Coliminus Qwerty
Coliminus 'Cole' Qwerty
Portrayed By: Kirk Douglas
Status: Alive
Age: 91
Role: Senator/Sorcerer
Theme Song: Weird Science - Oingo Boingo
Land: Elsewhere
Worships: The Body of Artemis the Huntress; His Own Ego


Coliminus was born to a whore and a thief. He was not raised by either. His uncle, a well-to-do Greek who lived outside Campania, raised him with his cousins. They were happy. Coliminus was among family. He was always treated with respect. And he was loved, even if he wasn't quite a son.

Coliminus's uncle was a blacksmith and bowyer. From the moment Coliminus was born, he was taught the same. Trades are rare and useful, after all, and a need for weapons is ever-present. When he was five, Coliminus's uncle, sensing a curious nature in his nephew, began to teach him the art of fletching. With this, Coliminus's all-encompassing obsession with engineering was born. THis was not just appreciation, and far from simple awe. Coliminus had skill in this field unlike any his uncle had ever seen.

So he did what any smart man would. He exploited it. First, it was innocent. He would wake, rouse an excited Coliminus, and head to his workshop. There, they would set about there day. Uncle would work wood, nephew would make arrows. This repeated for years. It made them happy. Made them close. They enjoyed the same things, delighted in the technique and learned to respect the craft.

When Coliminus was six, he crafted his first bow. It was small - a child's toy. But it was his. No one else. With a large family and an uncle who only made a modest living, Coliminus had never owned something of his own before. And certainly never made something for himself. And now that he had, he couldn't get over it. He wanted to make only bows. He wanted to be closer to it. To relish in it. To become one with it. But he didn't know how. In all the time he had spent making bows and missiles, Coliminus had never seen one fired. So his uncle taught him.

It was laughable at first. He had no skill. But years of practice have a way of changing that. And that's what Coliminus did. Practice. Respect the bow. Learn.

It was his respect for the craft that eventually led Coliminus to spontaneously and independently develop, at the age of twelve, a recurve bow. It was not a new or revolutionary invention - his uncle had seen them before - but it was the first time Coliminus had outshone his uncle. It was the first time they were close to equal.

After that, they began to work in tandem, and what little Coliminus had left to learn, his uncle taught him quickly. And that was when Coliminus started experimenting. And when things invariably went wrong.

The winter solstice of his fifteenth year, an accident happened. While shaping a bow and stringing a test fletching, Coliminus, believing himself a bit more competent than he was, called over his eldest cousin. When he came, Coliminus wanted to demonstrate a new design, one made to increase the draw weight and power. And it did - but as he spoke, Coliminus lost control of the shaft, and as the string sang it sorrow song, his cousin was killed. Before an explanation could be made, Coliminus fled. He has not returned since.

At fifteen, then, Coliminus Qwerty (adopting the surname because it was the sound the first bird he killed to feast on made to give itself away) set off on his own. In the thick woods near Roma herself he found, after months of solitude, redemption in a farm. When he arrived he was nearly dead, and, in exchange for work and crafting (once they learned of his skills in smithing and bowyering, they couldn't let him leave), he could live among the slaves.

This didn't bother him. In fact, it was quite like his home. His cousins had been unruly and simple, and though he constantly strove to soar above that, he was at home among folk with easy imperatives. A few months into his stay, the eve of his sixteenth year, Coliminus woke to a terrible ache of the head. Medicine held no ease, and nothing could soothe the ache. Until one slave woman, a heathen of Afrique, taught him to control the ache. It was simple at first. It always is, she told him. Meditate. Every morning, find the pain, and center yourself around it. Claim it. Accept it. And it would stop.

And this he did. After weeks of practice, he found her word to be good. Coliminus was healed. When the aches stopped, he ceased his meditations. And then the pain returned. This time, though, it was beyond an ache. It flooded his body, taunted and tormented him. And once again the slave saved him. She taught him again to meditate, to find his focus. And, once he had, and death was abated - she taught him her secrets.

This was beyond mere medicine. This was sorcery. The arcane arts and mystic purpose flowed in his veins. He took to magic as he took to all things he studied. With flair and high skill. As Coliminus grew into a man, his skills in hunting became uncanny. He could focus with more vigor and purpose than ever before. His bows were art. His spells were strong. He was happy again.

After two years in service, now eighteen and fully a man, Coliminus took to the roads. The may all lead to road, but every road has two sides. And he took the one less traveled. Coliminus went from outpost to outpost, spending months at a time in any given place. He never took well to the cultures - but the people he could speak to tolerated him fine. Cole (as he preferred to be known) hid his mystical abilities and focused mostly on his bowyer skill. He gained renown among the legions as a man who did excellent work.

It was this reputation, though, that led to a slight tiff that to this day Coliminus is ashamed to admit to.

It was hot. The smithy bled heat and the steel clanged and cackled. Coliminus was on commission near southern Gaul. The fort was young, the temporary base for the Fifth legion of Rome. Hundreds of slaves worked in hits all around. None matched his skill in smithing, but no one man could run a forge. Not even Cole. And he'd tried. Cole smiled as he worked. It unsettled the forgemen. But Cole liked to unsettle. He was as good a that as he was in crafting the blades.

Hours passed unknown, day yielded to the high, yellow winter moon. Diana was on the hunt. Cole had stamped the last ceremonial spatha with the seal of the legion, sheathing it in hand-carved wood topped in gold. It was a hell of a weapon. One made for a centurion commander in haste. As he placed it gently across the cooling table, he reached behind the smelting flame and pulled a wicked yew bow. Black, brown, and curious, it shone with an unearthly presence. It was crafted to perfection, with gold and silver runes of the northmen shining ethereally even in the bright light of the forge.

This bow had a name. But Cole, full-well knowing the arcane could visit horrors unimaginable on those who disrespected it, dared not speak it. It was simply the yew bow. One with unprecedented draw and immense range. A bow of power. Beyond the science, though, there was more to this powerful artifact. This bow was deadly for another reason. IN the months he had worked this forge, with the new yet ancient wood sent to the Fifth legion from the barbarians in Britannia, he had worked on the side to craft this bow with a sleek, six-foot design. To give it power beyond the bows of norm.

And he had imbued it with a very piece of his magic. The flow and force that ebbed constant in Cole shone brightly from this bow. Runes in the Roman script could store the excess mysticism he poured out of himself in danger and in combat to power its arcane engine. Embedded in either end of the bow, where string met wood, was a jewel. A trinket, inside of which, through meditation and willpower, Cole had expanded a well of built-up energy. And was met with power he could not believe. In this ancient wood, which had seen the rise and fall of kings, men, societies, and species, there was something great.

Taking the bow into his hands and cradling it soft as a babe, Cole closed his eyes and entered a state of deep relaxation. He cleared his mind and established an arcane link with the jewels held in the bow. At last, after months of preparation and error, they exuded the power he sought. opening his eyes, he surged forward. In a blur he left the camp behind, forsaking his possessions and possessed by the hunt. Cole had tapped into something primal and eternal. Arcane.

Cole was empowered with speed, death, and grace. Strong as an ox, swift as the lion, with the fury of a caged tiger, he leapt from the trees and stalked his prey. He lost himself in the bow and in the hunt. he couldn't handle the power.

Days of nothing but the hunt filled his mind, clouded his reason, and left him aching for more. Leaving a wake of death and waste in his trail, It was four nights later, a full moon, when he came into a clearing and could sense he was not alone. Cole growled low, his throat closed in anger and from misuse. He launched from the trees with a missile nocked but as he landed upon the ground he found he could not loose the arrow.

In the clearing was the most curious woman Cole had ever seen. Beautiful. Petite. Unfettered and unimpressed. Outfitted in gleaming armor of molten iron, rimmed in gold. She wielded a bow much like his own. Only smaller. A recurve. Cole barked a laugh with disdain and she snarled out a warning. As she did, wild foal and stags entered the clearing by the dozen. Surrounded her. The woman jumped forward with speed Cole could not register, and in a moment she had taken his bow.

"I like this." Her voice was lyrical. Innocent. "I think I shall have this." But confident. Arrogant. "Mortal - how came you by this craft? My king long ago forbid we give your kind such boons." And laced with icy steel.

Cole tried to respond but could not. His throat swelled and tightened and he was for the first time aware that he had not slumbered in five nights. He had hunted. And it caught up with him.

"Do I frighten thee, mortal?" Her laugh followed, a measure of disdain, pity, and two parts amusement. "Of course. But this bow? I will have it." Cole shook his head. This was his bow, His soul was poured into it, his blood coursed through it, and it was his.

"No." The woman's eyes went wide, light and golden as much as egg-shell white. She narrowed them a half-instant later. Her hair tumbled in mahogany waves and shook as she laughed once again. This time more a challenge than the light bubble they were before.

"No?" Her voice tinged with novelty and it was clear she was not used to hearing that word. "Oh yes mortal, I do like you. But I shall have this." She raised the bow again and examined it, her eyes slits. And once again they opened in shock. And they stayed. "This is of human artifice. Where did you find it?"


"Yes, I see that, boy." Her voice was harder now, and she had lost patience. "This bow was made and now you have it - but simply yours that does not make it." She examined it again and the runes etched across it flare with orange and green brilliance. "Tis the finest hunting tool I have laid mine eyes on - a jewel for the queen of the Great Hunt. A bow you cannot hope to control, lest it controls you." She smiles and places it in the bow-sling across her back. Coles shambles forward in a daze, holding an arrow taken from his quiver.

As she speaks, she is delightfully aware of the distance that Cole closes. They are inches away, and he reaches with painful slowness to grasp her. "And I am once more impressed." Her eyes light with laughter and a hint of curiosity. "You are something, mortal." Her head bows and she has a sad smile etched across the mouth. "But not something great. The price for touching me is high. You will not live through this night." She wrenches the arrow violently from Cole's hand and nocks it in the yew bow. She fires it point blank, with speed, grace, and skill Cole cannot comprehend. "An arrow through the heart. Eros may yet be out of a job."

Cole falls. The woman disappears, how he does not know, but he senses great magic at work. And yet, Cole feels his chest and the arrow, though the cause of a bloody piercing wound, has not hit his heart. Because the yew bow could not be made to kill he who created it, and because Diana could not believe it was this madman who had created the divine weapon, she left before checking the wound. It was the first time Cole had been wounded, but far from the last. Fearing a repeat performance, Cole kept thereafter to cities and never places much magic in his enchanted works. He became obsessed with the Hunt after that. And the goddess he had met. And reclaiming his pilfered property. Or better yet, making something better.

Now, Cole lives in Rome, the Senatorial Representative and main political representative for Zero Legion, the secretive, mystical backbone of the Imperial military.

He still hunts, and spends most of his free time between campaigns crafting newer, stronger bows, with the hope of beating his greatest creation.

For the past twelve years, Cole has run with a group of sometimes-homeless, always-murderous warriors. They are his only friends in the mad world of Rome, where one wrong word can end a life, and one misstep in a senate chamber can end an army.


A series of increasingly demented electrical impulses inside a fleshy mass protected by calcium-rich armor.


LP: 976 (As a Legend archetype, Cole's LP baseline is doubled from 488)
DP: 4
XP: 0
Fame: 90

  • Strength: 5 (4, One point from XP Spend)
  • Dexterity: 8 (5; +1 from killing Thor)
  • Constitution: 7 (5, Two points from XP Spend)
  • Intelligence: 6 (4)
  • Perception: 4 (1; +1 from killing Thor)
  • Willpower: 10 (6; +1 from killing Odin)

Useful Information

Initiative: +5
Perception Check: +3


Leather Tunic
Legionnaire Armor (150 Armor)
3 Shards of Aegis' Shield
Can summon forth a mystical bow (10xWIL Base Piercing Damage - Armor Piercing up to 100 Armor)
Tonic of Healing (+40 LP x4)
Mother's (Soy) Milk (+20 LP x4)
Sleeping mat, Down pillow, Wool blanket, Air mattress
Backpack with: Rations, Rudimentary writing utensil, Crafting/Bowyer tools


Dodge +18 - -
Bow shot +18 64
Brain shot +15 192 -
Spell casting +24 - -