Welcome Guest. Please login or register.
Did you miss your activation email?

gfxgfx Home Forum Help Search Calendar Login Register   gfxgfx
gfx gfx
Embed Maximize

Newbies, read these!

Character Creation

Main Site
Story Creation
Racial Crossbreeding

Tips and Tricks
IRC Chat
Measures Converter
Elven Aging Calculator
Pages: [1] 2 3 ... 5   Go Down
Author Topic: Your Character Descriptions/Your Contact Info  (Read 36506 times)
0 Members and 1 Guest are viewing this topic.
Kalína Dalá'isyrás
Offline Offline

Gender: Female
Posts: 12803

High Elf, Kaýrrhem

« on: June 07, 2005, 05:22:22 AM »

Here you may simply either post your entire CD (prefered) or leave a link so I can use it for reference.

Also post your contact information. The email you wish to be contacted with and an IM if you have one.

Thank you <p><!--EZCODE CENTER START--><div style="text-align:center"><!--EZCODE LINK START--><a href="http://p081.ezboard.com/fthesantharianrpgboardfrm83.showMessage?topicID=259.topic" target="top"><!--EZCODE IMAGE START--><img src="http://www.santharia.com/chars/signatures/kalina_signature.jpg" style="border:0;"/><!--EZCODE IMAGE END-->[/url]<!--EZCODE LINK END--></div><!--EZCODE CENTER END--><!--EZCODE CENTER START--><div style="text-align:center"><!--EZCODE LINK START--><!--EZCODE ITALIC START--><!--EZCODE FONT START--><span style="color:orange;font-size:x-small;">The Santharian Dream</span><!--EZCODE FONT END--><!--EZCODE ITALIC END--><!--EZCODE LINK END--> ~ <!--EZCODE LINK START--><!--EZCODE ITALIC START--><!--EZCODE FONT START--><span style="color:orange;font-size:x-small;">Role Playing Basics</span><!--EZCODE FONT END--><!--EZCODE ITALIC END--><!--EZCODE LINK END-->
<!--EZCODE LINK START--><!--EZCODE ITALIC START--><!--EZCODE FONT START--><span style="color:orange;font-size:x-small;">Character Creation Guide</span><!--EZCODE FONT END--><!--EZCODE ITALIC END--><!--EZCODE LINK END--> ~ <!--EZCODE LINK START--><!--EZCODE ITALIC START--><!--EZCODE FONT START--><span style="color:orange;font-size:x-small;">Restrictions and Age Calculator</span><!--EZCODE FONT END--><!--EZCODE ITALIC END--><!--EZCODE LINK END--></div><!--EZCODE CENTER END--></p>
« Last Edit: November 02, 2007, 11:21:07 PM by Helvíl » Logged

Insanity is only a perception made by those who have yet to attain its greatness. While those of us who have already stepped inside its bounds find bliss in our utter madness.
Nai'r en'Lina ar'Kaimel
Takashi Logan
New Santharian

Offline Offline

Posts: 639

« Reply #1 on: June 09, 2005, 07:09:22 AM »

Contact info-
You can expect to find me online in IRC most days.
Takashi Logan

Edited by: Takashi Logan at: 6/9/05 12:17
Story Mod
Offline Offline

Gender: Male
Posts: 4944


« Reply #2 on: June 23, 2005, 12:40:22 AM »

Name-Damien Scar

Gender- Male
Race- Human
Occupation- Gate Commander of Voldar
Age- 36 Years.
Height- 2 peds

Damien has jet black wavy hair that flows loosely down over his shoulders and his bangs nearly cover his soulless dark black eyes. His skin is swarthy looking, like a deep dark tan. His face and hands are weather and battle scarred. His frame is thin, but well muscled. He wears a chain mail vest under a usually black leather tunic over upon which he wears a light suit of armor that only covers his back and chest. A large leather belt wraps around his waist that holds his mace that hangs from a leather cord hooked to the belt on the left side and an oyster shelled handle dagger, he bought from a merchant of the Avennorian tribe, hidden in a sheath hanging from the belt on the right side. Across his back he carries his favorite weapon, a Sengren, a double bladed axe made especially from his tribe the Kyranians. He wears black leather pants and special made black leather soled boots that allows him to be quite mobile, but near to impossible to hear when he walks. Over all of this he wears a black cloak that pins to his shoulders and hang down to the middle of his thighs.

Damien is extremely loyal, almost to a fault, to Lord Voltigor. He would do what ever is asked of him by his Lord, including lie, cheat, steal, even murder, which he has done on several occasions. He has disdain for those whom he thinks would dishonor his Lord or his Lords ambitions whether they be male or female. He is rough with the ladies but is also pursued by them He gives respect to those whom he has decided deserves it. He demands respect from his subordinates, though he has earned it more by his prowess as an infantry soldier and his more than willingness to die for his Lord if need be. His only main goal in life is one day be counted worthy enough by his Lord to be knighted.

Because he is of Kyranian descent he has a tremendous amount of endurance and strength. It is reported that Kyranian infantry men were the best trained for they were the actual descendants of Cyroan Thromgolin, the infantry lieutenant under Dietych the famous infantry Commander that besieged and brought down the famous Elven empire Fa’a’v’cal’ar. He can run faster and longer than any normal man under any circumstances.

Women are Damien’s downfall; though he has been betrayed and even put in chains by them, he still pursues them. He also rides a horse poorly, as he prefers to walk or run. He has no use for the bow, though he does and can use the crossbow on occasion.

Damien Scar was orphaned at a very young age. He joined the Kyranian infantry at the tender age of twelve, as the Commander’s boy. He watched and learned very well and then, when he was caught several years later with the Commander’s wife, he was sent to be executed. While waiting in the dungeon for his execution at the age of 16 he escaped with the help of the Commander’s wife.

Damien knowing he had a bounty on his head fled south. He lived in various towns, cities and villages living off of his skills but mostly off of rich older women who used him as much as he used them. His travels took him as far south as Marcogg he was 19 years of age when he took up with a rich widow.

Then in his twenty-second year he left that life behind determined to find a place for himself. He found himself eventually in Voldar and was hired as a guard; he was twenty four at the time. The Lord of Voldar at the time, Lord Kalgarius, did not like him, did not even have the decency to talk to him, though Damien tried to serve him as best as he could. But the Commanders at the time made sure he knew his place, besides he would find himself in trouble with one woman or another.

He was just about going to pack and leave when he heard about a man named Voltigor, a nobleman from Nymersys who was coming to wage war with Lord Kalgarius and Voldar. In a midnight meeting he made a pact with Lord Voltigor. The pact was to kill as much of the leaders of the army, councilors and nobles that were loyal to Kalgarius and leave the city almost defenseless for Lord Voltigor’s army.

He did most of the killing himself, though he had help from others he had recruited. The ones he missed he has regretted ever since, and that was the Royal family, especially the sons Talthisus and Maultus, though he did manage to kill Lord Kalgarius and his wife, but not before he had his way with her. (If this part of the history does not bode well, then I will change it.) For his reward in helping Lord Voltigor take the city he was given the title Commander of the Gates.

You can think about it, even plan on it, but do not try it.



Darien Gulath
New Santharian

Offline Offline

Posts: 837

« Reply #3 on: June 23, 2005, 12:56:22 AM »

Name: Darién Gulath
Gender: Male
Age: 36
Race: Half/elf
Tribe: Helcrani
Occupation: Assassin
Title: Predator

Darién is highly respected in the underworld working as assassin in criminal organisations.  

Physical: Darién is about 1.8 peds tall. His weight is a little bit less then 2 pygge. His hair colour is black and he has two different  eyes. His left eye is dark-blue and his right eye is light-blue. (The left eye looks brighter with the shade that mostly covers Darién's face)..
A scar is visible; crossing vertically over his right eye. He wears black clothing ( Black pants and a Dark shirt; with his strong muscles naked. He has rags of leather wrapped around the wrists (like a street fighter). And also a black bandana, dancing behind him elegantly in the wind(Bandana endings are about 0.7 ped in length). Darién has something mysterious, but also creepy in his way of behavior (giving people the Shudder's for some reason..) Mostly, his face is covered in shadows from his cloak which he wears in town. Or, once he is active during the night, he has always kind of a dark shade covering his face. His right-eye, which is deformed with the scar, becomes really noticeable. He has kind of a arrogant look in his eyes; like he feels himself your superior. Darién has two swords crossed behind his back which he wears with him wherever he goes.


Darién is a unusually intelligent man for his expertise. He is closed and silent and does not really respect life. His horrible youth combined with his twisted way of thinking made him the way he is now. A freelancer who’s only intension is to complete his job, And to make money.

His social-behaviour lacks, mostly working against him. For he is arrogant, Selfish, greedy and quickly enraged. When he is drunk (He practically lives in Inns) he is even worse; He could kill somebody for only spilling beer on him.

He has a strong will and with that he can accomplish much, He rarely panics and can take care of himself. His intelligence and physical strengths are remarkable for someone like him and he knows to deal with lots of situations. He is always aware of his surroundings; And is quickly awakened when he sleeps( which saved his life more then once!).
He also managed to develop a deep love for the forests (which might be something from his elven-nature?). He can also live alone for weeks; Hunting and entertaining himself in these woods rarely getting lost.


-His physical condition is formidable. He is very healthy and overly alert. Agility and strength combined with a smart intelligence make him a dangerous opponent. He can move with stealth or attack in a raging bold fury. He can be a silent assassin but also a loud-thundering warrior that is able to maim his opponent when necessary.

-He has almost spend his entire live mastering his 2 War-swords. This is in fact his specialty and gives him a advantage against single-handed sword fighters. He has multiple tricks and moves and knows to move both hands separately doing different attacks at the same time. War-swords tend to be heavy swords but Darién has managed to move and curl the blades like feathers. He hes mastered this skill to a formidable level.

-Darién is also a formidable opponent when he is disarmed, He can deliver some heavy punches and kicks and moves with a supreme elegance avoiding his opponents attacks, He doesn’t go easily down; not even when the opponents do succeed to hit him. He is almost like a berserker fuelled by rage and liquor. A skill he gained from countless years of bar-fighting.

-A strange affection for the forests guided him into becoming a good hunter. He has a good memory for tree’s and will not quickly get lost there. He can be completely independent for months which is a useful advantage in his long and lone travels. When his enemy enters his district; He can become even more dangerous then he already is…

-His stubborn mind can be his strength and his weakness. His mind is stronger then his body and is not easily broken. If he sets his mind to something then he will get it done; Even when it is nearly impossible. His stubbornness also guided him through the training together with his lust for revenge which was his motivator for almost his entire live.

-Furthermore his tendencies towards evil and his lack of respect for live also work in his advantage, For his mind is twisted and his ways of thinking or different he has no trouble progressing all of his poor victims (innocent or not) in his conscience.


Mayor physical weakness:
-His eye with the scar has been slightly damaged during his youth and can barely stand the sun. He is almost blind when the sun shines in his eye. He therefore prefers staying out of the bright lights so his enemy’s can-not exploit this weakness. If he is forced to confront his current opponent and there are bright lights; he gets quickly disorientated.

Mayor physical weakness:
-He has an addiction to liquor and is rarely completely sober. It has slightly affected his reflexes and quick mind. And when he reaches his climax and becomes entirely drunk he passes out, looks for trouble or vomits. His enemy’s have less trouble overpowering him and every time he gets drunk he puts his life at heavy risk.

- His social-behaviour lacks, mostly working against him. For he is arrogant, Selfish, greedy and quickly enraged. When he is drunk (He practically lives in Inns) he is even worse.
He is also involved in prostitution, assassination and any other criminal activities increasing his list of enemies. There are not many who can put up with the guy; And often a brave fellow steps up to confront him. For some of the more sophisticated people he is evil reincarnated. The very reason Darién is alive is to create chaos and destruction into the civilized world.

-Bounty hunters are searching, hunting and following him to wherever he goes. With every kill the price on his head grows; resulting in new bounty hunters or brave guards to capture and terminate him. The safest place for him is in the underworld. Hanging around lowlifes and criminals in the dark alleys where the town-guard is to afraid to come. Darién leads his life always on the run.

-His stubborn mind can lead him into situations that his body can not physically handle. He often thinks to high of himself trying to take on to many opponents. Or accepting jobs that are nearly impossible. In some cases it where simple factors of luck that kept him alive.

-He hates mages and any type of magic; His mind is set to record every reasonable event; He calculates it and the outcome makes sense, However with magic it does not. He hates the things that go beyond human comprehension. He does not know what it is that mages are capable of and fears it. He does not accept a job when the target is a magician.

-He looks down upon almost everything. Especially species that are not humanoid. He looks down upon orcs and their kind as if it where dogs resulting into many conflicts. He can keep his temper tough, However he always manages to search conflict if one of the orcs makes a wrong move or gives him wrong feedback.

-Nightmare’s are a part of his fears. Darién has had nightmare’s for as long as he can remember. He doesn’t really remember his “dream” the next morning but he does manage to wake up bathing in sweat, headache’s and sometimes he squeezes his nails in the palms of his hands until it bleeds. The nightmare’s have grown worse and occurred more often the more he aged. The only way to prevent these “nightmare’s” from happening is to fall in sleep as a rock. Usually with the help of some liquor. The nightmare’s also explain his addiction towards liquor.


From Before Darién’s birth.

The Family tree

Darién is told to be a descendant from Drulock, An old and yet long forgotten Arch-mage with tremendous powers, but got killed before he could actually put his full power to any use. However his brethren lived and contained his ancient processions to study for themselves to reach the same magical skill as their father. To unleash a greater evil into the world bend on only one thing; Destruction and chaos. The books where supposed to be originating from the very war of the chosen and the scripts inside where written in another language, And the wielding mage had a whole other magic system, entirely different then that of the Ximaxian ways so a small army of intelligent decipherers and gifted ones where needed to unravel the secrets of these dark arts that where contained within (and sealed from mortal knowledge after Drulock’s death).

The ancient war in where Drulock had played such a powerful role in had not been forgotten,. Drulock was a faithful minion of the Moch’ronn in his time and he was supposed to have brought live back to many of the dead in a devastating battle against the dwarves and was therefore also one of the main battle mage’s during the horrible battles at the aurora fields. Yet Saban received all the credit in the Book of Paths written by Artimidor and Drulock was forgotten by the majority of the historians. In the end it where only his descendants that could keep the legacy of their over-grand-father high.

The family that had originated from Drulock were of course not at all ordinary folk. At first they where a cult with many followers and even in the control of some small towns near Voldar. However their dark arts where quickly noticed by Santhros’s new forming legion and they found themselves exterminated and hunted by the growing army of this new found legion.

In the end; the knowledge to wield their artefacts, The mythical books from the war of the chosen; were lost. And all what remained of the Cult was a mere shadow of the glory and power so many generations ago. Beliefs and prophecies where held high and believed to it’s full extends. Prophecies that where made by powerful seers and minions of Drulock in his time during the Third Sarvonian War.

The cult struggled to survive and it became harder and harder to find serving minions for their beliefs and after yet another disastrous exterminating collapse with the king’s forces; they found most of their members dead. And more importantly;… There where almost no more BlackBloods left (The bloodline was dying!…, And if the bloodlines died;.. So would all the prophecies!).

The Prophecy and the turn of events:

The many prophecies where written in the same language as the mythical books from Drulock and since this language was lost during the extermination of the cult it was passed on from tale to tale for those who where interested (Likely the few “dozens” exile minions of Drulock that still exist up till today). And so the prophecy might not entirely be correct as it is told now…

The prophecy tells us about the birth of a “chosen”, A Dark Lord of Shadows, A disciple of Coór (Strangely the date inputted here is the same date as when Darién is born) who will fulfil a great destiny. The destiny of unleashing the Fourth Sarvonian War, And this time the Chosen one will indeed succeed in unleashing the full reign of Coór into the world, Destroying and annihilating everything that exists up till today. And the BlackBlood families where promised to each have their own seat of power within the newly shaped world.

The cult’s minions believed in Darién as to be their salvation. And as he was born they planted many dark spells and enchantments on him before he was snatched away by Demion; who would be his father for the oncoming fifteen years of his life…

The prophecy was doubted, But Drulock’s most faithful minions believed that their Dark Lord’s faith could no longer be changed. Others tried to retrieve their “destined lord” but did not ever manage to succeed. A long sinister dark adventure played around Darién’s birth, involving betrayal, Death and ancient myths; Strong beliefs that claimed many people’s lives.

More fragments of the Prophecy contained several historical events that actually took place at the exact dates on which they where prophesised. Yet one thing was incorrect, The books of Necromancy that had belonged to Drulock where not in the procession of Darién but in the procession of another BlackBlood member. Jax was the one most “pure-blooded” of his family and had earned the right to use the books for his purpose. Prophecy’s had announced that the “Chosen one” would receive the powerful books; But with the kidnapping prevented Darién from ever touching and reading the books and it would deny his full power of becoming the force of annihilation that he was destined to be.

Jax got caught up in the books and learnt some magnificent spells;.. He showed a promising talent in Necromancy and would eventually start to believe that the Prophecy’s had gone wrong and that Darién had missed his date with destiny; And that faith brought him and his dark artefacts together…

Interesting is that the oldest of the minions believing the prophecy claim that the current prophecy was told wrong and a whole different course would be taken to fulfil the will of Coór. The old scrolls containing “The Shadow Lord’s” prophecy was in the hands of Vanessa. The elfin mother of Darién… And even tough she deciphered and read them; She would take her secrets with her to the grave when she was murdered by Zharock’s men(Darién’s third father-like person was Zharock, the arch-enemy of Demion) the same day that she managed to fully decipher the riddle.…

Becoming The Predator

Darién is a person who lives in the presence. He cares little to nothing about what has happened to him in his long vague troubling history.

Darién was born in the city of Voldar his parents being on some kind of journey passing trough the city. His father was the mighty heroic commander named Demion. And Darién was as a child immediately educated by the best schools money could buy. However an ongoing fete between a criminal leader named Zharock and Darién’s father lead towards the death of Vanessa;.. Darién’s elfin mother. Demion vowed revenge and succeeded in destroying, capturing and killing his new arch-enemy’s troops. However every action asked for a counter-action and Zharock on his turn kidnapped Darién during a bloody ambush on one of Demion’s patrol’s.

Zharock’s force was big and influential. Not only where he and his own men professionals in their line of work, They also harboured strong criminal alliances, And they had a small base of operations hidden in the forests away from busy Milkingrad where they kept slaves to get some work done. They where an organisation based on obtaining illegal money. This was where Darién was taken too around his 15th year, And this was where he had to work. Forced to work against his will. Around this time it was already known how disturbed the little kid had to be, Some say he was driven insane by Demion’s lust for revenge; Other’s say he was driven mad by Zharock’s men where he had to work like a lunatic and never received any reward, but torture instead that was also not uncommon there. Darién already knew the basics of live (To read, Politeness, He was a promising determined kid) and was plunged immediately onto the darker side of the world when his mother died at his young age of 9, Possibly all these events played a role in the shaping of his personality…..

So… He was driven mad and expressed his feelings when he received a whip with a skaugere of his master during the slavery. He grabbed a wooden log and smashed the slave master’s head into a bloody pulp when he was only 18 years old. Broken free; He used his intimidating personality (A feature from his dad- who was quite a character!) to lead a rebellion of slaves that where at that current camp to smash trough the gates into the forest during a bloody combat. Most casualties where on Darién’s side and their freedom didn’t last long. The same day Darién was retrieved by Zharock’s men to eventually get beaten to half death.

Strangely this “act” of him had actually granted Darién the favour of Zharock. Zharock was just like Darién on the same age; Even though the man was raised on a different level he couldn’t help compare his temper with Darién’s including the sheer determination to get “it” done no matter what. Towards the surprise of his own men Darién was kept alive and raised by Zharock as if it where his own sibling. Darién was given some wise lessons and even the privilege to carry a sword and after one year sent to do a job and a strange bound of trust between the criminal leader and Darién was established eventually.

At the age of nineteen he had done nothing else then serve Zharock putting his live at risks every time again. Starting as a decoy to lure enemies into traps building himself all the way up towards leader of a individual raiding group. Darién and Zharock trained together using their 2 handed sword technique’s. A skill where Zharock was a master in; Just like Demion;. Darién’s real father. So after a delay of only 3 years (as a slave) he could start and resume his technique that he once so eagerly practiced with his dad.

His broken spirit was healed when he discovered his new power and he builded an ego of determination and will that could never again be crushed now that he had the favour of the mightiest man he knew. He was introduced into the world of prostitution, liquor, death and criminality. The tactical jobs Darién managed to complete made him grow in respect even more. He became so cocky that he even set out to kill the criminals who had tortured and turmoiled him during his days as a slave. He feared nothing and cared only for the presence; He walked the thin line of almost crushing his trust with Zharock and his own death during the fights that had spared him with luck when he set out to complete his little revenge action.

His memory became as a sponge trough his many alcoholic experiences on rather young age and remembered only what he needed (and wanted) to remember. His passion was fighting with his 2 handed swords which definitely separated him from being just being a “moderate” villain. He also fell in love with one of the slave woman’s (Luciana). And on his 21th he had already over  “one hundred” confirmed kills on his name. He was unstoppable and his respect had grown towards the level of Zharock himself.

However Demion had found out about their base’s whereabouts and set out to destroy the base with a high number of his soldiers. Zharock and Luciana both died during the assault; The very people that mattered most in Darién’s live. So Darién vowed revenge on his turn and he mustered the final remains of the scattered destroyed guild. He kept a speech  so powerful and intimidating and used the criminals loyalty towards Zharock to pay the Commander of the Helcrani a visit that he would never forget. With over 60 men they set out during night under the command of himself to wage a full-front attack on the guards garrison located in the middle of the city. Darién lead his men straight into their own demise. The upper hand was with Darién but when reinforcements from the castle arrived the roles quickly turned. It changed into a massacre for Darién’s force. Darién however had made his way into the garrison, Killing every guard on sight eventually facing up to Demion. Demion immediately recognised his son and tried to talk Darién over in surrendering. He almost succeeded but Darién was then “hit” with a boost of rage and tried to kill Demion for what he had done to him. A fight worthy to be seen was fought at the scene and Demion eventually lost the battle; Dropping on his knees he begged for his live. But cold-blooded Darién beheaded him without any further regrets. Miraculously he escaped from the garrison by jumping trough a window over the rooftops chased by “dozens” of guards to find a horse and retreat into the forests as only survivor of the guild. He extinguished his final rage by murdering his persecutors in the forests one by one. Using his stealth and knowledge ( obtained by a strange love that he always had for the forests) to move unseen and as a ghost in the darkness he achieved to kill more people in a single night then some assassins would do in their entire lives. This was where he had gained his title; The Predator. And he left to never be seen again around the city and villages of Milkingrad. A unbelievable story up to today, And a status of a living “dark” legend had been obtained. Years later Darién’s existence would be faded out of the mind of the scared villagers and the story was no longer believed to a certain degree.

The course of Death:

Darién proven to be a killing machine changed his profession in assassin. The only things in his live where educating his 2 handed sword fighting which he practiced for day and night; Never ceasing to rest and always determined to be better then everybody else. And he proved to be stronger then everybody by a long shot. Using his agile but strong gesture he could make the most incredible moves. And he controlled both swords separately which was insane difficult on it’s own already. He rarely found someone who could truly compete with him in a bloodthirsty duel; And Darién longed for action. He travelled trough middle sarvonia in search for jobs and within 2 years he had managed to build good connections in Voldar…
Darién’s entire live was an struggle to stay alive,… Not only his line of work was dangerous on it’s own,.. There where also authority and angry relatives he killed (who hired bounty hunters and the like) and there where prizes put on his head that could stir up entire towns. But Darién’s high prize and that he didn’t got captured also grew lots of fear in the hearts of his enemy’s and it was here and there believed that Darién couldn’t be killed. That he was in fact a demon sent by Coór or Querprur to decimate the population growth.

Darién,.. a descendant from the Blackblood family line, Who where highly skilled in the arts of Necromancy and they where also seen as Clerics worshipping Coór. The coming of a new order lead by The Predator was prophesised a long time before Darién’s birth by his relative bloodlines, And so a dark aura of yet to be fulfilled prophecy’s always surrounds him.  

2 War swords
A sharp dagger (sometimes more the one).

Mostly a small bag of gold and some liquor.
His processions range from time to time.
He owns a few houses and a inn at the crime district of Voldar, Yet abandoned and left for purposes in the future.

Darién doesn't know of the prophecy, and nobody is going to mention it to him, so it will have no real concequences on how he is played, if anything like the prophecy should want to be used by me (for perhaps a future story) then i will ask the admins permission.

Edited by: Darien Gulath at: 10/5/05 22:10
Grunok the Exile
Approved Character
Offline Offline

Gender: Female
Posts: 401

Male Losh-Oc Orc

« Reply #4 on: July 03, 2005, 09:23:22 PM »

Hi. Contact at: o_josie@hotmail.com. I am Josephine on msn messenger, but uh... if you can find me, that'd be good. Can talk on it, but haven't sat down and figured out anything else about it yet.

Name: Grunok
Age: 18
Race: Orc
Tribe: Losh-Oc (exiled)
Height: 1.7 Peds
Weight: 2 Pygges, 8 Hebs
Sex: Male
Hair: Black
Eyes: Yellow
Title: Seeker

Overview: Grunok is a young adult Orc. He was cast out of his tribe at the time of his coming of age ceremony four years ago. He has since been wandering Sarvonia "in search of his fortune", so to speak. Needless to say, as a solitary Orc without the backing of his tribe, he has attracted little in the way of positive experiences in his time on the road. His demeanour has therefore become somewhat withdrawn and wary, as the idealistic, outspoken youth becomes the cautious and practical grown Orc.

Appearance: Grunok has greyish-green skin, yellow eyes, and the highly muscled, tall-for-an-Orc build typical of the Losh-Oc. His points of difference are his long hair, unshaven as befits an outcast, and the tattered edges of his ears, where his clan-identifying earrings were ripped from his ears at the time of his banishment.

Since his exile, Grunok has taken on the custom of some of the civilised peoples and has learnt to bathe. This is perhaps not so surprising as it might at first seem, as his Orcish stench lost him one hiding place, and many potential allies before he learnt to control it.

Clothing: Grunok wears typical villager-type clothes, shunning Orc-warrior fashions, for similar reasons to those that led him to bathe. Unfortunately, due to his Orcish bodily configurations, trousers are often too long, sleeves too short, and girth too wee. A certain amount of his aspiration to be accepted by society is driven by this: he longs to be able to commission a tailor to make clothes for him which will not split! At the moment he is wearing a fat man's clothes, so girth is not too much of an issue. He has on trousers which are brown cloth, far too long, haphazardly rolled up at the bottom; a plain, unbleached cotton shirt, the type with lacing in the front, the sleeves of which reach three quarters of the way down his forearm. This was something of a pleasant surprise to Grunok, as usually sleeves are nowhere near as close to his wrist as that. However, although girth through the torso is not a problem with this particular shirt, he is a little worried about the seams on the shoulders: they ride up a bit high, and might give way any day now... He also wears a thick woollen coat of an indeterminate hue- sort of a greyish-greenish brown, the copious pockets of which conceal his two weapons.

Personality: At first meeting Grunok is quiet, suspicious of the motives of anyone who speaks to him. Four years of disappointment and betrayal has left him chary of engaging with anyone, be they Orc or otherwise. Underneath, Grunok still has ideas of integrating with a multicultural society, if not for all Orcs anymore, at least for himself. His frustrated idealism will therefore continue to lead him to meet new people in his search for understanding and frienship. This will be his curse, or his blessing. Anyone who shows him kindness for any length of time is likely to recieve his undying loyalty, regardless of whether the person is good or evil. If they are evil, Grunok has four years of unjustices against him to draw upon, if violence against others needs to be justified. At the moment, he feels misunderstood, perhaps a little victimised, but the optimistic idealist in him is still "running things" on the inside... for now...

Lifestyle: Grunok is wandering from town to town at the moment, having learnt that smaller settlements often see him as a threat. He takes what he can to survive, hoping to soon find a purpose. He lingers in taverns when he can afford a meal, and in shadows when he can't. And as often as he can he bathes.

Strengths: Grunok's main strength is in battle. He was expelled from his tribe at the cusp of his manhood, so he has been taught the way of fighting favoured by his clan, the feared Losh-Oc. He is fast, often using his long arms as a second set of feet, giving him the edge to outrun an enemy. He will run often, preferring this over attacking: he has had a couple of instances where reinforcements nearly overwhelmed him.

Weaknesses: Grunok has no friends. He is an Orc, so this is not really surprising. Unfortunately, even other Orcs will not speak to him. Other Losh Oc will not speak to him because he is an exile, and Orcs from other tribes will not speak to him, because he is Losh-Oc. Poor Grunok! He's a bit thick with social things, too. He is likely to follow where anyone who shows him a bit of kindness leads. He is wary, but once he trusts someone, it will be wholeheartedly. His capacity for deception is fairly non-existent.

Other in-between characteristics: His intelligence is limited, but satisfactory for his needs. He is quick to grasp new things, but when it comes to telling the difference between good people and bad people, or knowing where a certain situation is going... he's got a way to go. He knows no magic, nor will he ever- he has absolutely no aptitude for it. He is also not particularly stealthy, although his ability to sneak has improved somewhat, post bath.

Weapons: In his training he excelled with clubs, maces, axes and the sword, favouring the heavy axe and the blunt weapons. When he was cast out he could take nothing with him, but along the way he has picked up a couple of weapons. He has a woodcutters axe which he found stuck in a block of wood by a farmhouse from which he stole a pie off the windowsill. He also has a heavy studded mace, which he found wrapped in a blanket with a number of other weapons, in the hayloft of a barn he slept in once. It has been four years since Grunok last picked up a sword, and he has never enjoyed using one, nor had any combat experience with one.

Familiar: None. Pish.


Grunok was raised by his mother, first and favourite wife of his father, the tribe's leader. They had many slaves, whom Grunok would sometimes supervise. The slaves were a mixed bunch, some orcs, some other races. One slave, an elderly human man, was Grunok's favourite. He had long ago stopped trying to escape, and had some sort of strange loylaty to the family he served, helping to control other, more rebellious slaves. As such, the man had some freedom, so when Grunok was eight, and he began to talk to Grunok, it was not highly remarkable. He would talk to Grunok only when they were away from the rest of the tribe. The slave talked to Grunok about his, Grunok's, father, and how ruthless and strong he was, and whether Grunok himself would be like that one day. Of course he would, Grunok replied. The slave then talked to him about other things: about the way the other races lived, how they got on together for the benefit of all. These conversations continued for many years. One day the slave asked him again, would he grow up to be like his father? Grunok did not reply.

Meanwhile, Grunok's standing within the tribe was waning. At fourteen and on the cusp of manhood, he was already a truly deadly warrior, but there were fears for his mind. He had been heard voicing heretical ideas. He had said that perhaps the Ashz-Oc were not worthless. Perhaps they might trade with them, rather than pillaging as was their right, given their superiority. That the hated man-lovers, the Volkek-Oshra Orcs might have a good thing going, and that other races might have ideas worth discussing, even imitating.

One night, mere days before Grunok was due to undergo the rite of passage, his father confronted him. Grunok was to stop spreading these disgusting weak-Orc's ideas, or there would be consequences. Grunok ceased to speak of these things in front of his father, who was much relieved. Then, on the day of the manhood rite, a lesser wife of the chieftain came to him, seeking to rise in his favour by bringing news that she had seen Grunok in the company of the old human slave, discussing the relative merits of the trading systems of two of the lesser races.

So it was that instead of undergoing the ritual which would have confirmed him as a warrior of his people, Grunok witnessed his friend and mentor put to death, and was banished. The day that should have been the high point of his existence became instead his eternal shame. Since then Grunok has travelled far from his clan's home in the hills of Oro. At first he was living rough, wandering pathless in his shock and despair. It did not take long, however, before reality intruded and survival became a necessity. He has passed through villages and towns, lone farms and small hamlets, taking what he could without being caught: food, clothes, and shelter in barns. Now, four years later, we find him dispossed, wary, yet still hopeful for friendship, and the acceptance of society.


New Santharian

Offline Offline

Posts: 58

« Reply #5 on: July 07, 2005, 07:06:22 AM »

Email basil4j@hotmail.com
I don't have any messangers unfortunatly due to restrictions on my PC :(  
Name Calisaid
Age 28
Sex Male
Race Human, from the helcrani Tribe
Title Wandering Guardian
Height 1.8 Ped
Weight 1.6 Pygees

Calisaid is a traveling defender of the innocent, a graceful fighter who weilds 2 swords. He lives to find the truth behind things and see things right.

Calisaid is 1.8 Ped in height. He is not large, but has the well defined muscle structure of someone who has been traveling (and fighting!) many years. He has dark brown hair, about shoulder length, and wears it down. His hair is a little messy but it is kept clean. Calisaid has a slightly handsome yet mostly plain face with hazel eyes and is clean shaven. (He has been blessed with slow growing facial hair which keeps this easy!) There is a pleasant smile on his face most of the time and he carries himself with an air of dignity.

Calisaid wears a body length, grey/green hooded cloak, which is cut just above the elbow so as to leave his lower arms free. The cloak looks like it has seen better days; although still in a very useable state it is encrusted with dirt around the bottom of the cloak and the sleeves are a little worn on the edges. The cloak is pinned at the front with a simple leather clasp. The clasp is shaped like a campfire and hooks into 2 holes on each side of the cloak which are just below the throat.

Favoring light armour for speed and agility, Calisaid wears a finely crafted chain mail shirt, which is an unusually bright silver color and is crafted tiny, high quality, steel rings. The bottom of the shirt reaches just below his waist and the sleeves come to about half way down his upper arm. They hems are all trimmed with a gold rope pattern. The shirt is lined with deep red wool for warmth and comfort.
On his arms and legs he wears enameled hard leather sleeves and leggings which are a dark brown color. They have had a great deal of use but are kept in good condition and have few scratches. His sleeves and leggings have a thick blue material at the joints. Both the sleeves and leggings fit perfectly.
There are no adornments on either his sleeves or leggings save for a small emblem resembling a campfire which is on his left upper arm and left upper leg.
He is wearing thick leather gloves and riding boots.

Across his back is strapped a long slender sword, about 1.1 Ped in overall length, and at his waist a slightly shorter sword of the same design of about 0.9 Ped. Both these swords, as stated, have the exact same design. They have a light blue shine to them and a single fuller running almost the entire length of the blade. The blades start slightly thinner at the base and taper up to a maximum width of about 5 nailsbredth at 1 palm span from the top of the blade. They then taper to a fine point.
The cross guards are angled slightly towards the point of the sword and are about 2.5 palm spans from tip to tip. The have a rope pattern in the center of each side.
The handles are wrapped with soft black leather straps so as to leave a blue diamond pattern showing from underneath, and the pommel of the swords have solid blue globes on them.
(Heres a picture of the swords for reference i22.photobucket.com/album...onpair.jpg )

When not traveling he wears a finely sewn, yet surprisingly durable, blue cotton shirt over his chain mail. The shirt has 10 round gold buttons down the front of it. The sleeves cover his whole arm and are patterned with fine gold leaves around the edges of the cuffs and the collar of the shirt. The bottom hem of the shirt has the same gold pattern but is a little wider in width. The shirt looks like it should be worn by a nobleman and it is surprising it is still in the state it is in judging by the state of his cloak…
He also swaps his worn gloves and boots for more suitable 'formal' boots. These are knee high and made from fine leather. They have the same leafy pattern as his shirt does stitched around the hems.

His swords (as described above) are perfectly balanced and made from an alloy of Mithrilan and steel. They are MUCH harder to dull and retain their shine for MUCH longer than normal swords.
It is unknown who crafted them as they were a gift, but it is obvious from the perfect balance and quality of their construction that whoever it was is a master smith.
And because of the near perfect balance, the swords, once weilded, seem to weigh significantly less than they are.

Aside from the clothes, armour and weapons mentioned above, Calisaid also carries an average sized cloth bag. In this he keeps a few cooking supplies, healing herbs and bandages, some rope, and a variety of other traveling essentials. Atop his bag is tied a rolled up leather sleeping mat and a short hunting bow with a full quiver of arrows.
He has a small dagger on his belt. He uses this for cutting meat and rope etc, its not designed for killing people.
In a small, flat, hidden pocket, sewn to the inside of his cloak (just under his left arm pit), Calisaid keeps his most valuable items; including a variety of small gems he can trade if he becomes short on money.

Calisaid has an outgoing and fun personality, and is very charismatic. Because of this he finds it easy to consider people friends, and for them to consider him one.
He will readily defend what he believes as right but does not make rash decisions until he hears or sees both sides of the story. Calisaid is very passionate about defending the innocent.
Calisaid is a very happy person, seeing joy in all life and always has a positive outlook on things. When insulted or upset (which happens rarely) he goes in a deep moody state.
He wears his heart on his sleeve and so people can always tell when this is.
He is not quick to anger and often prefers to talk things through before resorting to violence, although if an innocent person is at risk he will quickly draw swords and ask questions later.
Calisaid never asks for payment when he does a job, he always does it out of good will. More often than not his clients will give him a gift, which in most cases can be sold for more than he would be paid if he had of requested payment!
Along with the innocent, he will never attack (he may...subdue, if need be) a woman.

Skilled fighter -Calisaid, from years of training and even more years of fighting, is very fast with his dual swords.
He has learned that a well placed hit can be more devastating than a more powerful one.
Many who have seen him fight describe his style as 'graceful' and 'calculated' and he can fight against multiple opponents with relative ease. This makes him a deadly opponent in any fight (provided he has his weapons of course!).
Ambidextrous -Calisaid is ambidextrous and so can fight with the longer of his weapons in either hand though he prefers to use his right hand for the longer weapon and his left hand for the shorter.
Hunter -Also, from his years of traveling he has learned to hunt with above average proficiency, using his short hunting bow, and average herb knowledge.

Lower strength -Calisaid has trained for quick and precise attacks rather than brute force and so he has a lower physical strength than most fighting men. This leaves him at a disadvantage if caught in a brawl and also means that if caught in a weapon lock (for which he has trained to avoid as much as possible!) he can be easily bested.
Light Armour -Because of his focus on dealing large amounts of damage very fast, Calisaid lacks the heavy armour most fighters have. His chain and leather armour will stop most light or glancing attacks, but if hit by a more heavy blow his armour will do little to stop it. He focuses more on not getting hit at all!
First Impression -it is his nature to not attack the innocent or woman, this allows him to be easily manipulated by people (especially woman!) who are able to make him believe they are innocent, in some cases they may not bet... This has led him to many surprise attacks which thankfully he survived due to his quick reflexes.
Train of thought -As stated in his personality, Calisaid is a very happy person. When he gets upset or emotionally hurt however, he tends to loose his train of thought and becomes careless in his fighting. He will rush into things (usually fights) without thinking of the consequences.
Cat allergy -Calisaid is allergic to cats, he always has been. If he inhales a cats fur in he finds it very hard to breath! He has to sit down for fear of passing out. Of course he does not want cats to be nearby if there is a fight brewing!

Calisaid was born as an only child in a small inn in Nyermersys. His father Leloid was a bodyguard to rich merchants, his mother, Lithia, a seamstress. His whole life was on the move, traveling wherever his fathers' job took them.
Leloid loved his small family and protected them with his life, and soon as Calisaid was able to lift a sword, he was trained how to fight, with a huge variety of weapons, so that he too could defend them. Calisaid soon began to show preference to wielding 2 swords, and so his father bought him a basic pair of steel short swords from one of his many clients.

Throughout his childhood, Calisaids' father trained him rigorously, drilling into him the need for innocent people to be defended. His father had a noble spirit, and he never raised a weapon towards an innocent person or a woman. He always told Calisaid to do the same as 'noble men are a dieing race' he said.
His father taught him a fighting style he created himself, which focused on dealing precise and quick blows rather than on brute strength. Calisaid was a fast learner and a talented fighter; he quickly picked it up, and by the age of 17 was equal in skill (though not in experience) to his father.

The next morning, just as the sun rose in the sky, Leloid took Calisaid out of the barn they were kindly offered as a bed for a few nights, located on a farm a days east of Marcogg.
"Well be back shortly honey" Leloid whispered in his beloved wife's ear. She gave him a kiss on the cheek and returned to her sleep.
Calisaid and his father found a tree outside the barn and sat under it.
After a brief pause to admire the sunrise, Leloid turned to Calisaid and said to him
"Son, you've made me so proud over the years. I didn't believe anyone could learn so fast, but you have…and I believe you're ready for your first job with me"
Calisaid didn't know what to say, sure he was skilled with the blade, but was he ready? Being a bodyguard is more difficult than being a normal mercenary. The money was better, but there is so much more risk!
People don't just 'mug' the kind of people they would be protecting, they send whole groups after them, or sometimes just 1 skilled assassin, which often proved more difficult to defend against.
He would have to be on his guard constantly, and for all his training, he wasn't sure if it was enough!
"Are you sure father?" he asked
"I've never been surer of anything in my life son" Leloid said with a large grin of pride across his face.
Calisaid sighed. Wealthy merchants didn't hire his father for his looks, if he said I am ready then I must be.
Calisaid awoke to the sound of muffled talking. It was his father and another man. That must be than man we will be escorting he thought. Calisaid looked out of the door to the barn and saw a large man, who seemed to be swimming in his own clothes. The man was covered in gold jewelry and various other riches.
Wow! Calisaid thought, so this is who ill be escorting for my first mission!
Calisaid walked over to the man standing beside his father and bowed deeply.
The man laughed
"No need for that son!" he said "We are all friends here! My names Rathem Numore, your father tells me this is your first mission?"
"Yes it is Sir Numore…I hope I will please you sir" Calisaid replied politely with a small bow.
"From what your fathers told me, I'm sure you will" Rathem said with a warm smile.
"Well let's get going then shall we" said Leloid "We have to make it to Marcogg before nightfall. We are doing this one for free Calisaid" he added.
From the puzzled look on his sons face Leloid knew he needed to explain.
"It's to teach you some humility son. Doing this for free shows that you are doing it not just for the money, but because you genuinely want to keep your client, in this case Sir Numore, safe."
"Oh well that makes sense" Calisaid replied acceptingly.
With that they turned in the direction of Marcogg and started walking. With no interruptions they should make it there in a full days walk, hopefully find a nice bed for the night and return to Lithia late afternoon the next day.
The trip turned out to be rather eventful after all. As the sun reached its highest point in the sky, the trio entered a small dip in the road where it disappeared between to small hills.
Calisaid saw his father stop and raise his left arm into the air as a signal to do the same.
"This feels like a trap" he said quietly
As soon as the last word left his fathers mouth, Calisaid heard a whistling sound as an arrow shot through the air, just missing his left shoulder
"Get down!" he heard his father cry as he ran towards the archer. "Calisaid! Make sure more don't come from behind!"
Calisaid turned and saw 3 men coming from behind the hill, each wearing hard leather vests and brandishing steel short swords. He noticed Rathem had taken a safe spot on the side of the small hill and was keeping as low as he could.
As Calisaid ran towards the 3 attackers, he smoothly drew both his short swords and the moment he was in range of the first of the 3 he swung his left blade in a sweeping arc, keeping his right blade in defense.
The blade met the first bandit in full force, making a gaping hole in his throat. The attacker fell to the ground lifeless. Without breaking stride Calisaid eyed his next target. The remaining bandits hesitated before both attacking. As they ran towards him from the front, Calisaid sidestepped and spun behind them, each of his blades carrying the momentum from the turn. They met the back of and unlucky bandit, severing his spinal cord and ending his life.
As the final assailant turned to face him, Calisaid noticed his father was fighting the archer who had tried to kill him.
The bandit was closing in again, slowly this time. He now knew that Calisaid was not someone to be taken lightly. The speed at which his comrades died was astounding to say the least, and he was beginning to respect this young man…he still had a job to do however.
Calisaid stood, his right arm extended to almost full length, the tip of his sword aimed at his attacker, and his left arm bent, leaving his sword hilt close to his hip and the blade also aimed at the bandit.
His attacker feinted to the left and Calisaid easily parried his attack. Immediately the bandit swung wide, a clumsy move which left him wide open to an attack.
Calisaid extended his bent arm, driving the blade home into his would be killer.
The last of the ambushers was dead. Rathem and Leloid ran over to Calisaid, looks of awe on their faces and the archer obviously dead.
"How did you do that son?" His father asked with a sound of disbelief in his voice.
"Do what? I killed 3 bandits; they were obviously trying to kill us so I didn't think to…"
"Not WHY son, HOW?" his father interrupted "You killed 3 well armed fighters in the same time I killed that lone archer!"
"Oh" he replied "I just did what you taught me, 'aim to kill' you always said and so I did"
Rathem laughed
"You're are rare find young Calisaid…I have something for you when we get to our destination"
And so they wiped the blood off their weapons before walking the rest of the way to Marcogg.
The rest of the journey was uneventful and they arrived at the inn Rathem was staying in right on time.
At the inn Rathem handed Calisaid a parcel containing the armour he wears today. His chain cuirass, his leather sleeves and leggings, and his travel cloak. All adorned with a campfire, the insignia of Rathem's personal armour crafter.
From that moment on, Calisaid vowed to himself never to ask for money for protecting people. If they wanted to gift him things that was up to them, but he would never again ask for payment.
He gained a lot of experience fighting over the coming years, and soon he and his father were able to alternate between doing a job and staying with Lithia
At the age of 19, Calisaids' father retired so he could spend the rest of his life with his wife. They brought a small farm near the inn Calisaid was born. Leloid had saved a lot during his time a bodyguard and they had a comfortable life.
When Calisaid was 21 his parents passed away. They had a small funeral with some close friends; most of these were Leloids' regular clients. Before she died, Lithia had sewn her son a fine blue shirt. It had gold buttons down the front with her mothers' insignia, a string of leaves, sewn around the hems in gold. Along with this she made him some soft leather boots and gloves for when he wasn't traveling or fighting.
Calisaid had turned 22 and he visited his parent's burial site.
As he was making his waay back to the inn he was staying after some hours of remembering his parents lives, he stopped at a nearby fruit stall to grab a bite to eat.
Out of the corner of his eye, Calisaid noticed movement down the far end of a nearby alley.
I wonder whats going on there? He thought to himself as he began to make his way cautiously to the activity.
As he approaced the scene, it was soon apparent that he turned up just at the right time. 2 thugs had a small boy cornered and were threatening him with some rather vicious looking knifes.
"Come on boy!" one of the thugs said with a raspy voice "Fight us!"
"How about I do?" Calisaid suggested with a slightly mocking tone in his voice.
He casually drew his swords and stood facing the thugs.
The 2 thugs moved Calisaid, their knifes held confidently in front of their bodys, and began to circle him in opposite directions.
The man with the raspy voice lunged foward, a savage blow aimed at Calisaids' chest which was easily parried.
As the other thug attacked, Calisaid stepped back overbalancing his attacker. Calisaid hit the flat of his sword against the back of the clumsy thiefs' knees, causing him to collapse to the ground.
"This isnt worth it" the first thug said with contempt very evident in his voice.
"Lets get outa here...youv'e got some talent there boy" he spat out before running towards the entrance of the alley. The other thug quickly followed, limping slightly, after he dragged himself off the ground.
"Are you ok kid?" Calisaid asked the young boy
"Yes thank you sir...?" the boy replied
"Just Calisaid will do fine" he replied with a smile.
"Well Calisaid, thank you again, but I must be going. My father is expecting me soon"
As the young boy turned, he paused slightly and said with a slight smile.
"I won't forget your kindness Calisaid"
And with that he bowed deeply before running in the direction of the trade quarter of the city.

That next morning as Calisaid was preparing to leave the inn and continue his journey, there came a knock at the door.
Calisaid opened the door and gave a welcoming smile to whoever it was who was outside
A rather well off man of average build, about 1.7 ped in height, stood outside his door. He was wearing deep blue velvet robes and was obviously of noble background. He had a large bundle under his arm.
"Good morning sir Calisaid, I do believe I owe you a favor"
"What do you mean?" Calisaid replied "I've never met you before! and I don't even know your name!"
"My names not important, and yes, you haven't met me, but you HAVE met my son. You see he was in an alley yesterday..."
This was that boys father!
Calisaid hesitated briefly before saying with a deep bow
"Please come in and have a seat sir!" He guestured to a soft seat in the corner of his room.
"It's ok, I have to be going. But I want you to have this."
The nobleman took the cloth bundle he had under his arm and held it out in front of him.
"It was a gift for my son once he turned 18, but he told me what you did for him and suggested I give them to you."
Calisaid reached out and took the bundle. It was very light for its size.
"I can't accept this good sir. I only did what anyone else would do"
The nobles laugh interupted him
"Just take it Calisaid. I've been warned you would do this, but this will be one gift you WILL accept. I don't give these away lightly Calisaid and I would be offended if you did not accept them." he said with a pleasant smile.
Calisaid humbly bowed again.
"Then thank you sir. Your son must mean alot to you...as im sure he does."
The man smiled and bowed deeply.
"Take care Calisaid, I will keep my eye on you. Who knows, I may be in need of your services one day."
And so he turned sharply and left the inn.
Calisaid went over to his bed and laid the bundle down. Slowly he began to unravel the fine velvet cloth which surrounded it.
What was revealed was a pair of swords. They had a blue hue to them and were perfect in design.
As he picked up the larger of the 2, he was astonished to feel how perfectly balanced it was! Once in his hands they seemed to weigh a great deal less than he knew they did and he could tell that these were works of art.

Inwardly Calisaid didn't feel he deserved such fine pieces, but he smiled and uttered a quiet 'Thankyou'.
I've never RP'd like this before so i guess I'll find my style soon ;)  

This is me

Abigail Nightwatch
New Santharian

Offline Offline

Posts: 63

« Reply #6 on: July 12, 2005, 03:03:22 AM »

Contact Info: Streetratstudios@hotmail.com
IM: MSN- Streetratstudios@hotmail.com

Name: Abigail Nightwatch

Gender: Female

Age: 22 years of age

Race: Human

Tribe: Centoraurian

Occupation: Explorer and Sell Sword for hire

Title: Rover of the Moon

Physical Appearance: Abigail stands a firm 1 ped and 2 fores tall, weighing 1 pygge and 2 hebs of toned muscle. Her skin a light tone of sun kissed from years of traveling and questing. Her toned muscles are set off by her alluring curves and perky backside.

Silky black hair falls elegantly around her soft face and slender neck, cascading off her strong shoulders to just above her shoulder blades. Exotic green eyes pierce the soul and full lips hold ones attention. Her small nose pulls together the warm features of her slender face.

Abigail is often seen donned in traveling apparel and armor typically consisting of flowing fine cotton shirts worn belted rather than tucked, leather breeches, fine dark leather riding boots and sleeveless wool over tunics in the cold weather. In harsher weather Abigail is usually seen under the cowl of a brilliantly woven elven forest cloak, passed down to her by her father.

Though very much the adventurer, Abigail is in fact part of a well off family and does carry with her finer garments such as fine silken chemise of which she wears under expensive maiden dresses and fine leather bodices. Form formal events Abigail will don a sleek cotehardie gown adorned with lace and golden trim to which she will accessorize with expensive jewelry and such.

While traveling or exploring, Abigail tends not to prim herself anymore than a merchant woman might. That is to say that she doesn't bother with make up or dressing her hair up as she would for formal events and the like, but instead can be seen usually with either a single ponytail or at times with her hair let down, falling over the silver circlet she wears that was given to her by her mother.

Personality: Courteous and compassionate, Abigail is a soft-spoken person who reflects her strong sense of independence. She personifies herself as a very capable and competent person, her confidence easy to detect. She is modest and seeks the truth of matters, dedicated and loyal to her causes and her comrades. On the battlefield she is focused yet merciful, never one to commit senseless slaughter. As her family name indicates, Abigail takes it upon herself to defend and watch over those unable to stand up against the wicked and evil that prowl the darkness of night, as has been a tradition of her family for decades.  

Strengths: Abigail is a confident and capable fighter and explorer, having gone through years of training with her father since she was a young girl. She knows her physical and mental limitations and can act accordingly. She is kind and compassionate which makes her very likeable and charismatic. Abigail has a high threshold for pain and possesses a determined spirit.

Weaknesses: Due to the knowledge of her capabilities and limitations, Abigail has been known to push herself past her limits, inadvertently causing herself harm. While not a quitter, when there is a goal she cannot achieve, Abigail has a tendency to get discouraged, which for her, often leads to frustration and finally anger. While she knows full well she cannot do everything, she can become angry with herself for her own limitations.

Another weakness of Abigail’s is that her compassion and mercy can at times get in the way of getting the job done, or even, lead her into being manipulated on the rare occasion. Another weakness one might consider is that her youth was spent confined to one providence, so there is much of other customs and so forth that she is unaware of short of the passerbyers happening through Horth during the horse auctions.

Family: Annabelle Nightwatch- Abigail’s mother (Caltharian)
        Barret Nightwatch- Abigail’s father (Centoraurian)
Abigail is very family oriented and is very big on family tradition. Her father, Barret Nightwatch, spent most of his life as a successful and well-revered adventurer, making the Nightwatch name famous and respected. Abigail wants nothing more than to follow in his footsteps. Soon after she was born, Barret laid down his sword to be with his family and had begun training local militias and warriors to bring steady money into the house. While Barret had amassed plentiful wealth during his years as an adventurer, upon retirement he had just enough to get by for a few years as he had given his wealth back into the communities he helped as well as into his own tribe over the years. As Abigail sets out on her own and her mother, Annabelle lies on her deathbed wrought with an incurable illness, Barret plays on the idea of picking up the sword once more in the hopes of being laid to rest were he belongs, on the battlefield.

History: Born in the city of Horth in the providence of Xaramon, Abigail lived a playful and loving childhood with her mother and father. As a young child her mother taught her how to dye fabrics and make exquisite clothing that they would sell together at the market. Abigail’s father, the great champion Barret Nightwatch, took any time he had free from training troops and warriors to teach Abigail everything he knew. By the time she was a teenager, Abigail was skilled enough that she would assist her father with his training the soldiers and local fighters.

Working side by side the two became well known as one of the best training teams in the area. Despite her helping her father, she continued her own intense training, both by her father and by herself. Through the years she had become intent on following in her fathers footsteps and carrying on the family name and it’s honor and success. As a young adult there had been a brief period where her mother had fallen ill for an extended period of time, Abigail having to set out to find a priest able to cure her ailing mother.

It was on this quest that Abigail had the chance to test her metal and see how all her years of training would pay off. It had been a rough journey with some very perilous moments where Abigail was unsure if she would even make it out alive, yet she had seen that her training did in fact do her well, and when she arrived back home with the priest, she set back out to roam the countryside looking for injustices. In the following three years, Abigail would be found roaming around the Cheniar Foothills as well as the Anghorth Alsea Mountains. During these years she faced many victories as well as her share of defeats. Through it all she kept on and never gave up hope, taking everything in as valuable experience to be applied later, as her father had taught her.

It would be around her 21st birthday when it was revealed to Abigail and her father that the priest they had summoned had in fact been a priest of Queprur pretending to be a priest of Nehtor, as they had believed. The priest of Queprur had masked the illness with temporary good health only to have the disease come back stronger and more lethal later. Now her mother lies on her deathbed with no hope for a cure unless the priest can be tracked down to possibly reverse his wicked spell. Abigail and her father had later learned that the priest of Queprur held a vendetta against Barret for something years ago, but Abigail’s yearning for her mothers good health had allowed her to be manipulated and deceived by the priest.

Now Abigail sets out on her own, leaving the providence she knew for so many years in an attempt to track down the wicked man that has depleted her mothers health as well as to take down any other wicked man that might cross her path along the way. While she does not set out with a vengeance in her heart, she does hold her morals against wicked folk and now looks to hunt them down like dogs.

Weapons: Long sword - Sheathed within the frog hanger of Abigail’s leather double wrap belt hangs an immaculate long sword crafted specially for her by a dwarven friend of her fathers named Kendreng Thunderclap.  The fine craftsmanship of the dwarves is evident at every angle of this blade. Perfectly balanced with a full tang, this immaculate blade with all of its intricate engravings makes it a prized piece of weaponry to own.

Elven Long Bow- The very long bow given to Abigail’s father Barret so many years ago by the elves, gracious for his help, he has since passed it down to his daughter. This finley crafted long bow is so finley made that one would be hard pressed to miss their target.  Intricate runes and designed had been carefully carved into the shaft of this bow, a true work of art to behold.

Belongings:       Long sword
               Elven Long Bow
               Medium Shield
               Half Field Plate Armor
               Dwarven War Helm
               Elven Circlet
               Elven Forest Cloak
               Steel Vambraces
               Nightwatch Family Over tunic
               Various Silken and Cotton Shirts
               Various Leather Breeches
               Riding Boots
               Leather Double Wrap Belt
               Backpack and Various Traveling Equipment
               Fine Gowns and Jewelry
               Fine Undergarments
               Traveling Coinage
               Miscellaneous Items
Familiars: Abigail always travels with her loyal steed Fairfeather, a beautiful black Centoraurian horse. Being from Horth, her father had purchased Fairfeather for her the same year she had begun training. Raised in the Nightwatch household since shortly after birth, Fairfeather has grown alongside Abigail her entire life. Due to their long period of time spent together and because Abigail is half Centoraurian, the two have an inseparable bond and rarely go anywhere separately. Abigail is always reluctant to embark on any quest that she cannot bring Fairfeather on or back from.

Thraz the Mighty
New Santharian

Offline Offline

Posts: 65

« Reply #7 on: July 12, 2005, 02:31:22 AM »

email/MSN: lost_apostle05@hotmail.com

Name: Thraz the Mighty
Gender: Male
Age: 102
Race: Dwarf
Tribe: Kurakim
Occupation: Smith
Title: The Axe of Defiance

He has an enormous ego for someone so short and demands that everyone call him Thraz the Mighty. He believes that he can defeat any foe and will fight anyone and anything.

Physical Appearance:
Thraz has an appearance that is typical of most Dwarves. He stands at a mere one ped and one fore and weighs one pygge and two hebs. He weighs much more whenever he is wearing his armor, an extra pygge to be exact. He may be short, but he is also wide with his shoulders measuring four spans across. His arms bulge with muscles developed during his years as a smith. He has short stocky legs that seem inadequate to carry his large frame. His hair is brown like most members of his tribe, and his beard descends in braids to the middle of his stomach. His brown eyes appear to be the color of the earth and often sparkle in merriment. His broad nose covers most of his face, and his nostrils often flare whenever he is angry. His skin has been tanned brown due to the years he has spent wandering above ground.

Thraz would feel naked without his armor. He wears several pieces of armor, and he crafted each one himself. He wears a hauberk of chain mail that fits loosely on his broad frame, its hem extends just beyond his hips and the sleeves reach to the ends of his wrists. His wide leather belt gathers the hauberk around his waist. On top of the hauberk, he wears a steel plate cuirass, and over the sleeves of his hauberk, he wears steel vambraces. He also wears steel gauntlets, and the backs of the gauntlets overlap his vambraces. His thighs are protected by steel plate cuisses that hinge onto his cuirass, and plate mail greaves cover his calves and shins. The first layer of protection for his head is the coif of his hauberk, and the second is a a round steel helm that is a little too large for his head, for it often falls down and covers his eyes. A steel spike that measures one palmspan in length protrudes from the top of his helm, and he has been known to headbutt his foes. His feet are kept warm by soft leather boots. He wears a broad shield across his back, and it even outshines the rest of his armor, for Thraz is often able to see his reflection in it. Underneath his armor, he wears a leather jerkin and pants made of blockcloth. He likes to keep each piece of armor polished, so that they will reflect the sunlight into the eyes of his foes. The armor may weigh him down, but he would not travel without it.

Thraz has a courage that extends beyond his short frame. He will not hesitate to charge into battle against overwhelming odds. He will fight any foe and claims to have defeated drakes and trolls. His only fear is of water, and he considers that to be a healthy fear for any Dwarf to have. The only thing larger than his courage is his ego. He calls himself Thraz the Mighty and demands that everyone else refer to him as Thraz the Mighty as well. Any lack of respect will anger him, for he considers it to be a dire insult to his honor. He considers himself to be honorable and will help anyone that has a need for his axe. His anger is a terrible thing, for in such a rage he will fight anyone who dares to disrespect him. He may be short, but he is incredibly strong.

As long as everyone shows him the proper respect, then he is a jolly fellow. His baritone laughter is often heard at any establishment that he visits. His love of laughter is only surpassed by his love for a good challenge. Instead of running from a troll, he would turn around and challenge the creature to a duel. He is friendly to any traveler that he meets and has an uncanny ability to make new friends. None doubt his steadfast loyalty to his friends, for he will fight to the death so that a friend may live.

-He is very skilled with his fang-axe, having had years of training.
-He wears armor that protects him against the blows of his foes. Every fore of his body except his face is covered with armor.
-He is incredibly strong, from working as a smith for half a century. His blows are immensely powerful.
-He is loyal to the death to any friends that he makes.

-He is very slow when he swings his fang-axe, being weighed down with armor in addition to his own considerable weight for someone that short.
-His friendship is easily earned, and he has made friends with the wrong people in the past.
-He has a natural fear of water and cannot swim at all. He once tried to cross a river while wearing his armor, and this did not end well. He even dared the river to try and drown him. This was before he learned to have a healthy fear of water.
-Due to his weight, he is not agile and cannot dodge the blows of an opponnet.
-His immense ego is another weakness. He will never admit when he is wrong, for he believes that he is always right. This often causes people to perceive him as arrogant, and they would not be wrong.

This is the history that Thraz tells of his life. None other than him know whether or not it is true, but only the foolish believe his fantastical tale.

Thraz was surrounded by the other patrons of the tavern as he grasped a mug of Dwarven ale in one hand and the shaft of his fang-axe in the other. “So you wish to know the history of Thraz the Mighty?” he asked. “I must warn you that it is not a tale for the faint of heart.”

It all started a little over a century ago in the caverns beneath the Prominent Mountains. I was born among the Kurakim Dwarves, and I am proud of my heritage. My clan is the greatest of the Dwarves, for we create the best architecture that can be found upon the world of Caelereth. Also, our skill with axes is legendary.

My father was a great smith, like his father before him. I dreamed of following in their footsteps and becoming the greatest smith that the Kurakim had ever known. I spent my youth working the bellows in both the workshop of my father and that of my grandfather. My father crafted the finest weapons that could penetrate all but the best of armor, and my grandfather made armor that could withstand most weapons. I learned the craft of being a smith from both of them.

At the age of thirty, I set up a shop of my own. Even I will admit that at first I did not possess the skill to create armor and weapons that were equal to that produced by both my sire and grandsire. At first, I crafted simple tools that any miner would need, such as spades, shovels, pickaxes, etc... My greatest desire was to create weapons and armor that would surpass even that made by my father and grandfather.

After fifty years working as a smith, I began to grow restless. I longed to see the world that existed beyond the gates of the Kurakim. I longed for adventure and for the thrill of battle. I spent years crafting both the armor I now wear and this fang-axe.

Thraz paused for a moment to admire his fang-axe. The shaft was beautifully crafted from the wood of a Black Birch and the head was made of the finest steel. It was perfectly balanced and could be wielded in one hand, for its size was akin to that of a broadaxe. He had always kept the blade sharp, so that it could easily sever the necks of his foes. Realizing that his audience wished to hear more, he set down his fang-axe and resumed his tale.

I was now physically prepared, but I still lacked the training to properly wield my fang-axe. I trained under a master until my fang-axe was as light as a feather and I wore my armor like a second skin. I spent over a decade in training, and I barely survived. My trainer was ruthless and eccentric. We practiced with real axes and I nearly lost a limb on several occasions. He taught me to wear armor every waking hour of the day, for an attack could come at any moment. Finally, I was ready to leave my childhood home and seek adventure. I can still remember the last words my father spoke to me as I walked through the gate, “Make me proud, son. If you do nothing else with your life, it will be fine as long as you lived and died with honor.”

It was as I was traveling over the Prominent Mountains that I was confronted by an immense Mountain Troll. The creature towered over me and wielded a club that was several times larger than I was. He swung his club and it caught me square in the chest. I was flung several peds into a boulder and landed on my back. The troll continued to beat me with his club for several minutes until he believed me to be dead. He approached as I laid there waiting for an opportunity to use my axe. He dropped his club and approached me with his tongue hanging out of his foul mouth as though he perceived me to be a delicious meal. His tongue was the first thing I severed with a sweeping arc of my axe. Next, my axe cut through his thick neck as easily as it would have through mere paper. My wonderful armor had protected me from the powerful blows of the creature.

I walked for several more weeks until I came upon a village in the foothills of the Prominent Mountains. My short legs had grown weary of walking, and I sought a merchant who could sell me a pony. I found one and bought Mortil, a beautiful black Landesh mare. It was as I was leaving the village that I was attacked by a Red Drake. The beast swooped down upon me as I rode Mortil, for it perceived the black mare to be a tasty treat. Even though I had only spent a few hours with the pony, I was quite fond of it and would not allow her to become a drake’s next meal. I stood upon her back as she bolted in fright. The drake swooped down and I caught hold of one of its talons with my left hand. I freed my fang-axe with my other hand and sheered off one of the beast’s wings. It began to fall to the ground and I leaped off a moment before it crashed. It turned around and attempted to scorch me with its flame, but I had my shield ready and the flames could not reach me. I approached the drake with my shield before me, and as I got close I stepped to the side in preparation of delivering the killing blow. With one stroke of my mighty axe, I severed the drake’s head and ended its existence in this world. I soothed Mortil and once again set off toward the south.

It was as we, Mortil and I, approached the hills of Oro that we were set upon by ferocious Losh-Oc orcs. The foul creatures had green skin and red eyes, they were the terrors that haunted a child’s nightmares. They wielded an assortment of weapons, including warhammers, clubs, and battleaxes. The sight of the axes infuriated me, for they dared to attack me with inferior weapons! They would soon learn what it meant to face Thraz the Mighty! I slid off the back of my pony as they approached, for I did not wish to risk her in a fight. Also, I had heard several rumors of their delight for horseflesh. The first one approached, wielding an immense warhammer. He struck my helm with every bit of muscle that he possessed, and I could see the shock in his eyes as the head of his warhammer shattered. He was even more shocked as my fang-axe split him from his jaw to his navel. A second one attacked me from behind with a battleaxe, I laughed as the inferior axe failed to make even a dent in my armor. I sent his head flying with one sweep of my axe. The third approached with a spiked club, in an instant the club was lying on the ground still being held by a disembodied hand. The orc stared at the stump that had once been his hand and took off in the opposite direction. His companions followed him as they did not wish to become maimed corpses. I continued in my journey south in search of more adventures and more foes.

Thraz paused once more and seemed to notice the setting sun for the first time. He realized that if he wished to get an early start, then it would be best if he retired early to his room. He got up and bowed to the patrons that had gathered around his table. “I’m sorry, my friends, but it appears as though it is time for me to take my leave. Maybe I will finish this tale in the morning after a good night’s rest.”

Thraz's only weapon is his perfectly balanced fang-axe. He crafted the axe himself, and it has few peers. Thraz wears the fang-axe in his belt on his right side. The shaft of the fang-axe is made from the wood of a Black Birch and the head is made of steel. The head is a gracefully-arced blade balanced by an armor-piercing spike. He wields it in one hand, for it is similar in size to a broadaxe.

Thraz has a leather pack that contains everything he owns. Within the pack are:
-several smithy hammers
-eating knives
-rock spikes
-wire nooses
-a small grindstone, used to sharpen his axe
-a rag and a vial of oil, used to polish his armor
-a small amount of gold

His only familiar is a black Landesh Pony named Mortil. The pony stands almost a fore taller than the Dwarf, measuring one ped and six palmspans in height. The mare has a relaxed manner and will allow anyone to ride her. She is incredibly strong for an animal her size and can easily carry Thraz, including his armor.  

Edited by: Thraz the Mighty at: 7/26/05 15:58
Mac the Slayer
New Santharian

Offline Offline

Posts: 217

« Reply #8 on: July 26, 2005, 12:25:22 AM »

Contact: mac_nial@yahoo.com
NAME: Mac Nial


AGE: 40

RACE: Human

TRIBE: Born Remusian, taken in by Erpheronians at age ten


TITLE: Retired Assassin

A skilled assassin grown weary of his trade, he is polite and friendly with a good sense of humor, yet dangerous when provoked. He prefers to live peacefully and enjoy his accumulated wages, yet sometimes that just is not possible...

1.86 peds tall and weighing just under 2 pygge (19 hebs), his short hair and beard, once coal black, are now heavily streaked with gray. Well muscled, his skin is light where not heavily tanned, and he meets your gaze with dark, piercing eyes.

He wears a simple tunic and trousers, usually in dark earthtone shades of brown or olive, with a wide leather belt holding a dagger, and a dark calf length hooded cloak as weather (or discretion) requires. From long habit he does not wear jewelry or anything shiny that could hinder concealment in shadows.

His footwear is the lightweight boots of a horseman, with the right boot holding a second dagger. Occasionally he carries a third dagger of lesser quality in the other boot, but only when expecting trouble. He rarely wears the razorclaw gauntlets except when using the longbow.

Polite and friendly, yet sometimes reserved with strangers, he has a ready sense of humor. He prefers to avoid conflict, but will often defend those weaker than himself and is very dangerous when provoked. While willing to buy a round of drinks, he is somewhat conservative otherwise and does not live extravagantly.

Cunning and even tempered, he has some skill with a dagger and is a master of the longbow. He is also an adequate horseman.

Somewhat past his prime, his reflexes and endurance are no longer those of a young man and this bothers him a bit. He is also fearful of magic, and his refusal to be healed by it makes wounds or illness a more serious threat.

Lacking knowledge of religious customs and beliefs, he sometimes offends folks inadvertently. The most notable occasion happened in a tavern when he overhead a nearby Shendar warrior mention the name "Baveras", and thinking it a drink, ordered one from the barkeeper. His mistake was explained in detail upon being revived with a bucket of water after the warrior had left.

A pair of razor edged R'Unorian daggers, a finely crafted Remusian longbow, a pair of razorclaw gauntlets, and steel tipped arrows. He also owns a third dagger of lesser quality and a hand axe used to cut wood for campfires.

Saddle, bridle, saddlebags, rope, blankets, flint and utensils for camping, extra clothing, and extra bow strings. He also has quite a bit of coin from years of accumulated wages.

His current riding horse is a gentle four year old dun with no special training or abilites.

Petre Nial was dying.

Bitterly thinking of past battles and enemies slain, the old man now lay helpless against this confounded sickness in his chest. And what, he wondered, would become of the youngster who sat beside him?

It was madness to bring the boy along, but he had little choice. All other members of the family had died of an unknown disease four summers ago, the unwanted gift from a traveling peddler. There was simply no one else to care for his grandson, young Mac Nial.

He and the boy had spent many months traveling to reach this land he had heard of. With no specific destination other than south, there had been little reason to hurry. Any season in Southern Sarvonia would be warmer than summertime in Remusiat, where the old man was garrisoned until age and an increasingly persistant cough forced his retirement.

He had hoped a warmer climate would relieve the increasing pain in his chest, enabling him to guide the boy a few more years. And breathing was indeed easier here, or at least it had been before the gurgling sounds started a few days ago. Now he felt like a drowning man.

In his prime, broad shouldered and taller than most, Petre had been among the best archers of the Remusian army. Reduced to a shell of his former self, he had nevertheless taught the boy courage and honor, and most importantly, skill with the longbow. The latter was of much use on their journey, as the old man was now unable to draw his own finely crafted weapon.

The stocky youngster, now ten summers old, was proficient with his lighter bow and acquired food in abundance, mostly in the form of rabbits and squirrels. The lush grass also provided well for the horses, and both had put on weight in the days since their arrival.

As the sun went down, his grandfather's breathing seemed to ease a bit, and though worried by his refusal to eat, the youngster still felt a measure of relief. Piling wood on the fire to keep back the night's chill, he ate a meal of roasted rabbit and made his bed for the night. He lay listening intently to sounds of the old man's breathing until sleep finally overtook him.

The next day was one Mac Nial would never forget.

He awoke shortly after dawn to the sound of horse hooves as two mounted men approached, and had his first good look at Erpheronians. Quickly rising from his blankets, he strung his light bow and nocked an arrow before the men reached the camp, casually holding it in his left hand pointed downward.

The men, one aging with gray hair and a younger with fiery red, smiled as they stopped their horses before the dwindling fire. Mac, upon realizing they were more amused than threatened, smiled in turn at their appraisal. He could open their throats at this distance.

Noticing the boy's smile never reached his dark eyes, both men sobered a bit, somewhat uneasy at his cool indifference. The younger man's eyebrows rose slightly and he spoke softly to the other, "Arloff, that bow is of Remusian design."

Arloff sat very still, a slight chill playing his spine. Every military man in Sarvonia knew of the legendary Remusian archery skill, and some said they were trained from childhood.

The old man had not survived near forty summers in the Erpheronian army for lack of discretion. Nodding politely, he introduced himself and his companion, "Good morning young sir. I am Arloff, and this is my friend Benel. We are hunting wild pigs."

Suspicious of the strangers, Mac replied "There are none in this camp," then ashamed at being disrespectful, he added in a more subdued tone, "I saw tracks of a small herd at yon stream two days ago." He pointed eastward where the stream lay. Then raising his head proudly, he said, "I am Mac Nial," nodding toward the old man, he continued, "That is my grandpapa, Petre Nial. He is a great archer of the Remusian army."

The two men were no longer looking at the boy, but at the old man who might have been resting, except for an unnatural pallor and staring, vacant eyes.

Mac turned, and realizing his grandfather had passed, went to the old man's side and fell to his knees, crying aloud in anguish for a few moments then sobbing quietly. He had recovered from watching his parents and siblings die, for the most part, but only because the old man was there to cling to. Now he was alone among strangers in a strange land, his world devastated.

He went throught the next few weeks in a daze, his heart heavy with loss and despair. The man called Arloff and his wife Elena had compassion on the boy and took him in, pleased to find him respectful and willing to work at assigned chores. Yet it was many months before they saw him smile.

His thick Remusian accent was in stark contrast to the normal Erpheronian speech, and sometimes resulted in ridicule by the village children. He often fought larger boys and was ruthless when attacked, using anything at hand to defend himself. Though beaten badly on occasion, his fierce willingness to fight eventually earned respect and a measure of acceptance. Word spread that he was not to be trifled with, and would at times even defend others.

He gradually became accustomed to his new life, and came to love the kindly old couple who treated him as their own. Arloff took him hunting often, and later taught him to use a dagger, practicing with sticks blackened on one end to leave marks. When his ability began to match the old soldier's, the red haired Benel took over. Eventually the exercises were ending with equal marks on both, and Benel declared himself unable to further the boy's skill. By this time Mac had grown considerably, now taller than Arloff, and often hunted boar with his grandfather's heavy longbow.

In his sixteenth summer, Arloff apprenticed Mac to a blacksmith in a nearby city for four years so he would not be tempted to join the military. The old soldier had sired only two sons, and lost both in the Erpheronian army. He declared he would not lose another.

The old blacksmith was a friend of Arloff's, and while gruff and demanding hard work, he paid a fair wage for the position and let the boy sleep in the loft. He was pleased to find Mac a willing student.

While he never came to love the job, it was satisfying to watch tools and weapons take shape from the raw, hot metal by his hand. The work also kept him in excellent physical condition, yet he just could not see himself living out his days at a forge. The first weapon he made was a simple dagger, and the blacksmith suggested he keep it, knowing his later work would show much improvement when compared to this one.

The one thing he came to dread was creating chain mail. Forming links one by one, it took many hours to complete a piece, and he was never able to match his mentor's speed at the task.

He went home when allowed to spend time with the old couple, and it pained him to see Arloff growing so feeble. It was a sad day indeed when the old man was laid to rest shortly after Mac's nineteenth summer. He received another harsh blow when Elena grieved herself to death a few months later.

After her funeral, a distant cousin laid claim to the small house, so with his apprenticeship unfinished, Mac packed a few belongings on his horse and returned to the city. His most prized possessions were a pair of R'Unorian daggers given him by Arloff, and the finely crafted Remusian longbow of his grandfather.

At twenty one and well past his apprenticeship, he had two days each week free from labor. On one of these, he saw a fellow being beaten by a larger man in an alley and ran toward them, but the attacker fled on seeing the young man approach. Helping the smaller man to his feet, he found himself introduced to Ned Sidaki, a wealthy merchant's son in his mid-twenties.

Ned told his history of conflict with the big man, another merchant's son, who had beaten him on several occasions after Ned mentioned flaws in gems the man had for sale. Glancing sideways at Mac, he hinted that a good price might be paid for his enemy's demise.

Somewhat taken aback, Mac nevertheless found himself a bit curious. He cautiously asked what that price might be, and was stunned to hear an amount exceeding four months wages as a blacksmith. Shaking his head, he declined the offer. Shrugging the incident off, Ned insisted on buying drinks at the local inn, and in the weeks that followed they became good friends.

A few months later, Ned came by the blacksmith shop bruised and limping from yet another beating. He fairly pleaded with Mac for help, and this time openly offered a higher price for the big man's death.

Angered at the continual mistreatment of his friend, Mac went in search of the big man and located him later that evening in a tavern near the edge of the city. Leaning on the bar beside him, he ordered a drink and made a general remark to the barkeeper about cowards.

The big man stared at him for a moment, then as recognition dawned, angrily pulled a knife from his belt and loudly began to curse and threaten, no doubt expecting to cower the younger man with such a display. Mac simply pulled his dagger and pierced the big man's heart without a word.

Seeing what had happened, the tavern owner declared it a clear case of self defense and several witnesses agreed. Anticipating no trouble, Mac paid for his unfinished drink and left.

Upon hearing the news, Ned happily insisted Mac take the fee offered, and suggested there were others who might pay for such a service as well. Thus began his newly acquired profession, but with it came with an immediate problem...

He quickly learned one did not lightly kill a wealthy merchant's son, whether well liked or not. Dragged before local authorities the next day, he narrowly escaped severe punishment and likely death itself. In the end, the tavern owner's dogged insistence of self defense was all that saved him. The other witnesses had conveniently lost all memory of the incident, no doubt paid off by the dead man's family. It was a frightening lesson, but one well learned.

With a pouch full of coin, he was in no rush to continue this business without careful planning. So after many weeks of thought, he offered Ned a proposition of his own.

He required an agent, he told Ned, someone who could negotiate with clients yet remain isolated from the actual deed. Likewise, his identity as an assassin would remain unknown to all but themselves. This offer appealed to Ned, and a fair commission was agreed upon, along with a few simple rules. Mac refused to kill decent men for hire, nor would he take the life of women or children.

For a few months he continued at the blacksmith shop to avoid suspicion, and began practicing with the longbow every evening, honing his already accomplished skill. It would be the weapon of choice for his new found craft, giving a considerable advantage of distance and stealth over other weapons. Of course the daggers would always be close at hand...

As years went by he grew more adept at his craft, but near his twenty seventh summer Ned approached with disappointing news. Apologetically stating he would be taking over his aging father's merchant business soon, Ned said he just would not be able to deal with Mac's clients any longer. They had discussed this possibility beforehand, and between them developed a bold plan for Mac to continue his trade, since there was no one else he deemed trustworthy as Ned.

For several weeks he traveled with the merchant, meeting contacts Ned had made and learning where best to seek others. Their plan was for Mac to become his own agent, taking Ned's place as middleman for an unknown assassin. His use of the longbow gave merit to this idea, as he worked at night from a distance and had never been suspect. In addition, he always used an unmarked arrow for the task, the others being marked for confirming kills when hunting, and had little fear of association with the crime even if questioned.

The plan worked amazingly well, as Mac was neither arrogant or boasting, and with his ready sense of humor did not even appear to be dangerous. So his life continued, most of his time being spent traveling, visiting in taverns, and in his never ending practice with the longbow.

He was thirty when he met Decilia and was smitten at first sight, helpless as a Tarep rabbit before a Shingar. She was a willowy dark haired Erpheronian widow of twenty six summers who had no children and worked as cleaning maid for the inn where he lodged. Being very shy, many days passed before she replied more than "yes m'lord" and "no m'lord", but finally she opened up a bit and they began having a midday meal together. A few months later they were sweethearts, and he was ever so happy the day she became his wife.

Their life was total bliss for two years, and Decilia was carrying their first child when once again tragedy struck. One of three brothers of the merchant's son he killed, had recognized him sitting with his wife on the porch of the inn. Hatred was in the man's heart, and being of the same temperament as his deceased brother, he wanted revenge in the worst manner possible. That manner presented itself later in the day when Mac kissed his wife goodbye and left, stating he had business to attend.

The man waited until Decilia rose, then followed her up the stairs, walking as if he would pass her in the narrow hallway. As she stopped and opened the door he shoved her inside, and choking her to the floor, broke her neck before she could make a sound.

Glancing around the room, he saw nothing of great value and turned toward the door to leave, only to find Mac standing ashen faced in the entrance, holding a small bunch of flowers with which he hoped to surprise his love.

An agonizing scream was heard by those outside just before the corpse crashed through a partially open window and landed in the street below, its head almost severed by a razor sharp R'Unorian dagger...

It was weeks before Mac regained the urge to live again, his hair and beard shaggy and unkempt, and his room reeking of alcohol. He awoke one day and ordered bath water brought in. While a maid filled the tub, he shakily trimmed his hair and beard, then bathed when she left. Trembling from the effects of steady drinking, he went downstairs to the tavern and ordered his first decent meal in many days.

It took three weeks before his nerves and strength were recovered, and yet another week practicing with the longbow before he physically felt like himself again.

Soon after, a wealthy old merchant in the city was found outside his home with a slashed throat. His two remaining sons were lying nearby, an unmarked arrow in the heart of each.

It was months before Mac smiled and much longer before he actually laughed out loud, yet they say time heals all wounds, and he came to accept his fate as best he could. Having lost all those he had loved, however, he would never allow himself more than friendship again.

And so it came to pass, as his thirty ninth summer approached, he found himself in possession of more coin than he would likely live to spend since it was not his nature to live extravagantly. He decided to inform contacts and clients alike of the unknown assassin's death.

Now retired, Mac is free to travel anytime and anywhere, and spends much of his time hunting, visiting taverns, and traveling from one village or city to the next as whim dictates. Only one persistent activity remains, that of practicing with the Remusian longbow which once belonged to his grandfather.

~ Mac the Slayer ~

Edited by: Mac the Slayer at: 7/25/05 16:26
Haliy Anescences
New Santharian

Offline Offline

Posts: 64

« Reply #9 on: August 06, 2005, 12:32:22 PM »

Well my repost of my character hasn't been totally approved but I figure it be done pretty fast since there is very little change and I was all ready titled ^-^

Name : Haliy Anescences

Age: 194

Birthday: The tenth of Sálari'herín

Gender: Male

Race: Elf

Tribe: Maeverhim

Occupation: Guardian of the faith

Title: Avásh'aellasiór


Haliy the mystic of the natural world and retainer of the greater balance. Haliy is known for his lust for adventure, exploration, his soft-spoken kind nature and the odd breeze always flowing around him.


Haliy is an oddity amongst the Maeverhim at two peds and two palmspans tall with a lean build at one pygge and eight hebs. His skin is a pale off-white tone. His long silver hair reaches to the bottom of his back. Haliy face holds his most unique features, his eye’s opal with a blast of silver around his pupil and his birthmark a six sided snowflake upon his forehead. Another notable feature is Haliys white nails, which he trims to two and half nailsbreadth and fails to a sharp point.


Haliys wears long baggy silver silk pants, and a long sleeved silver silk tunic, both of which have thousands of long silk appendages with blue tips. Around his waist Haliys wears a long silver flap of cloth on which are the four runes of the elements Air, fire, water, earth surrounding the larger rune of Grothar. Haliys also carries a long silver cloak with even more appendages or wings as Haliys calls them.


Haliys is a kind and soft-spoken man, who usually resides deep in thought. He’s also known throughout the tribe for his unique style of thinking symbolic, incredible deep, and his oneness with the greater good. He also is very inquisitive and full of spunk when his shyness isn’t an issue. Haliys is friendly and kind hearted, but he’s shy and overly reserved until he gets to know someone. Haliys like his kin has a dangerous temper, but usually he bottles his frustration and hostility. To release some of these emotions he sings to the unseen winds.

Druidic skills:

~~ Fog, Haliy can take the moisture within the air and ground and create fogs that even the keenest eyes could not see a dragon in front of them.

~~ Vortex, Summoning the primal spirits and moldig the very essences of the air Haliy can create anything from a dust devil to small twister.

~~Wind, Haliy can almost at will summon the four winds, of course without concentration these winds come in the form of gentle breezes, while with concentration they can be formable force.

~~ Freezing Rain, Haliy can turn the moisture of the rain into a freezing rain, which can and usually does slow down any foe and even can cause minor damage, when the freezing rain becomes Hail.

~~ Leviation, Communing with the primal spirits haliy can take within himself the very spirits of the air, ligthing his body enough to seemlessly float through the air.


Though the powers come from the primal essences and will there is only so much Haliy can do, after each communing or altering Haliy endurance slowly or hastefully starts to demise, and while Haliy is within the trance that allows him to do these things he has little (simple alterations) awareness of his surroundings to major alterations, which he has no awareness of whats happening around him. When over doing it, Haliy simply collapses, there is only so much that he can do.


a) Faith, Haliys is devotion to Grothar the God of the wind and weather is unquestioned, this gives him hope, and strong personal beliefs.

b) Intuition, Haliys is intuitive too almost a psychic extent

c) Haliys is one with the natural world, so he is very in tuned with primal spirits and world itself.

d) Endurance, Haliy has a high mental endurance.


a) Naive, Haliys has never left the Sharadon forest so he knows little of the outside world and its culture.

b) His temper, Haliys once his buttons are pushed is just like a berserker, and has little to no control over his actions.

c) Physical strength, Haliys lacks any major muscle, and lacks in long hauls where his physical endurance is put to the test.

d) Overing doing it, Haliy is infamous for going beyond his limiation when for a greater good, which usually puts him in very dangerous situations. Since they usually make him unconscious.


Haliys was born to the High Priest Ma`oren, born with a six sided snowflake upon his forehead his father thought this to be a sign of Grothar so before Haliys could really speak well his father began his training in the clerical arts. Ma`oren Began to notice that Haliys wasn’t like other boys his age, he seemed more aware, more locked within his own mind. Rarely did Haliys show any emotion unless he was alone, then he seems to glow and carry a conversation with things Ma`oren could not see, but could feel there. He knew Haliys was a special boy, not just from the strange wind always eddying around him but his whole out look on life. Haliys possessed a wisdom far beyond even his own understanding especially his powers. Ma`oren noticed these powers did not come from prayer or Grothar but from pure will and alteration of what was already there. Recognizing these powers as Druidic, Haliys father sent him to live with and study under the druidess Ce’lesti`a who lived on the outskirts of the Sharadon forest.

For the next hundred and fifty years of his life Haliy was drilled lesson after lesson , sunrise to sunset on the different methods of molding air and altering the weather. Another of Ce’lesti`a more challenging lessons took place when she invited other druids over browns, greys, greens, even blue druids and they would have a relatively safe sparing matches, and afterwards the visitors would teach Haliy little bits of there Druidic orders history . One day Ce’lesti`a noticed that Haliy could see and commuicate with the primal essences or as they are more commonly known spirits of the wind and planet itself. Seeing this She knew Haliy would grow into a powerful druid, so she took the last couple of years teaching him of the greater balance, this was one of Haliy greatest challenges learning of the greater balance and how it must be upheld at all cost even his own life. With that last lesson Haliys was finished with his training under her and Ce’lesti`a gave him the title ‘Avásh'aellasiór` or wind singer, and told him that his hardest lesson was yet to be learned, the lesson known as life.

So Haliy returned to his hometown, and knew he needed a job, and since he was deeply devoted to Grothar Haliy asked his father for a job amongst the temple. Ma`oren gave him a job as guardian of the faith, so for the next eleven years of his life Haliy stood as guard of the temple Grothar. During this time Haliy tried to mingle with other Maeverhim his age since he never really had any friends other then Ce’lesti`a and his fellow druids, but he was rejected because of his extreme fading gene and his strange wind which always flowed around him. But a chance relationship did develop with Avona Avani daughter and messenger of the Ronn. Daily Avona delivered messages to the priest of Grothar from her father so she and Haliy developed a close relationship. Over time they fell in love and one day before work Haliy meet her near their groove ( the moons tear groove ) deep in the Sharadon, they embraced, and before Haliy released her from his grasp he asked her to marry him, of course she knew this was coming because Haliy had been acting awkward for weeks about something she just didn’t know. So she said yes, and they planed to tell their families this news tonight after Haliy left the temple. So Haliy kissed her and told her he loved her and left the moon’s tear and went to work. Little did he know there were others there watching them, mere minutes after he left a group of dark elves took Avona hostage. Later that fateful night he heard some commotion, and started to ready himself to defend the temple when he saw Avona, at daggers point, the man holding her said " move and your future wife dies" So Haliy just stood there, the last thing he remembered before being knocked unconscious was Avona and the Horn of resounding being taken into the darkness of the Sharadon forest.

The next day Haliy awoke in his bed and found his father and the Ronn of the tribe at his side, he got up and asked of Avona, but they both just shook their heads. Haliy then begged them to let him go out after Avona captors to both regain his pride, save the love of his life, and retrieve the horn of resounding a priceless artifact to that belonged to the temple. Both of them agreed to this mostly on personal reasons but none the less they gave Haliy permission to leave the Sharadon and become EARTH BURNED without the consequence of being shunned by his tribe to save Avona and the horn. To help in his journey his father gave him the families heirloom the Ellicry staff. With that Haliy set out on his quest to save the woman of his dreams and the horn of resounding.

Haliy eventually caught up with the dark elves that broke that took his future wife, knowing that he was heavily out numbered Haliy molded the overcast sky into a severe storm, though it was most rain and wind, it gave him the moisture he needed to create a thick unseeable fog, which let him sneak into the enemy encampment and free Avona. Haliy first asked her why she was so unguarded, and she told him that the group broke in two just in case anyone was to follow them, and that a majority of the force was with the Horn, while five where with her. Hearing this Haliy hushed her, and they left the camp, apparently the thugs didn't release untill after the second major storm with ligthning and strong winds had passed that Avona was gone. A few days later Avona was safely within the Sharadon and resting with Haliy by her side, when the Ronn appoarched him and in his thanks gave him a charm of Grothar a glass tear drop with the rune So’ava`sh encased in it. He then proceded to tell Haliy that he didn't have to go out and find the horn, that it could be replaced. But Haliy would hear nothing of this, for his own honor and for honor of his family Haliy had to retrieve the horn of resounding. The Ronn could not argue with him, and told him that he would not be shunned for being earthburned, and he was proud to know that his future son was such an honorable man.When Avona awoke a few days later, she found Haliy still by her side, the same spot he was when she fell into her deep sleep, after couple hour of talking she told Haliy that she wanted to go with him and find the horn, but he refused to endangered her on his personal quest to regain his honor and the relic of Grothar. Haliy then told her that if he hadn't returned to Sharadon in five years to move on with her life, though she argued and argued Haliy along with Ronn concieved her it was for her own good. With that Haliy left the Sharadon and it has been two years since his last visit home, and the only real clues he has to the whereabouts of the horn is that it was a northern sarvonia tribe of dark elves that spoke of the Hovel Frond Forest were involved with the stealing of horn.


The Ellicry, a white wood staff, with a spiral shaped design at its head which when swung through the air creates high-pitched sound that paralyzes anyone with its reach for a few minutes, allowing its wielder to escape a fight. The Ellicry history states that its unbreakable, and heirloom passed down the Anescences line since the beginning of the age of awakening Haliy also carries a small simple dagger.


Haliy carries with him two sacks on which contains fruits, berries, nuts, roots and other herbs for healing purposes. The other sack contains a few gold pieces, silver pieces, copper pieces, paper, some writing utensils. Haliy also carries a small wooden tube, in which carries thousands of small needles.


Aeolos, an Efér'veván or a Haloen bird. Haliy found Aeolos as he calls him on the grounds of the Sharadon nearly dead, and he nursed him back to life since then Aeolos and Haliy have been companions on the road of life.

The wind, the wandering wind, Of the golden summer days. Whence is the thrilling magic Of its tunes amongst the leaves? or, is it from the waters, Or from the long, tall grasses? Or is it from the hollow rocks which its breaths through
Haliy Anescences

Edited by: Haliy Anescences at: 8/11/05 0:10
Xanth the Dreamer
New Santharian

Offline Offline

Posts: 83

« Reply #10 on: August 09, 2005, 03:02:22 AM »

My email is kmk31060@msn.com.  

"He who wanders is not always lost"   - J.R.R. Tolkien

Xanth the Dreamer

Kabu Shanbog
New Santharian

Offline Offline

Posts: 51

« Reply #11 on: August 26, 2005, 05:25:22 AM »

Kabu Shanbog
Half-troll, half-human
Tribes (parental origins): Father- Forest Troll, Mother- Caltherian
Birthday: Unknown- celebrates every beginning of the new year
Age: 64
Height: 2 peds, 2 fore
Weight: 3 pygge
Occupation: Mercenary, ex-pit fighter
Title Bounty Hunter

Appearance: The mix of the bloods from human and troll created a strange mix of features. Kabu at first glance looks like a very tall, heavily muscle, man with an over large bulbous nose. His skin is light-brown in color, a shade lighter than milk chocolate. A second glance would reveal the details of his inhuman half. From out of his hair poke elongated pointy ears, each about 2 palmspans in length. If one looked closer they would notice very dark green specks over his body, and two small tusks curling out of his mouth. His light grey, greasy hair, almost 2 peds long, is separated into many small braids. Those braids then make one large braid descending down his back. His eyes are light blue with flecks of ruby red radiation out from pupils of the same color. Often people find his gaze frightening. His facial features, nose and tusks aside, are not too bad. A broad face with a slight goatee and prominent jawline. He has a very animated mouth with thin slightly browned lips. Above his eyes are large bushy eyebrows both being black in color. Situated on the right side of his fore head is a burn scar left by a brand. The scar is the shape of an eye with a line cutting across it diagonally. His hands had short claws in the place of fingernails.

He usually is dressed in a light brown sleeveless tunic made with leather about two nailsbreadths thick with baggy grey leather trousers. The trousers and tunics are covered with interlocking lines pressed into the leather. The trousers themselves are filled with small pouches sewn on the inside. Each pouch contains some Kabu’s money, valuables, or medical supplies. On the out side of the trousers are holes that are covered with flaps, which lead to the pouces on the inside He wears a hat with a large brim to keep the sun off him. On his back is strapped a large steel war hammer called Vadus that he used in the old days as a pit fighter. In colder climates he usually wears a black leather coat that reaches down to his ankles and is lined with sawis fleece, as well as a scarf wrapped around his face also made of sawis fleece. The half man also sometimes wears leather gauntlets that reach his elbows and covered over the tops with steel sheets.

       His body is covered with scars, most of them being points created by arrows implanting in his flesh with some slashes from swords added in for good measure. The majority of them appear on his front. Kabu brags that this is because he never runs from a fight. Also running around one wrist up the outside of that arm, separating into two segments, running across his chest and back, reattaching into one segment, running down the other arm on the outside, and wrapping around that wrist is a tattoo made up of interlocking knots of roots. The tattoo is colored dark brown with pieces of grey and green added in. He also has many rings pierced through his ears. Each ring represented a win when he was in the pits. They range from copper for normal victories, silver for exciting, and gold for multiple enemies. He has a total of 156 rings of different metals, each one stamped with a different representation of the defeated fighter or fighters. He does not wear all of them at once, putting the unused ones in a pouch on the inside of his pants. Usually he wears 50 to 60 rings at one time. Around his neck is a rusty iron collar with a short length of chain, 2 nailsbreadths over 2 palmspans in length, still attached to the hoop. Sometimes he is seen smoking a pipe, onately carved in the shape of a dragon with the smoke coming out of its mouth and the tail ending in the mouth piece.

History: He was conceived from a human woman who was raped by his troll father during a raid on a village near the Goltherlon Forest. When he was born he was tossed out into the forest to die, but he was founded by a small band of trolls and was taken in by them. For 15 years he lived among his people, teased for his small size, slight form, and ugly features, at least for a troll. One day when he was finding wood for the fires, he heard a large commotion coming from the cave. He ran back and arrived in time to see his comrades being slaughtered before him by a band of human mercenaries sent to wipe out some of the “troublesome” trolls. He drop all the wood he collected except for a large log that he used to cave in one of the mercs’ head. He was immediately after knock unconscious by the leader of the band.

The leader, a man named Herten the Scarred Eye, was fasinated by this creature that looked like a troll, but not like one. He prevented his men from killing it and took it to find out more about the strange beast. When Kabu awoke in the tent of Herten, he tried to attack the man seated across the room from him. Immediately he found himself on his back again with a sword within a nailsbreadth of his right eye. Herten then calmly explained using the troll language that Herten had taken the half troll captive and would decide his fate later, but he wanted to hear the story behind this strange being. Kabu thought of his chances of defeating this man that still held the sword near to his face. They were less then bad so he nodded as best he could and was allowed up. Kabu then told what he knew about himself. Herten sat in his chair and look at the being in front of him. He finally stood and walked around the rigidly standing form of Kabu.

Herten finished his circle and nodded. He told the half human that he liked him and saw a lot of raw potential. He told the half blood that Kabu would become his bodyguard and slave fighter. Kabu could only nod, fearing that if he tried to run he would be killed before he finished his first step.

Over the next 25 years of his life he lived as the slave of the Scarred eye. He was taught to read, write, and speak the human languages as well as some rudimentary mathematics so he would not be ‘accidentally’ cheated out of Herten’s winnings at the pit fights when Kabu was sent to get them. Kabu trained as a pit fighter, to be sent into battle with and/or against others slaves for the amusement and profit of their respective masters.

After this time he was released from his slavery and given a placement in Herten’s mercenary group. He was branded with the group’s symbol of the Scarred Eye. For 14 more years he fought alongside the men who taught him all the things he knew.

During this time, the Scarred Eye spent sometime stationed at Voldar. While there Kabu spent sometime with a woman resident of the city. When the mercenary company left Kabu said his goodbyes and left without a second thought. Two years later he returned to find that the woman he had spent his time with had died and had left him a two year old daughter. Confused beyond all reason, Kabu went to Herten. After hearing the half-troll's story, Herten told Kabu to bring his daughter along with the company. So Kabu's daughter who was named Belphe joined the Scarred Eye for a time.

Ten years later the Scarred Eye had just escaped from an especially disastris campaign. Kabu felt really fear for his Belphe and decided he had to take her somewhere safe. Returning to Voldar Kabu spoke to the owner of Arth's Spot and convinced him to take care of Belphe. In a tearful good bye Kabu said farewell to his daughter, promising to visit from time to time. He has kept this promise and is pretty well known in Voldar now.

Eventually Herten passed on from a disease that caused his body to wither away. Before he died he called Kabu to him. When the half troll arrived, he found Herten propped up, a shell of his former self. The bed ridden man asked Kabus to come over. When the half man was standing over him, Herten told Kabu of the life he lead.

Kabu was surprised how similar his life was to Herten, who was sold into slavery as a child and was bought by another mercenary leader and eventually served in the mercenary company of that leader until he died. Herten finished the story by telling Kabu that he had come to care for the half blood like his own son and he wanted Kabu to leave the mercenary company and seek his own life and purpose. He told Kabu that he would be given Herten’s tent, half of the treasure Herten had collected, and Herten’s own sword, Longarm. Kabu was amazed. This man, his “father” and master, was giving him many things and he was very grateful. He stayed by the dying man’s side until the dawn broke and Herten whispered “It was good” and passed on into the next world.

Kabu dressed his “father” in his armor and, with the assistance of other members of the mercenary company, carried his father to the pit they had dug and filled with wood. They laid him there and lit the pyre. When the fire finally died, they buried the remains. After the funeral, they decided that the company would disband and each man would find his own way. Kabu took his things and the items his “father” had left him. In addition he bought a bull and cow from the small herd of Baneg cattle at the farm they had camoed near. He then loaded them with the supplies and went to find his own way. The last thing any of the mercs heard as he left was the statement he whispered to the wind, “It will be good.”

Personality: Very gruff around any beings, coming off as a bit of an idiot. He appears to have a poor grasp of the human language and will often resort to sign language to get his point across. This a ploy used to hide the intelligent brain in that partly-human head. The mix of bloods allowed him to have a human intelligence and the abilities of a troll. Kabu often will switch back and forth between sounding like an idiot to sounding like a well bred gentleman. This is a mind game that he likes to play with people who think that his heritage makes him less then intelligent as he is less then human.

He keeps a distance from most persons he associates with, partly because of his strange appearance. The only people who truly know him are the few mercs he opens up to and children. He has a strange soft spot for any child he meets, stopping and playing their games with them or helping them if their hurt. He is also kind to females of elven or human descent, even coming to their defense if they are being threatened.

Abilities: Kabu’s mix of blood causes some very strange changes in his natural abilities, mainly his regeneration ability and weakness to sun. Kabu is less affected by the sun then his brethren. It only causes him discomfort when being directly exposed to it for long lengths of time. His movements also become sluggish during these times.

The trade off for the lose of this weakness is that the troll’s amazing ability to heal is reduced. Deep cuts and broken arms still take less time to heal, a few hours for a cut and two days for a broken arm. But lost limbs cannot be regrown except for fingers and toes, unless the removed limb was placed against the stump immediately after being severed.. Also his skin is not as tough as a trolls. It still takes a lot to wound him but not as much effort as is needed with a full blood troll.

Kabu avoids doing any magic after he tried to use a simple spell to light a fire. It knocked him unconscious for a half a day. He inherited the troll’s weakness with magic. He has a grudging respect for any magic users.

Equipment: Kabu leads a mated pair of Baneg cattle, the bull named Heth and the cow named Bena. These creatures serve as beasts of burden, and income and food in the form calves and milk. They are both the same greenish tan color and are very strong from carrying all the equipment.

The baggage on the backs of the animals usually is a folded up tent with five poles of wood and eight spikes, rolled up carpets to line the ground, bedroll and blankets, several days worth of dried rations, some changes of clothes as well as winter clothing, small bags of jewelry, gemstones, and chunks of precious metals, a large bag of Hobbitweed, writing materials with sleeves of paper that he uses to keep track of his kills, and any confiscated equipment of beings he had fought. All of these things are placed in large bags that are strapped on the cows backs two bags per cow, except the poles of wood which get strapped straight on the back.

Weapon: A large steel war hammer that weighs about 5 hebs. Kabu can wield it one or two handed. This is one of his favorite weapons, it having survived with him since the days that he was in the pit fights. He named it Vadus, after the first person killed by it.

A steel claymore given to him by Herten. Named Longarm, it reached about a 2 peds in length. Though it was meant to be wielded two handed, Kabu can easily wield it with one hand. It has been repaired numerous times and it obviously had seen many battles.

An iron cudgel, when Kabu loses Vadus in battle he brings this into play as a bludgeoning weapon.

A pair of Nekode Claws (A weapon of four blades attached to a hilt where the hilt would be grasped in a fist and the blades would poke out of the space between the fingers.). If he loses all his weapons, Kabu will use these to rip his enemies to pieces.

Finally, he has the natural claws that grow out of his fingers.

Strengths: Troll Blood: Kabu gains some of the troll’s ability to heal, the natural armor, and has the claws that grow out his fingers. See Abilites section for more info.

Close Combat Master- Growing up as a pit fighter and then mercenary as trained Kabu in many forms of close combat. He has reached the state where his abilities appear almost magical in nature.

Emotionless In Battle- Kabu’s face becomes completely devoid of emotion. He hardly ever speaks when he is in that state, the only change in appearance is that when he receives a deep slash, breaks a bone, or is pierced by an arrow. His face usually twitches into a snarl for a second. Other then that he is emotionless, a state caused by the constant fighting in his life. It is very disconcerting for any opponent.

Well hidden intelligence- Kabu is very intelligent. He easily figured out that his appearance made people think otherwise. So he decided to play the part of the large stupid half troll. This causes many people to underestimate him and make mistakes that cost them a lot, usually their head. He is also fond of challenging people to card or board games and taking them for everything they have.

Why Is He Not Stopping? - From his constant fights and the fact he walks everywhere has caused his endurance to reach huge proportions. He once ran four days straight traveling about six furlays. After that he slept for one night and was refreshed. So any being that fights him in hopes of winning by tiring him out will be in for a surprise when they end up on the floor gasping for breath and Kabu is standing upright, dabbing the slight amount of perspiration away with a cloth.

It May Be Night, But I Can Still See You- Has infrared vision gained from his troll ancestry. It gives his eyes the red pupils and can be switched on and off at will. He can see the warm being given off by living beings. The downside is anything that was dead does not show up, and fires tend to cancel it out.

Weaknesses: Diluted blood- The abilities he gained from his ancestry has been reduced because of his half blood status. Explained in Abilities section.

Sensitive to Sunlight- Explained in Abilities Section

Can’t Hit The Broad Side Of A Barn- Because of his complete training being only in close combat, Kabu is an idiot when it comes to using a bow. The closest he comes to a long range weapon is a rock thrown at his enemies.

Weak Around Women- The half troll grew up without many women around, so he in very nervous when he gains the attention of any woman of human or elf lineage. He tends to believe that all women are glass dolls that need to be protected. Often he has to have the point to otherwise beaten into his head.

Frightening Appearance- Kabu is a giant of a man covered with scars. He has tusk growing out of his mouth. His pupils are glowing red. These features make him frightening to normal people and he has a hard time not scaring them into bringing out the torches and pitchforks.

Loves A Good Smoke- Has a love of the Hobbitweed and will go to great lengths to get some when he runs out.

Contact info-


Those who are skilled in combat do not become angered, Those who are skilled at winning do not become afraid, Thus the wise win before the fight, while the ignorant fight to win."

Edited by: Kabu Shanbog at: 9/6/05 3:24
Ishmaelion the Philosopher
Approved Character
Offline Offline

Posts: 208

Human, Erpheronian

« Reply #12 on: September 05, 2005, 08:13:22 AM »

contact: dunnar24@hotmail.com , I'll be on MSN at least ones per day, so feel free to chat.

Name: Ishmaelion Shi’gén
Gender: male
Age: 54
Race: human
Tribe: Erpheronian
Occupation: Philosopher, Doompreacher
Title: Philosopher

Physical appearance
Being 1 Peds, 2 Fores and 1 Palmspan high makes Ishmaelion one of the smaller people in his tribe, where men usually become bigger. He has always been mocked by other for his lack of muscles and you might even describe him as skinny. He walks slightly hunched as if the weight of all mankind rests on his shoulders (although if that were true then he would be smitten to the ground, never to arise again, so lets keep to poetic freedom, shall we). Ishmaelion is often described as extremely clumsy. His hair is the same dark red color which is so characteristically of his tribe. However, when traveling through other parts of Sarvonia this is regarded as otherworldly or just downright ugly. Rumors were amassed by those people which I will address later in the history section. Despite being a philosopher, Ishmaelion doesn’t have a beard because he thinks that if you have a beard all your ideas do not escape via your mouth (words) but escape out of your chin (hair). He has gray eyes, not unusual about them. One odd thing about him though are his feet. They are huge, and when I say huge I don’t mean like in Giants huge, but somewhere around 1 fore. Because he can’t find any proper sandals anywhere he almost always walks barefoot.

Ishmaelion wears a brown worn-out robe which is far too large for him. He often drapes the hood far over his face so you can only see his mouth. One can clearly note that this robe is very cheap and therefor Ishmaelion is often thought of to be one of the lower class. He is never seen taking his robe of, so what might lie beneath it remains one of his greatest mysteries (although you can ask yourself if you truly want to know).

Well, you could say that Ishmaelion has an interesting personality. After proclaiming himself philosopher after having lived in the local library for two years (literally) he has taken upon him the task of showing the other people in Santharia that he IS an true philosopher and will miss no opportunity to break into a lecture about the elements or other truly worthless subjects. He never speaks in normal sentences but weaves a web of words and proclamations in which he eventually says what he wanted to say (if you’re lucky). Some call him arrogant, some call him mad, some even call him Pete, but that are all superficial taunts directed at this great and brilliant man in envy! One of his favorite subjects of preaching is the end of the world. If the conversation is starting to lead in that direction you should decide if you want to hear the lecture soon or you’ll be caught in the conversation. He will follow those who either say that they believe him or those who contest his facts and theories.
He has a great disdain for orcs, gnomes, goblins, trolls, brownies, elves and humans. Oh, I forgot the dwarfs, he doesn’t like them either. But he believes that everyone/thing can be saved if he\she\it embraces the truth of Ishmaelions words. He believes it is his sacred duty to bring those creatures to the truth.

Strengths and Weaknesses

- Ishmaelion Shi’gén can preach and debate like few can, it is therefor often that his enemies find themselves debating instead of fighting while Ishmaelion questions their goal in live, aspirations and ambitions. His low powerful voice forces respect on others and he can make himself look very intelligent and mighty indeed.
- Much combined with his other strengths is his ability to have his cane in his hand when a few seconds ago there was only air. He has a walking cane which he keeps in a secret pocket in his robe whenever he isn’t using the cane for matters as walking and such. He is swift with this cane, and it happens often that he smacks his enemies on the head while debating with them. “curing them of their warmongering thoughts” he calls it.
- Ishmaelion’s big feet protect from almost all spells and winds which try to blow him of his feet. He has a good sense of balance.

- Ishmaelion Shi’gén can preach and debate like few can, it is therefor that he will grab any opportunity to start a discussion. In the past, this has served him not always in a positive way, insulting some high placed officials and starting many a tavernbrawl.
- While good with his cane, if his favorite walking stick is taken from him, he is completely harmless. He couldn’t even squat a fly without his cane. Not that he loses any of his potency with his tongue though.
- His big feet are a curse when sneaking though bushes or trying to be very silent, as his clumsiness makes sure that he trips and falls occasionally. It is impossible for him to remain in the shadows and not be seen by others. (except if the other is a blind deaf mute dog named Pogo)

Born in a small village near Voldar the history of Ishmaelion is very hazy until his adulthood as Ishmaelion was smacked on his head several times in a brawl and can’t remember much about his childhood. From records of his village it is shown that Ishmaelion was always mocked by the other children in his village for his lack of muscles and fighting spirit. After the brawl he was accused of having killed the bard who was singing there, although the charge did not ring true as the accuser was the bard himself but the elders of the village decided that Ishmaelion was a menace to society even so and wanted to toss him in prison for two years. Not wanting that to happen Ishmaelion bribed his guards and hid himself in the library. After three days in the library he was discovered by a strange being, namely, the dog Pogo. This dog brought Ishmaelion a share of his food and what he was able to catch in the library. Pogo was the guard-dog of the library.Water was provided by the dog as well, well, Ishmaelion drank from Pogo's waterbowl. This enable Ishmaelion to remain there for some two years in which he did some reading (he lived in a library after all) and one can say that this changed him a bit. When Ishmaelion was found he didn’t stop murmuring about elements and gods and such. He was brought before the elders again and this time he was accused for escaping and bribing the guards, which was the same as insulting the elders which in turn was the same as blasphemy. For this great crime he was banned from the village and after having had a farewell speech that lasted a full morning he was of into the outer world. In the years that followed Ishmaelion lived as a hermit in the woods of Vardynn, not seeing a living soul in ten years. When he came out of the forest he had a cane with him and still wore the robe that was given to him when he left the village. He later claimed that while he was in the forest he was visited by the benevolent god Seyella and sent out to spread her truth, which was only taught to him. He started preaching in villages and cities and not before long city gates would be shut when he arrived and villages wouldn’t allow him anymore. He became known as Shi’gén after he was rescued by an elven hunting party while he was captured by a rather hungry pack of wolves who were about to have Ishmaelion for lunch. So the elves called him Shi’gén (flavorful) and this name he has carried with him in his countless journeys. After having escaped his own hanging again for insulting the leading elder of one village he did not show his profile that often and covered his head with his robe whenever he entered a town lest he be recognized. Having to fend of a lot of disbelievers he soon became proficient in the use of his cane as a mortal weapon and made a hidden pocket in his robe where he keeps his cane hidden from sight if he hasn’t no use of it. Having seen much of the world during his travels, not much holds a surprise to Ishmaelion any more, as he thinks that earthly things are no match for the power of the mind. But he has a dislike for magic because he isn’t any good at it. So he dismisses it as unnecessary.
This history will be elaborated often, but for now, this is a good notion of his history.

When reading this paragraph, one should keep in mind that Ishmaelion was knocked on the head several times in his past, and some think there is a connection between his ideas and that incident, although he himself claims to be visited by Seyella herself. The goddess had told him, so he claims, stories about the end of the world and also of the world and it’s truths. Ishmaelion preaches the word of Armageddon, which is summarized below.

“And thence forth will cometh the true beings, the reflection undone by the mirrored truth! In their benevolent wisdom, thee will all be vanquished and will no long remain unseen by the unseer! No, the unseeing eye will be opened to the reflection of dreams which are cast by the contramirrored beasts of DOOM!”
This is the beginning of the ‘litany of Armageddon’, written down by Ishmaelion himself. The story is full of riddles and metaphors but one can easily understand the outline of it: the fall of all that we know. Some returning factors are the unseer and the notion of reflection. Some say that the unseer is the sleeping Avá and that the reflection is the real world, outside the Dream. This explanation leaves some holes in it, like Who are the true beings? And how can they come to our world? And who are the Beasts of Doom? Maybe a dream within a dream? And how does one mirror the truth? Would that be lies? If you delve deeper in the text all will not be much clearer as shows the next extract from the second chapter, near the end:
“Oh, thee, who in returning to thee, will be crushed by the unguarding light, in which the twelve are born and torn. The unseer will wreak vengeance upon the twelve, dissident from their truth, seen by first house, deafened by the thunder of the second house, slaughtered in the wake of the third house, loved by the fourth house, played upon by the fifth house, drowned by the waves of the sixth house, blessed to unbeing by the passive seventh house, withheld from the mirrored heavens by the eighth house, cultivated by the ninth house, murdered by the dark tenth house, bandaged by the serving eleventh house, and from the twelfth house will come the inferno!”
The twelve is probably a vague reference to the twelve minor gods, although not much is known about their supposed role when the One (Avá) awakens. The litany of Armageddon ends with these words: “When will this happen? Well, it happened countless times already in the mind of the unseeing one, being bereft of speech and sight, passive until the history repeats itself, and this day will come soon!”

The world

“The world is not what I thought of it”
- Ishmaelion -

The elemental theory:
According to Ishmaelion, the most important part of the world is the elemental section. He distinguishes four kinds: Earth, Wind, Fire and Water. He believes these elements are everywhere, even within persons. How does this work? You ask yourselves, well let me explain:
It is off course clear that water consists of a lot of water elements, and earth full of earth elements, etc. But in persons this is more subtle. The amount of elements is determined by birth, and does not change in live. Everyone has a mix of all elements. The amounts of them varies, altering one’s character. If you have a lot of earth elements in comparison to the other elements, you grow up to be a sturdy man, who is not easily angered or otherwise emotionally shaken, but once aggravated is the most persistent of al persons in the finishing of that particular matter. If one has a lot of fire elements in him, he will grow up to be a short-tempered person, often flaring out in sudden bursts of rage or other emotional outings. In the case of an abundance of water elements, one is tranquil, preferring peace and calmth over struggle and conflict. Often seeking to compromise and relegating matters. If bestowed with a lot of air elements, one is fluent in the matters of speech and mind. Often appearing smarter and wiser than they truly are.
Next update soon!

His cane, named Pogo, after the dog, is his only weapon (not counting his mind). There is not much special about the cane, it’s just a wooden cane.

His sharp humor.



New Santharian

Offline Offline

Posts: 279

« Reply #13 on: September 14, 2005, 05:37:22 AM »

Contact: Turtledragon1@aol.com

Link in my sig.

Beware the BladeSinger of the Silver Sword.


Tythle Fi thea
New Santharian

Offline Offline

Posts: 378

« Reply #14 on: September 24, 2005, 03:16:22 AM »

my CD:Tythle Fi thea

My contact info: whisper_loud777@hotmail.com

Pages: [1] 2 3 ... 5   Go Up
Jump to:  

Recent Posts
[February 10, 2022, 09:09:05 PM]

[February 10, 2022, 09:07:54 PM]

[July 30, 2021, 06:03:43 PM]

[July 30, 2021, 06:03:25 PM]

[July 30, 2021, 06:01:01 PM]

[February 12, 2021, 07:16:33 AM]

[December 13, 2020, 12:16:51 AM]

[December 13, 2020, 12:16:21 AM]

[October 05, 2020, 02:58:40 PM]

[March 19, 2020, 03:47:44 AM]
Total Members: 2849
Latest: abigailjordan
Total Posts: 214569
Total Topics: 8052
Online Today: 48
Online Ever: 216
(November 30, 2006, 09:08:03 AM)
Users Online
Users: 0
Guests: 28
Total: 28

Powered by MySQL Powered by PHP Powered by SMF 1.1.21 | SMF © 2005, Simple Machines
TinyPortal v0.9.8 © Bloc
Valid XHTML 1.0! Valid CSS!
Theme based on Cerberus with Risen adjustments by Bloc and Krelia
Modified By Artimidor for The Santharian Dream
gfxgfx gfxgfx