Jean Roi

Safehouse

• The Dirt

  • Name: Jean Roi
  • Gender: Male
  • Played by: LaParka
  • Nicknames: The Blackhander
  • Race: Caucasian
  • Class: Jack of trades
  • Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
  • Deity: Atheist
  • Age: 30
  • Size: Medium
  • Body Type: Athletic
  • Height: 5'8
  • Weight: 185 pounds
  • Complexion: Somewhat pale
  • Hair: Brown hair, kept short
  • Eyes: Green
  • Handedness: Ambidextrous
  • Scars: Numerous
  • Relationship Status: Single
  • Personality: Direct, blunt, practically sociopathic. But fair.
  • Mannerisms: A quiet guy, usually he'll take the most direct path to get what he wants, but also capable of putting thought into what he's trying to do.
  • Likes: Power, Being Armed, Miles Davis
  • Dislikes: Pigs and Narcs, Weasles, Obstacles In His Path

• Health Records

  STR	14	INT	13
  DEX	11	WIS	15
  CON	17	CHA	10

• History

  He was barely conscious for the bus ride, head against the window, eyes bloodshot and red. He hadn't shaved in a few days, and every time he breathed in, his ribs throbbed in pain. On some dim level he realized that the multiple fractured ribs and concussion were causing him to drift in and out of consciousness, on some level his brain screamed at him to keep himself awake, to keep track of his money, or how far he'd traveled until now, to even try and see if that was the rain pounding on the metal hull he was in, or if it was his own mind, bombarding himself with hallucinations. On some level he realized these things, but just wasn't able to stay awake for very long. Every bit of distance traveled could have been miles or feet, every moment blacked out could have been seconds or hours, he didn't know. But he had to sleep, had to sleep. Had to forget...
  
  Bullets ripping through him, shock coursing through his body and dropping him to his knees. He already knew the men he led in were dead, they'd never survive the lower levels. Even if they did, that didn't matter because he was dying. He grit his teeth, feeling his gun dropping from his fingers, trying to fight the pain. He'd come up through the ranks, the legendary Blackhander, double-crossed by a little shit-heel Mafia wannabe, bleeding to death. He swallowed bitterly, a surge of anger flowing through him, forcing himself to pick up his pistol. Not like this, no goddamn way. Hearing footsteps rushing up the wooden stairs behind him, he saw only one way. Aiming the gun-
  
  The bus hit a pothole and his head smacked against the window, bringing him awake. Groaning in pain, he looked at the station they were pulling into...his destination. It had taken all of his emergency money and a fake ID and name, coming to a place he didn't know, starting from the bottom, all over again.
  
  When the bus finally killed it's engine, "Jean Roi" took his first steps, into a new kingdom. A fresh start.

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