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Author Topic: Ne'iav'rine, Sinister Beauty  (Read 13936 times)
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Neiavrine
Sinister Beauty
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Gender: Female
Posts: 225


Orc, Chyrakisth


« on: December 02, 2005, 11:00:22 PM »

Ne'iav'rine



Ne'iav'rine wearing her first suit of ceremonial armor.

Race Orc
Tribe  Chyrakisth

Age 34
Height 2.1 peds
Weight 2 pygge 3.1 hebs
Gender Female
Skin Pale Sou'cald
Eyes Karikrimson
Hair Xazure Blue
Handed Right

Occupation Weapon for Hire
Title Sinister Beauty

Overview: Ne'iav'rine is an outcast war chief of the Chyrakisth orcs. Her failures have cast her from her people and made her a very wanted woman. She is a warrior of great skill and ability, and has used this to stay alive for the past three years. Her recent experiences in Santharia have opened her eyes and have caused massive disruptions in the way she sees the world.

Appearance: Ne'iav'rine is the picture of elegance and sinister beauty. Most would not recognize her for an orc, if it where not for her razor sharp canines and the red glow of her eyes. Her facial features are delicate and elvish. With high cheek bones and flaring eyes. She has full lips and thick tangled hair, which she dyes the shade of the last twilight hour.

Her body is lean, with a flat stomach and athletic build. Cords of tight muscle ripple beneath the flesh. She moves with an effortless grace, and her body sways slightly as she walks. Her limbs are long, thin and graceful, yet amazingly strong. Her skin is marred by many light scars, each was gained from a different battle with a murderous foe. Her hands are delicate and graceful as a spiders web in appearance, and her long nails are hard and sharpened; so that they may rip out the throats of her foes with greater ease. Men of other  races may find her to be sensually attractive, if they can get over the fact that she her canines are more that twice too big and that she could break their spine with one hand.

She clothes herself in a light shirt made of strong woven wire. This is customary to her tribe and is strong as chainmail yet light and flexible. It allows her to move swiftly yet be protected from most attacks. She wears heavy metal plate mail over her chest, arms, and legs. The plates avoid all of her joints, which are protected with woven wire armor. On the left breast of her plate mail is an engraving, showing Tsalokath wreathed in a storm of feathers. Nor'sidian Storm Crow feathers sprout from the shoulders, making the appearance even more intimidating, and her into the likeness of her favorite demon. She also wears a heavy iron helm, adorned with wicked spikes and featuring dark imagery of the black phoenix upon the forehead. All of her armor is dull charcoal, and seems to not only disperse, but also absorb the light around it. In full battle gear she is covered with vicious spikes and appears the very image of Co'ors left hand.

Personality: Ne'iav'rine was once a master of death, and thought of little else than the complete decimation of her foes, She was cunning yet savage and bemused her self in the slaughter of all that was good. Since then, things have changed. After having her life saved out of the goodness of a broken woman's heart, something deep down inside of Ne'iav'rine changed. She had been cast out by her own people and her existence threatened by the chaos and turmoil of those who she had once dominated. Now it was brought back to salvation by that which she had hated most. She grew a connection to the woman and when her savior died, she found her self on the verge of tears. Since she has not cared for anything as she had for the woman, but she still feels that change.

Ne'iav'rine now sees most people as tools that she must use if she is to survive. She rarely attaches herself to the people she teams up with, and it is even rarer for her to care about their well being. She uses her companions like pawns to ensure her own survival. While this is the norm, certain nearly random aspects of a person may cause her subconscious to attach itself to that person. She will try to ensure their well being, and care for them as a friend. These things are strange to her, she has never felt anything like them before.

Her usual mood is lust. She lives for her baser needs and is most comfortable in mass slaughter. Battle is her equilibrium and her greatest strength. Though this is the case, she is  capable of a wide range of emotion and thought. She is in no way dimwitted or base in and of herself. She is sometimes deep and philosophical, talkative and boastful, quiet and introspective, inwardly seething, consumed by brutal rage, and sometimes even feels a hint of caring. All of this is new to her, and even slightly frightening. She sees them and a weakness and tries to force them out of her soul and mind, but rarely does she succeed.

While anything other than lust for battle and base excitement is rare, it is not impossible for her to feel. Certain images, scents, feelings, sounds, anything really, can touch her and work her mind and heart in strange ways. It is easier for her to stay within his base and basic hatred of all life, but sometimes such ease must be cast away. Ne'iav'rine is at a crossroads. She can care, but fears such feeling and shuns all love.

Belongings:

Armor- Her armor was forged when she first took the position of war chief for her sect, and still serves her effectively. Heavy steel plates cover vital areas that do not need excess flexibility; such as her chest, upper arms, thighs, forearms, shins, and a brutally crafted helm. Areas that are critical for ease of movement are covered by the usual Chyrakisth armor, a weave of flexible cloth made of thin metal wires, as sturdy as chain mail and as light as linen.

Sword- Her sword is light and used for fast battle, able to parry and slice in single movements it is perfect for the duel against an unarmored foe setting. It does not carry the power to pierce strong armor, but slices through the air with sinister grace and efficiency. She is most formidable with the sword, as she has had it since she came to adulthood.

War Bow- This bow is made mostly of Co'orhem elf bones and resin. It is larger than a normal long bow and has intricate runes etched onto it, which praise Ne'iav'rine and bless the weapon to strike true and slay many foes in wretched painful dishonor. It is curved wickedly in the shape of any other compound bow, though it has a more sinister appearance than most Orcish bows. She had this made a year into her campaign as War Chief, yet trained with it when ever she could, and subsequently is fairly accurate at a reasonable distance, though she must take time to aim and then loose her shot, while a master has aimed by the time he pulls the string back. She also lacks a great accuracy at long distances, or quickly moving targets.

War Axe- The War Axe is used for close combat. It is light yet sturdy, with most of the weight located at the axe head. This gives it added swinging power. The blade has a wickedly curved in shape which gives the edge less surface area at each moment of connection. This means that it cuts deeper, faster. Also the handle is formed with a clever curve, which gives it more force with each blow. Having acquired this weapon with her armor, almost four years ago, she is fairly learned in it's ways, though not nearly as devastating as with her sword, nor as skilled as her bow.

Strengths:

- Strength: The Chyrakisth are known for their strength, and Ne'iav'rine is no exception. She is far stronger then a human, and years of training and hard physical activity have toned her into a mistress of destruction. She can easily lift a man and throw him across a room with one arm. She does not tire easily and can attack with crushing power. She can lift almost twice her body weight with excursion.

- Grace: Despite this she is very graceful, as her shape implies. Her movements are as the winter storm, wrathful and yet beautiful. She is lithe, supple, agile, quick, and dexterous. She can dodge, weave, leap, and perform other feats of agility with masterful prowess.

- Body is a Weapon: With her razor sharp fangs, long claw like nails, and powerful muscles, Ne'iav'rine is a threat even when completely disarmed and armored. Her people advance in rank in a challenge of hand to hand combat, and Ne'iav'rine never lost.

- Night Vision: As with many orcs, Ne'iav'rine has acute night vision. She has no trouble sensing her foes on a moonless night.

- Beauty: If one has a thing for enlarged canines and dark evil auras, then one will be inevitably attracted to Ne'iav'rine. Her beauty is savage and males have a tendency to stare.

- Experience/Skill: Having lived a life of battle gives Ne'iav'rine a huge advantage. She has the innate understanding of fighting that comes from having actually fought. Her skill at the art of death is beautiful to behold. She can implement her arsenal with great prowess, using each weapon for a separate purpose. She knows how to dodge deadly blows, how to roll with the damage that she must take, how to counter attack, and how to engage multiple foes. Her experience over the years has forged her powerful natural ability into a weapon of war. Also, she has learned her share about poison's and their uses, as have all Chyrakisth.

- Equipment: To supplement her skills, Ne'iave'rine is armed and armored very well.

Ne'iav'rine's armor is very strong, and can disable the punishing blows that would otherwise kill her. She is vulnerable only in key joints that are left without armor for movement. Her neck, for example. Bludgeoning attacks may also prove effective if directed at her stomach or other places not protected by heavy plates of steel and iron. With her armor Ne'iav'rine is a much more powerful warrior.

She is armed for multiple situations. Upon her back rests both her quiver with deadly orcish arrows and her Orcish War Bow, and at her hip swings her War Axe, opposite the scabbard on which her heavy yet agile saber rests. Each is of exceptional quality and made specifically for her to her demands.

She is best trained with her saber, as she has battled with it since her early teens, had her axe and bow forged while she was War Chief, and while a formidable opponent with each, she is not so learned in their ways.

Her War Bow has a very heavy pull, easily 15 hafebs. This gives it immense stopping power. Because of this Ne'iav'rine's War Bow is accurate at great distances, and carries stopping power farther than other bows. She uses standard war bow arrows, which pierce through armor and saw through flesh, while the shaft is usually broken within the target, making it difficult to extract the head.

Weaknesses:

- Aversion to Sunlight: Because of her enhanced night vision, Ne'iav'rine is detrimentally affected by sunlight. She is easily blinded by increases in light and becomes disoriented in direct sunlight. As with most of her tribe, her helm is specially made so that it filters out most of the sun's rays, so that she can see during daytime. Despite this she is much more vulnerable at day. The sun is a blinding stain in her eyes, if her helm is to be removed she cannot see. Daylight literally blinds her. If for any reason she must travel by day, her prowess as a warrior becomes limited.

- Feared and Hated: On Nybelmar her race is not only hated, they are seen as demons. Any lone Chyrakisth is immediately mobbed. Her kind has ravaged the island for centuries and are seen as the very instrument of Co'or. While on Santharia, the chances of her being recognized for what she really is are low. Even so, her appearance makes those around her fear her. She is extremely beautiful, yet dark and wrathful. The evil of her kind shows in her glowing red eyes and razor sharp fangs. It is obvious that her race is not a peaceful one. Anyone who recognizes what she is will call for immediate aid and execution.

- Beauty: Because of her exotic and sensual appearance, males tend to try to use her to their sexual advantage. She has already had a brief stint as an illegal slave for her looks, and the darker types of males do worse all the time. Her looks also make it impossible to blend in a crowd and easy to seek out. "She was huge with blue hair and, and giant teeth. Eye's red as blood and claws the size of daggers!"

- Alcoholism: Ne'iav'rine is susceptible to drink, and while she realizes that it makes her slow and stupid, if offered she has a hard time refusing. If she does not get a good drink for an extended period of time, she can go through serious withdrawals. Being drunk tends to bring the worst out of her.

- Communication: Ne'iav'rine communicates by force. She shows people that they should do what they want because she is more powerful than them. This means that her people skills are about zero, and if people don't listen to her, she gets a little angry. By a little angry we mean throws somebody across the room. Polite discretion is unheard of.

- Taste for Flesh: She has no qualms on the issue of the consumption of flesh. In fact she needs meat to survive. Unlike many humanoids, she is not at all omnivorous, and needs fresh meat to survive. She was never a hunter and does not have the tracking or sneaking skills that are required of that profession. Thus obtaining meat can be very hard for her on the road. Dried meat does not have some of the nutrients that are essential to her survival. To keep her self in top form, she eats her foes. Highway men are among those that she has tasted of. If she is hungry, and there is soft man flesh about, she will be tempted. It is not until her body begins to ache with the grind of starvation that she will actually consume an innocent bystander, in most cases. This makes interaction with other, less bloodthirsty humanoids difficult.

-Battle Lust: Ne'iav'rine longs a good fight, and will engage those around her in fiery battle just to pass the time. She does not examine her foe's strengths and weaknesses before she enters the fray, she simply wades into combat. This can get her in trouble, or in serious danger. Her offensive style leaves time for defending herself, instead she relies on her armor to protect her. This can also leave her vulnerable.

History: Ne'iav'rine was born in a largely mountainous region called Sharkion Zshararath in Nybelmar. This area is ruled by an entity dubbed the Obsidian King. He kept an eye on their tribe, but allowed them to do mostly as they wished, that is slaughter thousands of innocent elves.

Her sect of the Chyrakisth tribe was fairly large and powerful. As a youth she was stronger and faster than any of her peers, male or female, and quickly took control of everybody she could. Those who she could beat she beat, and she was sure to stay away from those she could not. She considered survival to be her key goal. This lifestyle did not endear itself to her. She often felt alone and hated that she had to constantly fear battle for her very existence. She knew she could trust no one, yet longed for someone to confide with.

Soon she grew into an adult, and became known for her prowess as a warrior. She moved up the bloody ranks of her sect. She grew even less attached to the people around her, and kept what time she had after her raids and training to herself.

She never truly cared for any of her mates, as the Chyrakisth pair mates according to rank within the tribe. She moved so quickly up the ranks that she spent little time with any of them, and she was found to be infertile, not giving child to any mate. She used the males for lust, and little else.

After many vicious duels for supremacy she became the war chief's second in command. The female war chief feared that she would try to take his position as soon as she could.

She was right. With this added power, Ne'iav'rine worried less and less about kinship, as her mind was filled with the bloodshed and carnage. She commanded troops by the front lines and showed by example how to win a battle. Her peers feared and respected her, and all knew that her chieftain’s time was limited.

Within the month she challenged Grostha, in the traditional manner. The older warchief had ten scratches across her cheek, and did not mind obtaining a new one. They met in the center of the village. She wore naught to protect her body but a few bangles, and the pale flesh shone hard with muscle. The woman was huge, at least 2.2 peds tall, and thick with muscle. She was a great warrior with many years of battle under her belt, and her strength was unequaled. Her double bladed battle axe lay at rest outside the ring, instead she would use her razor-sharp nails, as was customary. Ne'iav'rine was also bare, and her own hands were empty. Her long nails were sharp as daggers and her terrible fangs glistened with lust.

As they met in battle the earth shook. Grostha threw her across the ring, easily lifting her with one arm. Ne'iav'rine leapt to her feet with an unequaled grace, ducked under Grostha's massive swinging arm, and cut deep into her hip with her own scything nails. So the encounter continued, till both were streaming blood across their pale bodies. The night stars shone and the moon glared down at their forms. They battled till the dawn's gray sky rose from the east, and battled on. Finally, as both were weary to the point of exhaustion, Ne'iav'rine grabbed Grostha's left arm, and broke it with a startling crunch, then with a quick twist, snapped her right wrist. The large woman fell in pain and defeat, and Ne'iav'rine herself staggered back from her own weariness.

Grostha was not a war chief for nothing, she stood and with startling speed slammed her right forearm into Ne'iav'rine's unprotected stomach. Her vision went black and she could feel all the air rush out of her lungs. Grostha then smashed her in the side of her head with stunning kick, causing blood to begin to stream down Ne'iav'rine's nose, and the contender fell onto her side, dazed. The Chief confidently lifted her foot, ready to smash her head, when she stuck upwards with all of her might and felt her hand slide into her foe's ravaged belly. With a mighty pull she ripped the woman's entrails from her body and as the great warrior lay roaring in pain, Ne'iav'rine smashed her head with a sneer.

She had the village's greatest smith fashion her a helm and armor to represent her position as War Chief, in the likeness of the demon Tsalokath, and had another forge her an axe, more suitable for breaking through thick armor. Her sword stayed her main weapon, as she had not, and still has not, mastered the way of the axe. Instead she uses its power to crack her foes apart with pure force.

She ruled the battle field with her expert raiders and cut down many foes in bloody war. After three years of command as warchief she grew less cautious in her battles, and began to strike closer to the strong holds of her foes. Her small armies struck fear into the hearts of many elves.

She had the skulls of fallen leaders adorned to her war tent, and had a giant war bow made for her alone, that even a large male orc would have difficulty pulling. Even with her great strength the bow grows difficult to pull after half a dozen shots, and wearies her after she has fired ten to twelve arrows. It is fashioned from the bones of her greatest enemies. She trained with this weapon till her accuracy was enough that she was deadly with the weapon, and her force would mean that her blows were not glancing, yet she is not a master of the bow.

Her small and powerful raiding parties could wipe out whole villages before anyone knew what was happening. They would retreat back to the mountains before any kind of resistance was mustered. Yet, no commander is perfect, and the Co'orhem soon set an ambush for Ne'iav'rine.

A young Co'orhem general decided to give the raiders a target the could not refuse, and then teach them the might of his own archers. He had his warriors hide in the surrounding forest and within the shops surrounding the town square of a larger town, which had no walls or towers and seemed an easy target.

Ne'iav'rine's troops came upon a lone Co'orhem, and took him as a slave. Under interrogation, he told them that there was a large shipment of ore in the town of Jeh'tahl. There was no ore in this town, only the iron in the arrow heads of a hundred archers. Her warriors informed her of their luck and she ordered a raid upon the town. She took eighty of her best warriors to the town. As soon as they came to the town square, already suspicious of the town's emptiness, the elves began to rain volley after volley into their ranks. They scattered to find cover from the angry shots, only to find themselves vastly outnumbered by the Co'orhem who had hidden in the shops. While they fought with the rage of Co'or, they did not stand a chance. The losses were astounding, and their defeat rang in the sky with the screams of the wounded.

She had retreated back to her war tent, as soon as she realize that she had been tricked. She felt ashamed of herself, and knew that she should have entered the town differently, and scouted the area, as well as brought more women to the battle. She could not bear to face the wounded troops and their despair. So she decided to leave. She knew that Truna, an effective yet treacherous second in command, would be seeking her neck for this loss and her gain. She had always been devious and cunning, unlike most of their kind, she had no qualms in breaking some of the rules in order to satisfy her lust for power. She would do one last thing before she left. She gathered all of her belongings, and waited in her tent for her challengers to come. Her axe in her left, and her sword in her right.

Truna came with the two strongest warriors in Ne'iav'rine's ranks. The second they stepped into the tent, she flashed from the shadows and imbedded her axe in Her'ir's back. Her screams died as Ne'iav'rine twisted the weapon out an used her sword to hack of her head. Herir had never worn her helm, complaining that it obstructed her vision. The other two attacked with vicious blows to her head and left shoulder, She ducked under Truna's swinging club but felt her shoulder go numb as M'air's Glaive rang against her armor. She staggered back and barely deflected a second swing from Truna's great club. She was in a corner and had a foe at both sides. Ne'iav'rine realized that she could not win the fight this way, and charged Truna, swinging up with her axe. She hoped to break out of their flank and take them one at a time. Her axe hit home in Truna's belly, and stuck itself deep in her rib cage. Blood muddied her final roars of outrage as Ne'iav'rine let go of the haft of her axe and spun to meet M'iar. M'iar advanced and with a powerful blow knocked Ne'iav'rine's sword out of her hands, causing flows of shuddering pain to surge up and down her arm and shoulder. She shrieked and grabbed for the glaive, both of her hands gripping the wooden haft and pulling it towards herself. M'iar fell onto her knees, unbalanced by the force of her own attack, and had no time to dodge as Ne'iav'rine spun the Glaive around and hit her head with the blunt side of it's blade. She fell to the bloodied earth and began to spasm, blood flowing freely from her cracked nose. Ne'iav'rine dropped the glaive, pulled her axe from Truna's corpse and wiped it on the side of her tent, then retrieved her sword and did the same. She glanced over her shoulder and noted that M'iar was still, she assumed she was dead and checked over the rest of her gear.

M'iar reawakened minutes afterwards. She then took control of the sect's warriors, detailing how Ne'iav'rine had betrayed Truna, attacking the innocent officer as she came into her tent to tell her of the ambush. She told them that Ne'iav'rine had killed both Truna then Her'ir when she came to the tent to investigate the sounds of battle within. She herself had come upon Ne'iav'rine as she cut off Her'ir's head, and attacked her for her wrongs. Ne'iav'rine had then hit her with the butt of her sword and left her there to die. She decreed that Ne'iav'rine should be found and killed for her betrayal. Two of the most skilled survivors went out the following day searching for her, and have been at her heels since. The rest went back to their village home and regrouped with the other warriors of their sect. Within the month the killed the Co'orhem general who had tricked them into their greatest defeat.

But, we grow ahead of ourselves. Ne'iav'rine heard the roars of the rest of her bleeding troops and decided that now was the time to leave. She could not stand her shame, nor her people. She knew her honor was the price she paid, but found that she no longer cared, she hated all life, even that of her own tribe, who had just tried to kill her. Her will to survive suddenly out grew her lust for power and honor. She cared for nothing but her own pitiful existence.

Everything was a twisted wash of swirling anti-logic, and she just wanted to escape. She slipped out of the back of her tent and sneaked away from her home. She knew that she could live no longer on Nybelmar. The natives knew of her kind too well, she would be killed as soon as she was found. She also realized that her own sect would be searching for her, and she knew the prowess of her own troops. Nearly twenty of them had escaped with their lives, and they would draw their own conclusions as to why three of their greatest leaders were dead in her tent. She did not know of any other islands, nor even of the sea, all she knew was that she must escape. She decided to go north, a decision without much reason, but one that saved her life.

She traveled, avoiding the main roads and attacking farm steads for sustenance, for nearly a year. Her path was listless, but constantly traveled in a basically northern direction. Soon she was so alone and desolate that life seemed the wrong choice, and an honorable death in battle would have been preferable. Despite her self pity she went on, and came upon something she had never even imagined. The coast. This endless "river" amazed her and awed her so much that she ran to it. Upon reaching the sandy beach she realized two things. This water tasted almost as horrible as it felt good. She traveled along the coast, and the thing she saw next was even more amazing. Something large on the water. She was unsure of what it was, it floated above the surface and did not move, instead its brown body basked in the moon. She watched for the rest of the night, and made a small camp just of the shore so that she could admire it's beauty at the suns first light. She opened a bottle she had found in the last farmstead, sniffed the contents, shrugged and drank. Soon she was drunk, then sleeping. This first taste of drink became a major weakness that she would never evade.

As she slept, three slavers from the illegal slave boat stumbled upon her camp, and found her. She had consumed three bottles of that fiery liquid she had found in the last farmstead, and did not awaken. The men noted her beauty and how sinister and exotic she appeared, not realizing what she was. They sapped her, and placed heavy manacles about her wrists and ankles, amazed at their luck. Some sickening noble would love to have her chained up in his bed quarters. Pay them in gold bard no doubt.

She awoke in a large iron cage, though the chains had been removed. She was in darkness, which was good because her head was pounding and she was not in the mood for daylight. The floor was steadily rocking and she felt sick to her stomach. She vomited and sat down, in no condition to do anything but moan. The next day she awoke feeling much better, and vowed never to consume the fire water again. A vow she would not uphold.

She could not communicate with the men who guarded her cage at first, nor the others in other cages. Having little else to do, would began to listen to them talk. After a week she began to understand things like food, whore, slave, and sword. The ship, which she learned to be the monster she had seen, stopped in a port city, and a native noble was taken to see her, the captain was hopeful to make a sale before he had to begin to travel back to his homeland, as he was low on cash and supplies. The noble screamed and began yelling at the captain, screaming things that she did not understand, and was to weak and hungry to care. The captain laughed and tapped the bars of the cage saying "She won't be going anywhere you idiot, and you will not have her. She is worth a great deal to me alive."

The ship departed soon after that, heading back home. No one on that boat would ever see home again. One night her two guards decided to "express" their pent lust for woman flesh on the slave. It had been many moons since their last whore. She might be scary but she was attractive enough for their purposes, and they had never seen her do much but moan and vomit. They unlocked the cage and carefully relocked it, so that she could not escape their foul deeds. They began grabbing at her, tearing off the rags she wore and laughing. She ripped one throat out with her right hand, the other with her teeth. They didn't have a chance to scream. She then unlocked the cage, broke open one of the fresh water barrels, and cleaned her stench away. She found her equipment stuffed in a chest that she ripped open, and donned her armor and weapons. As well as grabbing a small sack filled with small gold, silver, and copper discs.

The other slaves died in their sleep, and she feasted on their flesh. Her hunger was voracious, and the hold's floor was covered in blood and bodies by the morning.

The men found blood on the main deck in the morning, and found two of their brethren to be missing. They searched the deck, thinking that Rol and Greame hat gotten drunk and drew swords on each other. The two that checked the lower decks never came up. The remaining eight sailors realized that the slave girl might have been so well armed for a reason. They themselves were each familiar with weapons, each being a criminal for at least one charge of slave trade, and had repelled the king's men a number of times.

They gathered their various weapons from the small armory near the captain’s quarters and went down to discover a gruesome sight. They found parts of their comrades strewn haphazardly throughout the holds, and they quaked in fear. None could have imagined what horror they had brought upon themselves. From the darkness she struck, and a man fell holding a stump of a leg and screaming of demonic red eyes. Then another fell, his head rolling beside his spasming corpse. Something hard slammed into her side, and she spun and broke a spine with her gauntleted fist. Another two, who seemed to know what their sabers where for rounded in on her, She sliced deep into the first man's throat, then executed a spinning sweep, knocking over the other warrior as he advanced behind her. Even before he hit the ground, her sword and sliced through his Adam’s apple, the point sticking out of the back of his skull, he spasmed then was still. She left the last three quaking in a corner of the hold, begging for mercy. The screaming of the legless man punctuated the scene with grisly cries and then silence as he succumbed to shock. She slid her sword out of the throat and began to drag the corpses to a closed off section of the hold, they would make a tasty meal. She cleaned the gore then settled herself in the captains quarters.

The survivors were shaken, and wanted nothing other than to escape. They were closest to their homeland of Strata, and sailed for home. Had they realized that she was keeping them alive only to keep their flesh free of rot, they may have pushed their vessel even farther. The journey would take early three weeks, with the crew as understaffed as it was. The only optimism the remainders could look forward to was that their own food stores would easily hold, having been readied for a 12 man crew, and that the mad woman seemed to have stated her bloodlust for now.

Even so, the water went bad when they were four days off of the cost of southern Strata, and Ne'iav'rine grew angry. The three survivors were starving and dying of thirst, and had blisters and welts across their bodies, as well as strange boils from the food that had been tainted with one of the slave's blood. She came upon deck and told them to make sure that the boat would continue to go in the same direction, they did as she told, not realizing what was to come. She killed the two of lower rank, leaving the only captain alive. They were a day from the coast, and all forms of hydration were consumed, food had been lost a week ago to rot and rats. The captain had died and been thrown overboard, for the disgusting smell, and the fact that his flesh was too ravaged by disease for her to consume. Ne'iav'rine was in a comma like state and would soon die. The ship had been blown far off course and was now headed for a large desert. She did not notice the ship slam into a sandy beach, and did not notice the strong withered old hands take a grip of her body and pull. When she did awake, she was not fully functioning. Her subconscious was open to influence as her consciousness tried to force itself back to existence. The trauma was so much that the inherent kindness of the old woman that had saved her wracked changes upon her basic self. The turmoil of her recent months had left her so unsure of herself, so open and weak and defenseless, that despite her inherent loathing of all other races, she found herself in need of companionship. The old woman spoke to her every night, and the Tharian language took even stronger hold.

It was good for her that her savior was a nearly blind hermit of a woman. The woman knew that her frail old body was near death, and wished for a companion to see her through to the other side. She cared for Ne'iav'rine's needs and not only brought her back from the brink of death, but imbued within her a strange virility. She gave life upon death, and brought goodness upon evil. All in the way only absolute, unconditional caring can.

When Ne'iav'rine awoke, she was too weak to move. Had she been able too, she might have killed the old woman. Since she could not, she listened to the woman, and watched her carefully. After a few days, she realized that she had no intent to harm the lady, and even worried about the way the woman shook. At night, before the woman went to bed, she would tell Ne'iav'rine stories about her life. From these, she deduced that the old woman's name was Seira. Also she came adept at the human tongue.

Despite herself, she actually enjoyed the comfort that the woman's constant caring gave her. There was something protective about the woman, that made Ne'iav'rine, for the first time in her life, feel safe. She was safer here with a woman she had never said a word to than she had been within a village of her own people who she had fought beside for almost two decades. She was safer now, unable to defend herself in any way, than she had been as the most capable warrior of her sect. Soon she was able to speak, though only softly. She told Seira of her life, and the horrible things that she had witnessed and done. She cried for the first time. In response the woman had not run in fear or killed her, instead she responded. "That was in the past, dear. The good thing about being able to think for yourself is the ability to repent. To forgive yourself and seek forgiveness." Ne'iav'rine took these words to heart. Especially "Think for yourself."

After two months of intensive care, Ne'iav'rine was able to walk about and help Seira with tasks that had to be done. For some reason she cared for the old woman, and made sure that she was happy. She learned basic upkeep, though she was never good at it, and always needed help. She helped garden and make dinner, which Seira faithfully ate. Only three days after Ne'iav'rine was back to good health, Seira died in her sleep. This was the first death that actually mattered to Ne'iav'rine, and it shook her to her core. She buried Seira and mourned for three nights, then stocked up all the supplies she could from the hermit's hut, and left for the north. While her months with Seira changed her, she soon became much more like her old self. She was comfortable that way. Still, deep inside, something was very different.

She came upon the city of Strata, and while she was questioned by the guards a great deal, she was admitted into the city. From there she found that she could make good coin doing odd merc jobs, and has been a sword for hire, for any side, since.

Edited by: Talia Sturmwind  at: 1/21/06 16:35
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She is suddenly a whirlwind of graceful death. Where there was once a steel monolith, there is now an eruption of violence and wrath. Her singing blades rend the stale air with their battle cries, as sirens they call to those who dare stand before her. Her blood is molten hate, and it churns in her veins like the rage of the gods. There is no mercy, there is no forgiveness, there is only salvation through shed blood. Fountains of sand meet her every movement, dance beside her as a partner to her power. Ne'iav'rine's prowess seems almost supernatural; as if even the earth applauded her ability with a display of divine preportions.

    -Ne'iav'rine
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« Reply #1 on: December 10, 2005, 03:19:22 AM »

Quote:
tournament?

Tournament.

Quote:
I know why and I know not why he is not executed on sight for his beliefs, I know that his beliefs will be shaken by somebody saving him when he is at the brink of death, and him being to weak to move for many weeks, and having to stay in this bed and be nurtured by this woman.

Chyrakisth are evil. Even compared to other orcs. People don't see them as just dangerous enemies (as with the regular orc), but as demons. In Santharia you might be given the benifit of the doubt (as people have little to no knowledge of the Chyrakisth) as with other orcs (maybe a bit less), but in Nybelmar you'll probably be killed on sight. There's no sane reason why anyone would save or nurture a hellspawn. And even if somebody was crazy enough to do it, to get to Santharia in one peace will be suicide. Not only you'll need to rent a boat (expensive, you need to come in the open and you'll need to learn Tharian), you'll need to get there as well.

That aside. There evil and you'll need a pretty good reason to change that.

Not that I'm saying you can't make this char, but just that it won't be easy. The sole reason why I tried one myself is because the tournament offered me a loophole to get them to Santharia (and in a story).

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« Reply #2 on: December 10, 2005, 04:17:22 AM »

he is going to commandeer a ship i think and nearly starve and die of thirst before reaching shore. Then he will be saved when the ship crashes upon santharia. which works off off the benifit of doubt hypothesis

You have lived a life of cruelty and atrocity, you have bathed in the blood of the innocent, you have considered every act of depravity and your corruption knows no bounds. I am the angel of justice, I am the accumulation of all of your sins. Prepare for your redemption.

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You have lived a life of cruelty and atrocity, you have bathed in the blood of the innocent, you have considered every act of depravity and your corruption knows no bounds. I am the angel of justice, I am the accumulation of all of your sins. Prepare for your redemption.

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« Reply #3 on: December 10, 2005, 09:02:22 AM »

You do know those orcs live far away from the sea right? So there's no chance on them having ships.

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« Reply #4 on: December 10, 2005, 10:18:22 AM »

yes,  I dont plan on commandeering an orcish ship. I think a human one will do nicely.:evil  

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She is suddenly a whirlwind of graceful death. Where there was once a steel monolith, there is now an eruption of violence and wrath. Her singing blades rend the stale air with their battle cries, as sirens they call to those who dare stand before her. Her blood is molten hate, and it churns in her veins like the rage of the gods. There is no mercy, there is no forgiveness, there is only salvation through shed blood. Fountains of sand meet her every movement, dance beside her as a partner to her power. Ne'iav'rine's prowess seems almost supernatural; as if even the earth applauded her ability with a display of divine preportions.

    -Ne'iav'rine
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« Reply #5 on: December 12, 2005, 03:10:22 AM »

Quote:
Feared and Hated: On nymblar his race is not only hated, they are seen as demons. Anyone who recognizes what he is will call for immediate aid and execution. His kind are not tolerated, even other orcs hate the Chyrakisth.

Other orcs won't hate him, because they don't know about the Chyrakisth. Only Orcristh maybe know of them, but don't know if they cause eachother that much trouble.

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« Reply #6 on: December 12, 2005, 04:14:22 AM »

all right, sorry about that, so basically people wont know who he is on santharia... there are no rumors or tales that have spread?

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She is suddenly a whirlwind of graceful death. Where there was once a steel monolith, there is now an eruption of violence and wrath. Her singing blades rend the stale air with their battle cries, as sirens they call to those who dare stand before her. Her blood is molten hate, and it churns in her veins like the rage of the gods. There is no mercy, there is no forgiveness, there is only salvation through shed blood. Fountains of sand meet her every movement, dance beside her as a partner to her power. Ne'iav'rine's prowess seems almost supernatural; as if even the earth applauded her ability with a display of divine preportions.

    -Ne'iav'rine
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« Reply #7 on: December 12, 2005, 05:34:22 AM »

I don't know if people would have much stories of what happens in Nybelmar. Perhaps some scholars or people that have been there could recognize him as a Chyrakisth, but most people probalby just think of him as 'some kind of orc'. Even orcs are rare, so many wouldn't even know how an orc looked like (aside from things they heard in tales).

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« Reply #8 on: December 12, 2005, 06:06:22 AM »

i think my new description of the weakness just about covers it
>:  

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She is suddenly a whirlwind of graceful death. Where there was once a steel monolith, there is now an eruption of violence and wrath. Her singing blades rend the stale air with their battle cries, as sirens they call to those who dare stand before her. Her blood is molten hate, and it churns in her veins like the rage of the gods. There is no mercy, there is no forgiveness, there is only salvation through shed blood. Fountains of sand meet her every movement, dance beside her as a partner to her power. Ne'iav'rine's prowess seems almost supernatural; as if even the earth applauded her ability with a display of divine preportions.

    -Ne'iav'rine
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« Reply #9 on: December 13, 2005, 06:17:22 PM »

Well, you might have a look at what I currently have here. There are some general things at the bottom from dev people.

Anyway, I'll just comment on your history.

History: Ne'iav'rine was born in a largely mountainous reagion of Nybelmar, into a powerful sect of the Chyrakisth. Try and be a bit more accurate here. You can have a look at the map here. The Co'orhem are on the right side of the Fallaerion Gaeldorioth, Chyrakisth live on the plains and in the mountains on the right and on the plains to the left. She was stronger and faster than any of her peers and quickly took control of everybody she could. Those who she could beat she beat, and she was sure to stay away from those she could not. This lifestyle did not endear itself to her. She often felt alone and hated that she had to constantly fear betrayal and battle for her very existance. She knew she could trust no one, yet longed for someone to confide with. This seems a bit odd. It's looks like you give a short overview, but in the next paragraph you just seem to continue like this all happened before she was an adult.

Soon she grew into an adult, and became known for her prowess as a warrior. She moved up the bloody ranks of her sect. After eighteen vicious duels for supremacy she became the war chief's second in command. I would make it years. I would also boost your age a little, it's too young for being a second in command I think. This is a race of warriors, so I doubt a youngster could grab power so soon. Also, you'll need to fight in order to keep your position as well. (For comparisment, mine will be about 35 or so when she makes it to chiefdom.) He feared that she would try to take his position as soon as she could. He was right. With this added power, Ne'iav'rine worried less and less about kinship, Again, you'll need to defend your position. And they probably won't worry about it too much. It's just their way of life. as her mind was filled with the bloodshed and carnage. She commanded troops by the front lines and showed by example how to win a battle. Her peers feared and respected her, and all knew that her cheiftains time was limited.

When Grosth, the warchief, sent a raiding party to slaughter yet annother group of innocent human peasents, Perhaps you could have a look at the Political map as well if you want to be able to reach both humans and elves. Also, if you're close enough to the Zsharkanions Peaks, you'll have the influence of the Obsidian King as well. Another thing would be that they would probably take most of the peasants as slaves (or at least as dinner) instead of just slaying them like for no reason. Ne'iav'rine stayed behind. She stayed and told Grosth of her intentions. He drew his blade, but had grown soft by staying behind the battle lines. As Ne'iav'rine slew him, she took this to note, and decided that the front lines were safer that the comman tent.

When the party came back, they found Ne'iav'rine with their Cheiftain's head speared onto her sword. She explained that if anybody had a reason to deny her role as the new war cheif, they should speak up now. The one male who did lasted nearly 20 seconds before her arrow impaled itself within his chest. As he lay gurgling and spouting blood from his wound, she ordered her troops back to the village, and followed them home.

Ok, you might be misunderstanding orcs a bit here. The correct way to claim leadership would be an open challange and a fight between you and the leader. No backstabbing or killing behind the back and no shooting down men for rising against you.

Also, you're forgetting some things here:
The leaders of a sect are always the highest ranking male and female who rule the sect with the consent of the most influental warriors and priests.
and
The Chyrakisth are not monogamous, the relationships changing with the rank of each individual. The highest ranking male being aligned to the highest ranking female and from there down the hierarchy. Given the violent society these relationship obviously change regularly. The offspring from these relationships is raised by the women only until they can walk, from there on they become part of the hierarchy and have to fight for their place in the sect, at first against those of their age, later when they reach adulthood they need to challenge older warriors to advance.
and
The ascension in a sect is regulated by duels between individuals. In theory one Chyrakisth can challenge any other individual of his own gender and higher in the hierarchy but highranking individuals have the right to demand someone lower in the hierarchy to fight in their place against a low ranking Chyrakisth that is below their honour, the obvious challenge being to not fight too many fights that exhaust one in a high position but fight enough fights to prove that one is still worthy of his place.

This rule applies to both genders, the only exception being pregnant females. Those fights are executed with fangs and claws only, however under normal circumstances the raw hands are already dangerous enough so special bracelets and necklets protect lethal parts like throat and arteries at arms and legs


She ruled the battle field with her expert raiders and cut down many foes in bloody war. After ten years of command Again, boost your age. she decided that she grew less cautious in her battles, and began to strike closer to the strong holds of her foes. Her small armies struck fear into the hearts of many elves, men. and dwarves. Looking at the map, I don't think you'll be able to bug out both men and dwarves. She had the skulls of fallen leaders adorned to her war tent, and had a gaint war bow made for her alone, and fashioned from the bows of her greatest enemies. Her small and powerful raiding parties could wipe out whole villages before anyone knew what was happening. They would retreat back to the mountains before any kind of resistance was mustered. Yet, no commander is perfect, and the Co'orhem soon set an ambush for Ne'iav'rine.

While their warriors hid in the surrounding forset, she and her eighty Chyrakisth charged into a larger town, which had few defences yet much good ore and supplies. As soon as they came to the town square, already suspicious of the town's emptyness, the elves began to rain volley after volley into their ranks. They scattered to find cover from the angry shots, only to find themselves vastly outnumbered by soldiers that had once been hidden. While they fought with the rage of Co'or, they did not stand a chance. The losses were astounding, and those who escaped carried the name Ne'iav'rine on their blades.

I doubt they would be after you for loosing a battle. It's possible, but unlikely. The orcish way would be to regroup and strike with vengeance.  And if anyone doesn't like the way you think they can challenge you for the leadership.

She had retreated back to her war tent, realizing that the survivors, especially Trun, her second in command, would be seeking her neck for this loss. She gathered all of her belongings, and waited in her tent for her challengers to come. Her axe in her left, and her sword in her right. Trun came with the two strongest warriors in Ne'iav'rine's ranks. The second they steped into the tent, she flashed from the shadows and imbedded her axe in Ursho's back. His screams died as she twisted the blade out an used her blade to hack of his head. The other two attacked with vicious blows to her head and left shoulder, She ducked under Trun's swinging club but felt her shoulder go numb and Morok's Glaive rang against her armor. Using her legs for added momentum, she swung with her axe and sliced Trun's leg off at the knee, deflecting Morok's whiring Glaive as the blood splattered across her steel wreathed chest. Morok advanced and with a powerfull blow knocked Ne'iav'rine's sword out of her hands, causing flows of shuddering pain to surge up and down her arm and shoulder. She swung with her axe and imbedded it into his helm, though unbenownst to her it delt no true damage to her hearty foe. The force of the attack stuned Morok, and he fell to the earth.

Three trained warriors agianst one? Even when you kill one by surprise it's unlikely to win. These guys are almost as good as you are (and probably better if take into account males and females have a seperated hierarchy).

Morok reawoke minutes afterwards and killed Trun with a geat blow to his skull. He then took control of the sect's warriors, detailing how Ne'iav'rine had betrayed he and Trun, and killed both Trun and Ursho. Then the decreed that Ne'iav'rine should be found and killed, and only then could honor be restored to the sect. Again, I think they'll rather restore honor by having there vengeance on the elves. They went out the following day searching for her, and have been at her heels since.

But, we grow ahead of ourselves. Ne'iav'rine heared the roars of the rest of her bleeding troops and decided that now was the time to leave. She grabbed her sword and quickly slipped out of the back of her tent. She ran faster than she had ever ran before, towards the east. By night fall she was coughing and knew she could run no longer. Ok, here lies the biggest problem of your CD in my oppinion. Orcs don't run, they face their opponents and defeat them or die trying. You can loose your honor by running (not counting a strategic retreat of course, they aren't stupid), not by being defeated. She also knew that she could live no longer on Nybelmar. The natives knew of her kind too well, she would be killed as soon as she was found. She also realized that her own sect would be searching for her, and she knew the prowess of her own troops. Nearly fifty of them had escaped with their lives, and each would want her throat.

It took her three weaks of travel under the cover of darkness to reach a port city. She stayed well into the forest, and circled untill she found a place that she could enter the water hidden. Where? In any case, you'll be crossing a lot of hostile territories and I don't know if there are forests everywhere. As a sidenote, sea water is really bad for anything made out of metal. Your weaponry might survive, but your armor might get a little rusty. Slowly she crept along the coast, almost drowning once or twice, until she came to the port itself. Amazed that her plan had succeeded thus far, she found a mid sized ship, that seemed as if it could weather the long journey to Sarvoria. She knew little to nothing about ships, and was worried about having to kill each crew member. The ship was not built for such a long journey.

Here's your second problem: she doesn't even know Sarvonia even excists. She's not going to know any more of the world other than the things about the place she grew up. That means she wouldn't know what way the coast was, how far each kingdom stretched and other stuff like that. And she wouldn't know any other language than her own, so she couldn't communicate with the crew or the old woman. And as a sidenote:
The Chyrakisth feed exclusively on meat, preferably raw and bloody. Most other food is only eaten because of its taste not because they can digest it.
You won't be living long on the provided supplies, as they normally don't have much meat in it. The crew would be a valid replacement of course :)  


Lucky for her it was filling its hull with provisions for a few weeks at sea, trading between port cities for a rich merchant. The West Wind was strong and sturdy, fast and well crewed. She stayed hidden from the city by the ships hull, and waited. A few hours later it began to move. She grabbed a hold and held fast, waiting for the proper moment. By the time she began to climb up the hull, she would have been only a dark speck upon the side of the ship by the city persons, and it was out of sounds reach anyways. She snuck into the lower holds, having to kill only two men to assure her arrival was unexpected.

She brought their bodies with her, keeping one on each shoulder. The men found blood on the deck in the morning, and found two of their bretheren to be missing. Each man that checked the lower holds did not come back. The remaining eight sailors realized that whatever was the root of their troubles was in the lower decks.

They drew their various weapons Why would a merchant sailor have weapons? and went down to discover a gruesome sight. They found parts of their comrades strewn haphazardy throughout the holds, and they quaked in fear. None could have imagined that a Chyrakisth had stown aboard. From the darkness she struck, and a man fell holding a stump of a leg and screaming of demonic red eyes. Then another fell, his head rolling beside his spasming corpse. Something hard slammed into her side, You can take three extremely well trained warriors, but not a buch of sailors? and she spun and broke somebodies spine with her gauntleted fist. She left the last three quaking in a corner of the hold, begging for mercy. Take me too Sarvoria, humans. Take me now. If you try to trick me, your fates will be worse than theirs. The screaming of the legless man punctuated her sentance with eerie silence. She slid her sword out of his throat and began to drag the corpses to the main deck and throw them overboard. She cleaned the gore then settled herself in the captains quarters.

The survivors were far too shaken by what they had seen to try and trick Ne'iav'rine, and after escaping the holds, set sail for Sarvoria. The journey would take nearly four weeks, and it was a good thing in some ways that most of the crew was dead. They only had enough water to last them two weeks at most, since fresh water is not hard to find when sailing aroung the coast of Nybelmar.

Even so, the water went bad when they were four days off of the cost of southern Strata, and Ne'iav'rine grew angry. The three survivors were starving and dying of thrist, as they were not allowed to eat more than a pitance of what they needed to survive. She came upon deck and told them to make sure that the boat would continue to go in the same direction, This is pretty much impossible. I know, cause I've steered a boat on a long distance trip on the sea (Belgium-Norway). You need continues readjusting of your directions. they did as she told, not realizing what was to come. She killed the two of lower rank, leaving the capitain alive.

They were a day from the coast, and all forms of hydration were consumed, food had been lost a week ago. The capitain had died and been thrown overboard. Ne'iav'rine was in a comma like state and would soon die. She did not notice the ship slam into a sandy beach, This depends on the coast of course, but generally, a large ship won't get to the beach but run itself to the ground before that. Depends on how deep the hull lies in the water and how deep the sea is. and did not notice the strong withered old hands take a grip of her body and pull.

When she did awake, she was not fully functioning. Her subconsious was open to influence as her consiousness tried to force itself back to existance. The trauma was so much that the inherent kindness of the old woman that had saved her wracked changes upon her basic self. The turmoil of her recent monthes had left her so unsure of herself, so open and weak and defenceless, that despite her inherent loathing of all other races, she found herself in need of companionship.

It was good for her that her savior was a nearly blind hermit of a woman. The woman knew that she was near death, and wished for a companion to see her through to the other side. She cared for Ne'iav'rine's needs and not only brought her back from the brink of death, but imbued within her a strange virility. She gave life upon death, and brought goodness upon evil. All in the way only absolute, unconditional caring can.

When Ne'iav'rine awoke, she was too weak to move. Had she been able too, she might have killed the old woman. Since she could not, she listened to the woman, and watched her carefully. After a few days, she realized that she had no intent to harm the lady, and even worried about the way the woman shook. At night, before the woman went to bed, she would tell Ne'iav'rine stories about her life. From these, she deduced that the old woman's name was Seira.

Despite herself, she actually enjoyed the comfort that the woman's constant caring gave her. There was something protective about the woman, that made Ne'iav'rine, for the first time in her life, feel safe. She was safer here with a woman she had never said a word to than she had been within a villiage of her own people who she had fought beside for a more than a decade. She was safer now, unable to defend herself in any way, than she had been as the most capable warrior of her sect. Soon she was able to speak, though only softly. She told Seira of her life, and the horrible things that she had witnessed and done. She cryed for the first time. In responce the woman had not run in fear or killed her, instead she responded. "That was in the past, dear. The good thing about being able to think for yourself is the ability to repent. To forgive yourself and seek forgiveness."

After two months of intensive care, Ne'iav'rine was about to walk about and help Seira with tasks that had to be done. For some reason she cared for the old woman, and made sure that she was happy. She learned basic upkeep, though she was never good at it, and always needed help. She helped garden and make dinner, which Seira faithfully ate. Only three days after Ne'iav'rine was back to good health, Seira died in her sleep. This was the first death that actually mattered to Ne'iav'rine, and it shook her to her core. She buried Seira and mourned for three nights, then stocked up all the supplies she could from the hermit's hut, and left for the north. While her months with Seira changed her, she soon became much more like her old self. She was comfortable that way. Still, deep inside, something was very different.

Edited by: Marvin Cerambit  at: 12/13/05 10:18
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« Reply #10 on: December 14, 2005, 12:05:22 AM »

thnx for the help, ill get on this as soon as i get home from skewl.

You have lived a life of cruelty and atrocity, you have bathed in the blood of the innocent, you have considered every act of depravity and your corruption knows no bounds. I am the angel of justice, I am the accumulation of all of your sins. Prepare for your redemption.

-Kain Cristar, Divine Aspect

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You have lived a life of cruelty and atrocity, you have bathed in the blood of the innocent, you have considered every act of depravity and your corruption knows no bounds. I am the angel of justice, I am the accumulation of all of your sins. Prepare for your redemption.

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« Reply #11 on: December 14, 2005, 01:02:22 PM »

this is mostly an avatar check;)  

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She is suddenly a whirlwind of graceful death. Where there was once a steel monolith, there is now an eruption of violence and wrath. Her singing blades rend the stale air with their battle cries, as sirens they call to those who dare stand before her. Her blood is molten hate, and it churns in her veins like the rage of the gods. There is no mercy, there is no forgiveness, there is only salvation through shed blood. Fountains of sand meet her every movement, dance beside her as a partner to her power. Ne'iav'rine's prowess seems almost supernatural; as if even the earth applauded her ability with a display of divine preportions.

    -Ne'iav'rine
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« Reply #12 on: December 14, 2005, 01:03:22 PM »

ok, lets try again

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She is suddenly a whirlwind of graceful death. Where there was once a steel monolith, there is now an eruption of violence and wrath. Her singing blades rend the stale air with their battle cries, as sirens they call to those who dare stand before her. Her blood is molten hate, and it churns in her veins like the rage of the gods. There is no mercy, there is no forgiveness, there is only salvation through shed blood. Fountains of sand meet her every movement, dance beside her as a partner to her power. Ne'iav'rine's prowess seems almost supernatural; as if even the earth applauded her ability with a display of divine preportions.

    -Ne'iav'rine
Neiavrine
Sinister Beauty
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Orc, Chyrakisth


« Reply #13 on: December 14, 2005, 12:10:22 PM »

one last try?:upset     :crazy      Ok good

About her flight. Perhaps she considers herself worthy of life after having fought off Thrun and his cronnies. She is rather selfish and really likes to live, so she might smudge her own honor in order to do so. Thrun is kinda a backstabber in the hend. He is too cowardly to attack Ne'iav'rine by himself, knowing that she is a warrior of great abilities, so after having to kill a bunch of cowards who really lust for the power of the war cheif position, she is already shying away from her old system of honor.

I figure that Strata is big enough that i would not miss the desert. I mean if it's that bad then i will change it, though it seems like an anti realism that could be smudged.

I figure that she won because of greater experiance, suprise, and her armor. None of her foes were armored as well as she was, and this saved her from some deadly blows.

The sailor hitting her in the back was a lucky blow. She was busy killing three of his buddies. They are armed becase pirates do exist, such as theadras. Doesn't he do Nybelmar?

I am going to go over the whole jounrey with a map soon, then everyhin will make sence.

Edited by: Neiavrine  at: 12/14/05 5:21
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She is suddenly a whirlwind of graceful death. Where there was once a steel monolith, there is now an eruption of violence and wrath. Her singing blades rend the stale air with their battle cries, as sirens they call to those who dare stand before her. Her blood is molten hate, and it churns in her veins like the rage of the gods. There is no mercy, there is no forgiveness, there is only salvation through shed blood. Fountains of sand meet her every movement, dance beside her as a partner to her power. Ne'iav'rine's prowess seems almost supernatural; as if even the earth applauded her ability with a display of divine preportions.

    -Ne'iav'rine
Marvin Cerambit
Carvin' Marvin
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Orc, Gob-Oc


« Reply #14 on: December 15, 2005, 06:45:22 AM »

Quote:
About her flight. Perhaps she considers herself worthy of life after having fought off Thrun and his cronnies. She is rather selfish and really likes to live, so she might smudge her own honor in order to do so. Thrun is kinda a backstabber in the hend. He is too cowardly to attack Ne'iav'rine by himself, knowing that she is a warrior of great abilities, so after having to kill a bunch of cowards who really lust for the power of the war cheif position, she is already shying away from her old system of honor.

Well, I'm not too sure what exactly you mean, but running away is just non-orcish. You can always try to come up with a good reason though, but it should certainly be in your history.
As for being a backstabber, how would that help? Once your people find out what you did, I don't think you would have any benifit of it. Even if they don't take repercussions, I doubt you'd have much honor left in there eyes. And you still have the language barrier to keep in mind.

Quote:
I figure that Strata is big enough that i would not miss the desert. I mean if it's that bad then i will change it, though it seems like an anti realism that could be smudged.

That wasn't the point really. It's highly doubteble you would even know there's such a thing as a sea or ocean, so how would you even know about different continents? It would be pretty stupid to just sail into the unknown without any idea what might be on the other side, if anything at all.

Quote:
They are armed becase pirates do exist, such as theadras. Doesn't he do Nybelmar?

The average sailor won't be armed. And even if he did own a weapon, he wouldn't carry it on him. It could only get in the way. (This is not counting things like daggers or knives, as most of them will carry one of those on them for practical reasons.)

Edited by: Marvin Cerambit  at: 12/14/05 22:46
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