“You know, no human being should be allowed to gorge themselves on chocolate. It’s so unhealthy.”
*continues to gorge himself on chocolate*
Name: Ambrose Kip
Referred to as: Kip
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Hetero
Crush: TBD
Love Interest: TBD
Spouse: None
Family: Open
Biological Father: Ambrose Daws
Step-Father: Joseph Spoonsman
Mother: Sarah Kip Spoonsman
Half-Sister: Rosy Spoonsman
His biological father is dead. His step-father is a tinker. Mother does odd jobs. He has a sister and no other siblings.
Rank: Bounty Templar
Rank Desired: He’s pleased to be in the place he’s at. He likes the outdoors.
Weapon of Choice:
He’s an archer through and through, killing at a distance proves more effective to him personally. Because of this more convenient survival skill, he’s often the one who hunts game for the group, given that most specialize in blades instead. He uses a recurve (#80) as opposed to a longbow because it’s easier to travel with. The limbs are less cumbersome, too. However, because hand-to-hand combat exists, he does carry two saxe knives with him as well. They are balanced blades so that they’ll aim true if he must throw them. And of course, he was trained to be flexible and be able to use anything as a weapon.
Thoughts on Mages:
He’s passive about them. Yeah, it’s admirable that they have the gusto and determination to try to escape them, but they’re going to get caught in the end. Usually. He appreciates this rebelliousness, though, because without it he would be left jobless and probably stationed somewhere stuffy. They’re his purpose, and he hopes that some will always be running.
Brief History:
He’s named after his biological father, a man who first appeared sweeter than honey and later exposed his cruel and callous side. His poor wife didn’t know about the latter until after Kip’s birth. On the same day, he’d be the charming guest and the abusive husband. Luckily this man mysteriously died while Kip was still young and he doesn’t remember much about him. His mother says that he had a heart attack; the neighbors whisper poison. However, such rumor did not keep his mother single for long and a few months later she remarried.
Kip’s new family wasn’t wealthy and his parents had to work odd jobs to keep food consistently on the table. They had to work harder when his sister was born a few years after himself. From there, it was determined that he would have to start working at an early age. In fact, by the time he could walk and carry things confidently, he was helping his step-father who often worked in a shed as the town’s tinker. Absolutely awful. He always knew that templars existed, but one day they brought a mage through his village. The way they controlled the savage brute and their skill when the demon became unleashed captivated him. That’s what he wanted to do. So he did.
Personality:
Stubborn | Prideful | Cheeky | Pokes Fun | Bleak View on Mages | Loyal | Teamplayer | Not Naturally a Leader | Condescending | Can be a Hypocrite | Dangerously Touchy on Certain Subjects |
If you aren’t doing something his way, you’re doing it the wrong way. He’s a stiff believer that his way is the only way and you have to physically prove to him that yours is also correct. He knows that this can get on others’ nerves and will often pretend to believe in something completely ridiculous just to drive someone crazy. It’s quite fun, actually, and he recommends it to all the strangers he meets. Never his friends, just in case they would take him up on it and return the favor. A few of them have done it back, but most just laugh it off or grind their teeth. He means it in a good-natured way, but he forgets that it doesn’t always appear that way. Once his poking fun distanced a relationship and the two of them hadn’t been the same ever again. He was too prideful to apologize, after all, it was just a joke. Get over it already. No? Okay, stiff-head.
He can be too prideful in other ways, and he won’t do anything that he considers beneath him. For example, he doesn’t believe in fortunetellers and would never step into one of their shops and get his palm read. It’s not worth his time. He also considers small, simple jobs below him as well. Never a farmhand unless it’s for templar duty. Of course, he’d do anything for work and to keep on working. He loves his job but would hate to be among mages for so long as circle templars do. If assigned, he would (grudgingly) accept that post, but only because he could never turn back to normal citizen life. In fact, citizen life itself is beneath him. What would he do if he lost it? Probably drink himself away. He doesn’t plan on retirement; just going to go down on duty.
He’s a loyal teammate and easily pack bonds. He’s a big believer that teamwork is the best way to get things done. Especially once you’ve gotten to know each individual and their abilities/experiences well enough. Something he can’t stand is when people don’t contribute anything, or when they’re useless. He’s only had these type of people during board games and group assignments. He’s okay to be off on his own, but is more alert and jumpy. One of his greatest fears is to have to face a demonic mage on his onesome. He’s not a leader but can think for himself and can temporarily play leader. However, it’s not natural for him to tell people what to do. Since his line of work is so dangerous, a command could lead to lost lives which is something he can’t have his conscience bear. He can’t stand guilt, especially when there’s no cure for it.
He can be condescending and will talk down to you as if you are a complete idiot. He’s an idiot who doesn’t know how to correct someone without having that tone in his voice. He also believes that your body is your temple, so you should feed it healthily to keep it running (see quote). Of course, he only ever says this whenever he eats something unhealthy…which is fairly often. He doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he does this from the group, it’s just one of his quirks. He does get picked on a little for it though. However, he usually always can take it.
He can be very touchy on certain subjects and will fight you if you press on them too much. One is the fact of his name. No one calls him Ambrose. Not. A. Soul. Ambrose was the name of a wretched man (aka biological father) who was manipulative and evil. Not him, not ever him. So instead, he goes by his last name, or rather, his mother’s maiden name. He’s a bit of a mama’s boy and so you don’t insult that woman unless he can insult yours back and it’s all in the spirit of good jest. He will physically fight you on some things, but it really depends on what it’s about and how drunk he is. One time he fought about whether chicken meat was better than hog because he had a little too much. Another thing you shouldn’t spit about is his archery equipment. It’s not a child’s toy, it’s not a coward’s weapon, and it’s not a tool to be taken lightly. It deserves to be treated with respect, just like any blade.
Appearance:
He used to think that scarred faces were cool, and secretly hoped to get one. However, this idea was crushed by a mentor who branded into his brain that a cut face just meant that the person was bad at dodging. Not a tough, macho thing that you want. So, this is now his point of view, and he was absolutely mortified when he received his first facial scar…from just a training routine. It’s still there, a white streak across the right side of his brow.
His hair is like coffee beans, being only a dark brown and not a true black. He tries to keep it clean and washed, but unfortunately, the woods and wilderness do not provide showers and soap. Often his thick locks are oily and sometimes it gets to a point where you could almost milk it and use it to fry eggs. When it gets like this, it has a sick, wavy look to it. He wears it in a ponytail, but will usually put it up in a bun when it’s getting long. He likes to keep it at shoulder length, but occasionally its growth escapes him and his knives. It just needs to be kept out of his eyes so that he can have a clear shot at his target.
His skin is olive and tan from being outdoors so often. However, it’s a farmer’s tan and under his usual, loose, short-sleeved shirts, he looks like a pasty snowflake in comparison. Does this stop him from swimming shirtless? No, of course not. In fact, he’s proud of his tan as it proves that he’s an outdoorsman who works and isn’t worried about fashion. Underneath his clothes, he has a few scars. There are a few slashes along his left side, and also a burn scar on his left arm from his first encounter with a demonic mage. On his right hip is a small puncture scar from when he was trying to sheath his blades blindfolded, with his hands bound, and using his mouth (it was a dumb dare). His legs have their own scars, but most are of the briars that scrape the skin beneath his pants. They’ll fade away in time.
“Since we aren’t doing emotional scars, my favorite one is my belly button.”
His eyes are deep inky pools that hide each pupil in their watery depths. Often they’re full of mirth and their monolid shapes turn into crescents. He wants to have laughing creases when he’s older because they are testaments that you’ve lived and enjoyed life. His lips are thin, with the lower one slightly larger. Above both and under his flattish, squat nose are the beginnings of a mustache that he hopes to grow. So far it’s only a few hairs, but there’s hope! His face is lightly freckled by chocolate sprinkles. Most of the marks on his face are just them, but a few are acne scars. They are on his cheeks, close to his hairline. They are visible, but not distracting on his oval face.
His body is ecto-meso and is muscular in his back from pulling an eighty-pound bow for years. He’s lean and fit, ready for work. His hands and feet are large, which some might find surprising for a shorter man of 5’ 9”. He weighs 161 pounds, mostly from muscle as he has little fat. He usually wears a short-sleeved shirt that’s either gray or brown. The cloth is cotton as it is a durable, breathable, and comfortable material. His pants are made of the same fabric and color and are long and loose, but not baggy. He’s not one for dressing up fancily but will if called to. He always wears closed-toed shoes, as they are practical in the wild. He wants a pair of steel-toed boots for his birthday. For now, though, he wears normal, brown leather boots with a heel so that he can ride a horse comfortably if necessary. He does have a pair of ankle boots packed away in a satchel, but they’re only there in case his taller pair wear a hole or goes missing.
Other:
His favorite color is red, but it’s too much of a shocking color to wear on an everyday basis in his line of work.
Fall 
Night Weather: 
Fog Moon: 
