A Kingdom's Fate (Rp): Ended.
- Thread starter Jav3lin
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Oh come on people, the Templates aren't that long 
Anyway, I've decided that I will not be playing as a character in the group, but much rather introducing the challanges and playing as merchants / NPC's you come across.
Quests will be introduced in a manner of a long chat dialogue, explaining the details of what your Quest is and then summing it up in the end, so following those instruction shouldn't be hard.
At any rate, let's see those sheets! Remember, you always have until end of audition to edit and tweak your sheets.
Anyway, I've decided that I will not be playing as a character in the group, but much rather introducing the challanges and playing as merchants / NPC's you come across.
Quests will be introduced in a manner of a long chat dialogue, explaining the details of what your Quest is and then summing it up in the end, so following those instruction shouldn't be hard.
At any rate, let's see those sheets! Remember, you always have until end of audition to edit and tweak your sheets.
Name: Paul Rinen Loarin
Age: 40
Gender: M
Race: Kin-Dwarf
Class: Bard
Skills: As an expert Bard, Rinen has truly mastered his flute, and can produce enchanting melodies that leaves bystanders in awe. His voice is low pitched and dark, but he is still considered a marvelous singer by most standards. He knows many ancient stories, taught to him during his younger years.
Rinen's agility, charisma and natural sleight of hand makes him an excellent spy and thief, when needed.
Appearance: Rinen is normal sized, as far as dwarves go. He is not overly muscular, but should not be underestimated when it comes to strength. He is not fat, although he is "well fed", and his slight roundness gives a slightly calming and harmonic image. He has well long, well groomed facial hair, the same colour as his just as well groomed hair -deep Mahogany Brown-, although more than a few gray hairs have nestled themselves in with the rest, to Rinen's big reluctance.
His eyes are as brown as his hair, but still shine with happiness and joy of life. People who see him often get the impression that he is a jolly and constantly happy person.
Equipment: His dagger, a family heirloom, passed down from father to oldest son in many generation. It is a fine piece of blacksmithery, and has sustained its natural sharpness through the years with minimal service.
His flute, crafted by himself at the age of 18, when his last flute broke. It is made from the pine-like trees growing on the slopes of the Northern Mountains. Although not much to the world, it's probably Rinen's most valued possession.
He wears no actual armor, but prefers to travel light. He wears apurple spandex gimp suit green wool traveling coat, with silk and linen clothes underneath. He has a water skin filled with wine hanging from his side, and a haversack containing food, mostly culinary delicacies such as matured cheese and dried meat and the occasional fruit.
He has no gold, but he figures he can easily get it. Either by stealing it in any city or by performing his music. The same goes for food.
Personality: Rinen is calm and and happy and dislikes violence. He is optimistic and loud mouthed, especially when drunk (which he is quite often). Despite his dwarfish nature he is bad with money, and never has any larger sums for longer periods of time. He tends to spend much of his worldly assets on wine and women (dwarfish, elven, human -doesn't matter to him). He has no moral qualms with stealing, and sees it as just as good a way to make a living as any.
Rinen is easy to befriend, but hard to really get to know. He tends to disarm any emotional confrontation with jokes, and his only true fear is to become too emotionally attached to people. He is largely ego centric, but he also wishes everyone well.
Although he is no fan of violence, he will not hesitate to use it while protecting himself and those few he care about.
Backstory: Growing up, in a upper-middleclass merchant family, and spending his youth years in Munden did not have the effect on Rinen his parents had hoped for. Instead of learning about different ores, trading, or even conventional combat, as his father emphasized, Rinen was only pro-active whenever a bard was in town. He learned from both Men and Kin-Dwarves alike, and the passing bards did a more thorough job raising him than he'd ever let his parents do, in the end they accepted it. He learned how to craft instruments of music. He was taught many ancient tales of distant lands and oceans, with magical and horrible creatures. He spent many sleepless nights learning the precise finger movements of picking a pocket the best way, or experimenting with different flute techniques.
When he turned 19 he left the town of Munden, and has ever since traveled most parts of the civilized world, seeking to learn from whatever lessons Giya may have in store for him.
Extra / Note: Has been arrested for theft and being drunk and disorderly in public in both Herelden and Wesburg, and may be recognized in many parts of the land, as he has quite the reputation.
Age: 40
Gender: M
Race: Kin-Dwarf
Class: Bard
Skills: As an expert Bard, Rinen has truly mastered his flute, and can produce enchanting melodies that leaves bystanders in awe. His voice is low pitched and dark, but he is still considered a marvelous singer by most standards. He knows many ancient stories, taught to him during his younger years.
Rinen's agility, charisma and natural sleight of hand makes him an excellent spy and thief, when needed.
Appearance: Rinen is normal sized, as far as dwarves go. He is not overly muscular, but should not be underestimated when it comes to strength. He is not fat, although he is "well fed", and his slight roundness gives a slightly calming and harmonic image. He has well long, well groomed facial hair, the same colour as his just as well groomed hair -deep Mahogany Brown-, although more than a few gray hairs have nestled themselves in with the rest, to Rinen's big reluctance.
His eyes are as brown as his hair, but still shine with happiness and joy of life. People who see him often get the impression that he is a jolly and constantly happy person.
Equipment: His dagger, a family heirloom, passed down from father to oldest son in many generation. It is a fine piece of blacksmithery, and has sustained its natural sharpness through the years with minimal service.
His flute, crafted by himself at the age of 18, when his last flute broke. It is made from the pine-like trees growing on the slopes of the Northern Mountains. Although not much to the world, it's probably Rinen's most valued possession.
He wears no actual armor, but prefers to travel light. He wears a
He has no gold, but he figures he can easily get it. Either by stealing it in any city or by performing his music. The same goes for food.
Personality: Rinen is calm and and happy and dislikes violence. He is optimistic and loud mouthed, especially when drunk (which he is quite often). Despite his dwarfish nature he is bad with money, and never has any larger sums for longer periods of time. He tends to spend much of his worldly assets on wine and women (dwarfish, elven, human -doesn't matter to him). He has no moral qualms with stealing, and sees it as just as good a way to make a living as any.
Rinen is easy to befriend, but hard to really get to know. He tends to disarm any emotional confrontation with jokes, and his only true fear is to become too emotionally attached to people. He is largely ego centric, but he also wishes everyone well.
Although he is no fan of violence, he will not hesitate to use it while protecting himself and those few he care about.
Backstory: Growing up, in a upper-middleclass merchant family, and spending his youth years in Munden did not have the effect on Rinen his parents had hoped for. Instead of learning about different ores, trading, or even conventional combat, as his father emphasized, Rinen was only pro-active whenever a bard was in town. He learned from both Men and Kin-Dwarves alike, and the passing bards did a more thorough job raising him than he'd ever let his parents do, in the end they accepted it. He learned how to craft instruments of music. He was taught many ancient tales of distant lands and oceans, with magical and horrible creatures. He spent many sleepless nights learning the precise finger movements of picking a pocket the best way, or experimenting with different flute techniques.
When he turned 19 he left the town of Munden, and has ever since traveled most parts of the civilized world, seeking to learn from whatever lessons Giya may have in store for him.
Extra / Note: Has been arrested for theft and being drunk and disorderly in public in both Herelden and Wesburg, and may be recognized in many parts of the land, as he has quite the reputation.
Name: Aer'rad Kennyr
Age: 50
Gender: M
Race: Elves
Class: Tracker
Skills: Aer'rad has been trained from birth to be a warrior. He has extensive training when it comes to the fields of archery and tracking. Though he is considered young by the elves he has plenty of battlefield experience. He is an expert when it comes to hit and run tactics and ambushes thanks to his years training in the forests of Flemwood. Aer'rad is rather weak even amongst other elves. It doesn't take many blows until
Aer'rad goes down. Though what he lacks in strength and endurance he makes up in speed and his amazing reflexes. His survival skills are on par with any other Tracker out there. His years of battle and training also have granted him deadly accuracy. His skills with a bow and arrow are unmatched by anyone else he has ever met.
Appearance: Aer'rad stands at 5'8 and weighs around 95 pounds, though his delicate body makes it seem that he is taller than he really is. He wears his hair uncut and open which compliment his graceful, fragile features.
He has no beard growth what so ever. He has been described as having star like eyes, a face brighter than the sun, and golden-colored hair.
Equipment: Aer'rad prefers to travel light for a several of reasons. He wears an outfit similar to this:
His weapon of choice is his hand crafted bow. Aer'rad's bow was made from elms wood which is a strong flexible building material. His bow is the second most precious thing to him. Besides his bow he carries a small dagger which he carries on his waist in case of close in counters.
He carries a bag of basic survival gear. Water, extra rations of food, a box of tinder, rope, first-aid kit.
Gold: 500
Personality: Aer'rad is people-oriented and fun-loving, he tends to make things more fun for others by his enjoyment. Living for the moment, he loves new experiences. He is likely to be the center of attention in social situations. He has a well-developed common sense and practical ability.
In battle and serious situations he essentially becomes a different person. He blocks out the world around him and assumes a "tunnel vision" frame of mind.
Backstory: The Kennyr was one of the most known family lines throughout Elven history. They where known for giving birth to the most skilled and deadly elven warriors. Aer'rad was the 3rd born son of the 'blus branch of the family.
From birth he was raised to be a warrior. After 20 years of training he enlisted in the Mal army. There he honed his skills protecting Flemwood from various would be invaders. As the Order of Flem started to expand they needed loyal warriors to deal with many new "issues" that arose in the elven society. Aer'rad and many other skilled elven soldiers where chosen to be a part of a secret division of the Mal army strictly under the command of the leaders of the Order of Flem.
Since then he has been in service to the Order of the Flem.
Extra / Note: After joining the Order of the Flem Aer'rad and one of his brothers where out in the Flemwoods. There they were ambushed by elves who where against the order. Aer'rad and his brother were outnumbered 2:30.
They fought though eventually Aer'rad's brother fell mortally wounded. Aer'rad was eventually able to finish off the rest of the attackers though it was to late for his brother. Though as his brother lay on the brink of death he gave his younger brother one last gift, a golden medallion that bore their family?s crest.
Age: 50
Gender: M
Race: Elves
Class: Tracker
Skills: Aer'rad has been trained from birth to be a warrior. He has extensive training when it comes to the fields of archery and tracking. Though he is considered young by the elves he has plenty of battlefield experience. He is an expert when it comes to hit and run tactics and ambushes thanks to his years training in the forests of Flemwood. Aer'rad is rather weak even amongst other elves. It doesn't take many blows until
Aer'rad goes down. Though what he lacks in strength and endurance he makes up in speed and his amazing reflexes. His survival skills are on par with any other Tracker out there. His years of battle and training also have granted him deadly accuracy. His skills with a bow and arrow are unmatched by anyone else he has ever met.
Appearance: Aer'rad stands at 5'8 and weighs around 95 pounds, though his delicate body makes it seem that he is taller than he really is. He wears his hair uncut and open which compliment his graceful, fragile features.
He has no beard growth what so ever. He has been described as having star like eyes, a face brighter than the sun, and golden-colored hair.
Equipment: Aer'rad prefers to travel light for a several of reasons. He wears an outfit similar to this:
His weapon of choice is his hand crafted bow. Aer'rad's bow was made from elms wood which is a strong flexible building material. His bow is the second most precious thing to him. Besides his bow he carries a small dagger which he carries on his waist in case of close in counters.
He carries a bag of basic survival gear. Water, extra rations of food, a box of tinder, rope, first-aid kit.
Gold: 500
Personality: Aer'rad is people-oriented and fun-loving, he tends to make things more fun for others by his enjoyment. Living for the moment, he loves new experiences. He is likely to be the center of attention in social situations. He has a well-developed common sense and practical ability.
In battle and serious situations he essentially becomes a different person. He blocks out the world around him and assumes a "tunnel vision" frame of mind.
Backstory: The Kennyr was one of the most known family lines throughout Elven history. They where known for giving birth to the most skilled and deadly elven warriors. Aer'rad was the 3rd born son of the 'blus branch of the family.
From birth he was raised to be a warrior. After 20 years of training he enlisted in the Mal army. There he honed his skills protecting Flemwood from various would be invaders. As the Order of Flem started to expand they needed loyal warriors to deal with many new "issues" that arose in the elven society. Aer'rad and many other skilled elven soldiers where chosen to be a part of a secret division of the Mal army strictly under the command of the leaders of the Order of Flem.
Since then he has been in service to the Order of the Flem.
Extra / Note: After joining the Order of the Flem Aer'rad and one of his brothers where out in the Flemwoods. There they were ambushed by elves who where against the order. Aer'rad and his brother were outnumbered 2:30.
They fought though eventually Aer'rad's brother fell mortally wounded. Aer'rad was eventually able to finish off the rest of the attackers though it was to late for his brother. Though as his brother lay on the brink of death he gave his younger brother one last gift, a golden medallion that bore their family?s crest.
I know you going to find something wrong. Just tell me so I can edit it faster.
Paul the Gimp? I like him, I wanna see more of that guy, screw that Dwarf-Bard, whoever that is.
Nah but yeah, I like the drunken reputation and Backstory-related equipment.
The sheet is quite well written, but there are some failures like "Dwarfs" and twice the same word; but that's bypassable.
At any rate, I like your character, let's see those sheets people!
An Elven Tracker? How nice!
Although, reading "The Order of the Flem and theFlemmwoods gave me a giggle.
Would you mind putting the picture in a spoiler and remove the "etc" from Equipment, for I want exactly what you are carrying so I can write it down and keep track of it.
Thank you.
Nah but yeah, I like the drunken reputation and Backstory-related equipment.
The sheet is quite well written, but there are some failures like "Dwarfs" and twice the same word; but that's bypassable.
At any rate, I like your character, let's see those sheets people!
An Elven Tracker? How nice!
Although, reading "The Order of the Flem and theFlemmwoods gave me a giggle.
Would you mind putting the picture in a spoiler and remove the "etc" from Equipment, for I want exactly what you are carrying so I can write it down and keep track of it.
Thank you.
Reserve is a tad late, although you have time to write up a sheet as of now.Captain Pirate said:
I'll put you on the reserve list, but you got limited sheet-writing-time my friend, and you better hope it's good
I want experienced players with good vocabulary and nice RP skills, as well as fluid english (almost fluid is acceptable).
I want this RP to go like clockwork, but if your sheet is good, you might get in!
Auditions will end tomorrow night!!
EDIT: Who's sheets are submitted has been added to post #3.
Name: Skaar
Age: 23
Gender: Male
Race: Half-Bound (formerly human)
Class: Death Knight
Skills: Skaar is a master of his chosen weapon, the bonesword; a grotesque creation called forth from his own body by his degenerate half-bound magicks. He also has an innate understanding of magick and it's workings, but prefers to use Necromancy over all others.
Appearance: Skaar stands at around 6'3. He would be rather handsome, save for his trademark scar; a ragged, guttural wound which tears across his face from ear to chin, neatly splitting the mess of burnt tissue which is his face. He doesn't care much for vanity, and so he leaves his raven-black hair ragged, cut roughly at mid-neck. His eyes are a deep, brooding crimson. He is fit, but slim, his body taughtly muscled and scarred heavily from the process in which a Shade (Evil Soul) was bound to him; these wounds are not the only sign, though. A massive pentagram is etched across the skin of his chest, the "ink" constantly writhing and flowing beneath his skin. Whenever he calls upon his innate Dark Magic, the "tattoo" expands, to the point where his entire body is covered in archaic sigils and lines.
Equipment: Skaar carries no weapon on his person, as he can call forth the Bonesword from his own body at will, literally tearing the "blade" out from the base of his spine. What he does carry is a set of full plate-amor, obtained from... only the Gods know where. The armor itself is grotesque, the pauldron and chestpieces engraved in the shape of leering skulls, as is his helm, which strongly resembles an equine skull. The armor is wreathed in a ragged black shroud. At his waist are a series of pouches, which contain coins, tinder, and a few time-worn knick knacks from his past.
List:
1x Set of Plate-Armor and shroud
5x pouches containing: Carving knife, coins, flint and tinder, a single, blackened coin of unknown signifigance
75x coins
Personality: Ever since the ritual of his bonding, Skaars old consciousness was subsumed by the Daemon which possesed him; but since the ritual was preformed imperfectly, this was not the case. His former self and the Daemon have merged together into a single entity, which re-named itself "Skaar". Skaar is quiet, withdrawn, preferring to stay on the periphery and avoid conversation, but he is by no means a coward. When the time for battle comes, Skaar is a fiend, utilizing everything and anything at his disposal to come out on top. He shows his enemies no respect; those who stand in his way will be cut down, brutally and efficiently, without any remorse.
Backstory: Skaars past life is shrouded in mystery, and may indeed never be known. What we do know is this; he was an orphan, living on the streets of the Capital Cities slums, till he was taken in by a strange old man. The old man was a member of a Gaudamn Cult, and he promised the young boy that, if he did as he said, then he would never go hungry again.
One thing lead to another, and Skaar was told that he would undergo a ritual which would make him "Fearless" and "immune to pain". In short, they told him that it would make him invincible; and that he could help them usher in a new era, where no one went hungry, where all were happy, safe and lived in peace.
Naively, he believed them, and so the ritual began. He was drugged and restrained during the ordeal, and soon, they had attratced the attention of a Dark Soul, and an extremely powerful one at that. The old man believed that they had finally found the weapon their cult needed; a Half-Bound of tremendous power, a creature which, under their command, would serve as their Dark Champion in a war against the Living. But something went horribly wrong as the Soul attempted to posses the boy; whether it was a mis-labling in the binding circle, or an mispronounced incantation, the binding was botched; yet it was not a failure. The Soul was bound within the boy, but the mortal retained control instead of being subsumed. Driven mad by the pain of having his soul half-devoured, the boy broke out of his bonds and proceeded to slaughter every single member of the cult that had taken him in, before passing out, slumped on the floor admist the broken and mangled bodies of the men and women who had taken him in off the streets.
When he regained conciousness, his own soul and that of the Daemon had merged into one: a being that was truly Half-Bound. From that day on, no word was ever heard of the boy again; but there were whispers in the slums of a creature which stalked the alleyways at night, committing murderous acts of vigilante justice upon the cities criminals, leaving their bodies broken apart and mangled in the streets. Within a few monthes, crime had stopped entirely in the slums: no one dared commit a crime, for fear of retribution from the creature which prowled the night. This continued for 4 years, when Skaar left the city, traveling abroad to places held in the grip of bandits, criminals, or other Half-Bounds-and butchering them. Knowing that he has only a decade or so left to live, Skaar has vowed to do as much as he can before he expires, and as such has embarked on a murderous crusade, scouring the land for scum in need of slaughter.
Gaiya help those who stand in his way.
Appearance:
Age: 23
Gender: Male
Race: Half-Bound (formerly human)
Class: Death Knight
Skills: Skaar is a master of his chosen weapon, the bonesword; a grotesque creation called forth from his own body by his degenerate half-bound magicks. He also has an innate understanding of magick and it's workings, but prefers to use Necromancy over all others.
Appearance: Skaar stands at around 6'3. He would be rather handsome, save for his trademark scar; a ragged, guttural wound which tears across his face from ear to chin, neatly splitting the mess of burnt tissue which is his face. He doesn't care much for vanity, and so he leaves his raven-black hair ragged, cut roughly at mid-neck. His eyes are a deep, brooding crimson. He is fit, but slim, his body taughtly muscled and scarred heavily from the process in which a Shade (Evil Soul) was bound to him; these wounds are not the only sign, though. A massive pentagram is etched across the skin of his chest, the "ink" constantly writhing and flowing beneath his skin. Whenever he calls upon his innate Dark Magic, the "tattoo" expands, to the point where his entire body is covered in archaic sigils and lines.
Equipment: Skaar carries no weapon on his person, as he can call forth the Bonesword from his own body at will, literally tearing the "blade" out from the base of his spine. What he does carry is a set of full plate-amor, obtained from... only the Gods know where. The armor itself is grotesque, the pauldron and chestpieces engraved in the shape of leering skulls, as is his helm, which strongly resembles an equine skull. The armor is wreathed in a ragged black shroud. At his waist are a series of pouches, which contain coins, tinder, and a few time-worn knick knacks from his past.
List:
1x Set of Plate-Armor and shroud
5x pouches containing: Carving knife, coins, flint and tinder, a single, blackened coin of unknown signifigance
75x coins
Personality: Ever since the ritual of his bonding, Skaars old consciousness was subsumed by the Daemon which possesed him; but since the ritual was preformed imperfectly, this was not the case. His former self and the Daemon have merged together into a single entity, which re-named itself "Skaar". Skaar is quiet, withdrawn, preferring to stay on the periphery and avoid conversation, but he is by no means a coward. When the time for battle comes, Skaar is a fiend, utilizing everything and anything at his disposal to come out on top. He shows his enemies no respect; those who stand in his way will be cut down, brutally and efficiently, without any remorse.
Backstory: Skaars past life is shrouded in mystery, and may indeed never be known. What we do know is this; he was an orphan, living on the streets of the Capital Cities slums, till he was taken in by a strange old man. The old man was a member of a Gaudamn Cult, and he promised the young boy that, if he did as he said, then he would never go hungry again.
One thing lead to another, and Skaar was told that he would undergo a ritual which would make him "Fearless" and "immune to pain". In short, they told him that it would make him invincible; and that he could help them usher in a new era, where no one went hungry, where all were happy, safe and lived in peace.
Naively, he believed them, and so the ritual began. He was drugged and restrained during the ordeal, and soon, they had attratced the attention of a Dark Soul, and an extremely powerful one at that. The old man believed that they had finally found the weapon their cult needed; a Half-Bound of tremendous power, a creature which, under their command, would serve as their Dark Champion in a war against the Living. But something went horribly wrong as the Soul attempted to posses the boy; whether it was a mis-labling in the binding circle, or an mispronounced incantation, the binding was botched; yet it was not a failure. The Soul was bound within the boy, but the mortal retained control instead of being subsumed. Driven mad by the pain of having his soul half-devoured, the boy broke out of his bonds and proceeded to slaughter every single member of the cult that had taken him in, before passing out, slumped on the floor admist the broken and mangled bodies of the men and women who had taken him in off the streets.
When he regained conciousness, his own soul and that of the Daemon had merged into one: a being that was truly Half-Bound. From that day on, no word was ever heard of the boy again; but there were whispers in the slums of a creature which stalked the alleyways at night, committing murderous acts of vigilante justice upon the cities criminals, leaving their bodies broken apart and mangled in the streets. Within a few monthes, crime had stopped entirely in the slums: no one dared commit a crime, for fear of retribution from the creature which prowled the night. This continued for 4 years, when Skaar left the city, traveling abroad to places held in the grip of bandits, criminals, or other Half-Bounds-and butchering them. Knowing that he has only a decade or so left to live, Skaar has vowed to do as much as he can before he expires, and as such has embarked on a murderous crusade, scouring the land for scum in need of slaughter.
Gaiya help those who stand in his way.
Appearance:
>=D All we need now is a Drow female!!!
@Jav3lin: Ack, be patient Mr. Iceland! Nukey is suffering from a virus and wishes not to be rushed.
[sup]That and pateince makes you look more professional[/sup]
Oh, and I'll finish the bio and fix all the spelling mistakes sometime tomorrow, seeing as I'm tired as hell right now...
EDIT: Just so you all know, I'm not taking part in the first chapter, and have talked with Jav3lin about appearing later in the story. For now, expect editing and whatnot.
[sup]That and pateince makes you look more professional
[/sup]Oh, and I'll finish the bio and fix all the spelling mistakes sometime tomorrow, seeing as I'm tired as hell right now...
Name: Warees "The Professional" Blackwood
Age: 31
Gender:Manly Man! Male
Race: Men
Class: Berserker
Skills: Warees has surprisingly good luck, despite rarely knowing what he's doing. A magnificent bastard, to put it simply, plays against the odds and wins regularly due to nothing other than dumb, random luck. This extraordinary luck seems to be in affect at all times, helping him win many drinking contests and card games, along with battle field skirmishes.
He also is great at thinking on his feet and getting creative while fighting, resulting in some quick getaways, unusual combat tactics[sup][1][/sup], and his continued survival.
[sup][1]Throwing dust in people's eyes, tripping opponents, aiming for the groin or other sensitives areas, throwing punches or kicks, and using random objects as weapons if he is disarmed.[/sup]
Appearance: Surprisingly scrawny looking, for a warrior at least. He stands at no more than 5'10, weighs about 150 pounds, and has a rather typical build. By no means is he a weakling, he just doesn't appear as fit as he should. Black hair sits atop his head, short in length, though somehow still scruffy looking. A goatee covers his chin. Green eyed; light skinned; and rarely looks alert.
He dresses rather casually compared to most Berserkers, dressing more for comfort rather than anything else. A black vest adorns his chest, worn over a dark red shirt woven from silk, with a pair of matching black trousers. He is not defenseless, however, as portions of chainmail have been weaved into his clothing, covering everywhere expect the joints and head. He also has a hood that he will wear on rainy days.
Equipment: A large, two-handed claymore is normally seen slung over his back, neatly tucked inside of its sheath. It is a rather simplistic weapon, requiring little coordination to use, thus allowing Warees to swing about randomly and hope to hit something.
He also carries around a burlap sack, not being able to find a proper bag to hold his belongings in. Inside of the sack there are all sorts of random supplies, such as: dried food, bottles of cheap ale, a pouch Black Rock, a pipe, a journal, and a few writing utensils.
Gold: 143
Personality: Warees never takes anything as seriously as he should, often cracking jokes at times where humor is inappropriate, leading to him having somewhat of a dark sense of humor. He lacks any form of self restraint or limits also, constantly acting like an ass and starting fights for the pure joy of it, or offending those he's working with. Needless to say, he's very difficult to work with, and prefers to handle things his way rather than with a group.
Extra / Note: -He often can be seen drawing in his journal when he's bored and/or sober, and because of frequent practice, he's a fairly talented artist.
-His title, "The Professional", is self-given for reasons unknown to all but himself, however, most assume it to be him just being egomaniac.
Age: 31
Gender:
Race: Men
Class: Berserker
Skills: Warees has surprisingly good luck, despite rarely knowing what he's doing. A magnificent bastard, to put it simply, plays against the odds and wins regularly due to nothing other than dumb, random luck. This extraordinary luck seems to be in affect at all times, helping him win many drinking contests and card games, along with battle field skirmishes.
He also is great at thinking on his feet and getting creative while fighting, resulting in some quick getaways, unusual combat tactics[sup][1][/sup], and his continued survival.
[sup][1]Throwing dust in people's eyes, tripping opponents, aiming for the groin or other sensitives areas, throwing punches or kicks, and using random objects as weapons if he is disarmed.[/sup]
Appearance: Surprisingly scrawny looking, for a warrior at least. He stands at no more than 5'10, weighs about 150 pounds, and has a rather typical build. By no means is he a weakling, he just doesn't appear as fit as he should. Black hair sits atop his head, short in length, though somehow still scruffy looking. A goatee covers his chin. Green eyed; light skinned; and rarely looks alert.
He dresses rather casually compared to most Berserkers, dressing more for comfort rather than anything else. A black vest adorns his chest, worn over a dark red shirt woven from silk, with a pair of matching black trousers. He is not defenseless, however, as portions of chainmail have been weaved into his clothing, covering everywhere expect the joints and head. He also has a hood that he will wear on rainy days.
Equipment: A large, two-handed claymore is normally seen slung over his back, neatly tucked inside of its sheath. It is a rather simplistic weapon, requiring little coordination to use, thus allowing Warees to swing about randomly and hope to hit something.
He also carries around a burlap sack, not being able to find a proper bag to hold his belongings in. Inside of the sack there are all sorts of random supplies, such as: dried food, bottles of cheap ale, a pouch Black Rock, a pipe, a journal, and a few writing utensils.
Gold: 143
Personality: Warees never takes anything as seriously as he should, often cracking jokes at times where humor is inappropriate, leading to him having somewhat of a dark sense of humor. He lacks any form of self restraint or limits also, constantly acting like an ass and starting fights for the pure joy of it, or offending those he's working with. Needless to say, he's very difficult to work with, and prefers to handle things his way rather than with a group.
To achieve fame and fortune, that was always Warees' lifelong goal, ever since he was a young lad living with his family in the Port Town of Wesburg. Both of his parents were smiths, living humble lives and working hard for an honest pay just to put food on the table, a life he never wanted to aspire to. He always found honest work to be terribly uninteresting, to safe and predictable for his tastes. No, his mind was set on a life of adventure and excitement, away from the cities and onto the battlefield.
At the age of sixteen, a few months after both his parents had been killed in an industrial accident, he took up gambling as a hobby and soon realized he was very good at, despite being unaware of what he was doing half the time. This soon lead to the local rackets taking notice to his luck, eventually leading up to speculations that he was cheating. When confronted, he declined allegations of wrong doing on his part, but of course, they didn't believe him. What followed was a quick but violent skirmish, ending with Warees driving one opponent's blade into another foe's temple and the rest of the thugs retreating. Once again, he was surprised, Warees hadn't had a clue how to fight before this event.
He spent the next few days pondering about what could have attributed his success, eventually coming to the (false) conclusion that he was blessed, despite never having been a religious person in his entire. Warees, being the overconfident bastard that he was, decided to put his "divine power" to the test, and began a spree of drinking and picking fights to see if his luck would hold out, and it did, even after all those years of sin and merriment.
Now, at the sweet age of thirty one, he is one of the most renown "heroes" in the land, though most tend to find him to be little more than a dangerous hooligan; the lone expectoin being his current employer, the King, who found Warees to be a valuable asset to his already massive forces. Warees was unsure why the King found him so useful, but as long as he kept getting payed and was allowed to "fuck shit up", he didn't care.
At the age of sixteen, a few months after both his parents had been killed in an industrial accident, he took up gambling as a hobby and soon realized he was very good at, despite being unaware of what he was doing half the time. This soon lead to the local rackets taking notice to his luck, eventually leading up to speculations that he was cheating. When confronted, he declined allegations of wrong doing on his part, but of course, they didn't believe him. What followed was a quick but violent skirmish, ending with Warees driving one opponent's blade into another foe's temple and the rest of the thugs retreating. Once again, he was surprised, Warees hadn't had a clue how to fight before this event.
He spent the next few days pondering about what could have attributed his success, eventually coming to the (false) conclusion that he was blessed, despite never having been a religious person in his entire. Warees, being the overconfident bastard that he was, decided to put his "divine power" to the test, and began a spree of drinking and picking fights to see if his luck would hold out, and it did, even after all those years of sin and merriment.
Now, at the sweet age of thirty one, he is one of the most renown "heroes" in the land, though most tend to find him to be little more than a dangerous hooligan; the lone expectoin being his current employer, the King, who found Warees to be a valuable asset to his already massive forces. Warees was unsure why the King found him so useful, but as long as he kept getting payed and was allowed to "fuck shit up", he didn't care.
Extra / Note: -He often can be seen drawing in his journal when he's bored and/or sober, and because of frequent practice, he's a fairly talented artist.
-His title, "The Professional", is self-given for reasons unknown to all but himself, however, most assume it to be him just being egomaniac.
EDIT: Just so you all know, I'm not taking part in the first chapter, and have talked with Jav3lin about appearing later in the story. For now, expect editing and whatnot.
Name: Dworgen Hammerblow
Age: 35
Gender: Male
Race: Hilt-Dwarf
Class: Berserker
Skills: A veteran of many dwarven civil wars, Dworgen has his finger on the pulse of many military and political currents under the ground. He's also a very capable fighter in small spaces, but lacks a grasp of strategy in open areas.
Appearance: Dworgen has the normal Hilt-Dwarven green eyes and long red hair, along with the pale complexion from extended periods in darkness. His hair is in traditional war-braids, adorned with small pieces of jewelery. His plate mail is carved with insignias and patterns that are medals of the civil war. His sword is huge, almost as tall as himself, with a grip that makes up two-fifths of it's length.
Equipment:
- Two-handed bastard sword
- Hilt-Dwarven Plate Mail (with medals engraved)
- Backpack
- Bedroll
- Flint & Steel
- Trail Rations (10 days)
- Waterskin
- 180gp
Personality: Dworgen is a powerful but blind force on the battlefield, having learned his tactical strategy in narrow passages and caves, where the only way to go is onwards. His dealings with other people tend to be straightforward as well, giving at best the impression he is busy, and at worst the impression he can't be bothered talking to you.
Backstory: Dworgen was raised by an architect and a baker in the Hilt-Dwarven capital of Wurden during a time of political unrest over land rights. A civil war broke out when he was a young adult and Dworgen enlisted, looking for the grand adventure promised by the recruiters. Far from the dream presented to him, Dworgen was placed on the front lines and fought other dwarves in bloody carnage hidden from the sun. He soon became a decorated survivor, known for his strength with a bastard sword. He rose through the ranks, and eventually became a war hero when his side won the war.
Extra/Note: Dworgen is uneasy about fighting in the dark, as it reminds him of the dark bloodshed during the civil war.
Age: 35
Gender: Male
Race: Hilt-Dwarf
Class: Berserker
Skills: A veteran of many dwarven civil wars, Dworgen has his finger on the pulse of many military and political currents under the ground. He's also a very capable fighter in small spaces, but lacks a grasp of strategy in open areas.
Appearance: Dworgen has the normal Hilt-Dwarven green eyes and long red hair, along with the pale complexion from extended periods in darkness. His hair is in traditional war-braids, adorned with small pieces of jewelery. His plate mail is carved with insignias and patterns that are medals of the civil war. His sword is huge, almost as tall as himself, with a grip that makes up two-fifths of it's length.
Equipment:
- Two-handed bastard sword
- Hilt-Dwarven Plate Mail (with medals engraved)
- Backpack
- Bedroll
- Flint & Steel
- Trail Rations (10 days)
- Waterskin
- 180gp
Personality: Dworgen is a powerful but blind force on the battlefield, having learned his tactical strategy in narrow passages and caves, where the only way to go is onwards. His dealings with other people tend to be straightforward as well, giving at best the impression he is busy, and at worst the impression he can't be bothered talking to you.
Backstory: Dworgen was raised by an architect and a baker in the Hilt-Dwarven capital of Wurden during a time of political unrest over land rights. A civil war broke out when he was a young adult and Dworgen enlisted, looking for the grand adventure promised by the recruiters. Far from the dream presented to him, Dworgen was placed on the front lines and fought other dwarves in bloody carnage hidden from the sun. He soon became a decorated survivor, known for his strength with a bastard sword. He rose through the ranks, and eventually became a war hero when his side won the war.
Extra/Note: Dworgen is uneasy about fighting in the dark, as it reminds him of the dark bloodshed during the civil war.
Sorry for the lateness, I reserved as I went to bed and got up an hour ago.
EDIT: Added more to Appearance and Backstory.
If it's not too late.
Name: Vik'nar Hashi'shin
Age: 30
Gender: M
Race: Sever-Elf
Class: Eastern Warrior
Skills: Vik'nar above all else prides himself on having eyes and ears where no one expects, sometimes his own. When he is not capable of hiring the very best, he's well rumored to be quite capable of entering an guarded compound and leaving behind just a single slashed neck. He's not a bad chef either.
Appearance: He wears the blank face of a Sever-Elf worn down by years of slavery. Black hair is left to roughly an unkept shoulder length. A scar runs down the left side of his face, the eye works well enough in darkness, but has become increasingly sensitive to the light. He wears an eye patch. Slightly taller than an average sever-elf, and a light wiry frame ready to spring into action or run the other way.
Equipment:
Tan and black - boots, pants and tunic with a tan head scarf/wrap.
2 finely honed katars(I'm going for a little bit of a Eastern-Indian vibe, if these kind of daggers are outside the lore then replace with dirks or the like)
10 throwing daggers, hidden in various sleeves and pockets. Vik'nar seems to be able to make them appear and disappear from thin air.
2 vials of Black Lotus poison
Book - Primer on Alchemy: Potions and Poisons
Book - Cooking: Herelden Ethnic Dishes
2 vials of oil
Travel's Pack - bed roll, flint, tinder and a water-skin.
100g, although he claims to have thousands more merely "tied up" at the moment.
Personality: If at all possible, Vik'nar avoids a "fair fight". He's planned poorly if such a rare event occurs. While he has conditioned himself to try to plan and act rationally, if his backs to the wall he'll go with whatever crazy insane idea he entertains first. His reasoning is it hasn't failed him yet!... well accept that incident with the eye, but that was a really a different situation, honest.
*started getting a feel for the character. So I'm oddly switch to first person here, hope no one minds.
Backstory: Ah the Herelden slums, need I say more? Oh why yes I was able to dig myself up from relative squaller to only above average squaller. As a boy, I served as a kitchen staff in some pompous noble's house. No one could dice an onion faster than I, and I never cried once! However when I was ten I was accused of stealing a silver spoon. I knew it was actually the young misses who took it to buy sweets in the market, but just you guess who the man-at-arms looked to first.
I was however able to use my talents to help out in my families restaurant. Most of our profits, if any, we taken by The Guild for 'protection'. My teenage years were mostly spent preparing Herelden Spiced Surprise, trust me - you don't want to know what the surprise is, and throwing our kitchen knives against a small target on the far wall. One day, The Guild's goons demanded double their normal protection funds, with hardly a coin to feed ourselves and keep the business going - in a rage I threw one of the knives clean through his eye.
I was quickly sent away with a distant uncle who had been able to carve together a merchant's caravan after many generations of slavery. I traveled - meeting many a contact all over the land. My uncle, wanting me to do more than take up space, made sure that I trained mind and body with ways learned from The East that were passed down through his family.
I had only just recently returned to Herelden with intent to carve out my own syndicate of the slums from The Guild.
Extra / Note: Years of hardship and years on the road has made Vik'nar fiercely loyal to his family.
Age: 30
Gender: M
Race: Sever-Elf
Class: Eastern Warrior
Skills: Vik'nar above all else prides himself on having eyes and ears where no one expects, sometimes his own. When he is not capable of hiring the very best, he's well rumored to be quite capable of entering an guarded compound and leaving behind just a single slashed neck. He's not a bad chef either.
Appearance: He wears the blank face of a Sever-Elf worn down by years of slavery. Black hair is left to roughly an unkept shoulder length. A scar runs down the left side of his face, the eye works well enough in darkness, but has become increasingly sensitive to the light. He wears an eye patch. Slightly taller than an average sever-elf, and a light wiry frame ready to spring into action or run the other way.
Equipment:
Tan and black - boots, pants and tunic with a tan head scarf/wrap.
2 finely honed katars(I'm going for a little bit of a Eastern-Indian vibe, if these kind of daggers are outside the lore then replace with dirks or the like)
10 throwing daggers, hidden in various sleeves and pockets. Vik'nar seems to be able to make them appear and disappear from thin air.
2 vials of Black Lotus poison
Book - Primer on Alchemy: Potions and Poisons
Book - Cooking: Herelden Ethnic Dishes
2 vials of oil
Travel's Pack - bed roll, flint, tinder and a water-skin.
100g, although he claims to have thousands more merely "tied up" at the moment.
Personality: If at all possible, Vik'nar avoids a "fair fight". He's planned poorly if such a rare event occurs. While he has conditioned himself to try to plan and act rationally, if his backs to the wall he'll go with whatever crazy insane idea he entertains first. His reasoning is it hasn't failed him yet!... well accept that incident with the eye, but that was a really a different situation, honest.
*started getting a feel for the character. So I'm oddly switch to first person here, hope no one minds.
Backstory: Ah the Herelden slums, need I say more? Oh why yes I was able to dig myself up from relative squaller to only above average squaller. As a boy, I served as a kitchen staff in some pompous noble's house. No one could dice an onion faster than I, and I never cried once! However when I was ten I was accused of stealing a silver spoon. I knew it was actually the young misses who took it to buy sweets in the market, but just you guess who the man-at-arms looked to first.
I was however able to use my talents to help out in my families restaurant. Most of our profits, if any, we taken by The Guild for 'protection'. My teenage years were mostly spent preparing Herelden Spiced Surprise, trust me - you don't want to know what the surprise is, and throwing our kitchen knives against a small target on the far wall. One day, The Guild's goons demanded double their normal protection funds, with hardly a coin to feed ourselves and keep the business going - in a rage I threw one of the knives clean through his eye.
I was quickly sent away with a distant uncle who had been able to carve together a merchant's caravan after many generations of slavery. I traveled - meeting many a contact all over the land. My uncle, wanting me to do more than take up space, made sure that I trained mind and body with ways learned from The East that were passed down through his family.
I had only just recently returned to Herelden with intent to carve out my own syndicate of the slums from The Guild.
Extra / Note: Years of hardship and years on the road has made Vik'nar fiercely loyal to his family.