucked it away in the folds of his jacket.
"Alright, sure." He sniffed back the blood in nose. "You have my payment?"
"Of course I do," the man said.
Everard never saw the gun.
________________________________________________
Species:
Class:
Cogs:
Inventory: