Corbin White (Bard)

Weight: 165

Apparent Age: 60

Archetype: Physical Adept: Circle Unknown

Preferred Weapon: DAOD Assault Pistol

Runner Song:

Bio: The Bard is a man that doesn’t regal you with story, song or poetry the way you would assume, now this man tells a tale in the brutality he brings to the battlefield. This man’s combat prowess is just that a story unto itself, the harmony of his twin pistols or the whistling of his blades as they slice through the air. This man is a master of combat and battle prowess, this is one of the reasons they call him the Bard, the other is his love for the song. He might not go around from town to town singing tales of his or others journeys, but this man does bring with him the power of song as he fights and even if you are lucky enough to be seated around a camp fire or late night within the bar. You can hear the mesmerizing voice of the Bard as he takes to a song that will always regal some story of the nations past. This man might be a brutal warrior and bringer of death, but he himself is kindly man that if not engaged in battle will gladly tell a tale, or bring forth a nightly revelry over a few drinks. So when it comes to this man you must decide if you love or hate him on your own, for the Bard is a man that has long since become a villain and forgone any hopes of ever being considered a hero again, for this is his cross to bear.

         The Bard began his career long ago when the nation was still under the Stars and Stripes, and people would gather on our nations birthday to celebrate liberty and democracy. He always new that a storm was brewing and something deadly lurked in the distance, something so dangerous that it would tear the nation apart in a bloody war. He knew that the world as we knew it one day would be consumed with hatred, corruption and war this man was convinced that only through proper preparation and warnings could he prevent the doom that lurked within the shadows. The Bard would use his hobby as a HAM radio operator to spread the word and let the people know the winds where coming, he would spend each evening after work broadcasting from coast to coast speaking of the fall of democracy and the rise of tyranny. He would regal the nation with his tales, his songs and his warnings each evening much to the disdain of his wife he thought he was to consumed with paranoia and becoming nothing more then a conspiracy theorist. Though for the Bard he was convinced, he claimed that he heard the warnings on the wind and he felt the sorrow of the spirits. He would stay vigilant to his cause and much to his wives chagrin he would begin to prepare for the incoming war that he could feel in his bones.

      Well as the years rolled by and the people began to call the Bard nothing more then a crazy old man, his family just tolerating his ramblings and antics the Bard would stay true to his guns and on the summers eve in August they would be spared the worst when the magic of the natives would ravage the landscape and destroy many of the neighbouring homes. The Bard felt that the spirits had protected him and his family, do to his hearing their warnings, and before the nights of blood would commence the Bard would place his family into the underground shelter he had prepared for this just time. The warnings had become a reality and the Bard was more then prepared for what would come, though sadly for the Bard this would only be a temporary solution seeing that the contractor that built his shelter was a native and would sell him out to the raiding forces. Yes the spirits spared this man, but in all his preparations his only Achilles heel would be his own trusting nature.

        For the first few months of the Nights of Blood, the White family would live in peace under the ground as all hell broke loose above them, the radios turned silent with only a few sporadic broadcasts asking the people to be patient and report to your local Red Cross shelter or FEMA camp for supplies and assistance this the Bard distrusted and would ignore, he knew that even his beloved HAM radio would be his downfall if he activated it. Knowing that it would be a double edged sword, he could reach out to other survivors, though he could also be picked up by the enemy forces and tracked risking his families lives. Little did he know what was looming above and that his fate was about to be sealed, the Bard was about to be thrown head first into a battle he was neither prepared for nor desiring to partake in.

        For the Bard was a man of peace and a man of song, he was not a solider, a killer and warrior yes he was knowledgeable in the use of firearms and melee weaponry. That wasn’t what the Bard was about, he preferred to use his voice, diplomacy, and his radio to fight his battles for him he long believed that the pen was mightier then the sword and that his guitar would sooth even the mightiest of lion. Well for this man all his fears would become realised in a blink of an eye, when a squad of trained native soldiers would crash his party. He would scatter for the guns as the soldiers would enter the bunker the Bard would hear the cries of his family as the echoes of gunfire would ripple through the enclosed space. Fear coursed through his body as he could hear his beloved family crying for help as they where being butchered. Something snapped inside the Bard as his papa bear instincts kicked in and he was consumed with protective rage, emerging from the back room with a fully automatic AK-47 he would begin opening fire onto the native soldiers. History is a little fuzzy on what actually occurred within the Whites bunker that evening, though what we do know is that when the smoke cleared the Bard was the last man standing, though he was severely wounded. His wife and children on the other hand had perished under the gunfire of the natives, his wife was the last to die as she bleed out in his arms and died as he clutched her close.

      Though for this man he was not out of the woods yet and with his refuge compromised, his body riddled with wounds and blood loss being a fate that was looming near for him as well, the Bard needed to get some sort of medical attention and quickly. Yes he was a trained First Responder and served as the Captain of his towns squad, but he knew that his wounds where mostly beyond his skill. He could only stave of the inevitable for so long but exsanguination would eventually be his downfall. Mr. White would quickly gather the medical supplies he had on hand, and after cleaning the wounds with rubbing alcohol he would begin stitching himself up and removing the bullets that he could reach. Though he knew that he needed to get to proper medical attention and quickly so that they could close up the wounds in his back from the bullets that tore directly trough him. Still pumped on the adrenaline from the attack and consumed with grief that he didn’t have time to accept yet. The Bard would gather his supplies, load his pack, grab a few weapons and headed out into the unknown. He knew that the government had set up medical camps, but he still distrusted the government and after seeing the dead natives wearing United States Army uniforms his fears where within reason. His mind clouded from blood loss and pain, he decided that he needed to attempt to seek out his chief and hope that he was still alive and still at home, seeing that he would never make it to the hospital and his chief was a practising doctor.

         The Bard would use all the survival he learned through his readings and the war movies he used to love. Keeping his pack low he manoeuvred through the back yards and allies of his once peaceful suburban neighbourhood in middle America to eventually arrive at his friends home. The home ravaged by war, the windows shattered, the doors smashed in and the scent of decomposition permeating through the yard. He feared the worst and almost just gave in to his injuries, though out of the corner of his eye he caught movement and light coming from the basement window. The Bard would only hope that it was his dear friend and not a savage or scavenger. He ventured towards the storm cellar doors, opening them to expose the darkened stairs leading into the murky old basement with only a small light piercing the shadows far of in the distance. The Bard knew that he would have to announce his presence or risk being shoot by his friend who was an avid hunter, though this would also alert the subject below of his presence and if it was a scavenger or savage he would most certainly be fired upon. So the Bard hugged the wall and called out into the night, He waited to hear a welcoming response, but nothing this began to concern the Bard that he was actually stepping into a trap, he readied his rifle and called out once again for the good doctor. seconds passed that felt like hours until he heard a familiar voice call back Corbin is that you, by now the Bard was becoming weak from his wounds and his head started to become clouded as darkness began to consume his vision. He stumbled as his legs gave way and he tumbled down the stairs to the cold damp basement floor, eventually blacking out awaiting death to take him as his body was becoming cold.

         The Bard would awaken in what felt like a few moments later, though it would be many hours later. He was wrapped in a old bathrobe and wearing sweats, he was laying on a table with an IV in his wrist and multiple empty blood bags spewn about with one still hanging on a rack dispensing blood back into his body. He tried to move, but his friend stopped him telling him that he needed to rest, as he was nearly dead and he had to perform surgery to remove some of the bullets that remained and close up the wounds that tore through him. He was lucky to be alive and that by all accounts he shouldn’t have survived the wounds he did have, for the first time in a long time the Bard was at a loss for words and would just stair up at the old metal lamp that was swaying ever so slightly and listen to the hum of the fan as he drifted off to sleep. This was what life was like for the Bard for a few days as the medication was keeping him slightly sedated, yet he had to try to remain slightly vigilant do to the native forces still being in the town. He knew he was a sitting duck, but there was nothing he could do but get lost in his thoughts and eventually the bottled down grief could no longer be contained and the Bard would be consumed in tears as he remembered that his wife and children had been slaughtered and he was to slow to save them. He would also listen as his friend would tell the Bard of his story and how he was able to escape the attacks, but his family as well would be unable to stave off the invasion. He would tell the Bard about how he felt like a coward and that his wife’s body still remains rotting above them, and that he is to shaken to even go back upstairs. The Bard would try to console his friend, though they both where suffering from the grief, two suburban husbands unprepared for battle, unprepared for the ravages that would befall them. Though for the Bard, fate would shine down on him and his resolve, his preparedness and his desire for revenge would burn deep within his soul and ignite something inside him that would bring this man straight into the history books, though for his poor distraught friend it would become all to much to take and just after the Bard was finishing up healing, still sore and still wounded but out of danger. He rose from the bed to find his dear friend and mentor sitting behind a broken old desk, staring at old picture frame crying. As the Bard began walking towards him to offer sound advice and council the good doctor dropped the picture, said I am sorry and swallowed the barrel of the Bards sidearm and with a quick pull of the trigger his friends life was over, his suffering ended and he would rejoin his fallen wife, though for the Bard he would witness his friend take his own life mere feet from him and there was nothing he could do to stop nor prevent it.

         The Bard ran towards his friend hoping their was something, anything he could do, though there was nothing Dr. Carson was gone and the Bard was officially alone in this world. He would gather his supplies, restock his medical supplies, gather some of Dr. Carson’s ammunition. He then removed the pistol from his hand, cleaning it off he then placed it back in his holster. He grimaced as he slung his pack over his shoulders and then picked up Dr. Carson’s body as he cradled the fallen body of his friend bits of brain mater would leak out of the open wound as he climbed the steps to the first floor placing his body next to his decomposing wife. The Bard chocked back a tear as he was quite fond of Mrs Carson, though he knew what he needed to do next. Corbin would go out to the shed and grab a can of gasoline and return back to the home. He was going to cremate his friends bodies and spare them any further dishonour and desecration. So he dossed the two with the gasoline, he removed matches from his pocket and with a flick of the match he would ignite the fallen and eventually the home as the Bard would exit the house saying a silent prayer for his fallen friend and wife. After that we loose sight of the Bard for many years, he just vanished into the shadows and only rumours are spoken about a man that would emerge from the shadows bringing with him nothing but grief and despair as he would ever so gracefully bring death in his wake. He would then vanish back into the night, we can only assume this man is the Bard do to physical descriptions matching the Bard are within record, though thats all we have to go on. Where he learned his combat prowess is unknown though it is assumed that he was taught at some point by the Gunfighter and Chief seeing that this man would eventually ride side by side with Chief and eventually become one of the four famed Heralds of Destruction also known as the Bards.

         The only problem is that the Bard is very good at remaining inconspicuous and blending into the crowd, he is only known do to the harmony of his pistols and song of his blades. Though this man is a killer he is just seeking vengeance upon those that wronged him so long ago, the Bard lost everything in a single night, and then he would loose the only man he considered a friend to the unconscionable grief that consumed him. The Bard would use this to fuel his quest as he rides against the evil that lurks in the world, guided by the messages within the wind and protected by the spirits that guide his hand the Bard will never rest till the last soul connected to the murder of his family, friends and his countryman has been reaped. The Bard has long since become a villain and has accepted his fate and place in history, he understands that he is hated and pegged as nothing more then a vicious murderer. He believes that in order to defeat evil you must accept evil and only after the destruction of evil can one’s soul be redeemed, he tries to keep himself distant from the actions of the other Bards, though he might not be a mass killer he is still quite skilled and doesn’t leave a single soul alive when he does strike, the last thing he victims ever hear are the songs of old as he brings them to an eternal slumber. The Bard doesn’t bring with him pain and suffering, he brings a quick release and painless death, his victims souls are reaped and there bodies just slip away into the cold dark night, how he does this one can only guess. Though out of the Four Bards he is the only one that kills with peace and brings his victims swiftly to death. He doesn’t desire to watch them suffer a long and painful death, though he enjoys watching the family grieve and mourn for there loved one. He knows there suffering is real and they will never again be able to cope, they will be missing a piece of their heart and soul just like he was forced to suffer with.

         This might make the Bard a evil man, that he brings suffering to the families of the fallen, leaving them with questions and never receiving justice for their kin. But for him it is sweet revenge and justice served as he primarily targets those connected to the Ghost Dance, Nights of Blood and the False Flag, he will go after anyone connected even if they were just born into situation and have nothing to do with the events that transpired so many years prior. The only people that are safe from the Bard are those that have abandoned their loyalties and have sided with the rebels in some fashion, this man has been on the prowl for generations and yet he holds one secret and thats his grandson. His grandson would become the antithesis to everything the Bard was fighting for and fighting against, and as much as he wished he could capture and re-educate his kin about the evils of the government he served, the Bard knew that he couldn’t. He knew that the winds would eventually bring forth revelation though until then all he could do was keep his keep his grandson alive and protected from those that wished him harm. He might not have known of his families dark seated history, but those he served in the false flag surly did.

       The Bard is now back within Seattle and has rejoined once again with the Bards, everything has gone full circle and he is once again fighting the evil that lurks within the shadows. The Bards return hails in a new generation, hails in a untied front and hails in a time of blood, the return of the Bard means that many will fall to his songs and may will suffer under his heartless killing, The Bard is back within the fight, though he never truly left the engagement though this time for those the Bard considers an enemy have grown in number. The Bard will once again regal us with his songs and tales as he takes his victims and their families on there own personal trail of tears.

Page Written By: Shadow Writer