Name: Anthony Marchelli.
Age: Roundabout his mid-twenties.
Official education: GED.
Background: A drifter who blew into town on the back of his motorcycle a little over a year ago with nothing more to his name than a mostly empty wallet and a backpack full of bric-a-brack. Since then he's filled out his life a little bit more with an apartment, complete with a matress on the floor and worn-out collection of Keats on the back of the toilet.
Works the night shift at Denny's as a cook. Plays a mean hand of poker for a few extra bucks, which is the major source of the few friends he has, as Anthony tends to keep to himself and has never once spoken much of his life before he arrived in town.
"So why'd you stay?"
"I was getting towards the last of my money and the last of my gas and these folks gave me a job."
Description: Antony stands at 6' 2", wiry muscular. Long, lank, and oily black hair pulled back from his face and tied off with a rubber band. Angular cheekbones and grey-black eyes, cleanshaven. Tends to wear a clean wifebeater and bluejeans, very occasionally a pair of kahki cargo pants. Tosses a flannel shirt over his frame when its chilly outside, and has a Buzz Rickson he wears in the mid of winter and when on his bike.
He's got several noticable knife scars and a cheap analog watch on his forearms, though he doesn't care to explain where they come from, as well as a slightly newer one under his left eye... in addition, his knuckles and nose are scarred and reset, leading credence to the idea he might have been a troublemaker, though except for one overnight stint in jail for a barroom brawl over a game of pool, he's seemed a fairly laid back and quiet man.
If it weren't for the scars, the tattoos (a gothic ankh tattooed on the inside of his left wrist, a scarab on his sternum, and a celtic knot winding up the right forearm and bicep to become a headstone with a raven perched atop), and the piercings (two in each earlobe, one through the cartilige of his right, and the tongue), all in all Anthony would be a rather unassuming and quietly tall man of Italian descent.
Aside from his Harley, Anthony doesn't own much ... A pack of djarum blacks in his back pocket and a cheap wristwatch. A switchknife in one pocket, a bic (pen) in the other, and a leatherman multitool on his belt. The only items of much value or craftsmanship he owns are the Buzz Rickson jacket, a brushed aluminum zippo, the Harley, and an old pair of Altama Combat Boots. He also wears two necklaces, one an alluminum ankh on a leather cord, the other a gold d20 on a thin chain.
Last edited by StruckingFuggle
on Thu Nov 17, 2005 5:18 am, edited 2 times in total.
"He who lives by the sword dies by my arrow."
"In your histories, there are continual justifications for all manner of hellish actions. Claims of nobility and heritage and honor to cover up every bit of genocide, assassination, and massacre. At least the Horde is honest in their naked lust for power."