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<blockquote data-quote="Thanacus" data-source="post: 709110" data-attributes="member: 10499">Kevin Tormald (a.k.a Sean Lorento), Age 19, AmericanCharismatic Hero 4Occupation:&nbsp; Criminal (Con Artist)&nbsp; Bonus Class Skills: Disable Device, Sleight of HandBonus Feat:&nbsp; Personal Firearms ProficiencyReputation: -1AP: 24Current Wealth: 12Starting Wealth: 17 = 4 (initial roll) + 1 (occupation) + 1 (profession lv 1) + 5 (lv 2) + 2 (lv 3) + 4 (lv 4)Str: 10Dex: 13Con: 12Int: 12Wis: 10Cha: 15HP:&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; 26 (4d6+4)Defense: 12(13) = 10 + 1(Dex) + 1(armor) + (1)(Dodge)F/R/W:&nbsp;&nbsp; +3/+3/+1Init:&nbsp; &nbsp; +1Spd:&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; 30Base Melee:&nbsp; +2Base Ranged: +3Skills:&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; T&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; A&nbsp;&nbsp; R&nbsp;&nbsp; MBluff:&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; 9(13) =&nbsp;&nbsp; 2&nbsp;&nbsp; 7&nbsp; (4)Diplomacy:&nbsp;&nbsp; 11(15) =&nbsp; 2&nbsp;&nbsp; 7&nbsp; 2(4)Disable De:&nbsp;&nbsp; 4&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; =&nbsp; 1&nbsp;&nbsp; 3Disguise:&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; 6&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; =&nbsp; 2&nbsp;&nbsp; 4Gather Inf:&nbsp; 11(15) =&nbsp; 2&nbsp;&nbsp; 7&nbsp; 2(4)Know(str):&nbsp; &nbsp; 8&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; =&nbsp; 1&nbsp;&nbsp; 7Profession:&nbsp;&nbsp; 7&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; =&nbsp; 0&nbsp;&nbsp; 7Repair(cc):&nbsp;&nbsp; 2&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; =&nbsp; 1&nbsp;&nbsp; 1.0Sleight o/H:&nbsp; 8&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; =&nbsp; 1&nbsp;&nbsp; 7Tumble(cc):&nbsp;&nbsp; 2&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; =&nbsp; 1&nbsp;&nbsp; 1.0Read/Write Language:&nbsp; (English, Spanish)Speak Language:&nbsp; (English, Spanish, French)Talents:&nbsp; Charm (Female), FavorFeats:Occ:&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Personal Firearms ProficiencyLv 1:&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; Heroic SurgeLv 1:&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; Low ProfileLv 2 Charis:&nbsp; TrustworthyLv 3:&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; DodgeLv 4 Charis:&nbsp; Point Blank ShotWeapons:Glock 17; +4(+5); 2d6(+1); 20x2; 30ft; Semi; 17rds; SmallEquipment:&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; WeightLeather Jacket&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; 4&nbsp; &nbsp; -Concealed Holster&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; .5&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; -Glock 17 (lic)&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; 2&nbsp; &nbsp; -Digital Camera&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; .5&nbsp; &nbsp; -Cell Phone&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; -&nbsp; &nbsp; -Digital Audio Recorder&nbsp;&nbsp; 1&nbsp; &nbsp; -Box magazine x2 (w/ammo) 1Backpack&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; 3&nbsp; &nbsp; -Business outfit&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; 3&nbsp; &nbsp; -Notebook Computer&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; 5&nbsp; &nbsp; -Cellular Modem&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; 1&nbsp; &nbsp; -Walkie-talkie(profess)&nbsp;&nbsp; 1&nbsp; &nbsp; -Line Tap (x2, lic)&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; 1&nbsp; &nbsp; -Receiver Tap (x2, unlic) 1&nbsp; &nbsp; -Multipurpose Tool&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; .5&nbsp; &nbsp; -US Road Atlas&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; 1&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Total:&nbsp; &nbsp; 25.5Light&nbsp; &nbsp; Medium&nbsp; &nbsp; Heavy&lt;33&nbsp; &nbsp; 34-66&nbsp; &nbsp; 67-100Background:Some people are the sheep, some the shepards, and others the wolves.&nbsp; Sometimes in nature, there is a fine line between the latter two...I came from a somewhat &quot;disfunctional&quot; family in New Jersey, though not in the standard sense of the word.&nbsp; My father lived by the ever so famous line in history, but he was neither the fool nor the money, rather the catalyst for the act of parting.&nbsp; He had a way with words, which almost seems genetic, since both myself and my (now late) brother inherited this as well.My mother, a beautiful yet weak woman, died when I was 8 from a heroine overdose.&nbsp; She was the source of my father's happiness, and the bane of his wealth.&nbsp; The family fortune, hard-earned as it was by my father, was slowly wasted away by her addiction.&nbsp; I don't blame her, though;&nbsp; that's how life goes.&nbsp; One minute you're living the high life, moving city to city, staying in lavish hotels, and the next, you're trying to convince a police officer to let you stay in that alley just one more night.But, as luck would have it, I was thrown into the wilderness of adulthood at an early age when my father didn't wake up.&nbsp; It had been a very cold night in New York, and the officer had let us stay in that alley.&nbsp; I stayed for hours, hoping for just a hint of steam from his mouth in the cold morning air, but none was to be found.At 10, adulthood is hard to grasp.For years I wandered the city, at first posing as a religious figure for donations, other times selling &quot;artwork of the homeless&quot; (people seem to have a weakness for pity mixed with bad taste).&nbsp; Through these experiences, I learned that it didn't really matter what you sold;&nbsp; only that you ensured that the people you spoke to learned that they couldn't live without what you were selling, wether it be immaterial or real.During a slow period, I pawned myself off in a small town just north of Atlanta, Georgia as a young teenage boy in need, hoping to find his lost parents in Mississippi.&nbsp; An old couple, the Rosenburgs, had taken me in for the night.&nbsp; They were extremely polite while asking me of my past, feeding me, even giving me a slightly oversized set of clothes that was their son's so long ago.I wish it wouldn't have ended the way it did.&nbsp; After leaving for Alabama, hoping to part Southern fools from their hard-earned money, the regret of having stolen from the Rosenburgs wore down on me.&nbsp; They were just too damn nice, and for no reason other than genuine compassion.&nbsp; Checking again the wad of money that seemed to be their life savings, the guilt overwhemled me.Finding a nearby telephone, I reluctantly called their number.&nbsp; Ten minutes and no answer later, I got a little worried.&nbsp; They rarely leave the house, they had told me.A quick phone call to the Atlanta police department, and a bit of identity manipulation later, forced me to the ground with the weight of the words I had just heard.&nbsp; It seems that the Rosenburgs had gotten worried about me, and wanted to help me get safely to Mississippi with a bus ticket they had purchased, the neighbors had said.&nbsp; All that goodwill, wasted on this heartless brat...&nbsp; So there are good people in this world.&nbsp; But the opposite is also true.&nbsp; My means did not change, though, only shifted slightly.&nbsp; Work had brought the attention of a kindred spirit, or so I had thought.&nbsp; A older fellow, who had ideas of father-and-son acts that could literally melt the money out of people's wallets.&nbsp; But it was not all peaches and cream.&nbsp; I found out&nbsp; the hard way what money can do to people.&nbsp; John Alabaster's (or so he called himself) violence sufaced after a couple of weeks, and a couple of lucritive targets.&nbsp; Though that did not last;&nbsp; I wouldn't let it.One night, in the darkness of a hotel room in Shreveport, that fool was finally parted from what brought this violence upon me.&nbsp; With cash in hand, and a quiet closing of the door, bought me a new freedom.&nbsp; I stocked up on what I might need in the city (lucky me, an unlocked gun case at a nearby store...), then headed for the Greyhound station, destined for Dallas (or get as close as possible).&nbsp; There had been news lately, though only bits and pieces from what little I read, of something that had happened to citys throughout the US.&nbsp; Entire cities?Well, with all that is bad, there can be good.&nbsp; Who knows what kind of new ways there may be to be the wolf.&nbsp; But above all, I must remember that not everyone needs a wolf, some need the shepard.</blockquote>

[QUOTE="Thanacus, post: 709110, member: 10499"] Kevin Tormald (a.k.a Sean Lorento), Age 19, American Charismatic Hero 4 Occupation: Criminal (Con Artist) Bonus Class Skills: Disable Device, Sleight of Hand Bonus Feat: Personal Firearms Proficiency Reputation: -1 AP: 24 Current Wealth: 12 Starting Wealth: 17 = 4 (initial roll) + 1 (occupation) + 1 (profession lv 1) + 5 (lv 2) + 2 (lv 3) + 4 (lv 4) Str: 10 Dex: 13 Con: 12 Int: 12 Wis: 10 Cha: 15 HP: 26 (4d6+4) Defense: 12(13) = 10 + 1(Dex) + 1(armor) + (1)(Dodge) F/R/W: +3/+3/+1 Init: +1 Spd: 30 Base Melee: +2 Base Ranged: +3 Skills: T A R M Bluff: 9(13) = 2 7 (4) Diplomacy: 11(15) = 2 7 2(4) Disable De: 4 = 1 3 Disguise: 6 = 2 4 Gather Inf: 11(15) = 2 7 2(4) Know(str): 8 = 1 7 Profession: 7 = 0 7 Repair(cc): 2 = 1 1.0 Sleight o/H: 8 = 1 7 Tumble(cc): 2 = 1 1.0 Read/Write Language: (English, Spanish) Speak Language: (English, Spanish, French) Talents: Charm (Female), Favor Feats: Occ: Personal Firearms Proficiency Lv 1: Heroic Surge Lv 1: Low Profile Lv 2 Charis: Trustworthy Lv 3: Dodge Lv 4 Charis: Point Blank Shot Weapons: Glock 17; +4(+5); 2d6(+1); 20x2; 30ft; Semi; 17rds; Small Equipment: Weight Leather Jacket 4 -Concealed Holster .5 -Glock 17 (lic) 2 -Digital Camera .5 -Cell Phone - -Digital Audio Recorder 1 -Box magazine x2 (w/ammo) 1 Backpack 3 -Business outfit 3 -Notebook Computer 5 -Cellular Modem 1 -Walkie-talkie(profess) 1 -Line Tap (x2, lic) 1 -Receiver Tap (x2, unlic) 1 -Multipurpose Tool .5 -US Road Atlas 1 Total: 25.5 Light Medium Heavy <33 34-66 67-100 Background: Some people are the sheep, some the shepards, and others the wolves. Sometimes in nature, there is a fine line between the latter two... I came from a somewhat "disfunctional" family in New Jersey, though not in the standard sense of the word. My father lived by the ever so famous line in history, but he was neither the fool nor the money, rather the catalyst for the act of parting. He had a way with words, which almost seems genetic, since both myself and my (now late) brother inherited this as well. My mother, a beautiful yet weak woman, died when I was 8 from a heroine overdose. She was the source of my father's happiness, and the bane of his wealth. The family fortune, hard-earned as it was by my father, was slowly wasted away by her addiction. I don't blame her, though; that's how life goes. One minute you're living the high life, moving city to city, staying in lavish hotels, and the next, you're trying to convince a police officer to let you stay in that alley just one more night. But, as luck would have it, I was thrown into the wilderness of adulthood at an early age when my father didn't wake up. It had been a very cold night in New York, and the officer had let us stay in that alley. I stayed for hours, hoping for just a hint of steam from his mouth in the cold morning air, but none was to be found. At 10, adulthood is hard to grasp. For years I wandered the city, at first posing as a religious figure for donations, other times selling "artwork of the homeless" (people seem to have a weakness for pity mixed with bad taste). Through these experiences, I learned that it didn't really matter what you sold; only that you ensured that the people you spoke to learned that they couldn't live without what you were selling, wether it be immaterial or real. During a slow period, I pawned myself off in a small town just north of Atlanta, Georgia as a young teenage boy in need, hoping to find his lost parents in Mississippi. An old couple, the Rosenburgs, had taken me in for the night. They were extremely polite while asking me of my past, feeding me, even giving me a slightly oversized set of clothes that was their son's so long ago. I wish it wouldn't have ended the way it did. After leaving for Alabama, hoping to part Southern fools from their hard-earned money, the regret of having stolen from the Rosenburgs wore down on me. They were just too damn nice, and for no reason other than genuine compassion. Checking again the wad of money that seemed to be their life savings, the guilt overwhemled me. Finding a nearby telephone, I reluctantly called their number. Ten minutes and no answer later, I got a little worried. They rarely leave the house, they had told me. A quick phone call to the Atlanta police department, and a bit of identity manipulation later, forced me to the ground with the weight of the words I had just heard. It seems that the Rosenburgs had gotten worried about me, and wanted to help me get safely to Mississippi with a bus ticket they had purchased, the neighbors had said. All that goodwill, wasted on this heartless brat... So there are good people in this world. But the opposite is also true. My means did not change, though, only shifted slightly. Work had brought the attention of a kindred spirit, or so I had thought. A older fellow, who had ideas of father-and-son acts that could literally melt the money out of people's wallets. But it was not all peaches and cream. I found out the hard way what money can do to people. John Alabaster's (or so he called himself) violence sufaced after a couple of weeks, and a couple of lucritive targets. Though that did not last; I wouldn't let it. One night, in the darkness of a hotel room in Shreveport, that fool was finally parted from what brought this violence upon me. With cash in hand, and a quiet closing of the door, bought me a new freedom. I stocked up on what I might need in the city (lucky me, an unlocked gun case at a nearby store...), then headed for the Greyhound station, destined for Dallas (or get as close as possible). There had been news lately, though only bits and pieces from what little I read, of something that had happened to citys throughout the US. Entire cities? Well, with all that is bad, there can be good. Who knows what kind of new ways there may be to be the wolf. But above all, I must remember that not everyone needs a wolf, some need the shepard. [/QUOTE]

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