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abcfree4all

Character Profile- Samson Brink

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Race: Unknown (Human? Elf?)

Age: 25 years

Weighs 190 pounds, and towers at 6'5 feet tall. Has orange/hazel eyes, red hair and lean build, fighting style is berserker, due to incredible healing ability. However, cannot fight very long without becoming exhausted. When not an absolute madman, has great stamina and can run long distances. Character card coming soon

Samson was jogging home on a road from the market, on a day that was filled with coins clinking, the din of voices speaking, and the smell of baked bread and flowers. He was carrying a sack of bread, gold, and animal furs, bringing them back to his town, Ralae, to sell and distribute. He was sweating and breathing heavily, as it was unusually warm, even for a summer day. He stopped at the fork between the road home, and the road north, farther away towards land cold and unforgiving. He stopped for a breath, looking around. The landscape was beautiful, with grass waving in the wind, the earth warmed by the sun, and the nearby river lazily running downhill. But he also knew of the dangers of the land, snakes looking for prey hidden in the grass, hawks calling above, looking over the land. And of course the bandits, running straight at him.

Samson picked up his bag and sprinted towards home, trying to outdistance them. He looked behind himself, and counted 5 people, covered in light armor and carrying daggers and hatchets. They began to catch up, Samson slowing down from his burden of goods. He turned around, dropping his bag behind him and raising his fists in front of him. They stopped running 20 feet away from him. They spread out, jeering at him and laughing with each other. The miscreants stalked forward, all eyes trained on his stuff. Samson stomped his foot on the ground in front of himself, feinting a charge. The sound of his foot slamming into the hard packed earth and his seeming advance made them jump. One particular coward fell backwards, his friends laughing at him as well as he got back up. Samson took their distraction and ran forward, punching one in the face, and lunged at another with a powerful punch, one that would surely fall him unconscious and take him out of the fight. He ducked, leaving Samson tumbling forward. Enraged, Samson ran at another, punching towards his stomach. The bandit fell backwards, and feebly kicked upwards at Samson as he moved towards his evasive enemy, this time running a bit slower, and being more cautious with his attack. The bandit was on the ground in seconds. He turned around, seeing only one left. Some of the smarter fools had run away, but this one had an evil glint in his eye. Samson ran towards him, but the bandit ran as well. They met in the middle, Samson with his shoulder ready for a bash, the bandit with his knife in his hand. It happened quickly after that.
 

Samson was sure he was about to win the fight, until the knife entered his chest. His eyes unfocused, pain shooting throughout his torso, and his breath turned ragged. Did it puncture his lung? Was it in his stomach? He wasn't sure. He heard faintly the thugs yelling at their successful friend, screaming that they weren't supposed to kill him. Suddenly the pain didn't matter. He was furious, and he got up from his knees, His breathing got better, and the pain ebbed away. His eyes were still fuzzy, his vision shaking around. He screamed, and the world went black.

He had no idea what happened. He was standing over the bodies of 3 dead- No, he thought, unconscious bandits, standing in front of his bag of goodies. He cautiously checked his chest, finding a bloody hole in his clothes, and a soreness beneath. He checked his wound. There was no sign of his stabbing but the dried blood on his stomach. Shaken, he picked up his bag and sprinted home. He reached Ralae in a personal record time, just as the sun was setting. His friends ran towards him as Samson lay down. He told them of his wild tale, some in disbelief, but they believed him for the ragged tear in his clothes. He was told guards were being sent up to pick up the unconscious thugs and throw them in prison. He fell asleep that night without a thought, dropping into unconsciousness like those idiots on the street.

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