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    Played By:: Elder Sartan
    Gender: Male
    Former Occupation: Bank Robber
    Primary Weapon: Shotgun
    Secondary Weapon: Crowbar
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    Plotter: http://dawns.b1.jcink.com/index.php?showtopic=101&st=0&#entry180
    App: http://dawns.b1.jcink.com/index.php?showtopic=97
    Tracker: http://dawns.b1.jcink.com/index.php?showtopic=101&st=0&#entry180
    Joined: 3-September 13
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    Last Seen: Jul 24 2014, 08:35 PM
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    Garret Morgan


    My Content
    Sep 4 2013, 10:35 AM
    So, I am an experienced RP'er as far as pen and paper are concerned, but rather inexperienced as far as this whole format goes, especially getting someone to join me on an "adventure."

    I am looking to join up with someone in either the North or Southwest. Garret Morgan is a bit of a thug, and not the nicest person, but his one weakness is a daughter that may or may not be alive. He is travelling around in a '69 Ford Mustang looking for a group of teenage girls who departed from Seattle seven months after the outbreak (3 months prior to the start of RP) in a pop star's tour bus. Apart from finding his daughter and keeping his car in good shape, Garret has no goals that would really conflict with anyone else's, unless those goals seem to run contrary to survival. Due to his amoral nature, he is willing to work with people at various spots on the moral compass, though he might have difficulty with either extreme (i.e. rapists and saints).

    There is a lengthy RP sample in my app, as well as a solo thread, that both take place in Seattle and give some hint of what travelling with him would be like.
    Sep 2 2013, 10:34 AM
    [dohtml]<link href='http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Special+Elite' rel='stylesheet' type='text/css'><center><center>

    <div style="font-family:special elite;font-size:30px;color:#8e4623;">Garret Morgan</div>

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    <img src=http://snarkerati.com/tv-news/files/2013/04/max-beesley-suits-tv.jpg>

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    <marquee behavior="scroll" direction="left" width="100%" scrollamount="2">He needed to be killed, so I did it. If I worried about morality, we'd all be dead.</marquee>

    </div><div style="width:400px;text-align:justify;">

    <br>GENDER: Male
    <br>AGE: 37
    <br>BIRTHDATE: December 1st
    <br>NICKNAME(S): N/A
    <br>SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Straight
    <br>READ RULES: Glossary

    <br><br></div><div style="width:400px;background-color:#101010;height:20px;"></div><div style="width:400px;text-align:justify;">

    <br>PREVIOUS OCCUPATION: Bank Robber
    <br>HOMETOWN: London, England
    <br>FACE CLAIM: Max Beesley

    <br><br></div><div style="width:400px;background-color:#101010;height:20px;"></div><div style="width:400px;text-align:justify;">

    <br>EYE COLOR: Grey
    <br>HAIR: Brown
    <br>HEIGHT: 5'11"
    <br>DISTINGUISHING MARKS: Garret has a scar along his neck from when a cellmate attempted to garrote him with a piece of wire, and several knife scars along his left side.
    <br>CLOTHING STYLE: Garret wears very workman like clothes--either overalls or jeans and a shirt, a leather jacket, heavy boots. He could be a mechanic or a dockworker, from the look of him.

    Garret Morgan is a rather ordinary looking bloke. Average height, average build, with rather plain hair and a flat, expressionless face. He wouldn't really stand out in a crowd. But in a small group, he stands out plenty.
    That's because Garret doesn't smile. He doesn't cry. He doesn't show much emotion at all, except the occasional outburst of rage. That, and the longer people are with him the more apt they are to notice the scar that runs along his neck, a souvenir from prison, or the knife scars along his side, which he earned on the streets of Birmingham, England.
    Of course, these are usually covered under coveralls or other clothes that imply menial labor. Garret can actually look quite sharp in a suit, but he dresses for the occasion, and here at the end of the world that means looking like you mean business without drawing too much attention to yourself.

    • '69 Ford Mustang, white with blue stripes
    • 2 large gas canisters
    • Crowbar
    • Shotgun with 17 shells
    • 4 office-style bottles of purified water
    • Switchblade
    • Plain grey Zippo lighter
    • 4 packs of Marlboro cigarettes
    • WWII-era hand grenade
    • Laminated picture of Cassandra Morgan, age 15.
    (In at least three paragraphs, describe your character's overall personality.)

    Garret doesn't wear his emotions on the outside; that much is obvious. Emotions get you noticed, and getting noticed gets you killed. Sometimes, though, he can't take all the stupidity around him and his temper explodes. He won't take shit from anyone. Sometimes he can play the game and fake it, if his survival depends on it, but not for long. He'd rather grab somebody by the throat--male or female--and make it clear that the game is played by his rules.
    Temper aside, Garret was once a regular bloke, and he enjoys most of the regular sorts of things. He likes soccer, a nice pint, the ladies, and a good laugh with the fellas. But prison made him wary. So he will hang out with the guys, but he's never fully at ease, especially if the "guys" the situation has caused him to spend time with are any form of military or police authority types, and--with a few exceptions--he doesn't allow himself to drink to excess in front of others.
    The nature of his childhood, fighting on the streets with his mates, has caused Garret to end up a bit ignorant. He's not racist, but he's distrustful of Muslims. He's homophobic and misogynistic. That being said, he's none of these things to a fault. If you can handle his abrasiveness long enough, he'll eventually see you as just another person, and once he's accepted you he's incredibly loyal.
    His lack of respect for authority combined with his loyalty, brutish wit, and determination often leaves him in the position of "accidental leader." He's not opposed to following people with better plans, but if he's in a group that wants to sit around for hours and hash something out, he'll take charge before he'll allow himself to grow stagnant.

    • SKILL 1 - Getaway Driving
    • SKILL 2 - Brawling
    • SKILL 3 - Intimidating Presence
    • SKILL 4 - Breaking & Entering
    • SKILL 5 - Card Playing

    <br>Linda Addams: Ex-wife, deceased
    <br>Cassandra Morgan: Daughter, unknown-last seen in Seattle, WA.
    <br>Paul Morgan: Brother, deceased


    Garret Morgan grew up in Brighton, England, the same bleak pit that spawned "Black Sabbath." The son of a truck driver and a drunken poet, he ended up practically raising himself. For a while, all that meant was grilling his own cheese sandwiches, but before his tenth year he was running with the local street gangs. Never one to back down from a fight, he ended up in the hospital for a month when he was fourteen, having gotten stabbed six times in the abdomen by a former member of the IRA who had insulted one of his friends.
    Rather than learning from this experience, it only toughened Garret's resolve. He'd only been stabbed because he hadn't pulled his knife first, trying to settle their differences in a fair fight. His mom had gotten at least partially sober, trying to fix her messed up head because she knew she was to blame for her son's criminal nature, but the more she tried to suddenly parent him, the more he resisted, and by his fifteenth birthday he had run away to London.
    Making a home for himself in an abandoned flat, Garret quickly found a place for himself among the big city's criminal element. Initially it was the same-old same-old, running around drinking and fighting, but his strength and intelligence quickly got him hooked up with a gang that robbed banks.
    It all went well until he was twenty-one. That's when he met Linda, a receptionist at a bank he was casing. They went out for drinks a few times, then he was invited to stay over. Before long, he'd moved in, and not soon after that she was pregnant.
    He tried to go straight. He got a job at the docks. He put in overtime. But though he worked himself ragged, it never would pay as much as his work with the crew. So he pretended to have a job out of town, and went back to his old ways. Things were great, until his daughter was three. He'd had a younger brother back in Brighton, Paul, who'd been afraid to leave their mother until one day she drank a gallon of gin and died. Now in London, he'd reconnected with Garret and--after a couple of months--been invited to join his brother robbing banks. They'd just knocked over an armored car when the younger Morgan sibling got nicked. Unlike Garret, Paul had never thought of himself as a part of the streets, and he sang his heart out. The whole crew went to prison, and when Linda realized that it had been her lover who'd held her at gunpoint the day her bank had been robbed, she took Cassandra and fled to America.
    Prison was about what Garret had expected, though he was surprised that the man who tried to murder him one night (foolishly, as Garret ended up breaking his skull open on the hard concrete floor, even with his throat bleeding) was a complete stranger, trying to prove himself hard, and not an actual enemy he'd made.
    He served his time, and eventually got out, though his unwillingness to take any crap turned eight years into twelve. He went back to dock working, and while Linda--he'd gotten her number from a mutual friend--wouldn't return his calls or letters, he managed to find Cassandra on Facebook. He didn't dare try and contact her without her mother's consent...it had been too long...but he figured he might, someday, as long as he remained clean. He stayed away from most of the people he knew before, and if his brother Paul had happened to fall into the Thames one night while he was out drinking, what of it?
    It probably would have went on like that for some time, but the outbreak hit. Not in London, at least not right away, but in the colonies. Garret would never learn if or how the end of the world affected Europe. It seemed silly at first, that the dead would rise, but when Linda called him, and told him she'd been bitten, that she'd soon be one of those..."walkers," he sold everything he had and hopped a plane for America, one of the last flights to ever be scheduled. It was supposed to get him to Seattle, to the daughter he hardly knew, but the lay-over in New York turned out to be indefinite.
    That was a year ago. Garret finally made it to Seattle, seven months after he was supposed to arrive, but his daughter was long gone. It had been a long, hard slog, and he was tired. He had no way of knowing if Cassandra was one of the lucky(?) few who'd survived, or if she was just another one of the walking dead, but what could he do now? He'd heard a rumor of a group of teenage girls traveling the Rockies in some dead pop star's tour bus, so he acquired a car and started out once more.


    Broken glass littered the street next to the warehouse. Not surprising, but there was blood on it. Wet blood. "Come out." He rapped his crowbar against the wall. "Come out now, and I won't hurt you."
    Now that he knew she was there, he could hear the girl breathing inside. Crying, too. She was scared. She had every right to be.
    He pried open the lock and entered. The girl was fourteen, maybe fifteen...just a bit younger than his daughter would be, huddled in the corner. If she had known about Cassandra, that he was looking for a little girl just like her, maybe it would have eased her fear. But it didn't really matter, because she would have been wrong to believe that fact created anything like mercy in his heart.
    She'd already eaten the jerky, a whole bag of it, and discarded the wrapper on the ground. A liter of water was in her hand, now half gone. He walked over to her directly, his boots crunching the glass that had fallen inside, and plucked the water from her grasp. She reached out, but only weakly. It must have taken a lot of her strength to even make it into his camp. He downed the water in two gulps, then tossed the empty container down at her feet.
    She was shaking. Good. He knelt down to be at her level, and placed his right hand on her throat, tightening his grasp as he spoke. "I know the world has gotten hard, and I know you think you are doing what's right for your survival. But you don't take a man's food and drink." He spoke quietly, since his rough hand was doing most of the talking for him. "A man would kill you for his water, or beat you until you couldn't move. Do you understand?"
    She nodded, at least as best as she could. Her face was purple now, and while she'd initially clawed at his grasp she'd given up. He pulled a knife from his boot, an old butterfly knife he'd taken from the last man he'd killed, and held it in front of her face.
    "If you'd killed me, you'd have a week's worth of food and you wouldn't be pissing in your panties right now, yeah? You can't play hard. You have to live it." He released his grasp, leaving her choking on the floor, and tossed the knife at her feet. "Next time do it right." Garret picked up the backpack that contained the food he'd been scavenging, tossed it over a shoulder, and left.
    </div><div style="width:400px;background-color:#101010;height:20px;"></div><div style="width:400px;text-align:justify;">

    <br>your alias: Vlazuvius
    <br>other characters: Elder Sartan
    <br>how you found us: Idan
    <br>age: 33
    <br>rp experience: Lots IRL, almost none online.
    <br>goals: Explore the psyche of man...or something.
    <br>contact: where can players get a hold of you?: @vlazuvius on Twitter
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