Name: John "Eel" Spire, Courier-for-hire. [Stalwart]
Player: Hammer- [character created by T-Boy (Tariq)]
Concept: Speedster-in-training / Acrobat / Courier
Gender: Male Nationality: British
Vice: Survivor Allegiance:
Virtue: Caregiver Initiative: 12
_______________________Attributes and Abilities_______________________
STRENGTH 000.. WITS 00000 APPEARANCE 00...
Archery .....|. Arts .....|. Disguise 0....|.
Brawl .....|. Drive .....|. Intimidation .....|.
Might .....|. Pilot .....|. Style .....|.
DEXTERITY 00000 INTELLIGENCE 00... MANIPULATION 0000.
Firearms 000..|. Academics 00...|. Animal Handling .....|.
Legerdemain .....|. Engineering .....|. Interrogation .....|.
Martial Arts 00000|. Linguistics .....|. Savvy 000..|.
Melee .....|. Medicine .....|. Subterfuge 0000.|.
Stealth .....|. Occult .....|. .....|.
.....|. Science .....|. .....|.
.....|. .....|. .....|.
STAMINA 0000. PERCEPTION 0000. CHARISMA 0....
Athletics 00000|0 Awareness 00000|. Command .....|.
Endurance 00000|. Investigation .....|. Etiquette .....|.
Resistance .....|. Meditation .....|. Perform .....|.
.....|. Navigation 00...|. Rapport .....|.
Armour Rating (B/L) Penalty
None ___ / 0 0
Total ___ / ___ ___
(Include Health Levels here if you wish.)
Intuitive Facet 00...
Reflective Facet 00...
Destructive Facet .....
Blazing Speed [Extra turn after every character, costs 1 IP]
A Single Bound [Jumping distance, horiz. and vert. x3, bicycle speed x2]
Curtis the Barman: Low-class / underground contacts, semi-illegal to legal
businesses. Employer when John isn't working as courier.
Jordi, the Librarian: Academic contacts, a few upper class and middle
class contacts. John volunteers.
Resources [Source: Courier job, other part-time jobs]:
Casual wardrobe [school and work]
Bicycle [mountain bike, multi-speed]
Backpacks [one black, one brown]
Apartment, one room, rented.
Berreta Cougar, associated ammo.
Modest non-fiction and fiction library [three dozen paperback books, circa
Footwear [specialized: Sneakers, Hiking Boots and Steel-toed boots
John Spire stands at 5'6", which is slightly shorter than the average
Caucasian male. He has black hair and blue eyes, and looks as if he is in
his early 20s. Although not hard muscled or amazingly strong, John is
breathtakingly agile and dexterous -- he is one of the few people in
Oxford who uses the fabled 'thieves' highway' to its full potential --
leaping across city streets, racing along rooftops, and rapidly climbing
and abseiling from domes, statues and other pieces of masonry with little
more than a grappling hook, black sneakers (and in extreme weather, high-
grip hiking boots) and sheer grit. Although his speed and dexterity are
clearly superhuman, John is no speedster. Yet. He's not tough enough to
withstand the extremes of weather yet, but he's training for it.
When working, he usually wears a black T-shirt and shorts that reach to
above his knees on warm nights, substituting the shorts with track-bottoms
on colder weather. His work outfits usually work on the same theme: all-
black, with a white stripe on his shoulder and on the side of his shorts
or pants. As said before, he wears black sneakers on normal nights, and
high-grip hiking boots on rainier and more dangerous weather. He has a
backpack (black, again) at all times.
He carries a length of rope with a grappling hook, a Beretta Cougar semi-
auto pistol [15 bullets capacity], a small pocket-sized travel novel, the
Oxford A-Z pocket guidebook and a bottle of mineral water or sports drink.
When not working, he wears something casual, and a brown backpack filled
with his wallet, and personal effects.
John Spire wasn't exactly born into a lap of luxury.
Born to a runaway teenaged prostitute, he was given up to social services
at the age of 18 months. He spent his first sixteen years living in
various orphanages and foster homes in England. Thanks to childhood
malnutrition, he never grew to his full height, whatever that was: as a
result, he was bullied by his peers a lot.
The last three years helped him get a sense of himself, however. A kindly
old master of aikido began coaching him in the ways of that martial art,
and kept him away from the streets, and their ultimately fatal lesson in
consequence. Things even began to look up for him when he was accepted
into a government sponsorship program, and he completed his A-Levels in a
Even then, things were a bit rough. A lot of the kids there grew up in
upper-middle class homes, and picked on him endlessly for his origins. His
academic records weren't enough to expel him ("He was a hardworking,
diligent worker," said one of his tutors), but he had enough disciplinary
hearings, caused by fighting with other students, to make his time in
school difficult, at best.
That all changed when he finally enrolled to Oxford, to complete his
social anthropology course. Life was going smoothly. Until September 11th,
1997. John was one of the few who were caught in the blast. He spent three
months, in the hospital, unconscious, with third and second-degree burns
all over his body.
Interestingly enough, he healed remarkably quickly. His damaged tissues
regenerated so quickly that the doctors realized that they didn't need to
perform skin grafts on him. "It was as if his body had changed, and was
trying to re-configure himself," said one of the doctors who handled his
For a burn victim, he displayed remarkable physical control after the
accident, and he passed his physiological tests quickly. He then continued
with his life, going to classes by day, and working part time when he
could as a courier.
It was during these runs that he discovered something new about himself --
it would seem that his accident had made him faster, tougher and more
capable than before. He had distinguished himself by using the nooks and
crannies of Oxford to his advantage, but now he exploited them completely
-- leaping across streets, running through rooftops and steam vents and
using maintenance accesses and elevator shafts to full potential.
He's made more profits for the last eight months than he's ever done in
years. He's gaining a reputation among his clients -- especially the
seedier ones, which prompted him to pick up a pistol and learn some
firearm skills. He doesn't know what happened to him, and he is glad --
and slightly unnerved -- that something did.
You're pretty damn good, and you know it. Not the best, but good enough.
You can do something not a lot of people can do, and you're feeling a
little invincible. But there's this little nagging thought in your head --
you know you're not the best. You can't be. You dread the day you meet
someone better than you are.
You're a bit of a loner. You talk little, you try and blend in as much as
possible. You find it easier to work on someone and get their attention,
so you've made some contacts almost everywhere you hang around with. You
know how to get some things, and where the best jobs are.
You'll follow orders, but you hope to god that whoever's in charge knows
what the hell they're doing. If not, it's time to leave. After all, you
don't know anyone who's ever managed to catch you.
Deep down inside, you're a softie, and you're uncomfortable with it. You
don't want anyone to know, really, what you're real ambitions are: "To
give back to the community" sounds really corny. You deny that you do
anything altruistic, of course -- while stashing away part of your
earnings for people who really need it.
You hate all kinds of conflict -- physical, mental or social, it doesn't
matter. You don't really like fighting. Your first impulse is to run away,
and you're damn good at that. Your job is to stay alive, because you know
what you want to live for. But sometimes life isn't accommodating, and
it'll throw you a curve you can't -- or won't run away from. It worries