Rippers Resurrected: Collateral Evil
Patrick Charles Reginald Stanhope
A foul mouth and an even fouler fists.
Languages: English, Persian
Reason 3 (7)
Disowned -1 (status -1)
Quirky: Foul mouth -1
Jingoistic (mayor) -2
Noble (rich: charisma+2, status+2)
Brawler (fist damage+2)
Counterattack (-2 attack)
Two fisted (ignore multi-action penalty)
Knowledge: archeology d4
Hardened hands (fists d4+str)
Skeletal reinforcement (vigor +1)
Demon hide (amor +2)
Chainmail vest (armor +2)
Lamp oil (10)
Throwing knife (10)
Grappling Hook and Line
The Stanhope family. I really don’t like to talk about it. What there is to say? I had three sisters and a brother. Mother was fairly tempered housewife and father political wimp in the House of Commons. Only one I care to remember was my grandfather. He was a true brit: an officer of Royal Navy who fought in the First and Second Opium Wars. Mean fucker.
What about myself… I remember the first day I was in the boarding school. Couple of wankers came to bully me. They left crying with broken noses. I literally punched my way through the first years. Basically the only thing I learned in school was basic arithmetics. I did not want to be cheated by those knobbers.
I got kicked out from school after punching my wimpy geography teacher. Who bloody cares where the Austria-Hungary lies?
After that I got in a fight with some dandy fuck. Turns out the tosser was a son of an important politician from the House of Lords. Courthouse called. I was 17 and my family was not proud.
I got sentenced to Australia, but my old man arranged a “better” deal. Bollocks! Australia is only in the other side of Europe! I was send in the middle of nowhere to a place called “Iran” with some shite archeology expedition.
I did not understand what I was doing in that god forsaken pile of sand, rocks and shite with a group of duffers and savages. The artefacts we found were beautiful – that I admit. But after a month or so things got weird. Some kind of shadowy hounds started attacking us. The majority of group shit in their pants but I kept my cool. One of the cock-up diggers was actually a bloody magician. I beat the fucker until the hounds disappeared.
The leader of the expedition came to me the very next day. He asked if I wanted to join the Frazer’s Fighters. They would have use to someone hard-tempered like me. Well fuck. I joined.
Soon after they started educating me – which I loudly protested – in Persian and archeology. I got to do some dossiers and shite. So I was bored to death and craved action.
Few months later other group of rippers came to our camp (back then the term “rippers” was new to me). They were not even British: niggers, gypsies and other wankers and cunts! I got fairly fast in a fist fight with a bloody huge nigger. Damn his fists were hard! The first time in my life I got a serious beating. I mean – of course I have been beaten before – but fuck! I was hospitalised nearly a month.
But that dickhead of a nigger was not a man: he was a beast or demon and in some way altered. Later I learned about ripping and started my way to a mean fucker. When my bloody transformation is complete I will find that nigger and twat him up!
It has been almost a decade since and now I am finally returning to England.
Is not mean or cruel, just loves to fight. Rarely kills his opponents.
Tries to hide his noble background, but some manners and way he talks reveals his nobility to anyone paying attention.
Is quite good dancer. Moves in a nimble way for a big man.
Loves music, poetry and paintings. Does not know art history or anything, but appreciates beauty in all forms. Especially adores poet W. B. Yeats (although he is an Irish) and can quote some of his poems.
Sings and plays flute badly. Gets angry if some one points it out.
Is surprisingly polite towards women for an general arsehole.