Name: (Nameless Drifter)

Race: Human

Class: Samurai

Alignment: Neutral

Inventory:

~Iron Staff
6' tall, completely plain gray iron staff except for an exceptionally well polished 1/4" ring 16" from the top.

~Leather Armor
So tightly bound to his body that it is hidden under the shirt he wears.

~Blackjack
A slightly flexible foot long rod that is tipped with a lead core wrapped in several layers of leather. Spreads the force of the blow over a wider area to avoid lasting physical damage. There is a leather thong at the end for the drifter to slip around his wrist.

Gold: -14

Skills:

*Thou shall not kill! Unless they deserveth it! (Racial)
The drifter won't kill just anyone. And he is especially reluctant to hit a woman. The whole reason for his revenge was caused by needless killing. So he has dedicated his entire life to his non-lethal weapons. His skill with the non-lethal weapons he owns is quite high (excluding his fists) but with anything else, he is a fish out of water. Hand him something with a sharp edge and he is likely to do even worse with it due to him trying his hardest not to kill his opponent. He is even more useless if a woman tries to fight him. He was raised with the rigid rule that a woman should never be struck for any reason. He has found reason to bend this rule, but he stills tries to be even more non-lethal than usual with women.

*Wasn't Aiming for the Target, was Aiming for the Flies Around the Target (Medium)
A swift unseen blow to the head tends to keep people quiet. Or the solar plexus. But that usually requires hitting a small object while it's moving and the larger object attached to it is trying to kill you. Having survived this way with nothing but his non-lethal weapon for years, the drifters accuracy with his own weapons is quite improved.

*Dr. Speed or: How I Learned to Stop Hitting So Hard and Move Faster (Weak)
Hitting some one hard enough to break bones is good and all, but only if they are still there when the blow lands. Following this line of thought, it's just as good to move faster and not hit them as hard as long as the strike will land. Can move a bit faster at the cost of some power.

*Ooops, did you need that bone is one piece? (Weak)
Years of lean living and fierce training has given the drifter a very muscular upper body. He is a bit stronger in his upper body than his wiry frame would suggest.

Specials:

*Zero Angle (Weak) 3x
A thrust at a single point with no unnecessary angle behind it, perfectly perpendicular to it's target. This makes it harder to deflect or parry but robs it of some of the power behind the blow.

*Non-superficial (Weak) 2x
Through special application of force, the drifter can limit all the force of a blow to below the surface area of target. A solid strike to a surface that won't leave a single mark while forcing the damage into the underlying layers below. The softer the top layer, the more damage is transfered through it.

*The First Time Never Hurts (Medium, Flourish) 1x
People only expect the first blow. The second one is the one that slips through. After starting a swing at an opponent, the drifter switches his grip so that the end of his weapon will miss his target. By missing his target with the first blow, the drifter can continue his swing to build up momentum for a second attack that is actually intended to strike. This builds up speed and momentum, making the second blow hit harder than the first one would have.

Basic Stats:

5'11", 175lbs, shoulder length scraggly light blond hair matted down from lack soap, loose brown linen shirt that covers his armor, light blue jeans. The blackjack is loosely secured to his left fore arm beneath the sleeve.

Bio:

"It is sealed."

The High Priest was holding an iron staff in his hands. Across from him stood a man, who by all official records, was dead. They were in the dimly lit caverns underneath the Church of War. Down where the priests practiced the shadier arts of war. What the High Priest had done today didn't go well with what he preached. But he owed the broken man in front of him. Surely his god would forgive him someday.

"Is there anything else I can do for you before you leave?"

"Yes. This should go better with what you preach than what I had you do earlier. I need armor. I may have forsaken giving glorious battle to the death but I do like to make sure I have a fair chance."

"That I can do. We still have the armor your family donated to us. It's upstairs in the Grand Armory. I can bring it down now. It will only be a moment."

"No. Not that armor. I'm dead, remember? If I went around with that armor, rumors would run rampant that some one from my family survived. That's why I had you do what you did before. My weapon is too recognizable. Also, I need something much lighter than plate."

"But with out it, the Tester of Blood will slaughter you. Please at least make that concession to the glories of Battle."

"That man isn't a test sent by your bloody god. He is a monster. Where was the Glorious Battle when he slaughtered my family as they shared our bread with him?"

"If you insist... There is some old training mail and leather armor down here somewhere."

The High Priest exaggerated his sigh of disappointment to it's fullest and walked off to find some armor. While the priest was gone, the supposedly dead man tested out his new staff. Throwing off his shirt, he walked over to a training dummy. Standing before the dummy, he took a deep bow and dropped into a deep squat with his feet wide apart and his right side pointed toward the dummy. Grasping the staff just a few inches from the bottom and about a third of the way up it, he pointed the staff directly at the dummy. Rising up and placing all his weight back on his left foot, he slid his right hand in and swung the staff out from his body. Continuing the swing, he spun the staff around in a complete circle while he brought down his right foot and put all his weight onto it. With as much force as he could muster, he brought down the staff at the joint where dummy's head and body joined. The sickening sound of hardwood cracking filled the room. Frowning, he reset his stance and started over. The next swing struck the same spot but he pulled the swing just a bit so that the sound of wood cracking beneath the blow was lessened. He proceeded through his entire staff routine, modifying every attack that would have lethal consequences.

By the time the High Priest returned with a set of armor, sweat was glistening across his muscled body. Finishing his last sequence, the man bowed again to the dummy and turned to face the priest. The priest lobbed a leather chest piece to him.

"It might be a tight fight but the way it's jointed should make up for it. It's the only serviceable piece of armor down here."

Catching the armor with one hand, the man took a look at it. The armor looked like it would barely fit. But the way it was made was quite peculiar. It was several different pieces jointed together so that when a person bent in it, the pieces would slide out and over other pieces. It was quite ingenious and wouldn't harm the mobility of the wearer. Setting down the staff, he slid the armor on over his head and laced up the sides. The High Priest had been right, it was a tight fit but the peculiar jointing kept it from hampering his movement. Throwing his shirt on over the armor, the man threw a very lax salute to the priest.

"Thanks for everything. Your debt to my family is paid. You have always been good to us even before my father spared your life."

"If you ever need anything, I'm here, debit or no. And you might as well take this considering the path you are taking."

The priest drew a short training stick from one of his deep pockets and handed it to the man. Normally it was used to strike an apprentice of the Battle to encourage proper form or enforce discipline. The supposedly dead man had been on the recieving end of it often enough to know it certainly packed a punch even if it didn't leave a mark. The man loosely secured the blackjack to the inside of his fore arm and replaced his sleeve over it. Collecting his staff, he shook hands with the priest and bid his farewell.

"I'll see you again, either in this life or next."

"Farewell, Your Highness."

"That man is dead."

Turning his back, the nameless man walked off into the dark corridors that lead to the outside world.