[sblock= background, feel free to look]
Drake O'Connor is from Irish descent. His mother tried to take care of him and his four siblings. He never knew his father, and it is not a matter that is discussed in the family. He helped in granddad's pub, working in the kitchen, helping at the bar, cleaning glasses. His education was in the hands of a lot of 'uncles', travelling singers that played at the bar for a few nights, then travelled on, making the circuit. He learned to play guitar, to sing, how to set-up sound equipment, how to drink, smoke, fight, steal and flirt with women. Only thanks to his mother did he still go to school, and surprisingly didn't do all that bad, taking everything into account.
One night his world turned upside down. When he was out watching a concert, the pub was robbed, and something went wrong. The police never told him what exactly happened, but the place turned from armed robbery to a massacre. His grandfather, mother, two brothers and sister got butchered. He nevr saw their faces again, they had to be buried in closed caskets. They used a blood sample and dental records for identification.
The pub got sold to pay of the debts.
While rummaging through the stuff of his mother, he found some things presumably belonging to his father : a big knife,a guitar, and a picture from a mountaintop, showing his mother in her early twenties and a fierce looking, unknown man.
For the last years Drake has been roaming the states, making his way from town to town, singing and playing the guitar, or working, in bars, as a seasonal worker, moving around, looking for a mountaintop and a fierce looking man. His music is strange, haunting, full of sorrow and loss. He keeps writing more and more songs, some of them in what he thinks is old gaellic, a language taught by one of the weirder uncles. He is restless, and sleeps as little as possible, for his dreams frighten him, and he fears that he is slowly going mad.
Drake is tall and fairly handsome, with long blond hair tied in a ponytail, and thick bushy sideburns. The year on the road has made him thin, and there is an uncomfortable wildness in his eyes. He walks around in well-worn jeans and stout hiking boots, with his guitar in a reinforced case and his knife in a holster between his shoulder blades, tucked away onder his jacket but still easy to reach. He has a small bag with a change of clothes.
I'm looking for a more martial Cahalith, not sure about the tribe, probably the same as the one his mentor or whatever will be.
[/sblock]
).
