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| Liam O'Rourke |
| Name: Liam O’Rourke Age: 41 Sex: Male Race/Nationality: Human/Irish Theme Song: Adam Freeland – ‘We Want Your Soul’ Faction: Civilian Likes: Liam is old-fashioned when it comes to the old ‘likes and dislikes’ game. Irish whiskey, Pontiac motor cars and pre-1930 firearms, namely those produced by Winchester, Remington and Colt, are really the only things he is aware of liking. Dislikes: ‘Wetwork’ specialists (assassins), because he’s been there and done that; it is neither an occupation he wants nor needs to go back to. Also, he does not suffer fools lightly. Strength: Strong and wiley, Liam is your archetypical ‘old bastard’, weathered and fatigued by the years and still handing peoples’ arses back to them. He can fight like the best of them and drive like a madman, not to mention that he is exactly the wrong kind of person to come up against in a shooting competition because of a background heavily immersed in the marksman tradition (see Profile). Weakness: Large and heavily built, Liam is not of the weaselly persuasion, and it is unlikely you will find him trying his hand at stealth. He is also extremely cynical, almost too much so, and this can drive people away from him. Basic Description of how character looks: Tall (6’9”) and built, to use an Australian simile, ‘like a brick shithouse’, Liam is imposing to say the least. His eyes are a bright blue, two chips of Arctic ice surrounded by twinned oceans of tar-black, and his mottled brown/blond hair is cut close to his head. Face weathered and set in an almost permanent semi-scowl, there is no one, be they blind, deaf or dumb, capable of remaining unaware of Liam’s presence on his entering the room, any room. List of items or weapons carried: Melee: Ka-bar USMC six-inch carbon steel combat knife in a scabbard at his left boot. Ranged: Colt Python .357 Magnum 6-round revolver, shoulder holstered, with a speed-loader containing another six cartridges secreted on Liam’s person. Profile: Mother dead in child-birth, Liam was brought up by his father, the meanest, roughest IRA cell leader of them all: Tommy O’Rourke. Already in his late forties, Tommy saw Liam as his last chance to ensure that his bloodline continued to carry on the good fight against the bastard English, and pounded, sometimes quite literally, training session after training session into his young mind. How to shoot, how to fight, how to make, set and remotely detonate explosives…it was all there. An adept pupil, quiet and calculating even in his youth, he learnt all there was to be taught, both at school and at home. At the age of 19, Liam left home one night, and didn’t return. Getting a job on the docks of Dublin wasn’t hard, since everybody knew Tommy and his boy, and arranging with IRA contacts for his safe passage to America was even easier. Tommy never knew where his boy had gone, because he was rotting in an English jail after the Brits knocked down his door. In America (Chicago, specifically), it didn’t take Liam long to find work with the seedier elements of society, going from nightclub bouncer to bodyguard for the Cangitanno capo within a year. It was at this point that he was approached, out of the blue, by the NSA. They had an offer to make, one that, as always, Liam couldn’t refuse: “We know about you and your IRA buddies, and we know that your passport is fake, and we also know that there’s a warrant for your arrest in Dublin. Come on board with us, or we will send you back to your Irish pals, and the word on the street is that they aren’t exactly pleased with you running off.” As I said, it wasn’t exactly an offer riddled with choices. Joining the NSA meant free citizenship, access to high-res military hardware, and a paycheck that rivalled that of the Secret Service. So Liam joined. Records of his activities for the next eighteen years are sketchy at best, but it is known that, on July 27th, 1998, he officially retired from the NSA, and now owns a small bar in one of the better areas of Manhattan. ‘Officially’ he is no longer part of the spy community, but in practice, he still does a bit of work here and there. |
| Skills: Skill 1: ‘Rifleman’ – the ability to be lethally precise with longarms. Level One Skill 2: ‘Martial Law’ – the ability to fight like a thrashing machine with feet, fists, elbows, knees and teeth. Level One |
| Stats: Strength: 7 Endurance: 7 Speed: 1 Dexterity: 6 Agility: 2 Intelligence: 4 Wit: 6 Charisma: 1 Luck: 3 Sanity: 8 Moral standards: 3 |