Appearance: He's a tall, burly man. His skin color is deep brown. He has a slightly long face with a pointed chine with a small burn mark on his left cheek. His eyes are black, as is his small, slightly curled hair. He wears a plain white, tight-fitting t-shirt, and blue jeans when out in public. When in private, he just wears whatever loose clothes he can find, including loose fitting shirts and sweat pants. He has a lazy eye, and one of his wrists is bent.

Personality: He has a slight attitude, but he's a pretty okay guy. He tends to stay at a distance from people, because he knows life is a very fickle thing, but somehow when he meets a friend he ends up being loyal; that is why he stays at a distance. When he gets angry, he tries to keep cool, but when he looses it, he's very scary to be around. He enjoys eating, and he enjoyed walks through the forest more than anything. But, that was ruined for him.

Bio: He began his life like any other child, but he lived a sheltered life. He didn't go to school; he was home schooled, and his family lived a lonely life in the mountains. As he progressed in height, weight, and intelligence his skill in the art of painting progressed as well. Everyone was impressed by his art, but there was something missing. He had no emotions that could connect to other people, he never learned what it was to have a friend, he was oblivious to society, but this didn't bother him... well, he didn't know it did. He always new that his paintings were missing something, as stated earlier; that's what bugged him about it. He couldn't paint anything but 3 figures of people, himself, and his two parents. He didn't know what facial structures were possible, what every shape of a human was. He didn't know birth defects, human death, or handicaps. He never knew what a true maiden was, just his two parents that were too busy hunting, and keeping their home livable.
One day, his father brought home a dead bear for dinner, and an empty gun. He had yet to get more ammo for the gun. Later that night, another bear had come to their home, Omar's father picked up a gun, but then realized it was useless. They stood still, hoping for the best, but Omar was scared, and he started to run. The bear attacked him, somehow, he survived it.
He then woke up surrounded by something he wasn't familiar with: other people. They were all trying to help his condision, sure enough, he survived, but one of his eyes was lazy, and one of this hands useless. Living the life he did, he didn't know what a lazy eye was, or that your wrist could get damaged enough to not work anymore, this confused him. He was just a 10-year-old boy. Something caught his eye, one of the ladies helping him had a daughter, her hands wrapped around the nice lady's leg. She had never seen something like this before.
After Omar healed as much as was possible, he made friends with this, somewhat strange, girl. Her name was Bell, and she was his best friend. He painted a new picture, it was complete--there was nothing missing. It had personality, it was of a young maiden with a sad look upon her beautiful face. His life was complete, a friend, and his one true talent was complete. Well, his life wasn't complete, he could no longer enjoy the walks through the forest he loved so much. He was too afraid of the forest creatures.

Bell's pharmacist lived in the woods, and could no longer return to work, for she was growing old. Attached to this lady, bell went through the woods to her house, as Omar waited at the entrance to the woods, he heard a scream-- Bell's scream. It took him too long to gather the courage to run into the woods and try to save her, even though he was the one with tools to protect himself, because he took so long to get courage she was dead- because of a bear attack. His paintings were full of emotion, but they were missing something, again. They were missing feeling and understanding.

It was at this point that Omar looked for a way to get courage, to be strong, so none of this ever happens again. He decided that learning martial arts was the best way to do this. He trained with a sword now, but never letting his pistol away from him. He trained for years, but he never gave up his life in the process. He continued to paint, but his paintings were now weak, and continued to be far from complete in his mind. He will, forever try to fix this, and have his paintings be perfect in his mind, like they were when Bell was alive.


Weapon: Sword/ pistol (he doesn't like using the gun, though, it's back-up)

Age: 39

Alignment: He tends to drift away from choices that were good and evil, lawful or not, but, when he does have to choose, he chooses to good way out.

Race: Human.



EDITED. It's serious now, go easy, this is my 3rd bio, and my 2nd serious one.

Winnrar

Ehh I'll post my thoughts later

Not only is the entire thing backwards, but it seems like you were doing this as a joke. Role playing is srs business, so edit it to make it at least tolerable.

it's not even a good joke.

Guis is not a joke.

I'm not jking.

I'm srs.

Yes, I am too. Make it better or I'm locking this. I know you can.

Mmm... okay I'll make it better.

Okay, it's updated...

Nice dude. Nice.

Much better.

So, ignoring what is was before, what do you think of it?

Explain

Meats? Is that what you youngsters call it nowadays?

Meh.

Meets.

I'll go fix that.

I was half-asleep yesterday, 'cause I got no sleep the night before.