The Way of the Paladin

[Tjack]

   John took a deep cleansing breath and walked through the main doors of the school as his fathers voice rang in his head saying “To thine own self be true.”  He looked around at his fellow classmates. The schools he had gone to in Taos and Laramie were pretty good sized with a lot of different types of kids of a lot of different levels of wealth but here in Gotham everyone seemed to be running at a different speed. From the poorer kids to the rich, from the A-List to the outcasts they all seemed to have a unified sense of style, a sense of self.  Maybe it was simply that they had all survived so far living in a place where the Joker could pop out and murder half the student body at any moment gave them that attitude.
   He felt out of place from his work boots and jeans that weren’t specially pre-washed and aged to look like they had been worn hard but had actually been outside a city from time to time and walked on something other than concrete and asphalt. To his Carhartt’s jacket in that ugly dark mustard color. The kind of coat you see every construction worker and ranch hand in the country wearing. His t-shirt, flannel shirt, sweatshirt combo seemed to fit in but even then if you payed attention you could tell it wasn’t worn as part of some grunge sensibility but just because it was cold.  Even the messenger bag he carried his books in wasn’t the knapsack style most used here. It’s sturdy canvas and MOLLE straps were more reminiscent of his dad’s old shooting bag than the sharp leather designer ones most had. 
   “Two years and I’m out.” “ I can handle two years, maybe less if I can test out of some classes.”

 

  ***The bag is a grey/black Tactical Rush Lima by 511 messenger bag. I couldn’t import a pic but you can find it and the Carhartt’s jacket on-line if you care to see.***

[Tjack]

(OOC:) 

    I’ve been thinking about the more practical side of John’s life and I worked some things out.
    Currently he’s driving what was his father’s four year old Ford SUV.  It will look out of place in the school parking lot next to the smaller, more compact cars you’ll often see in larger cities.  John drove it loaded with his belongings cross-country when he came from Wyoming to Gotham City. His fathers friends planned out a route whereby every night he would park at a local sheriff’s office and stay overnight with the family of some Officer to save money and be safe on the trip.

     His basic monetary issues are covered by the fact that his father (just in case) set up a trust fund where any and all life insurance, U.S. Marshall’s office benefits, and profits from the sale of his house would be protected. John doesn’t have access to the principal until he turns 21, but the interest goes into an account for him to use for car insurance, repairs and other needs. It’s not a lot per month so some type of employment would be useful but not critical.

     He did have plans for a college education. Probably in some degree that would aid him in a career somewhere in law enforcement. Criminal Psychology, Criminal Law, etc. But he never decided which branch he wanted to pursue.  Whether the F.B.I., into the Marshall’s Dept. like his father or maybe locally in some big city Police Dept. or Rural Sheriff's Office he’s still not certain.

   He occupies his down time by playing guitar.  He plays either his 12-string acoustic Gibson or a Les Paul style six string electric. He owns a small portable amp for it that uses both AC or a rechargeable battery pack.  He uses a bluesy style reminiscent of Eric Clapton and likes singer/songwriter music from a large number of genres from the Beatles, Joni Mitchell and Harry Chapin to Kris Kristofferson and Johnny Cash. He has a strong voice and has considered playing music as a way to earn money while in college.

   He speaks Spanish, having learned it while living in New Mexico, it’s a more Mexican accented and less grammatical version which he’s trying to correct by taking that as his language requirement. (I myself found that when I moved from Boston to Phoenix that the Spanish I learned in school and from Puerto Rican friends was very different from the language spoken by the staff in the kitchens where I was a line cook.)

    Since moving into his mother’s house he’s turned the basement into a gym with a weight bench, a speed bag and a heavy bag along with some mats to do katas on.  His mother, Joyce isn’t crazy about the sound or the fighting aspect of her son’s exercise routine but understands that it’s a good way for him to get any aggression out and sports are a better use for his time in a dangerous city like Gotham.  His Martial Arts style is in the Marine Corps Martial Arts Program or MCMAPS.  It’s what Marines are taught in Basic Training and is a combined style using Boxing, Krav Maga, and others for an adaptable and effective way to disarm or disable an opponent. John has completed what would have been the full course for a recruit. But not the more advanced levels. It was the training that his dad was able to arrange with one of the self-defense trainers at the Marshall’s office.

   John has been spending a great deal of time wandering the city on the weekends trying to learn the different neighborhoods and taking the elevated trains that crisscross the city to understand the lay of the land. Because of this he’s found a number of out of the way shops and restaurants of all kinds.  He also keeps a large city map on the wall of his room for a decoration. He’s careful not to mark it so his mother won’t figure out that he’s using it to learn the fastest routes to fly through the city.

    If I have any other thoughts I’ll let you know.

[Tjack]

    A story.

   Once upon a time, in the most distant reaches of the galaxy. There was a people, they were dreamers and shapers. Healers and makers. They combined nanotechnology and biotechnology in ways never seen before or since. They had many great skills, but they were not warriors.  They gave their skills and gifts to any who came to them and asked. But they never left their home world because they loved it so.
  And all was well....until the day when some forgotten would be conqueror decided it would be better if only he controlled these gifts.  Then the people’s beautiful home became a battleground for a thousand years.   Over and over their lives were nothing more than a prize to be won. Passed from hand to hand, from one tyrant to another. Until even the name of their race was lost to history.  They prayed for Justice. They wept for Justice. They cried out for Justice....but none came.

  After a millennium of bondage they decided to do that which was still abhorrent to them.  They would leave the world of their birth.  They shaped and grew the great living ships which would take the remainder of their race far from war and slavery. Out to the unknown stars. Hidden by their technology from all who would try to use them once more, they wandered and planned.  The few who were left, those who didn’t will themselves to die from sorrow after leaving their world. They came to another great decision.  If they received no Justice, they would make certain others would.

   They worked their greatest creation. A being that was both living creature and machine, both weapon and armor, both teacher and servant.  One that would bond with someone they felt was worthy and who sought Justice not only for any wrongs that had been done to them but for everyone.  They marked each of these with a sign, the last known glyph of their language. A symbol that stood for one who strove to defend and do what was right...a Paladin.

   They searched the cosmos for those with these qualities. They also kept watch in case power corrupted the bearer so that the gift could be taken away. The ones they found worthy were few but but all had risen to the call.

   Now they have come to Earth and found a young man to serve the cause.

 

[Mark Rand]

Looks good.