By
SF Redd
Well, hello everybody! This is my very first time making RP OC's. I was a bit hesitant to begin with, but I decided, hey, why not?
Remember, first time, so don't brutally murder me if it's not perfect, please!
Here goes, first one's quite detailed:
Name: (Scottish Gaelic, given at birth) Dubhshìth Mhuirich (Pronounced somewhat like “DOOWhee Vooyreecsh), English translation: Duffy Murray, adopted Japanese name: Dabushusu(ダブシュス) Nhyuairichu(ンヒュアイリチュ).
Name meanings: Dubhshìth = Black one of peace, Mhuirich = From the sea
Age: 25 years old as of 1311
Race: Caucasian, ever so slight tan on pale skin
Origin: Originally born and raised till the age of 4 on a family farm next to Loch Gleann Dubh. Born on the 25th of February 1286
Home: A Shinobi homestead and farm, Iga Province, Japan
Sex: Male
Height: 5’9”
Weight: 12.5 stone
Build: Lean, athletic and muscular
Eyes: Very dark brown, with a slight tint of green if viewed in the right light
Hair: Dark brown, almost black.
Family: Deceased parents, adopted into a Shinobi family of farmers
Alignment: Neutral/good (almost Robin Hood-esque)
Personality: Dubhshìth, despite his past, is a reasonably happy person. He’s full of stubborn pride, he is hardened by years of travel and training, and he has extraordinary willpower. He wants to do everything he can to help everyone he can. Due to trauma in his youth, Dubhshìth holds a deep, burning hatred in his heart for the Samurai. Even so, he’s a likeable person to many, that is, if they can get past not only his natural hesitation to trust people, but their own hesitations towards him, as many people do have.
Background: Born in the Highlands of Scotland in 1286, Dubhshìth’s birth came mere weeks before the death of King Alexander III. With the throne being contested, and King Edward Longshanks of England on the verge of deciding a puppet king, war was so clearly upon the horizon. The small family of three, a mother, father and young son fled from their home and from the rest of their clan. With hesitation, they fled the country, fearing the brewing war. They moved east, taking a ship from the east coast to the mainland. Their journey was hard-pressed and tiring. It took three ungodly years of travel, through the mountains of Europe and through the dusty sands of the Middle East. They finally reached Korea, where they once more got a boat, which took them to a land they hoped to call home. They started a farm, but soon realised that the land wasn’t as welcoming as it first appeared. As they learned the native tongue of the people, they learned of those known as “Samurai”. These Samurai were supposed to be keepers of the peace, but to the lowly farmer, they were the main thing standing between themselves and peace. The Samurai would pillage farms and abuse farmers, even going as far as to cause grievous bodily harm. When these strange, white people arrived, the Samurai’s attention was swiftly subverted. To them, no outsider should be allowed on the land. The family was abused, increasingly so over the years. Once Dubhshìth’s father tried to defend himself, but he was no match for someone such as a Samurai. A broken arm and some broken ribs later, fear was implanted into the man’s mind. After four years of abuse, the trio were making their way back to their farm at night, after a day selling goods. It was the dark of night, and it had started to rain. The rain made the ground sticky and muddy; difficult to walk on. As the first crack of thunder boomed, they struck. Without warning or hesitation a sword was plunged through Dubhshìth’s father’s chest. Dubhshìth was violently knocked to the ground as his father’s body slid off the Katana and slumped to the ground, quiet and unmoving. As Dubhshìth struggled to see what was going on through the darkness and rain, and he slipped back to the ground as he tried to stand, three Samurai made their way to the carriage holding the goods. Dubhshìth hears his own mother’s cries of fear, forcing him to get up instantly. Two of the Samurai held one of her arms each, holding them out horizontally, while the other one grabbed her hair and pulled it upwards. Dubhshìth charged at the three armoured warriors with rage in his heart and his fists primed. The Samurai stood there, watching to see what the 11 year old boy may do. Dubhshìth punched the man as hard as he could in the face, but all he did was hurt his hand against the tough metal mask. The men laughed at him. Dubhshìth was pushed onto the ground, landing on his back. He could do nothing but watch at the masked man drew a knife across his mother’s neck. Her cries of fear were replaced with gut-curdling gargling, which in turn was replaced with silence. The killer walked over to Dubhshìth and picked him up by his fairly long hair. Struggling helped him escape in no way at all, and the attacker brought him up to his mask before slowly sliding the knife into the boy’s torso. With a cry of agonising pain, the knife was quickly withdrawn from his body. Just as the Samurai was about to deliver the killing strike, his accomplice spoke up. From the Japanese Dubhshìth knew, it sounded like he said “No! Leave him to die in the dirt like the dog he is. He can watch his parents burn!” With that, Dubhshìth was dropped to the floor. He saw a torch being lit, somehow, even in the rain. His parents’ bodies were thrown onto the wagon, which was then set ablaze. The aggressors quickly departed, but Dubhshìth did not give up hope. He dragged himself over to the burning wagon and from the floor, he grabbed something which was hanging out, to try to pull himself up, but the piece of cloth tore off into his hand. A small piece of wool bearing the tartan of his clan. Just as his vision faded to black, he saw a dark figure appear before him. He didn’t have time to figure out who before he was completely unconscious. He awoke an unknown amount of time later in a panic. Before he could get up, however, he felt a shooting pain in his side, making him stay stationary. “Ah, you’re awake!” he heard a Japanese voice say from within the same room as himself. He flicked his gaze around the room. There was bright sunlight, and one of the wooden Japanese houses with paper wall he had seen so much of was what he was in. He saw a man in his mid-thirties sitting near him. “I’m sorry, but you’re family, are dead.” The man said. Welcome to the Shinobi. We will help you get justice upon who did this.” As the tears rolled down Dubhshìth’s cheeks, he knew he wouldn’t rest until he did have that justice. Although he didn’t know what the man meant by “Shinobi”.
Abilities: Being trained by the Shinobi in the art of Ninjutsu, Dubhshìth is an expert in all 18 disciplines, including but not limited to Bojutsu staff techniques, Kenjutsu sword techniques, Taijutsu unarmed techniques, shurikenjutsu throwing techniques, and Shinobi-iri stealth and infiltration techniques. He’s a fast learner, and has become an expert in the 9 ryu of Ninjutsu. He had a good mental awareness of battle strategy and tactics, and is fluent in Scottish Gaelic, Japanese, and is somewhat familiar with English. One of his biggest weaknesses is a lack of formal education. He also sometimes over-analyses things, which can slow him down. He is very alert when it comes to meeting new people, preferring them to keep a distance, as he has a hard time trusting people.
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