Post by Inuk Rasmussen on Nov 25, 2010 23:51:53 GMT -8
Name: LCpl. Inuk Rasmussen
Country of Origin: Greenland
Gender Haha, definitely a dude.
Age: Not too old to die young! 23, give or take.
Height: 187 cm. (6’1”), thereabouts.
Weight: Around 83 kg. (183 lbs.), but let me tell you—all muscle, babe.
Appearance:
People often think it only takes one good look at Inuk to know what they’re seeing: trouble on legs. Stocky and solid in figure, the Inuit doesn’t walk so much as swagger, making a point of moving at his own pace only. If someone tries to rush him, he’ll take his sweet time; if they try and hold him back, he’ll rush forward full speed ahead. Smiles come very easy to Inuk—too easy, some would say—full and bright with mischief in each corner. There is usually a trickster gleam to his lazy eyes, cool and green like the color of sea-glass. On the few occasions that Inuk is genuinely enraged, though, the smile evaporates instantly, leaving a harsh face with an arctic gaze.
Other than his height, the Greenlander’s eyes are the only clue to any type of Scandinavian heritage. His skin is a buttery tan like his Inuit relatives, and his tousled hair, while artificially tipped and frosted white by dye, is inky black in color, stylized in a combination hanging-faux-hawk-horsetail (not ponytail, because only girls have those). Inuk has several facial piercings—three hoops to each ear, one bar at the far corner of his right eyebrow, one lip-ring on the lower left side, and a smaller stud above his chin. All silver.
On formal occasions, he will concede as far as removing his more distracting piercings and don a crisp military-issued uniform. In flight, the Greenlander wears a modified version of the standard flight gear, having cut apart, re-sewn, and added his own renditions to the regulated outfit in the form of extra fur and thick stitches. In addition to the fur-trimmed article, he wears secure goggles with an ear-piece/microphone attachment for the other members of his team.
If Inuk had to subscribe to a label of style, he might settle for “hunter-rocker,” at least temporarily. While his functional attire is traditionally leather and fur, sensible wear in his homeland climes, the almost haphazard stitching gives the clothes a personality of its own—along with the trimmed hood of his anoraq, quite a few seams have fur bunching out the edges. Even when he’s not wearing full cold-climate gear, Inuk prefers having at least one brown-leather article on him at all times, whether it’s his pants or his jacket—anything that he can cut a piece off of in an emergency.
On that note, while Inuk carries a standard issue WSM knife in his right boot, the Greenlander’s weapon of choice is without question his custom-made spring-loaded whaling harpoon. He will rarely be seen without it, often carelessly propped over one shoulder as he shoots the breeze with his fellows-in-arms, or sometimes even waving it around to emphasize his point. For all this, though, the Greenlander does know how to use the weapon, and skillfully—enough that most would pray never to be his enemy twice.
People often think it only takes one good look. In the end, one look is never enough.
Crew member of: The World Sky Military
Status: Lance Corporal
Pet: Only my Green Wing, Isaroq Qorsuk. Ice Baby for short.
Crest: A Stylized Green Wing
Personality:
Inuk presents a fairly straight-forward personality on first meeting—a casual guy with a sense of fun, adventure, and impulse. Inuk is light-humored, taking only few things seriously and even fewer of those things to heart. Attempts to insult or shame him often fall flat, as the Inuit seems only too eager to agree to the many flaws his superiors subscribe to him on a daily basis, laughing all the while. Detractors such as ‘reckless’, ‘insubordinate’, and ‘brazen’ are countermanded by Inuk’s almost supernatural charisma and luck—many find the Greenlander too much of a force of nature to curtail, especially in pursuit of any endeavor he finds ‘thrilling’.
Having an overabundance of natural fortune and a deficit of even the slightest inkling of common fear, Inuk will be the first to take on the most dangerous military missions—not out of glory, but of his own deep personal satisfaction of chasing thrills and besting dangers. When there aren’t missions enough that quench his taste for venture, Inuk will be only too happy to bend some rules and go out on rounds raiding the towns for all their varying sights, smells, and sounds.
Hunting, whaling, cliff-diving, flying, moshing, fighting, and flirting with beautiful and dangerous women are all activities Inuk enjoys immensely, and a day that he doesn’t get to do one or three of these things (all at once) counts as a day ill-wasted to the boredom-despising Inuit. If Inuk can’t find something that gives him an adrenaline rush within a handful of hours, he has a tendency of wearing his companions down to bare nerves with the constancy of his provocation.
That said, Inuk is a completely different being in fury—gone is the light smile and teasing eyes, exchanged for a tundra aura and viciously deliberate movements. Friend and foe alike, it is the height of foolishness to try and step between Inuk and the target of his ire—he will cut through without a pause or apology.
While Inuk is a social creature, amused by and finding joy in amusing others, some will find if they probe deep enough a cold, selfish place within the Greenlander’s heart—Inuk disdains emotional attachment and the obligations that come with it, and he will be the first to break off a potentially fettersome arrangement if he sees it coming. For all his flirting, Rasmussen never wants to fall in love for more than one night, and once he gets what he wants Inuk will be upfront to any woman that has designs otherwise. Likewise, he will remind anyone that forms even a friendly relationship with him that ultimately he is always out for himself.
On rare days, Inuk will get a far off look in his eyes, falling silent as he stares at the distant horizon, instinctively searching the skies for northern lights. He speaks softer in these moments, and more profoundly, almost as though in a trance. This doesn’t happen often, and Inuk doesn’t always understand what he says while suspended, but there is always a lingering sense of deep calm in the following still. He claims that it’s just a quirk, but Inuk wonders sometimes if he isn’t being used as a channel for his ancestors, or even greater spirits.
For all his initial supposed simplicity, there are many sides to Rasmussen, as there are many layers to glacial ice—transparent to a point, beyond which one can only imagine the contents and motivations of the Greenlander’s actions. He is a surprisingly spiritual person, believing deeply in the power of fate—the only thing he counts on is that what will be, will be. In the meantime, one can only enjoy life for what it is—beautiful, dangerous, ever-changing, and cruel. And Inuk wouldn’t have it any other way.
History:
Perhaps it’s fitting that Inuk can account the inception of his life as the fault of drunken folly.
She was a visiting intern, a Danish student: tall, blonde, and pretty with eyes like green sea glass and lips like maraschino cherries. He was a local Inuit fisherman, rugged, swarthy, and taciturn, with a sociable drinking manner and warm strong hands. It only took a few mugs of beer, a chance meeting, and the illusion of mystery evoked by friendly strangers and dim lights to lower their inhibitions for one wild night. Nine months later, with no sweet parting words for father or blue swaddled bundle, the Nordic beauty leaves behind a boy with green eyes and one silently broken heart.
Inuk’s childhood was an eclectic one. He was frequently tossed hand over hand between grandparents, uncles, cousins, and one aunt while his father struggled to live up to the task foist upon him. To his credit, the senior Rasmussen did better than one would generally expect, up until the day he was killed in a hunting accident. From then on, Inuk was raised in full as an orphan of the family, learning any diverse skill that his relatives needed of him at that particular moment. Hunting, fishing, sewing, sledding—anything that the precocious child could pick up as useful, including a few things his older cousins unwittingly passed on in their teenage years.
By the time Inuk reached the age where most young Greenlander’s start schooling, it was settled that he would live with his aunt, as she had the lodgings closest to the main city. School was a bit of touch and go for Inuk—teachers and classmates alike were caught beneath his charismatic sway, but even the most determined teacher had to struggle to keep the boy’s attention. The problem only seemed to grow worse in high-school, as Inuk navigated through all sorts of social circles but maintained a barely-passing average.
It wasn’t that the Inuit boy was stupid—on the contrary, he grasped tangible concepts exceedingly well, especially when he had opportunity to work with his hands. He knew animals inside and out, and one would be hard pressed to find a teen that knew the nuance of his own culture as eloquently as Inuk. The issue at root was always interest—if Inuk didn’t want to learn it, he didn’t (and even if he did, he didn’t show it). Restless by nature, the Greenlander only began to shape up when he heard of a chance to join the World Sky Military. Finally, a chance for some excitement.
He took to military life with dubious success—on the one hand, he did his job on frontlines the best and the fastest, coming out without a scratch where lesser men lose limbs. On the other, he was a wild-card, taking unnecessary risks with his own safety, belligerently ad-libbing orders, and generally assuming it was every man out for himself. His career was and continues to be a polarizing issue with superior officers.
In an effort to take advantage of Inuk’s naturally survivalist attitude (and hopefully corral him into taking on a more team-work oriented approach) the Inuit has been assigned to a special unit employing unconventional tactics. How this will ultimately play out remains anyone’s guess…
Allegiance: Skies were made for free-falling, but there’s motion in the ocean! And everyone knows I’m in it for the thrills. . .
How He Died:
Inuk sighed, leaning against the sled and propping his chin over his fist, alternating his gaze between the restless hounds and the choppy ocean waters.
In theory, there was a war going on, somewhere across the water—all the nations of the world gathered in roiling masses, gunning each other down like trigger-happy fish in barrels. In the meantime, here was Greenland, watching the coastlines to make sure ze big bad Germanz did not sneak on up to set weather stations and gain an edge on his American allies. American, because, well, hey, the United Kingdom still wasn’t returning his calls.
Not that Big Brows was alone in that; Inuk hadn’t heard from Danny-Boy in some time—not since he was captured by ze Germanz, at any rate—and while Greenland didn’t feel particularly heart-broken to not have the boisterous Nordic ordering him around, he had to admit he missed the other’s humor. And beer. He’d be sadder for the guy, if he wasn’t getting all the action.
Inuk let out a lazy puff of air, tapping his fingers along the railing, and idly hoped for another U-boat sighting. Something, at least.
Naturally, that was when the ice began to crack.
Greenland blinked, glancing back. There was a thin line, a barely there scratch, but it was getting bigger, crawling his way with gathering speed. Inuk gave a wild grin, tugging his hood further down and shaking the reins, yelling, “HIKE.”
Like a bullet, the dogs were off, leaving a wake of powder wings. Unfortunately, the gap was moving like lightning, thundering across the glacial sheet in a yawning chasm of splitting ice, jagged mouthed and fanged as any angry beast. Inuk smirked, loving the adrenaline rush in his veins, and ushered the dogs further on, confident in his deadly race with the Arctic. There was no fear—only exhilaration.
When the crack yawned just barely beneath him, it caught the Inuit nation by surprise. He barely had enough time to cut the dogs lose before plunging down, voice raising in a yell that was swallowed only too easily by the hungry tundra.
His last thoughts were, ‘Alright, this round’s yours.’
Crunch.[/i]
Did you read the rules? Who is a Beastie?: Other than yours truly, y’mean? –grin- It’s gotta be that kooky Cap’n Jack Sparrow man with the wicked dreads.
Country of Origin: Greenland
Gender Haha, definitely a dude.
Age: Not too old to die young! 23, give or take.
Height: 187 cm. (6’1”), thereabouts.
Weight: Around 83 kg. (183 lbs.), but let me tell you—all muscle, babe.
Appearance:
People often think it only takes one good look at Inuk to know what they’re seeing: trouble on legs. Stocky and solid in figure, the Inuit doesn’t walk so much as swagger, making a point of moving at his own pace only. If someone tries to rush him, he’ll take his sweet time; if they try and hold him back, he’ll rush forward full speed ahead. Smiles come very easy to Inuk—too easy, some would say—full and bright with mischief in each corner. There is usually a trickster gleam to his lazy eyes, cool and green like the color of sea-glass. On the few occasions that Inuk is genuinely enraged, though, the smile evaporates instantly, leaving a harsh face with an arctic gaze.
Other than his height, the Greenlander’s eyes are the only clue to any type of Scandinavian heritage. His skin is a buttery tan like his Inuit relatives, and his tousled hair, while artificially tipped and frosted white by dye, is inky black in color, stylized in a combination hanging-faux-hawk-horsetail (not ponytail, because only girls have those). Inuk has several facial piercings—three hoops to each ear, one bar at the far corner of his right eyebrow, one lip-ring on the lower left side, and a smaller stud above his chin. All silver.
On formal occasions, he will concede as far as removing his more distracting piercings and don a crisp military-issued uniform. In flight, the Greenlander wears a modified version of the standard flight gear, having cut apart, re-sewn, and added his own renditions to the regulated outfit in the form of extra fur and thick stitches. In addition to the fur-trimmed article, he wears secure goggles with an ear-piece/microphone attachment for the other members of his team.
If Inuk had to subscribe to a label of style, he might settle for “hunter-rocker,” at least temporarily. While his functional attire is traditionally leather and fur, sensible wear in his homeland climes, the almost haphazard stitching gives the clothes a personality of its own—along with the trimmed hood of his anoraq, quite a few seams have fur bunching out the edges. Even when he’s not wearing full cold-climate gear, Inuk prefers having at least one brown-leather article on him at all times, whether it’s his pants or his jacket—anything that he can cut a piece off of in an emergency.
On that note, while Inuk carries a standard issue WSM knife in his right boot, the Greenlander’s weapon of choice is without question his custom-made spring-loaded whaling harpoon. He will rarely be seen without it, often carelessly propped over one shoulder as he shoots the breeze with his fellows-in-arms, or sometimes even waving it around to emphasize his point. For all this, though, the Greenlander does know how to use the weapon, and skillfully—enough that most would pray never to be his enemy twice.
People often think it only takes one good look. In the end, one look is never enough.
Crew member of: The World Sky Military
Status: Lance Corporal
Pet: Only my Green Wing, Isaroq Qorsuk. Ice Baby for short.
Crest: A Stylized Green Wing
Personality:
Inuk presents a fairly straight-forward personality on first meeting—a casual guy with a sense of fun, adventure, and impulse. Inuk is light-humored, taking only few things seriously and even fewer of those things to heart. Attempts to insult or shame him often fall flat, as the Inuit seems only too eager to agree to the many flaws his superiors subscribe to him on a daily basis, laughing all the while. Detractors such as ‘reckless’, ‘insubordinate’, and ‘brazen’ are countermanded by Inuk’s almost supernatural charisma and luck—many find the Greenlander too much of a force of nature to curtail, especially in pursuit of any endeavor he finds ‘thrilling’.
Having an overabundance of natural fortune and a deficit of even the slightest inkling of common fear, Inuk will be the first to take on the most dangerous military missions—not out of glory, but of his own deep personal satisfaction of chasing thrills and besting dangers. When there aren’t missions enough that quench his taste for venture, Inuk will be only too happy to bend some rules and go out on rounds raiding the towns for all their varying sights, smells, and sounds.
Hunting, whaling, cliff-diving, flying, moshing, fighting, and flirting with beautiful and dangerous women are all activities Inuk enjoys immensely, and a day that he doesn’t get to do one or three of these things (all at once) counts as a day ill-wasted to the boredom-despising Inuit. If Inuk can’t find something that gives him an adrenaline rush within a handful of hours, he has a tendency of wearing his companions down to bare nerves with the constancy of his provocation.
That said, Inuk is a completely different being in fury—gone is the light smile and teasing eyes, exchanged for a tundra aura and viciously deliberate movements. Friend and foe alike, it is the height of foolishness to try and step between Inuk and the target of his ire—he will cut through without a pause or apology.
While Inuk is a social creature, amused by and finding joy in amusing others, some will find if they probe deep enough a cold, selfish place within the Greenlander’s heart—Inuk disdains emotional attachment and the obligations that come with it, and he will be the first to break off a potentially fettersome arrangement if he sees it coming. For all his flirting, Rasmussen never wants to fall in love for more than one night, and once he gets what he wants Inuk will be upfront to any woman that has designs otherwise. Likewise, he will remind anyone that forms even a friendly relationship with him that ultimately he is always out for himself.
On rare days, Inuk will get a far off look in his eyes, falling silent as he stares at the distant horizon, instinctively searching the skies for northern lights. He speaks softer in these moments, and more profoundly, almost as though in a trance. This doesn’t happen often, and Inuk doesn’t always understand what he says while suspended, but there is always a lingering sense of deep calm in the following still. He claims that it’s just a quirk, but Inuk wonders sometimes if he isn’t being used as a channel for his ancestors, or even greater spirits.
For all his initial supposed simplicity, there are many sides to Rasmussen, as there are many layers to glacial ice—transparent to a point, beyond which one can only imagine the contents and motivations of the Greenlander’s actions. He is a surprisingly spiritual person, believing deeply in the power of fate—the only thing he counts on is that what will be, will be. In the meantime, one can only enjoy life for what it is—beautiful, dangerous, ever-changing, and cruel. And Inuk wouldn’t have it any other way.
History:
Perhaps it’s fitting that Inuk can account the inception of his life as the fault of drunken folly.
She was a visiting intern, a Danish student: tall, blonde, and pretty with eyes like green sea glass and lips like maraschino cherries. He was a local Inuit fisherman, rugged, swarthy, and taciturn, with a sociable drinking manner and warm strong hands. It only took a few mugs of beer, a chance meeting, and the illusion of mystery evoked by friendly strangers and dim lights to lower their inhibitions for one wild night. Nine months later, with no sweet parting words for father or blue swaddled bundle, the Nordic beauty leaves behind a boy with green eyes and one silently broken heart.
Inuk’s childhood was an eclectic one. He was frequently tossed hand over hand between grandparents, uncles, cousins, and one aunt while his father struggled to live up to the task foist upon him. To his credit, the senior Rasmussen did better than one would generally expect, up until the day he was killed in a hunting accident. From then on, Inuk was raised in full as an orphan of the family, learning any diverse skill that his relatives needed of him at that particular moment. Hunting, fishing, sewing, sledding—anything that the precocious child could pick up as useful, including a few things his older cousins unwittingly passed on in their teenage years.
By the time Inuk reached the age where most young Greenlander’s start schooling, it was settled that he would live with his aunt, as she had the lodgings closest to the main city. School was a bit of touch and go for Inuk—teachers and classmates alike were caught beneath his charismatic sway, but even the most determined teacher had to struggle to keep the boy’s attention. The problem only seemed to grow worse in high-school, as Inuk navigated through all sorts of social circles but maintained a barely-passing average.
It wasn’t that the Inuit boy was stupid—on the contrary, he grasped tangible concepts exceedingly well, especially when he had opportunity to work with his hands. He knew animals inside and out, and one would be hard pressed to find a teen that knew the nuance of his own culture as eloquently as Inuk. The issue at root was always interest—if Inuk didn’t want to learn it, he didn’t (and even if he did, he didn’t show it). Restless by nature, the Greenlander only began to shape up when he heard of a chance to join the World Sky Military. Finally, a chance for some excitement.
He took to military life with dubious success—on the one hand, he did his job on frontlines the best and the fastest, coming out without a scratch where lesser men lose limbs. On the other, he was a wild-card, taking unnecessary risks with his own safety, belligerently ad-libbing orders, and generally assuming it was every man out for himself. His career was and continues to be a polarizing issue with superior officers.
In an effort to take advantage of Inuk’s naturally survivalist attitude (and hopefully corral him into taking on a more team-work oriented approach) the Inuit has been assigned to a special unit employing unconventional tactics. How this will ultimately play out remains anyone’s guess…
Allegiance: Skies were made for free-falling, but there’s motion in the ocean! And everyone knows I’m in it for the thrills. . .
How He Died:
Inuk sighed, leaning against the sled and propping his chin over his fist, alternating his gaze between the restless hounds and the choppy ocean waters.
In theory, there was a war going on, somewhere across the water—all the nations of the world gathered in roiling masses, gunning each other down like trigger-happy fish in barrels. In the meantime, here was Greenland, watching the coastlines to make sure ze big bad Germanz did not sneak on up to set weather stations and gain an edge on his American allies. American, because, well, hey, the United Kingdom still wasn’t returning his calls.
Not that Big Brows was alone in that; Inuk hadn’t heard from Danny-Boy in some time—not since he was captured by ze Germanz, at any rate—and while Greenland didn’t feel particularly heart-broken to not have the boisterous Nordic ordering him around, he had to admit he missed the other’s humor. And beer. He’d be sadder for the guy, if he wasn’t getting all the action.
Inuk let out a lazy puff of air, tapping his fingers along the railing, and idly hoped for another U-boat sighting. Something, at least.
Naturally, that was when the ice began to crack.
Greenland blinked, glancing back. There was a thin line, a barely there scratch, but it was getting bigger, crawling his way with gathering speed. Inuk gave a wild grin, tugging his hood further down and shaking the reins, yelling, “HIKE.”
Like a bullet, the dogs were off, leaving a wake of powder wings. Unfortunately, the gap was moving like lightning, thundering across the glacial sheet in a yawning chasm of splitting ice, jagged mouthed and fanged as any angry beast. Inuk smirked, loving the adrenaline rush in his veins, and ushered the dogs further on, confident in his deadly race with the Arctic. There was no fear—only exhilaration.
When the crack yawned just barely beneath him, it caught the Inuit nation by surprise. He barely had enough time to cut the dogs lose before plunging down, voice raising in a yell that was swallowed only too easily by the hungry tundra.
His last thoughts were, ‘Alright, this round’s yours.’
Crunch.[/i]
Did you read the rules? Who is a Beastie?: Other than yours truly, y’mean? –grin- It’s gotta be that kooky Cap’n Jack Sparrow man with the wicked dreads.
