Atulon's Pass (Full)(Started!)
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That's a very respectable villager, but are we going to see a soldier as well?ThreeWords said:
Err... kinda want two. The idea was that you would each be controlling a soldier as your main character. Controlling a villager as well was completely optional.ThreeWords said:
Here shall be a list of the player's Soldiers and Villagers, for reference.
Yorgmiester : Rinus Ciluno
Name: Rinus Ciluno
Age: 41
Gender: Male
Appearance:[/b] Rinus is of average height and build, if not a little on the short side. He has a soldier's body, toned and muscled for swinging a blade and hefting heavy armor. His complexion is that of someone who's skin was once fair, but has now become weathered and stretched from long years of battle. His long face is moderately handsome, if not a little drawn and coarse. A shock of graying auburn hair sits atop his head, usually cut short both for convinience's sake and because when it gets long it tends to fly in every direction. A short, scruffy beard decorates his chin and mouth during the winter. His green eyes are somewhat hollow and sad, yet still retain a peculiar spark, as if the entire dreary look is nothing but a show, and just underneath is a happy, carefree, joyous youngster.
Equipment: Rinus' battle attire is the standard issue iron plate armor. The only distinguishing feature of his armor, besides the red hound on his sheild, is the Captain's Crest that adorns his helmet, a black fan-shaped arangement made of horse hair. His preffered weapons are the longsword and sheild, which he uses and has used well his entire adult life. He also has a shortsword to use alternatively should the longsword break or be lost. Besides these weapons and armor, Rinus possesses a large combat knife, a standard coldweather fur cloak, a canteen, and a small leather pouch containing a journal.
Personality: Solemn is the best way to decribe Rinus' character. Uasually quiet and reserved, he avoids speaking unless he has something important to say, and generally stays out of the rather boistrous celebrations of his fellows. When he does have something to say, however, he makes it heard, through a strong voice and a commanding presence. Rinus is a natural-born leader, and shows it on many occasions.
Something people who are near Rinus a lot will notice is how he seems to have a weight on his shoulders. Part of it is the many legions of men he has slain during his life, part of it is the responsibility he has to protect and lead his men. Whatever the reasons for it, this weight has caused him pain in the past, and has turned him into a much more sober man.
Despite this, he is a passionate individual when provoked. He has a terrible temper on the rare occasions that his limits are crossed, and in battle he is a force to be reckoned with. He cares deeply for those around him, and will defend them with his life.
Backstory: The details of Rinus' path until now are long and mostly dull, as far as adventures go. He has been in the army almost all his life, just as his father and grandfather before him. Both men died in battle, fighting for noble causes. Good men, they were, and Rinus has strived his whole life to be the same.
In truth, it is a very incredible thing that any soldier would live to his age. He has kept the breath in his body these many years both through battle prowess, a will to survive, and pure dumb luck. Unearthly luck, some would say. Indeed, he has gone through the fire and come out alive on many, many occasions, by the skin of his nose, seemingly only because the gods smiled on him. His forefathers were also known for this special gift of survival.
Unfortunately though, he has never risen in the ranks any higher than being the captain of a single unit. This is because he, like his father and grandfather, refuses to take part in the politics of war. He refuses to backstab, or bribe, or flatter, or trick, and because of this he has never gained the fame and fortune that his "betters" posses. Not that he would want it, of course. The loyalty of his men and the safety of those he is tasked to protect are his reward.
Name: Rinus Ciluno
Age: 41
Gender: Male
Appearance:[/b] Rinus is of average height and build, if not a little on the short side. He has a soldier's body, toned and muscled for swinging a blade and hefting heavy armor. His complexion is that of someone who's skin was once fair, but has now become weathered and stretched from long years of battle. His long face is moderately handsome, if not a little drawn and coarse. A shock of graying auburn hair sits atop his head, usually cut short both for convinience's sake and because when it gets long it tends to fly in every direction. A short, scruffy beard decorates his chin and mouth during the winter. His green eyes are somewhat hollow and sad, yet still retain a peculiar spark, as if the entire dreary look is nothing but a show, and just underneath is a happy, carefree, joyous youngster.
Equipment: Rinus' battle attire is the standard issue iron plate armor. The only distinguishing feature of his armor, besides the red hound on his sheild, is the Captain's Crest that adorns his helmet, a black fan-shaped arangement made of horse hair. His preffered weapons are the longsword and sheild, which he uses and has used well his entire adult life. He also has a shortsword to use alternatively should the longsword break or be lost. Besides these weapons and armor, Rinus possesses a large combat knife, a standard coldweather fur cloak, a canteen, and a small leather pouch containing a journal.
Personality: Solemn is the best way to decribe Rinus' character. Uasually quiet and reserved, he avoids speaking unless he has something important to say, and generally stays out of the rather boistrous celebrations of his fellows. When he does have something to say, however, he makes it heard, through a strong voice and a commanding presence. Rinus is a natural-born leader, and shows it on many occasions.
Something people who are near Rinus a lot will notice is how he seems to have a weight on his shoulders. Part of it is the many legions of men he has slain during his life, part of it is the responsibility he has to protect and lead his men. Whatever the reasons for it, this weight has caused him pain in the past, and has turned him into a much more sober man.
Despite this, he is a passionate individual when provoked. He has a terrible temper on the rare occasions that his limits are crossed, and in battle he is a force to be reckoned with. He cares deeply for those around him, and will defend them with his life.
Backstory: The details of Rinus' path until now are long and mostly dull, as far as adventures go. He has been in the army almost all his life, just as his father and grandfather before him. Both men died in battle, fighting for noble causes. Good men, they were, and Rinus has strived his whole life to be the same.
In truth, it is a very incredible thing that any soldier would live to his age. He has kept the breath in his body these many years both through battle prowess, a will to survive, and pure dumb luck. Unearthly luck, some would say. Indeed, he has gone through the fire and come out alive on many, many occasions, by the skin of his nose, seemingly only because the gods smiled on him. His forefathers were also known for this special gift of survival.
Unfortunately though, he has never risen in the ranks any higher than being the captain of a single unit. This is because he, like his father and grandfather, refuses to take part in the politics of war. He refuses to backstab, or bribe, or flatter, or trick, and because of this he has never gained the fame and fortune that his "betters" posses. Not that he would want it, of course. The loyalty of his men and the safety of those he is tasked to protect are his reward.
TheSentinal : Silas Forsythe
Name: Silas Forsythe
Age: 29
Gender: Male
Appearance: Silas stands at a reasonable 5' 11", and has a slightly large figure, weighing 186 lbs. His body is well muscled, and he has good strength. His body is what would be perfectly described as a "grunt's body". His head is kept constantly shaved, but he keeps a large beard. His skin is a dark olive shade. As a soldier, he has a fair share of scars and other assorted nicks and cuts. His most prominent scar is that which runs just above his left eye.
Equipment: Silas wears heavy plate armor, which is good for his "bash their faces in" combat style. For weaponry, Silas' main choice is a bardiche, which he chose for being the most terrifying polearm he could find, but he also carries a short sword for backup, in case his bardiche is lost or destroyed, along with his standard shield. His other equipment include his cold-weather cloak and canteen.
Personality: Silas fits the description of a boisterous bruiser. He always looks for a good fight, and his personal preference in fighting is up close and brutal. Out of battle, he is a loud, but friendly, fellow, who makes a good friend. He can be a bit stubborn at times, usually refusing to budge on an issue he feels strongly about, among other things. He is also a bit of an oaf, not having much of an education, or common sense really, but his friendliness and personability usually make up for that.
Backstory: Silas was born into a large family, with 7 sons, him being the youngest. Looking at Silas' family would make it hard for anyone to picture him being a part of it. Most of his brothers enjoy things like reading, acting, the arts, and other fancy and high class things. Him being the brute that he is, he was the obvious black sheep of the family, his father, a banker by trade, usually leaving him out when mentioning his sons. He joined the army at the first opportunity, never feeling accepted at home.
Extra: Silas has a bit of a fear of water, developed after nearly drowning when he was young.
Name: Silas Forsythe
Age: 29
Gender: Male
Appearance: Silas stands at a reasonable 5' 11", and has a slightly large figure, weighing 186 lbs. His body is well muscled, and he has good strength. His body is what would be perfectly described as a "grunt's body". His head is kept constantly shaved, but he keeps a large beard. His skin is a dark olive shade. As a soldier, he has a fair share of scars and other assorted nicks and cuts. His most prominent scar is that which runs just above his left eye.
Equipment: Silas wears heavy plate armor, which is good for his "bash their faces in" combat style. For weaponry, Silas' main choice is a bardiche, which he chose for being the most terrifying polearm he could find, but he also carries a short sword for backup, in case his bardiche is lost or destroyed, along with his standard shield. His other equipment include his cold-weather cloak and canteen.
Personality: Silas fits the description of a boisterous bruiser. He always looks for a good fight, and his personal preference in fighting is up close and brutal. Out of battle, he is a loud, but friendly, fellow, who makes a good friend. He can be a bit stubborn at times, usually refusing to budge on an issue he feels strongly about, among other things. He is also a bit of an oaf, not having much of an education, or common sense really, but his friendliness and personability usually make up for that.
Backstory: Silas was born into a large family, with 7 sons, him being the youngest. Looking at Silas' family would make it hard for anyone to picture him being a part of it. Most of his brothers enjoy things like reading, acting, the arts, and other fancy and high class things. Him being the brute that he is, he was the obvious black sheep of the family, his father, a banker by trade, usually leaving him out when mentioning his sons. He joined the army at the first opportunity, never feeling accepted at home.
Extra: Silas has a bit of a fear of water, developed after nearly drowning when he was young.
Nukey : Krinilik "Krin" Isthana
Name: Krinilik "Krin" Isthana
Age: 31
Gender: Male
Appearance: Krin is taller than most, standing at 6'4 with a rather muscular build, though nothing over the top. Long black hair sits atop of his head, poorly kept together in a messy ponytail where many strands poke out and tie together. His eyes are a dark shade of gray, bordering on full black. Stubble covers most of his chin, a clear sign that he has stopped caring about his looks. A scar goes down his right cheek, and becuase he attempted to tend to it on the spot, its healed poorly. Covering his forearms are a mess of tattoos with a "tribal" style of appearance, most of which are faded and torn apart by cuts and scratches. Light skinned.
Equipment: Krin, chosen for his size and strength, wears a set of heavy armor. This "shell", as he refers to it as, is covered with various studs and reinforced layers that he has added on to it in order to provide for extra protection, and as a result, appears as if it were patched together by scrap. Most the older plates are slightly discolored due to neglect and and rust, clashing with the newer additions that are mostly spotless with the expectoin of a few dents. Covering the knuckles of the gauntlets are a number of studs, sharpened to point where they can tear flesh, and some of which misshapen and bent.
A beat up iron shield is normally seen on his person, also covered dents, studs, and discolored plates. Alongside the shield, he'll normally use his flail, a weapon he considers to be a family heirloom. The flail is rather heavy by most standards, but he seems to have little issue swinging it due to his size and strength.
If he should be disarmed, a few knives are readily available at his belt. These knives, like most of his equipment (other than his flail), were scavenged from fallen foes and comrades, hastily put together with a lack of finesse, or bought for cheap on the market, and look mismatched as a result.
Personality: Despite his intimidating appearance, Krinilik is anything but rough, in actuality he's quite articulate, enjoys poetry and other arts. He tends to be somewhat cynical and suspicious of others, but disguise this by chuckling, acting hospitable, and telling stories around the camp-fire. It takes alot to anger him, provided there are no insults made against his love of the arts, he'll simply shrug off most that is said about him. Oddly, Krin doesn't believe in any of the deities or myths that his fellow soldiers do, finding the whole concept of religion to be flawed and meaningless.
Backstory: Krin was born and raised in a small village, a few miles west of Falkin. His father, Kettor, was one of many members of the Isthana family to serve in the military, so saw it only necessary that his only son would follow in his foot steps. Krin was uninterested at first, but quickly persuaded into enlisting, eventually sent to active combat at the age of nineteen.
Most of his life followed a similar routine from that point forward, typically involving him serving as either a guard or on the front lines; the few days of leave were normally spent away from the bars where his unit would be staying, and instead wherever he could find some entertainment that was somewhat more elegant than a drunken brawl.
Extra: He is color blind, therefore unable to differentiate blood from simple stains of mud.
Name: Krinilik "Krin" Isthana
Age: 31
Gender: Male
Appearance: Krin is taller than most, standing at 6'4 with a rather muscular build, though nothing over the top. Long black hair sits atop of his head, poorly kept together in a messy ponytail where many strands poke out and tie together. His eyes are a dark shade of gray, bordering on full black. Stubble covers most of his chin, a clear sign that he has stopped caring about his looks. A scar goes down his right cheek, and becuase he attempted to tend to it on the spot, its healed poorly. Covering his forearms are a mess of tattoos with a "tribal" style of appearance, most of which are faded and torn apart by cuts and scratches. Light skinned.
Equipment: Krin, chosen for his size and strength, wears a set of heavy armor. This "shell", as he refers to it as, is covered with various studs and reinforced layers that he has added on to it in order to provide for extra protection, and as a result, appears as if it were patched together by scrap. Most the older plates are slightly discolored due to neglect and and rust, clashing with the newer additions that are mostly spotless with the expectoin of a few dents. Covering the knuckles of the gauntlets are a number of studs, sharpened to point where they can tear flesh, and some of which misshapen and bent.
A beat up iron shield is normally seen on his person, also covered dents, studs, and discolored plates. Alongside the shield, he'll normally use his flail, a weapon he considers to be a family heirloom. The flail is rather heavy by most standards, but he seems to have little issue swinging it due to his size and strength.
If he should be disarmed, a few knives are readily available at his belt. These knives, like most of his equipment (other than his flail), were scavenged from fallen foes and comrades, hastily put together with a lack of finesse, or bought for cheap on the market, and look mismatched as a result.
Personality: Despite his intimidating appearance, Krinilik is anything but rough, in actuality he's quite articulate, enjoys poetry and other arts. He tends to be somewhat cynical and suspicious of others, but disguise this by chuckling, acting hospitable, and telling stories around the camp-fire. It takes alot to anger him, provided there are no insults made against his love of the arts, he'll simply shrug off most that is said about him. Oddly, Krin doesn't believe in any of the deities or myths that his fellow soldiers do, finding the whole concept of religion to be flawed and meaningless.
Backstory: Krin was born and raised in a small village, a few miles west of Falkin. His father, Kettor, was one of many members of the Isthana family to serve in the military, so saw it only necessary that his only son would follow in his foot steps. Krin was uninterested at first, but quickly persuaded into enlisting, eventually sent to active combat at the age of nineteen.
Most of his life followed a similar routine from that point forward, typically involving him serving as either a guard or on the front lines; the few days of leave were normally spent away from the bars where his unit would be staying, and instead wherever he could find some entertainment that was somewhat more elegant than a drunken brawl.
Extra: He is color blind, therefore unable to differentiate blood from simple stains of mud.
Shapsters : Aryana Tabrizi
Name: Aryana Tabrizi
Age: 24
Gender: Female
Appearance: Aryana is quite beautiful; her wispy, brown hair reaches past her shoulders and flows in the slightest of winds. If you study her face you will notice her foggy slate gray eyes have a slight slant and her forehead a slight wrinkle. Her lips are full and red almost giving the appearance of wearing lipstick, you should move next to her small nose then to her rather defined chin. Her teeth are confusingly straight and white and are contrasted by her skin which is a light tan colour despite spending little time in the sun. Her skin is smooth, soft an almost untouched, despite her impressive skill-set, she has never been in a true battle. This is why her body is virtually scar free and untouched. She stands at around 5'8 which is rather tall for a woman; most of her height coming from her long legs. Her body is that of an athlete, fairly small breasts, muscular arms and long, very powerful legs. Aryana is aware of her beauty, but at the same time is very modest about it. She doesn't lead men on and although she may dabble in romantic endeavors, by no means does she do it often.
Equipment: Aryana uses light armour, the way she fights and moves would make heavy armour more than difficult to wear. Her armour is slightly altered, she sacrifices some protection for agility. Her shoulders and knees are separate plates and attached to the rest of the armour via straps, this helps her move faster and makes her much more agile. Her boots are warm and light, as is her helmet.
The shield she uses was her fathers, it is rather small and lightweight, and has an engraved ram head on the front. It is in excellent condition like most of her equipment, this is from two things. One being that she always polishes and cleans her equipment immediately after battle, the other being that she rarely uses the shield. If she does use the shield it would be in a very close battle which she tries to avoid.
She uses a special bow crafted by her father, it is much smaller than your typical bow which has its advantages and disadvantages. The bow is much faster to fire, it is much more mobile than bigger bows and easier to carry around. The downside to a small bow is a lack of power and lack of distance. Essentially the bow is made for short range, fast paced combat. If the battle becomes too short ranged or she loses her bow, she has a spare shortsword which she holsters on her lower leg. It is very short, very narrow and very sharp. No matter the equipment
Personality: Aryana is very calm, very cool and very intelligent. Nothing she does, no decisions down to the smallest of things go without great calculations and contemplations. Everything has an effect on the future, from killing to reading a book, it will affect you at some point. This is how she lives her life; even in the battlefield she is making decision after decision, should I climb this tree? Should I spare this life? Outside of the battle she can come off as rather cold and distant, because of her calculated way of living, it may seem to others that she is impersonal and rude. It is quite the opposite however; it is merely her trying to decipher how befriending a person will reflect on her life. Ask any of her fellow soldiers if she is distant and they will tell you how friendly she truly is. This is because she has determined that a strong bond with these people will not only heighten her chances of survival, but will also help her expand her intellect, work on her social skills and most of all, keep her happy and content.
Backstory: Isolated would be an understatement to describe Aryana's childhood. Growing up north of the Icewillow River and on the cusp of the Copper Wastes, her and her father shared a small dwelling on the foot of a mountain. With her mother dying in childbirth, it was up to her father to raise, train and mentor Aryana. She began life with books, her father was always reading to her and at an early age she began reading on her own. If she wasn't reading inside the warm house, she was bundled up and spending time on the grassy, yet frosty, mountainside. Learning how to hunt and make the most of the animals, using the pelt for clothes, the meat for food and the bones for tools and weapons. She was also trained by her father to be a great warrior, she learned how to be agile and quick in battle, and how to stay protected and warm without sacrificing agility. Her father taught her many things about philosophy and considering the future, he was a very intelligent man and no doubt Aryana's hero and mentor. When she was 17, Aryana's father fell ill, he quickly died and she made the hard decision to leave the place where she was born and raised for the outside world. Knowing she would go insane if she stayed on her own, she packed as much-and as little- as she could and set out. Knowing she would never return to the modest mountainside home, she headed out in search of society and humanity. Se came across the group of soldiers and decided that if nothing else, she could at least get some battle experience and maybe be in a battle or two.
Extra: She is never the first to strike, always waits for a counter as opposed to attacking. She has a book on her at all times for reading, and a journal at all times for recording her life.
Name: Aryana Tabrizi
Age: 24
Gender: Female
Appearance: Aryana is quite beautiful; her wispy, brown hair reaches past her shoulders and flows in the slightest of winds. If you study her face you will notice her foggy slate gray eyes have a slight slant and her forehead a slight wrinkle. Her lips are full and red almost giving the appearance of wearing lipstick, you should move next to her small nose then to her rather defined chin. Her teeth are confusingly straight and white and are contrasted by her skin which is a light tan colour despite spending little time in the sun. Her skin is smooth, soft an almost untouched, despite her impressive skill-set, she has never been in a true battle. This is why her body is virtually scar free and untouched. She stands at around 5'8 which is rather tall for a woman; most of her height coming from her long legs. Her body is that of an athlete, fairly small breasts, muscular arms and long, very powerful legs. Aryana is aware of her beauty, but at the same time is very modest about it. She doesn't lead men on and although she may dabble in romantic endeavors, by no means does she do it often.
Equipment: Aryana uses light armour, the way she fights and moves would make heavy armour more than difficult to wear. Her armour is slightly altered, she sacrifices some protection for agility. Her shoulders and knees are separate plates and attached to the rest of the armour via straps, this helps her move faster and makes her much more agile. Her boots are warm and light, as is her helmet.
The shield she uses was her fathers, it is rather small and lightweight, and has an engraved ram head on the front. It is in excellent condition like most of her equipment, this is from two things. One being that she always polishes and cleans her equipment immediately after battle, the other being that she rarely uses the shield. If she does use the shield it would be in a very close battle which she tries to avoid.
She uses a special bow crafted by her father, it is much smaller than your typical bow which has its advantages and disadvantages. The bow is much faster to fire, it is much more mobile than bigger bows and easier to carry around. The downside to a small bow is a lack of power and lack of distance. Essentially the bow is made for short range, fast paced combat. If the battle becomes too short ranged or she loses her bow, she has a spare shortsword which she holsters on her lower leg. It is very short, very narrow and very sharp. No matter the equipment
Personality: Aryana is very calm, very cool and very intelligent. Nothing she does, no decisions down to the smallest of things go without great calculations and contemplations. Everything has an effect on the future, from killing to reading a book, it will affect you at some point. This is how she lives her life; even in the battlefield she is making decision after decision, should I climb this tree? Should I spare this life? Outside of the battle she can come off as rather cold and distant, because of her calculated way of living, it may seem to others that she is impersonal and rude. It is quite the opposite however; it is merely her trying to decipher how befriending a person will reflect on her life. Ask any of her fellow soldiers if she is distant and they will tell you how friendly she truly is. This is because she has determined that a strong bond with these people will not only heighten her chances of survival, but will also help her expand her intellect, work on her social skills and most of all, keep her happy and content.
Backstory: Isolated would be an understatement to describe Aryana's childhood. Growing up north of the Icewillow River and on the cusp of the Copper Wastes, her and her father shared a small dwelling on the foot of a mountain. With her mother dying in childbirth, it was up to her father to raise, train and mentor Aryana. She began life with books, her father was always reading to her and at an early age she began reading on her own. If she wasn't reading inside the warm house, she was bundled up and spending time on the grassy, yet frosty, mountainside. Learning how to hunt and make the most of the animals, using the pelt for clothes, the meat for food and the bones for tools and weapons. She was also trained by her father to be a great warrior, she learned how to be agile and quick in battle, and how to stay protected and warm without sacrificing agility. Her father taught her many things about philosophy and considering the future, he was a very intelligent man and no doubt Aryana's hero and mentor. When she was 17, Aryana's father fell ill, he quickly died and she made the hard decision to leave the place where she was born and raised for the outside world. Knowing she would go insane if she stayed on her own, she packed as much-and as little- as she could and set out. Knowing she would never return to the modest mountainside home, she headed out in search of society and humanity. Se came across the group of soldiers and decided that if nothing else, she could at least get some battle experience and maybe be in a battle or two.
Extra: She is never the first to strike, always waits for a counter as opposed to attacking. She has a book on her at all times for reading, and a journal at all times for recording her life.
TheHairminator : Yan Gerric
Name: Yan Gerric
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Appearance: At first look Yan does not have the appearance you could expect of a soldier. He is quite tall, and very slim. He isn't very muscular, but has more of a sinewy natural strength. His northern heritage makes itself known from his pale skin, well fitted for the cold environments in certain mountains. He has red curly hair, kept slightly longer than regulations suggest. His face is not what you would call handsome, it's slightly angular, and with a large nose. However, The smile that is very often dwelling on his lips, and the raw enthusiasm and charm that constantly shines through his eyes more than make up for his facial shortcomings. He does not have many scars, not in any visible places, either way. He has little beard growth by nature, and what little he has he carefully shave.
Equipment: Yan wears light leather armor, as the unit's dedicated scout his life depends on his ability to move fast and stay quiet. His hardened leather armor is padded on the inside with wool for extra warmth. He has a standard issue metal helmet. He wears a gray traveling cloak over his armor, both for protection, warmth and camouflage. His signature weapon is a Long Bow with silver inscriptions of old runes that are said to bring luck, and he has the amount of arrows you could expect to bring on a normal mission (15-20). The bow was crafted by a renowned fletcher, at the time of his grandfather's, and was given to him by his father. He also carries a dagger, which he is somewhat of an artist with. He can do a selection of tricks with it, not all of them are merely good for entertainment. Still, against an opponent armed with heavy melee weapons he wouldn't stand much of a chance. He also travels with a second gear of weapons in case his arrows run out. The second load䯵t consists of a wooden roundshield, with steel reinforcements, and a short-sword.
Personality: Yan has a relatively care-free and optimistic persona. He is very quick in both speech and mind, and uses it in such a way that he often comes through as humorous. He constantly teases people around him, but often, for him, it's a way to show affection, and most of the unit has grown used to it. Deep down, however, he is both sensitive and emotional. He does not let it show often, but he would give his life for any of the others' without blinking an eye. He is generally happy, and combat is probably the only time when he is fully focused on one thing. As soon as the fight is over, however, he'll be cracking a joke about it.
He is also, or at least tries to be, somewhat of a ladies' man. Wherever there is women he'll be sure to be trying to charm them, with varying success. The women of the unit have already turned him down multiple times in the past, but he doesn't let it stop him from half-arsed flirting for the sake of it.
Deep down Yen is also very unsure of himself, and is often afraid of being hated and unwanted. He will go far to just prove himself in the others' eyes, trying to be "the fun guy" is one way.
Backstory: Yen comes from the North Eastern lands of the empire, the city of Bydell. He was born to a upper-middle class merchant family, and spent many of his youth years sailing over the Ash Sea to and from the rest of the empire. Although his mother died in a disease when he was 14 he was a very lively teenager. He often followed his father up in the mountains to hunt on the spring and summers, and a few times in the winter. Over all Yan had a happy upbringing.
It all changed when he was 17, he was forced into the army for having slept with the governor's daughter. His father wept, but Yan had known the risks, and didn't regret it, seeing as he had become something of a legend among the town youth. He was given the family bow by his father and sent off for training. His skills in survival and archery were hardened. It didn't take long until he was transferred, and when he was 19 he got accepted into a unit, which happened to be Rinus' one. Sometimes, at first, it felt like many of the unit's members blamed him, and not the enemy, for the death of the man he replaced. After a time they softened, and he stopped being "the new guy" and became one of them.[collective past is coming, right? so we know what kind of relationships we ought to have to each others.]
Extra: Yan has family and past in Bydell. He is used to mountains and cold since an early age.
Name: Yan Gerric
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Appearance: At first look Yan does not have the appearance you could expect of a soldier. He is quite tall, and very slim. He isn't very muscular, but has more of a sinewy natural strength. His northern heritage makes itself known from his pale skin, well fitted for the cold environments in certain mountains. He has red curly hair, kept slightly longer than regulations suggest. His face is not what you would call handsome, it's slightly angular, and with a large nose. However, The smile that is very often dwelling on his lips, and the raw enthusiasm and charm that constantly shines through his eyes more than make up for his facial shortcomings. He does not have many scars, not in any visible places, either way. He has little beard growth by nature, and what little he has he carefully shave.
Equipment: Yan wears light leather armor, as the unit's dedicated scout his life depends on his ability to move fast and stay quiet. His hardened leather armor is padded on the inside with wool for extra warmth. He has a standard issue metal helmet. He wears a gray traveling cloak over his armor, both for protection, warmth and camouflage. His signature weapon is a Long Bow with silver inscriptions of old runes that are said to bring luck, and he has the amount of arrows you could expect to bring on a normal mission (15-20). The bow was crafted by a renowned fletcher, at the time of his grandfather's, and was given to him by his father. He also carries a dagger, which he is somewhat of an artist with. He can do a selection of tricks with it, not all of them are merely good for entertainment. Still, against an opponent armed with heavy melee weapons he wouldn't stand much of a chance. He also travels with a second gear of weapons in case his arrows run out. The second load䯵t consists of a wooden roundshield, with steel reinforcements, and a short-sword.
Personality: Yan has a relatively care-free and optimistic persona. He is very quick in both speech and mind, and uses it in such a way that he often comes through as humorous. He constantly teases people around him, but often, for him, it's a way to show affection, and most of the unit has grown used to it. Deep down, however, he is both sensitive and emotional. He does not let it show often, but he would give his life for any of the others' without blinking an eye. He is generally happy, and combat is probably the only time when he is fully focused on one thing. As soon as the fight is over, however, he'll be cracking a joke about it.
He is also, or at least tries to be, somewhat of a ladies' man. Wherever there is women he'll be sure to be trying to charm them, with varying success. The women of the unit have already turned him down multiple times in the past, but he doesn't let it stop him from half-arsed flirting for the sake of it.
Deep down Yen is also very unsure of himself, and is often afraid of being hated and unwanted. He will go far to just prove himself in the others' eyes, trying to be "the fun guy" is one way.
Backstory: Yen comes from the North Eastern lands of the empire, the city of Bydell. He was born to a upper-middle class merchant family, and spent many of his youth years sailing over the Ash Sea to and from the rest of the empire. Although his mother died in a disease when he was 14 he was a very lively teenager. He often followed his father up in the mountains to hunt on the spring and summers, and a few times in the winter. Over all Yan had a happy upbringing.
It all changed when he was 17, he was forced into the army for having slept with the governor's daughter. His father wept, but Yan had known the risks, and didn't regret it, seeing as he had become something of a legend among the town youth. He was given the family bow by his father and sent off for training. His skills in survival and archery were hardened. It didn't take long until he was transferred, and when he was 19 he got accepted into a unit, which happened to be Rinus' one. Sometimes, at first, it felt like many of the unit's members blamed him, and not the enemy, for the death of the man he replaced. After a time they softened, and he stopped being "the new guy" and became one of them.[collective past is coming, right? so we know what kind of relationships we ought to have to each others.]
Extra: Yan has family and past in Bydell. He is used to mountains and cold since an early age.
Sporky111 : Orson Caliste
Name: Orson Caliste
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Appearance: Orson is a tall man, six feet tall, and has a thin frame. However, his time spent training has built more heavy muscle on his chest, arms, and shoulders. His complexion is rather pale, and his cheeks are thin. His hair is light brown and wavy. It's cut short in a way that it falls over his ears and forehead, granting a slightly childish aspect to him. His eyes are slightly heterochromatic, one of them being deep blue and the other more grayish-blue.
Equipment: Orson wears a smaller set of plate armor, giving him a less than imposing appearance when among more heavily armored individuals. His shield is also slightly smaller than average, but he fashioned a flat plate onto the shoulder of the same arm to aid in blocking. The majority of the armor plates are kept in decent condition by him, but have still collected several dents and chips. The leather straps are rather new looking, but have remnants of bloodstains around the edges and cracks.
Orson carries a short sword with a gold filigreed pommel and guard, inherited from his grandfather. He prefers to not wear a helmet, electing to wear only a warm, cotton hat instead. He maintains that being warm is more important than protection from a head wound, which he's sure would kill him anyway. However, if a helmet is insisted by a leader or teammate, he'll break his rule.
Personality: Orson is a fairly easy-going man for the most part, not getting too involved in small issues and preferring to just let things go and move on. This attitude has led him to be seen as a pushover by others, since he is likely to avoid confrontation rather than cause conflict by defending his opinion.
He has a more serious demeanor and can be quite cynical at times. He's not a loner, however, and does enjoy the company of his family and team. Occasionally, his seriousness gives way to light-hearted or even dark, sometimes cruel sounding, humor.
Backstory: Orson grew up in a larger family; amongst siblings, grandparents, and a few other transient family members who came and went of their own accord. Orson's father worked as a trapper, but his grandfather was a retired soldier. Orson always found a life of service more appealing from his grandfather's stories than trapping with his father. He happily joined the service to protect his family.
Extra: There is a patch of skin on the left side of his face, between his temple and jaw, that is paralyzed from getting frostbite as a child. He tends to rub the numb flesh when thoughtful.
Name: Orson Caliste
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Appearance: Orson is a tall man, six feet tall, and has a thin frame. However, his time spent training has built more heavy muscle on his chest, arms, and shoulders. His complexion is rather pale, and his cheeks are thin. His hair is light brown and wavy. It's cut short in a way that it falls over his ears and forehead, granting a slightly childish aspect to him. His eyes are slightly heterochromatic, one of them being deep blue and the other more grayish-blue.
Equipment: Orson wears a smaller set of plate armor, giving him a less than imposing appearance when among more heavily armored individuals. His shield is also slightly smaller than average, but he fashioned a flat plate onto the shoulder of the same arm to aid in blocking. The majority of the armor plates are kept in decent condition by him, but have still collected several dents and chips. The leather straps are rather new looking, but have remnants of bloodstains around the edges and cracks.
Orson carries a short sword with a gold filigreed pommel and guard, inherited from his grandfather. He prefers to not wear a helmet, electing to wear only a warm, cotton hat instead. He maintains that being warm is more important than protection from a head wound, which he's sure would kill him anyway. However, if a helmet is insisted by a leader or teammate, he'll break his rule.
Personality: Orson is a fairly easy-going man for the most part, not getting too involved in small issues and preferring to just let things go and move on. This attitude has led him to be seen as a pushover by others, since he is likely to avoid confrontation rather than cause conflict by defending his opinion.
He has a more serious demeanor and can be quite cynical at times. He's not a loner, however, and does enjoy the company of his family and team. Occasionally, his seriousness gives way to light-hearted or even dark, sometimes cruel sounding, humor.
Backstory: Orson grew up in a larger family; amongst siblings, grandparents, and a few other transient family members who came and went of their own accord. Orson's father worked as a trapper, but his grandfather was a retired soldier. Orson always found a life of service more appealing from his grandfather's stories than trapping with his father. He happily joined the service to protect his family.
Extra: There is a patch of skin on the left side of his face, between his temple and jaw, that is paralyzed from getting frostbite as a child. He tends to rub the numb flesh when thoughtful.
Quad08 : Samuel Rhine
Name: Samuel Rhine
Age: 50
Gender: Male
Appearance: A gruff, angry looking soldier. He is shorter than most and a bit on the heavy side but as it turns out a majority of his 'fat' is actually muscle or so he claims. His skin is dark and rough from both the weather and injuries he has sustained over the course of his military career. Countless faded scars cover his body and face, criss-crossing like a road map, all of different shapes and sizes. Due to his sudden balding, Samuel shaved his head but for some reason refuses to shave his scruffy, uneven facial hair somehow never growing out enough to become a full beard. His eyes are the color of darkened metal, dull and unflinching like the weather he travels and the armor he wears.
Equipment: Samuel prefers the heavy iron plate armor. While it looks like the same as most other standard issue Heavy armor on the outside, Samuel has added a layer of soft padding on the inside, increasing both the insulation of warmth and reducing the vibrations the armor makes when it is struck. This reduces cracks in the armor and makes it a tad bit stronger than most other heavy armor. The padding, however, reduces mobility when swinging a weapon. Padding is in all pieces of armor except for his helmet.
Samuels weapon of choice is a large warhammer that he always carries with him. It is flat on both ends and made of a mixture of metals to keep the hammer from breaking. It is best used with two hands although Samuel can use it to block attacks with only one hand. It is primarily a crushing weapon, used to smash its foes to pieces in a few hits and in Samuel's hands it is a force to be reckoned with.
The shield, however, is worthless in Samuel's opinion. He mostly leaves it strapped to his back, considering it an extra layer of protection against any sneaky enemies. It has a curved, smooth surface and is very light. Commonly used to deflect projectile weapons, offers little protection from an actual weapon.
Other equipment on him includes a golden necklace with a 'C' on the end, a leather pouch with some food and water, a animal skin traveling cloak and a hunting knife in his boot.
Personality: Stubborn and old, Samuel is looking forward to his retirement and just wants to get this final job over with so he can retire in peace. This leads him to be greatly impatient with others. He has a softer side for most of the younger soldiers and is often reminded of himself in his younger days. Tries to lead by example but lacks any real leadership like qualities. Not that this bothers him, he has always enjoyed the thrill of the front-lines and braving the impossible.
Seeing as how he has no social attachments besides his younger brother and the soldiers whom he travels with, Samuel considers himself one of the most expandable of the group, willing to sacrifice himself for the others.
He has a surprising fondness for fishing and hopes to build a small hut near a lake where he will fish and be at peace for the rest of his days.
Backstory: As a young lad Samuel enjoyed fishing with his father. Afterwards, his mother would cook what they caught and they'd all eat along with his younger brother and older sister. His father was a soldier and regularly called away to fight while his mother took care of himself and his siblings. His sister ran away on her 20th birthday and was never seen again. He was 16 at the time and his brother was 14. This created a strong sense of distrust in them regarding females, except for motherly figures whom they saw more as protectors.
Eventually, Samuel grew out of his distrust for females when he sighed up for the military at the age of 18 and met Cassandra. Both of the were very distrustful of the opposite gender, leading to many fights and arguments between the two of them. During an after hours duel to prove who was the strongest, Samuel ended up kissing Cassandra, leading them to fall in love with eachother. There secret affair lasted for five years before they were split up into different units and Samuel never saw Cassandra again but before she left, they exchanged necklaces, a remembrance of the time they had.
Samuel later found out that Cassandra's unit disappeared in the mountains, all of them presumed dead. His bother had started work in his village as a serving boy and bartender, his dislike for women still evident whenever Samuel would visit. His mother ended up dying from a rare sickness and his father was killed in battle by wild beasts. Samuel continued his military career and never remarried nor ever saw or was with another women since Cassandra.
Extra: He is known to stare at the necklace for long periods of time and gets incredibly angry at those who interrupt his thoughts. Hates his brother.
Name: Samuel Rhine
Age: 50
Gender: Male
Appearance: A gruff, angry looking soldier. He is shorter than most and a bit on the heavy side but as it turns out a majority of his 'fat' is actually muscle or so he claims. His skin is dark and rough from both the weather and injuries he has sustained over the course of his military career. Countless faded scars cover his body and face, criss-crossing like a road map, all of different shapes and sizes. Due to his sudden balding, Samuel shaved his head but for some reason refuses to shave his scruffy, uneven facial hair somehow never growing out enough to become a full beard. His eyes are the color of darkened metal, dull and unflinching like the weather he travels and the armor he wears.
Equipment: Samuel prefers the heavy iron plate armor. While it looks like the same as most other standard issue Heavy armor on the outside, Samuel has added a layer of soft padding on the inside, increasing both the insulation of warmth and reducing the vibrations the armor makes when it is struck. This reduces cracks in the armor and makes it a tad bit stronger than most other heavy armor. The padding, however, reduces mobility when swinging a weapon. Padding is in all pieces of armor except for his helmet.
Samuels weapon of choice is a large warhammer that he always carries with him. It is flat on both ends and made of a mixture of metals to keep the hammer from breaking. It is best used with two hands although Samuel can use it to block attacks with only one hand. It is primarily a crushing weapon, used to smash its foes to pieces in a few hits and in Samuel's hands it is a force to be reckoned with.
The shield, however, is worthless in Samuel's opinion. He mostly leaves it strapped to his back, considering it an extra layer of protection against any sneaky enemies. It has a curved, smooth surface and is very light. Commonly used to deflect projectile weapons, offers little protection from an actual weapon.
Other equipment on him includes a golden necklace with a 'C' on the end, a leather pouch with some food and water, a animal skin traveling cloak and a hunting knife in his boot.
Personality: Stubborn and old, Samuel is looking forward to his retirement and just wants to get this final job over with so he can retire in peace. This leads him to be greatly impatient with others. He has a softer side for most of the younger soldiers and is often reminded of himself in his younger days. Tries to lead by example but lacks any real leadership like qualities. Not that this bothers him, he has always enjoyed the thrill of the front-lines and braving the impossible.
Seeing as how he has no social attachments besides his younger brother and the soldiers whom he travels with, Samuel considers himself one of the most expandable of the group, willing to sacrifice himself for the others.
He has a surprising fondness for fishing and hopes to build a small hut near a lake where he will fish and be at peace for the rest of his days.
Backstory: As a young lad Samuel enjoyed fishing with his father. Afterwards, his mother would cook what they caught and they'd all eat along with his younger brother and older sister. His father was a soldier and regularly called away to fight while his mother took care of himself and his siblings. His sister ran away on her 20th birthday and was never seen again. He was 16 at the time and his brother was 14. This created a strong sense of distrust in them regarding females, except for motherly figures whom they saw more as protectors.
Eventually, Samuel grew out of his distrust for females when he sighed up for the military at the age of 18 and met Cassandra. Both of the were very distrustful of the opposite gender, leading to many fights and arguments between the two of them. During an after hours duel to prove who was the strongest, Samuel ended up kissing Cassandra, leading them to fall in love with eachother. There secret affair lasted for five years before they were split up into different units and Samuel never saw Cassandra again but before she left, they exchanged necklaces, a remembrance of the time they had.
Samuel later found out that Cassandra's unit disappeared in the mountains, all of them presumed dead. His bother had started work in his village as a serving boy and bartender, his dislike for women still evident whenever Samuel would visit. His mother ended up dying from a rare sickness and his father was killed in battle by wild beasts. Samuel continued his military career and never remarried nor ever saw or was with another women since Cassandra.
Extra: He is known to stare at the necklace for long periods of time and gets incredibly angry at those who interrupt his thoughts. Hates his brother.
Lost in the Void : Felon Aldrious
Name: Felon Aldrious
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Appearance: Standing at an average height of 5' 11", there is little that makes Felon stand out from a crowd. He has medium length brown hair and sapphire blue eyes. His upper body is thinly built, though the muscles are easy to spot, due to the development of his arms and chest from pulling a long bow. His legs follow this same build, remaining small, though firmly built.
His body is mostly unmarked in terms of blemishes and scars, though he does have an old puncture scar from a stray arrow that hit him in an old battle. The reason for his lack of scars is due to his being an archer, thus escaping most the battles he has been in with little more than a scratch.
Equipment: A light leather armour, usually dyed to the environment they are fighting in. It is form fitting, yet loose enough to give him the manoeuvrability he needs to move in a battle, usually moving from one cover to the next. He carries a longbow with a few decorative carvings, though nothing fancy. As backup he carries two daggers, though he hasn't seen much fighting with those. They are usually used, instead, to pry arrowheads from armour and skin. Instead of a helmet, he wears a hood. This serves to block the wind from his eyes and isn't as restrictive on his sight as a large or medium helmet would be.
Personality: Felon is a romantic, religious and poetic man and remains solemn on the battlefield. He takes no pleasure in battles and because of that, he favours his bow over anything else the armoury has to offer. After a battle, if there is time, he is sure to pray for the departure of the dead and bless his comrades and friend's bodies, hoping that their souls would make it to the afterlife. His pack is full of parchment, recording small stories and poems of battle, not portraying glory, but rather sorrow.
Among friends he is a man to provoke thought and intrigue, never offering a straight answers, always looking at the philosophical side of things. He holds his and others' lives sacred and will defend an innocent even if it means his death. He wasn't always this forlorn though, only after losing his wife and young son. He has refused to remarry, or even court a new woman, instead resigning himself to be alone forever. For this, he appears cold and detached, but in reality, simply wishes not to feel the pain of loss again.
Backstory: Felon was raised to be a warrior, his family always knowing the trials of being in the army. A military family through and through, not knowing happiness, but at the end of a sword. His family knew honour in war; blessing Paryn with the blood of their foes and feasting with Frebal in their deaths. It was a simple life, but one that they were familiar with. Felon was no different, only deviating enough to prefer a bow rather than the large sword his father carried. This caused tension between he and his father, the latter believing that an archer was the coward of the battlefield, preying on those who could not reach him. This caused the once close pair to drift apart, barely talking, even while they trained side by side. It was this way for many years, Felon's mother playing the part of a diplomat between the two men as they simmered at each other from across the house, the table, the sparring course. It was truly sad, the neighbours said, to see the loss of a once great relationship between father and son. And only because of a bow and a stubbornness bred many years into their blood.
Felon's father was the first of his family in the many years that had been recorded, to not fall in battle. In his older age, he instead came down with a fever, during the coldest months of the year. He shook, even when the frost broke, a shadow of his former self and a broken shell of the powerful man Felon had once looked up to as the pinnacle of strength and bravery. It was late in the night when Felon was called to his father's side. His father's tired eyes looked upon him, the many winters reflected on his worn face and sad features. He took his son's hand in his own and looked into the young teen's eyes. Their words were unspoken and yet they both understood. The hard heartedness had melted between them in the moment where they had almost been lost forever. His father muttered a small blessing, trvial, perhaps to the great speeches made by his forefathers before him, but to Felon, it meant more than any other words spoken by the great man. His father was burned, like his fathers before him and sent to Frebal's halls in hope he would be accepted for his accomplishments. And Felon was left to wander the Earth alone. His mother wasted away without the love of her life and her flower, her boy was left even deeper in the shadow than ever before, so tragic was the life of Felon.
One light came into his life. A young woman by the name of Katrina came into sight, her radiance blinding the lost man. All it took was a look into her beautiful grey eyes and he knew that he had found the woman of his life. The two were inseparable, the pinnacle of puppy love, until the fateful day that they were wed to the cheers or comrades and friends. Felon's life was no longer a simple tragedy, there was reason to live once again. Another reason soon arrived after that in a son, another strong boy born into his house. His name was Ryan and he became the pride of Felon's life. Teaching him the way of the bow and the sword. Teaching him how to track and to hunt and the boy was always eager to learn. At 6 he was a force to be reckoned with. Felon was truly happy, his father's blessing coming true at last.
His life was shattered once again. He could not recover from this loss, there would be no simple solution from this one. His love, his pride both taken from him in a raid; the raid. He remembered the screams, the fires that riddled the area, claiming lives, not bias in who it took from the world. He remembered clawing through the wood, feeling the flames lick his clothes and skin. He remembered looking at the horrified expression on his son's face, as he was taken from this world, too young to leave a legacy and too soon for his father who cried to the heavens in anger at what his life had become.
So he devoted himself to the Gods. This was the only way he knew how to cope, throwing away attachment seemed like the only way he could let go and so he did, releasing himself to whatever God happened to snap him up. He began to write, spread the pains of war to those who knew none. He hated the happiness that came to some during war. War was only a painful necessity, not something to be rejoicing in. And so this is the way Felon remains. Lost, alone and one to try to spread his message until he submits to the Void himself. His line ends with him.
Extras: Felon tends to spread his works across the camp, hoping, not to convert, but rather raise awareness of the loss because of war. The reason he chooses to do this, is to avoid the blood lusting that had begun to become commonplace amongst the army he served with. The degree of this is perhaps less than what he assumes, but he chooses to do this anyway
Name: Felon Aldrious
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Appearance: Standing at an average height of 5' 11", there is little that makes Felon stand out from a crowd. He has medium length brown hair and sapphire blue eyes. His upper body is thinly built, though the muscles are easy to spot, due to the development of his arms and chest from pulling a long bow. His legs follow this same build, remaining small, though firmly built.
His body is mostly unmarked in terms of blemishes and scars, though he does have an old puncture scar from a stray arrow that hit him in an old battle. The reason for his lack of scars is due to his being an archer, thus escaping most the battles he has been in with little more than a scratch.
Equipment: A light leather armour, usually dyed to the environment they are fighting in. It is form fitting, yet loose enough to give him the manoeuvrability he needs to move in a battle, usually moving from one cover to the next. He carries a longbow with a few decorative carvings, though nothing fancy. As backup he carries two daggers, though he hasn't seen much fighting with those. They are usually used, instead, to pry arrowheads from armour and skin. Instead of a helmet, he wears a hood. This serves to block the wind from his eyes and isn't as restrictive on his sight as a large or medium helmet would be.
Personality: Felon is a romantic, religious and poetic man and remains solemn on the battlefield. He takes no pleasure in battles and because of that, he favours his bow over anything else the armoury has to offer. After a battle, if there is time, he is sure to pray for the departure of the dead and bless his comrades and friend's bodies, hoping that their souls would make it to the afterlife. His pack is full of parchment, recording small stories and poems of battle, not portraying glory, but rather sorrow.
Among friends he is a man to provoke thought and intrigue, never offering a straight answers, always looking at the philosophical side of things. He holds his and others' lives sacred and will defend an innocent even if it means his death. He wasn't always this forlorn though, only after losing his wife and young son. He has refused to remarry, or even court a new woman, instead resigning himself to be alone forever. For this, he appears cold and detached, but in reality, simply wishes not to feel the pain of loss again.
Backstory: Felon was raised to be a warrior, his family always knowing the trials of being in the army. A military family through and through, not knowing happiness, but at the end of a sword. His family knew honour in war; blessing Paryn with the blood of their foes and feasting with Frebal in their deaths. It was a simple life, but one that they were familiar with. Felon was no different, only deviating enough to prefer a bow rather than the large sword his father carried. This caused tension between he and his father, the latter believing that an archer was the coward of the battlefield, preying on those who could not reach him. This caused the once close pair to drift apart, barely talking, even while they trained side by side. It was this way for many years, Felon's mother playing the part of a diplomat between the two men as they simmered at each other from across the house, the table, the sparring course. It was truly sad, the neighbours said, to see the loss of a once great relationship between father and son. And only because of a bow and a stubbornness bred many years into their blood.
Felon's father was the first of his family in the many years that had been recorded, to not fall in battle. In his older age, he instead came down with a fever, during the coldest months of the year. He shook, even when the frost broke, a shadow of his former self and a broken shell of the powerful man Felon had once looked up to as the pinnacle of strength and bravery. It was late in the night when Felon was called to his father's side. His father's tired eyes looked upon him, the many winters reflected on his worn face and sad features. He took his son's hand in his own and looked into the young teen's eyes. Their words were unspoken and yet they both understood. The hard heartedness had melted between them in the moment where they had almost been lost forever. His father muttered a small blessing, trvial, perhaps to the great speeches made by his forefathers before him, but to Felon, it meant more than any other words spoken by the great man. His father was burned, like his fathers before him and sent to Frebal's halls in hope he would be accepted for his accomplishments. And Felon was left to wander the Earth alone. His mother wasted away without the love of her life and her flower, her boy was left even deeper in the shadow than ever before, so tragic was the life of Felon.
One light came into his life. A young woman by the name of Katrina came into sight, her radiance blinding the lost man. All it took was a look into her beautiful grey eyes and he knew that he had found the woman of his life. The two were inseparable, the pinnacle of puppy love, until the fateful day that they were wed to the cheers or comrades and friends. Felon's life was no longer a simple tragedy, there was reason to live once again. Another reason soon arrived after that in a son, another strong boy born into his house. His name was Ryan and he became the pride of Felon's life. Teaching him the way of the bow and the sword. Teaching him how to track and to hunt and the boy was always eager to learn. At 6 he was a force to be reckoned with. Felon was truly happy, his father's blessing coming true at last.
His life was shattered once again. He could not recover from this loss, there would be no simple solution from this one. His love, his pride both taken from him in a raid; the raid. He remembered the screams, the fires that riddled the area, claiming lives, not bias in who it took from the world. He remembered clawing through the wood, feeling the flames lick his clothes and skin. He remembered looking at the horrified expression on his son's face, as he was taken from this world, too young to leave a legacy and too soon for his father who cried to the heavens in anger at what his life had become.
So he devoted himself to the Gods. This was the only way he knew how to cope, throwing away attachment seemed like the only way he could let go and so he did, releasing himself to whatever God happened to snap him up. He began to write, spread the pains of war to those who knew none. He hated the happiness that came to some during war. War was only a painful necessity, not something to be rejoicing in. And so this is the way Felon remains. Lost, alone and one to try to spread his message until he submits to the Void himself. His line ends with him.
Extras: Felon tends to spread his works across the camp, hoping, not to convert, but rather raise awareness of the loss because of war. The reason he chooses to do this, is to avoid the blood lusting that had begun to become commonplace amongst the army he served with. The degree of this is perhaps less than what he assumes, but he chooses to do this anyway
Name: Seiben "the Poet" Anvern
Age: 31
Gender: Male
Appearance: Seiben is not tall, nor physically powerful, or indeed strikingly handsome. That's not to say that he's short, weak or ugly, merely that physically, there's nothing special about his looks. Sadly, it must be true claims that his success comes from skill
Sieben is about 5'10", moderately muscle, but no more than usual for someone who has become used to army life. His face is almost unmarred, spoilt only by a small scar in his lip, which includes a small cleft out of the top of the lip itself. His eyes are blue-green, and are filled alternately with melancholy and bright wit. Though not strong, he does fight with an easy grace born of many years dancing.
Equipment: Although he complains eloquently of how it slows him down and clutters his movements, Sieben wears his iron plate most of time, and is indeed fond of the protection it affords him. He carries the standard buckler on his left arm, and in his right wields a medium size cutlass, useful only in the short range but heavy enough to do considerable damage. When he fights, it is with speed, grace and a surprising ferocity from one so calm and collected.
Personality: Without his armour, Seiben does not strike one as a soldier. Not only does his build and choice of company suggest otherwise, his very demeanour is that of his former occupation, a poet and entertainer who lives in a flurry of indulgence, wit, performance and routine debauchery. The catlike laziness of his movements and the concern with such things as choosing the right word or creating a unique compliment for every woman he seduces mark him out as one unused to soldiering.
Harking back to his time in the capital, Sieben has a particular way with women, and none can help but feel some attraction to him. However, though he flirts almost on autopilot, these days he never capitalises on his advantage
Backstory: Sieben was a poet and entertainer in the capital, but in amongst his heady life of indulgence he made a fatal mistake, and fell in love with a daughter of a rich merchant. So much did he stake on their pairing that he forsook not only the other ladies, but also hi friends and even some clients.
Of course, though she claimed to reciprocate, she truely felt nothing of the kind. After seven months of their relationship, he found her in their room with another man, and when questioned, she admitted without a hint of shame that she had been taking lovers for the previous five months. Devastated, Sieben recoiled back to his friends, only to find them distant and uncaring, now that he who had abandoned them had now been himself abandoned. Not knowing what else to do, Seiben chose the path of self exile, joining up with a section of the army headed off to the distant mountains. It's been three years, but still he becomes melancholy when he tells the tale, and speaks of it only rarely.
Age: 31
Gender: Male
Appearance: Seiben is not tall, nor physically powerful, or indeed strikingly handsome. That's not to say that he's short, weak or ugly, merely that physically, there's nothing special about his looks. Sadly, it must be true claims that his success comes from skill
Sieben is about 5'10", moderately muscle, but no more than usual for someone who has become used to army life. His face is almost unmarred, spoilt only by a small scar in his lip, which includes a small cleft out of the top of the lip itself. His eyes are blue-green, and are filled alternately with melancholy and bright wit. Though not strong, he does fight with an easy grace born of many years dancing.
Equipment: Although he complains eloquently of how it slows him down and clutters his movements, Sieben wears his iron plate most of time, and is indeed fond of the protection it affords him. He carries the standard buckler on his left arm, and in his right wields a medium size cutlass, useful only in the short range but heavy enough to do considerable damage. When he fights, it is with speed, grace and a surprising ferocity from one so calm and collected.
Personality: Without his armour, Seiben does not strike one as a soldier. Not only does his build and choice of company suggest otherwise, his very demeanour is that of his former occupation, a poet and entertainer who lives in a flurry of indulgence, wit, performance and routine debauchery. The catlike laziness of his movements and the concern with such things as choosing the right word or creating a unique compliment for every woman he seduces mark him out as one unused to soldiering.
Harking back to his time in the capital, Sieben has a particular way with women, and none can help but feel some attraction to him. However, though he flirts almost on autopilot, these days he never capitalises on his advantage
Backstory: Sieben was a poet and entertainer in the capital, but in amongst his heady life of indulgence he made a fatal mistake, and fell in love with a daughter of a rich merchant. So much did he stake on their pairing that he forsook not only the other ladies, but also hi friends and even some clients.
Of course, though she claimed to reciprocate, she truely felt nothing of the kind. After seven months of their relationship, he found her in their room with another man, and when questioned, she admitted without a hint of shame that she had been taking lovers for the previous five months. Devastated, Sieben recoiled back to his friends, only to find them distant and uncaring, now that he who had abandoned them had now been himself abandoned. Not knowing what else to do, Seiben chose the path of self exile, joining up with a section of the army headed off to the distant mountains. It's been three years, but still he becomes melancholy when he tells the tale, and speaks of it only rarely.
Shapsters : Zeig Drarhin
Name: Zeig Drarhin
Age: 10
Gender: Male
Appearance: Naturally spiky, jet black hair which sticks out in all directions. Zeig has caring amber eyes and despite his young age, a crooked and broken nose. His cheeks are rather hollow and his lips seem to be lacking in depth, his ears are too large for his head and they prominently stick out.
Equipment: Basic warm clothing, a crudely made club he carries(mostly for show) and a shield he made out of a flat, hard piece of wood he found.
Personality: Zeig is rather fearless, he wants to one day be a warrior and is always looking up to warriors. He spends his day doing typical youngster things, climbing trees, doing chores, getting in fights. His lack of tact and opposition of other peoples opinions is what got his nose broken, he has been in many fights and in one particularly nasty fight his nose was broken.
Backstory: Born and raised in Highburn, his mother was raped by a passing soldier and became pregnant with Zeig. She kept him and raised him, using the various men around the village as role models for the young boy. He was a pretty good kid growing up, mostly staying out of trouble and trying to be the man of the house.
Name: Zeig Drarhin
Age: 10
Gender: Male
Appearance: Naturally spiky, jet black hair which sticks out in all directions. Zeig has caring amber eyes and despite his young age, a crooked and broken nose. His cheeks are rather hollow and his lips seem to be lacking in depth, his ears are too large for his head and they prominently stick out.
Equipment: Basic warm clothing, a crudely made club he carries(mostly for show) and a shield he made out of a flat, hard piece of wood he found.
Personality: Zeig is rather fearless, he wants to one day be a warrior and is always looking up to warriors. He spends his day doing typical youngster things, climbing trees, doing chores, getting in fights. His lack of tact and opposition of other peoples opinions is what got his nose broken, he has been in many fights and in one particularly nasty fight his nose was broken.
Backstory: Born and raised in Highburn, his mother was raped by a passing soldier and became pregnant with Zeig. She kept him and raised him, using the various men around the village as role models for the young boy. He was a pretty good kid growing up, mostly staying out of trouble and trying to be the man of the house.
TheHairminator : Barak
Name: Barak
Age: 45
Gender: Male
Appearance:Rather short, but incredibly muscular, giving a slightly silly image. Looking at him further is likely to give an opposite opinion, though. A large portion of his face is covered with thick black facial hair. His eyes are dark and serious. His hair is as long as his beard, and it's hard to tell where one stops and the other one starts.
Equipment: Smith's hammer, apron.
Personality: Barak is a man of few words, communicating as much with grunts, as with words. He generally tends to avoid most people, however, although his job sometimes make it difficult. Although he is very calm and controlled many people secretly fear him, and he has a lot of respect in the village.
Backstory: Barak and his parents arrived in Highburn many years ago, fleeing from the Eastern lands. They settled, but they were always outside of the community somewhat. His parents never learned the language very well, and Barak was teased by the other children for his accent and odd looks. This lead to him spending a lot of time at his father's side, mastering the arts of a blacksmith. When Barak's father froze to death after being caught in a blizzard while hunting, Barak took over the family business. He has been supplying the villagers with everything metal ever since. He used to get his raw material from the Village's ore production, but now he is forced to trade his metal from merchants.
Note: Has in recent years accepted an apprentice named Noel.
Name: Barak
Age: 45
Gender: Male
Appearance:Rather short, but incredibly muscular, giving a slightly silly image. Looking at him further is likely to give an opposite opinion, though. A large portion of his face is covered with thick black facial hair. His eyes are dark and serious. His hair is as long as his beard, and it's hard to tell where one stops and the other one starts.
Equipment: Smith's hammer, apron.
Personality: Barak is a man of few words, communicating as much with grunts, as with words. He generally tends to avoid most people, however, although his job sometimes make it difficult. Although he is very calm and controlled many people secretly fear him, and he has a lot of respect in the village.
Backstory: Barak and his parents arrived in Highburn many years ago, fleeing from the Eastern lands. They settled, but they were always outside of the community somewhat. His parents never learned the language very well, and Barak was teased by the other children for his accent and odd looks. This lead to him spending a lot of time at his father's side, mastering the arts of a blacksmith. When Barak's father froze to death after being caught in a blizzard while hunting, Barak took over the family business. He has been supplying the villagers with everything metal ever since. He used to get his raw material from the Village's ore production, but now he is forced to trade his metal from merchants.
Note: Has in recent years accepted an apprentice named Noel.
Sporky111 : Ochrem Caliste
Name: Ochrem Caliste
Age: 74
Gender: Male
Appearance: Ochrem is a rather frail old man, very thin and bony. The skin on his face is rough and weathered, with deep wrinkles. His eyes are deep set, but still bright with intelligence. He has a bit of a hunch in his back, but it looks more like he has been slumped forward too long.
He can still walk fine, but uses a gnarled cane for support. He always has warm clothes bundled around him, more than average, to stave off the cold.
Equipment: He is unable to carry much with him. He tends to have a couple blankets bundled over him, which he passes out to others who need them. He also carried a pouch full of small trinkets and herbal medicines.
Personality: He's very strong of mind, in spite of his body. He still has a strong urge to survive and is charismatic enough to pass this on to the people around him.
Ochrem is a solemn man; rarely seen happy, but very content with his life. He is always telling stories of his youth, or his time fighting in the defense of others. He is a great source of comfort and strength for those who know him.
Backstory: Ochrem is the grandfather of Orson Caliste. He was forced to retire at the age of 40, after suffering a serious wound to his stomach. This worked out well, as he was able to better raise his four children, even though they were all in their teens by then.
His youngest son, Orson's father, stayed at home to trap as an adult, so when Orson was born Ochrem took a primary role in raising the boy.
Name: Ochrem Caliste
Age: 74
Gender: Male
Appearance: Ochrem is a rather frail old man, very thin and bony. The skin on his face is rough and weathered, with deep wrinkles. His eyes are deep set, but still bright with intelligence. He has a bit of a hunch in his back, but it looks more like he has been slumped forward too long.
He can still walk fine, but uses a gnarled cane for support. He always has warm clothes bundled around him, more than average, to stave off the cold.
Equipment: He is unable to carry much with him. He tends to have a couple blankets bundled over him, which he passes out to others who need them. He also carried a pouch full of small trinkets and herbal medicines.
Personality: He's very strong of mind, in spite of his body. He still has a strong urge to survive and is charismatic enough to pass this on to the people around him.
Ochrem is a solemn man; rarely seen happy, but very content with his life. He is always telling stories of his youth, or his time fighting in the defense of others. He is a great source of comfort and strength for those who know him.
Backstory: Ochrem is the grandfather of Orson Caliste. He was forced to retire at the age of 40, after suffering a serious wound to his stomach. This worked out well, as he was able to better raise his four children, even though they were all in their teens by then.
His youngest son, Orson's father, stayed at home to trap as an adult, so when Orson was born Ochrem took a primary role in raising the boy.
Lost in the Void : Emma
Name: Emma
Age: 17
Gender: Female
Appearance: 5'6" and slim, Emma wears her hear down normally, allowing the raven black hair to cascade over her shoulders. She usually wears a simple outfit, not deviating from the norm, already self aware of the fact she feels she does not belong. Her eyes are a cool grey and her skin is pale.
Equipment: She has worked with the farmers since her arrival in this village. Thus here only real possessions are the clothes on her back and a scythe she bought with her earnings.
Personality: Emma is a very warm and loving person, this originating in the village that she was born in. The village was one that embraced unity and the phrase, "It takes a village to raise a child," was taken very literally. Due to the love and trust of the village, Emma matured into a beautiful young girl, though somewhat naive. She is learning that, now that she has lived in this village for a couple years now, after her own was destroyed.
Backstory: To come later tonight, due to the fact I'm moving back to my parents today and don't have time to write it until that is done.
Name: Emma
Age: 17
Gender: Female
Appearance: 5'6" and slim, Emma wears her hear down normally, allowing the raven black hair to cascade over her shoulders. She usually wears a simple outfit, not deviating from the norm, already self aware of the fact she feels she does not belong. Her eyes are a cool grey and her skin is pale.
Equipment: She has worked with the farmers since her arrival in this village. Thus here only real possessions are the clothes on her back and a scythe she bought with her earnings.
Personality: Emma is a very warm and loving person, this originating in the village that she was born in. The village was one that embraced unity and the phrase, "It takes a village to raise a child," was taken very literally. Due to the love and trust of the village, Emma matured into a beautiful young girl, though somewhat naive. She is learning that, now that she has lived in this village for a couple years now, after her own was destroyed.
Backstory: To come later tonight, due to the fact I'm moving back to my parents today and don't have time to write it until that is done.
Name: William Idaho
Age: 15
Gender: Male
Appearance: William is halfway through his ascension to manhood, as such he is almost six foot tall, though yet to fully flesh out, yet unlike most boys of his stage, he is graceful and smooth in his movements, for which he has his training as a hunter to thank. His face has the look of a man to it's angles, though he is yet to shave more than once a week, and he still wears his ginger-brown hair down to his neck. his eyes are grey blue and watchful, taking in everything around him with a quiet observance that speaks of his great potential in his profession, and his mouth, though not overused, is wide and sensuous, often gifted with a smile.
As befits a hunter, he wears simple, dark clothes which are more for practicality than show; they allow his to move silently when he needs to, and are surprisingly comfortable, though look shabby and old to those who judge merely by look
Equipment: Being a young man, William has few possessions of his own; but those he does have he treasures closely; a hunting knife, his clothes, a few bone pendants he carved himself, several dozen arrows, also homemade, a quiver to hold up to two dozen, and above all his bow; a beautiful creation bought form a traveling trader with a years worth of saved furs; it is excellent and he feels it brings him luck. He also has a small kit for the making of arrows, containing a small knife, a reel of twine, a needle, fifty of so arrow heads and a pouch of fletching feathers. He must find more shafts himself, and should his other supplies run out, he is able to replace all but the needle and knife (assuming he lives that long)
Personality: William is a quiet boy, given to periods of introspection, and possessing of the rare ability to sit still for hours without hint of boredom nor weariness; such talents have made him a skilled hunter, and his master has high hopes for him
However, for all his power4s of silence, he is by no means bad company, for he is well versed both in the art of light conversation and the deeper silences that come only between friends; he understands well the function of both of noise and quiet
Backstory: Born and raised in Highburn, William is a child of the mountains through and through. Both his parents are alive, though his mother is not well; she miscarried when pregnant with a younger sibling for William, and has never been the same since. Her depression also affected his father, who was sometimes driven to drink by his wife's depression, and though he tried to avoid it, it drove William to avoid the house when he could. Instead, he took to exploring the mountains, and more than once ran into the hunter Dervish, who he made friends with. Dervish offered to teach him how to live in the mountains, to stalk an animal in total silence and bring it down without a sound, and when William showed great promise wen to Dervish went to the boy's parents and asked to take him as a apprentice; this they accepted, for his father knew at heart what troubled the boy and was further glad to set him on a course for a worthwhile profession.
The move cost little in terms of emotion, for William only moved in with Dervish and his wife on the other side of the village, but he began learning his craft in earnest, and withing three years was a skilled hunter indeed. Only six months ago, Dervish bought his the beautiful bow which he treasures.
Age: 15
Gender: Male
Appearance: William is halfway through his ascension to manhood, as such he is almost six foot tall, though yet to fully flesh out, yet unlike most boys of his stage, he is graceful and smooth in his movements, for which he has his training as a hunter to thank. His face has the look of a man to it's angles, though he is yet to shave more than once a week, and he still wears his ginger-brown hair down to his neck. his eyes are grey blue and watchful, taking in everything around him with a quiet observance that speaks of his great potential in his profession, and his mouth, though not overused, is wide and sensuous, often gifted with a smile.
As befits a hunter, he wears simple, dark clothes which are more for practicality than show; they allow his to move silently when he needs to, and are surprisingly comfortable, though look shabby and old to those who judge merely by look
Equipment: Being a young man, William has few possessions of his own; but those he does have he treasures closely; a hunting knife, his clothes, a few bone pendants he carved himself, several dozen arrows, also homemade, a quiver to hold up to two dozen, and above all his bow; a beautiful creation bought form a traveling trader with a years worth of saved furs; it is excellent and he feels it brings him luck. He also has a small kit for the making of arrows, containing a small knife, a reel of twine, a needle, fifty of so arrow heads and a pouch of fletching feathers. He must find more shafts himself, and should his other supplies run out, he is able to replace all but the needle and knife (assuming he lives that long)
Personality: William is a quiet boy, given to periods of introspection, and possessing of the rare ability to sit still for hours without hint of boredom nor weariness; such talents have made him a skilled hunter, and his master has high hopes for him
However, for all his power4s of silence, he is by no means bad company, for he is well versed both in the art of light conversation and the deeper silences that come only between friends; he understands well the function of both of noise and quiet
Backstory: Born and raised in Highburn, William is a child of the mountains through and through. Both his parents are alive, though his mother is not well; she miscarried when pregnant with a younger sibling for William, and has never been the same since. Her depression also affected his father, who was sometimes driven to drink by his wife's depression, and though he tried to avoid it, it drove William to avoid the house when he could. Instead, he took to exploring the mountains, and more than once ran into the hunter Dervish, who he made friends with. Dervish offered to teach him how to live in the mountains, to stalk an animal in total silence and bring it down without a sound, and when William showed great promise wen to Dervish went to the boy's parents and asked to take him as a apprentice; this they accepted, for his father knew at heart what troubled the boy and was further glad to set him on a course for a worthwhile profession.
The move cost little in terms of emotion, for William only moved in with Dervish and his wife on the other side of the village, but he began learning his craft in earnest, and withing three years was a skilled hunter indeed. Only six months ago, Dervish bought his the beautiful bow which he treasures.
Sorry for the multiple posts. This post is a placeholder for the likely event that the above post is too big and needs overflow. Villagers will be added soon.
I was hoping I could use my villager as a semi-soldier, hence the bow and stuff. he was designed to be self sufficient to function as a main character...Yorgmiester said:
Anyhow, writing now!
*sigh*ThreeWords said:
3W, 3W, 3W. Whatever shall we do with you.
Just remember to make sure your soldier fits the one requirement I set: that he or she has been with the unit for a while, as a soldier, in the army. No mercenaries or lone gunslinger types here.
EDIT: Just a thought, but you could always edit your villager sheet and make him a soldier.
What about the shield?! You were pretty firm regarding that part, as I recall it.Yorgmiester said:
"The man who fights even though he does not want to fight could be any number of thing; greedy, courageous, foolish, enslaved."
"But the man who fights because he does not want to fight; that man is a hero."
"But the man who fights because he does not want to fight; that man is a hero."
[HEADING=1]Chapter One: Flight[/HEADING]
"...dreary, desolate, hellish seclusion."
Rinus mouthed the last four words as he penned them onto the page, then grimaced tiredly as he closed the cover of his journal and tossed it onto his nearby bed. Leaning back in his cramped, squeaky chair, he stared into the tiny light of the single candle that lit a small, rough desk in the corner of the room. The only noise was the fierce yet monotonous howling of the wind just outside the room's only window. Compared to the maelstrom waiting just beyond that thin pane of glass, the slight warmth and glow of his miniscule candle was comparable to a hot bath, despite how pitiful the light really was.
With a heavy sigh, Rinus reached up and snuffed the flame out with his finger, then pushed the chair back and stood, slowly, letting the kinks in his back straighten after being hunched over the book. It hadn't been a terribly long writing session, as he didn't have much to say, but it seemed his body was getting more and more grumpy with each passing day.
I'm too old for writing.
Rubbing his face with one hand, the old war veteran turned away from his "desk" and walked towards the door on the far side of the now darkened room, passing through a double row of beds that were currently serving as the sleeping quarters for his unit. The mattresses were lumpy, the frames were flimsy, the pillows were composed of a bolt of cotton cloth folded over. Stains abounded, and the myriad of weird smells helped to mask the scents that would knock a man unconscious. But they were used to it.
Granted, Rinus' description of Highburn was not completely fair. It was a dreary, desolate, hellish, scenic seclusion. The mountains that the small village was nestled against were dangerous, majestic, and beautiful, at least during the first half of the year. During the second half, you couldn't see them.
Reaching the door, Rinus pushed it open on it's rusty hinges and stepped into the hall, not bothering to shut it as he sluggishly ambled his way passed several other doors, most of them left open so that the heat from downstairs could drift up into them. The poignant scent of meat wafted on the air, causing his stomach to growl and his feet to quicken slightly.
The unit had been in Highburn for almost a month now, and it was wearing on all of them. It wasn't like they could enjoy the outdoors, either. An abominable blizzard had been pounding the small backwater village for almost the entire time, delaying the reinforcements he and his men needed in order to properly evacuate the townsfolk. Not like they could have evacuated anyway; nobody would survive a day out there. Simply stepping out the front door caused one's whiskers to freeze solid. Cabin fever ran amok among the troops and villagers, and the only way to relieve it was with lots and lots of beer. Unfortunately, even that commodity was running out.
As he came to the spiral stairs and began to descend, the sounds of some meager merriment reached his ears. The smell of food became more powerful, and a cheerful yellow light was visible around the bend. The steps groaned in protest under his footfalls, mirroring the aches and pains of the walls and ceiling around him as they were buffeted by the outside gale.
In a few more seconds Rinus emerged into the Common Room of the Swamp Gold Inn and Tavern, where the rest of his unit and many of the villagers were gathered around hot food and good rum. A fire "blazed" in the large fireplace on the far wall, tables and chairs littered the area, some standing and some not. A bar opposite the fireplace was where most of the patrons were located; a door behind it led to the kitchen.
Rinus crossed to the bar and ordered a simple meal of meat and potatoes, then sat down wearily at a vacant table to wait for his food, paying little heed to the clamor and talking around him. The only thing on the agenda tonight was a full stomach and then some well-deserved sleep. Hopefully some word would get to them through this gods-forsaken storm.
His dinner, along with a mug of beer, arrived, and he dug in, forgetting his weariness and worries for a few minutes, loosing himself in hot buttery potatoes and a juicy steak.
Alright, we have begun! For the time being, your characters can do whatever you want. They could be drinking in the tavern, sleeping in bed, tending to their horse in the stables, etc etc. Do some mingling, establish some personality, touch base on some worries, hopes, or emotions. The action will start soon enough.
It is about 7:00 in the evening, conditions outside are, as suggested, hellish. Pretty much zero visibility, freezing wind, six feet of snow, all that good stuff. A quick dash between buildings is about it as far as going outside is concerned.
It is about 7:00 in the evening, conditions outside are, as suggested, hellish. Pretty much zero visibility, freezing wind, six feet of snow, all that good stuff. A quick dash between buildings is about it as far as going outside is concerned.
Aryana Tabrizi hid her face behind a book. She sat at the back of the bar with her feet on a table, near the roaring fire and with great concentration managed to read and block out the noise of the bar. As a roaming soldier she was commonly in places with loud noises and environments, and as an avid reader she had trained herself to be able to block out the world around her and focus solely on the words on the page. After a couple years of reading in such loud places, Aryana was literally unable to hear any noise around her and even an attempt to get her attention would involve physical contact of some sort.
The book she read taught about the various species in the mountainous area, it wasn't the most interesting of books, but it was nice to be able to relax near a nice, warm fire and just read. She had made a pact once she joined this unit to read at least 5 books a week, and ideally she had hoped to read more. The less than ideal weather was perfect in Aryana's mind, as long as she didn't need to be outside in it, what better an excuse to curl up by a fire and read a good book?
A case could be made that most of her battle knowledge had come from books, she grew up training with weapons sure, but just as much of her time was devoted to reading about proper battle tactics. How to scout properly, how to ensure a clean kill, how to use the environment to your advantage. What few battles she had be involved in she had little contribution in, so despite her impressive skill set she was more of a book learner than anything.
Her beautiful gray eyes peered out from behind her book, she had read about half of it that night and decided it was time to give her eyes a bit of a break. She scanned the room looking for people of interest, the bar held your usual patrons. Loud, brutish men looking for an hard drink and a warm escape from the weather, less than proper women looking for a married man to take advantage of an blackmail, and of course soldiers. Men and women of her unit mingled and drank, enjoying the time they had off and chatting with the locals.
Rinus was sitting at a table by himself, his face was weary from lack of sleep and hunger. He hated this weather, Aryana knew that much and by the look on his face and the way he sat, anyone could gather that fact. She chuckled lightly at the thought of the man eating by himself, he so often encouraged the soldiers to spend time together and strengthen their bonds with each other, and yet there he was sitting by himself. But she could tell it was less him being unsociable and more so him wanting to quickly eat his meal and go to sleep, he needed a good nights rest. Everyone needs some quiet time and who was she to judge when she sat in the back of the room, face hidden behind the cover of a book?
She shrugged her shoulders and resumed reading.
The book she read taught about the various species in the mountainous area, it wasn't the most interesting of books, but it was nice to be able to relax near a nice, warm fire and just read. She had made a pact once she joined this unit to read at least 5 books a week, and ideally she had hoped to read more. The less than ideal weather was perfect in Aryana's mind, as long as she didn't need to be outside in it, what better an excuse to curl up by a fire and read a good book?
A case could be made that most of her battle knowledge had come from books, she grew up training with weapons sure, but just as much of her time was devoted to reading about proper battle tactics. How to scout properly, how to ensure a clean kill, how to use the environment to your advantage. What few battles she had be involved in she had little contribution in, so despite her impressive skill set she was more of a book learner than anything.
Her beautiful gray eyes peered out from behind her book, she had read about half of it that night and decided it was time to give her eyes a bit of a break. She scanned the room looking for people of interest, the bar held your usual patrons. Loud, brutish men looking for an hard drink and a warm escape from the weather, less than proper women looking for a married man to take advantage of an blackmail, and of course soldiers. Men and women of her unit mingled and drank, enjoying the time they had off and chatting with the locals.
Rinus was sitting at a table by himself, his face was weary from lack of sleep and hunger. He hated this weather, Aryana knew that much and by the look on his face and the way he sat, anyone could gather that fact. She chuckled lightly at the thought of the man eating by himself, he so often encouraged the soldiers to spend time together and strengthen their bonds with each other, and yet there he was sitting by himself. But she could tell it was less him being unsociable and more so him wanting to quickly eat his meal and go to sleep, he needed a good nights rest. Everyone needs some quiet time and who was she to judge when she sat in the back of the room, face hidden behind the cover of a book?
She shrugged her shoulders and resumed reading.
The door of the Swamp Gold Tavern flew open, and, standing in the doorway, was Silas in a full cloak. The cloak had done a good job protecting him from the harshness of the blizzard raging just outside. Silas stepped in to the tavern, the door swinging closed behind him. He threw off the hood of the cloak, and scanned the tavern. Everyone was drinking, eating, and generally carrying on. A large grin grew across his bearded face. Silas threw his arms up, and, in his complete lack of subtlety, made his presence known.
"Friends! I am here!"
Most of the patrons of the inn showed indifference to the man, preferring instead to focus on their meals and conversations. This did not bother Silas. He knew he was liked. He did not need any more affirmation. The roaring fire of the fireplace lit the large tavern, complimented by candles and torches lining the walls and doting the tables. The fires helped warm the entire building, creating a pleasant contrast to the unforgiving weather which battered the village, seemingly for weeks. This was clearly the most lively building of the area. And why wouldn't it? It was possibly the only place in the village which let anyone and everyone forget, even if just momentarily, that war was always banging on the door. Everywhere needed a place like this. Why would Highburn be any different. Silas approached the counter of the bar, where Dalder was finishing waiting on a villager.
"Dalder! How about a good meal and a mug of your best grog for old Silas!"
Dalder simply smiled and shook his head, walking away to fill the order. A few minutes later, he returned, carrying a plate of steak and potatoes, along with some beer. Silas began digging into the delicious meal, filling his empty stomach.
"Friends! I am here!"
Most of the patrons of the inn showed indifference to the man, preferring instead to focus on their meals and conversations. This did not bother Silas. He knew he was liked. He did not need any more affirmation. The roaring fire of the fireplace lit the large tavern, complimented by candles and torches lining the walls and doting the tables. The fires helped warm the entire building, creating a pleasant contrast to the unforgiving weather which battered the village, seemingly for weeks. This was clearly the most lively building of the area. And why wouldn't it? It was possibly the only place in the village which let anyone and everyone forget, even if just momentarily, that war was always banging on the door. Everywhere needed a place like this. Why would Highburn be any different. Silas approached the counter of the bar, where Dalder was finishing waiting on a villager.
"Dalder! How about a good meal and a mug of your best grog for old Silas!"
Dalder simply smiled and shook his head, walking away to fill the order. A few minutes later, he returned, carrying a plate of steak and potatoes, along with some beer. Silas began digging into the delicious meal, filling his empty stomach.
Short post. Going to expand
Orson was sitting aside from the bulk of the group. He had a sort of half-grin, resulting from the story his grandfather was telling and from the beer in his hand. When he had heard the assignment to evacuate Highburn, he had been reluctant to go through with it. It had been his home, where he grew up, and he knew that it was more than likely to be looted or even destroyed once they left.
He had felt somewhat responsible for making his family pull up roots and get ready to leave. But then the storm had intensified. All the packing was for nothing, and they had been stuck there. Now, a month later, all the regret was gone. He just wanted to leave.
He took another gulp from the tankard and thought of the tension that had been building lately. The cabin fever. At least Orson had family to make him feel more at home than stranded, but none of the other members of his unit had that luxury. But at least they had the town's stores of alcohol and food.
"You could scarcely see your hand in front of your face..." Ochrem said, holding out his hand for effect. The old man had been waxing dramatic for over an hour, keeping the children entertained, as well as several adults. "...but we could hear them. A group of soldiers, maybe twenty of them, getting closer... and closer. All I had was my sword to defend us, Dervic and Arya held their bowstrings taught. We just kept hoping and praying that they wouldn't see us huddled under the tree. They'd have to trip over us, but we knew that it could happen and one of them would land right on top of us..."
Orson listened intently to the story. It always amazed him that his grandfather had a different story for every night. He had only heard a few of them more than once, at the urging of the children. Peering into the tankard, he saw it was almost empty. He tipped the last bit into his mouth and stood up, just a bit shakily, and approached the bar for a refill.
He had felt somewhat responsible for making his family pull up roots and get ready to leave. But then the storm had intensified. All the packing was for nothing, and they had been stuck there. Now, a month later, all the regret was gone. He just wanted to leave.
He took another gulp from the tankard and thought of the tension that had been building lately. The cabin fever. At least Orson had family to make him feel more at home than stranded, but none of the other members of his unit had that luxury. But at least they had the town's stores of alcohol and food.
"You could scarcely see your hand in front of your face..." Ochrem said, holding out his hand for effect. The old man had been waxing dramatic for over an hour, keeping the children entertained, as well as several adults. "...but we could hear them. A group of soldiers, maybe twenty of them, getting closer... and closer. All I had was my sword to defend us, Dervic and Arya held their bowstrings taught. We just kept hoping and praying that they wouldn't see us huddled under the tree. They'd have to trip over us, but we knew that it could happen and one of them would land right on top of us..."
Orson listened intently to the story. It always amazed him that his grandfather had a different story for every night. He had only heard a few of them more than once, at the urging of the children. Peering into the tankard, he saw it was almost empty. He tipped the last bit into his mouth and stood up, just a bit shakily, and approached the bar for a refill.
"Your move."
Outside was the howling blizzard, but right now Yan had other things to worry about than snow and wind.
Why in the gods names had he challenged her of all people? He could feel Iovynne's penetrating vision fixed on his face, even as he reached for his beer pint. Yan deliberately avoided eye contact as he brought it to his mouth. As the warmish beer ran down his throat, he regained some confidence. His eyes met hers, if only for a second. Her face was cold and focused, and completely frozen, as cut in stone. Watching his next move.
Yan had already beaten most of the unit in the popular table game of Formation earlier that day. The game was simple to learn, but hard to master. Yan took pride in being somewhat intelligent, but this particular evening his bragging of being a tactical mastermind had gone to far. "Io", one of his last unbeaten opponents, had challenged him. He knew she was bright, maybe even moreso than Yan himself, but what he really feared was her stubbornness. On some level he feared this woman might win out of sheer willpower.
Looking out over the table now, however, his fear of losing was gone. She had played good, but not nearly as good as he had feared. He had her lead formation in a tactical ambush, and even if she had realized it, there were no longer any way out for her. A new feeling started to grow, fear of her reaction as she lost.
"Aw, You're just too good for me, babe." was simply what he said. He winked, and curved his mouth in a provocative smile. Her face didn't move an inch. He moved a decoy formation in position, seemingly carelessly, in order to fully set the trap. That's when he realized it. By performing the move of springing the trap he had effectively left her main formation pointing at his capital. It hadn't been his trap, it was hers. Hers all along. He looked up, "Io" Iovynne was now smiling, for the first time since the game had started. Yan took a few moments to watch the table, then sighed loudly. He was completely and utterly defeated.
"Does the 'tactical genius' want a rematch when he has had some training?" Iovynne said in a mocking voice.
"Yeah, that's a great idea, Io! Let's act like I didn't let you win." Yan hadn't lost his recollection for more than a few second, but he was pretty sure she had noticed.
"How sweet of you." She stated, as she got up from her chair, and walked over to the bar without paying Yan anymore attention. Yan remained at the table, watching the pieces on the table, thinking over his tactical mistakes. He drank the remainder of his beer in one single slurp.
He scanned the room, searching for anything to occupy him, and bring him from his now slightly depressed state of mind. There was the boss, Rinus, enjoying his meal alone, being seemingly even more miserable than Yan. There were Orson and his family, but now when Io had joined the people listening to the old man telling stories, he felt no wish to go there.
His eyes stopped when they came to the corner with the book reading Aryana. He got up from the chair and walked closer. Even considering Yan's slightly intoxicated state, and the fact that the chair basically had its back against a wall, sneaking up on her was easy, enclosed in her own world as she was. As he covered her eyes with his hands from behind, he said in a cheerful voice:
"Guess who!?"
Outside was the howling blizzard, but right now Yan had other things to worry about than snow and wind.
Why in the gods names had he challenged her of all people? He could feel Iovynne's penetrating vision fixed on his face, even as he reached for his beer pint. Yan deliberately avoided eye contact as he brought it to his mouth. As the warmish beer ran down his throat, he regained some confidence. His eyes met hers, if only for a second. Her face was cold and focused, and completely frozen, as cut in stone. Watching his next move.
Yan had already beaten most of the unit in the popular table game of Formation earlier that day. The game was simple to learn, but hard to master. Yan took pride in being somewhat intelligent, but this particular evening his bragging of being a tactical mastermind had gone to far. "Io", one of his last unbeaten opponents, had challenged him. He knew she was bright, maybe even moreso than Yan himself, but what he really feared was her stubbornness. On some level he feared this woman might win out of sheer willpower.
Looking out over the table now, however, his fear of losing was gone. She had played good, but not nearly as good as he had feared. He had her lead formation in a tactical ambush, and even if she had realized it, there were no longer any way out for her. A new feeling started to grow, fear of her reaction as she lost.
"Aw, You're just too good for me, babe." was simply what he said. He winked, and curved his mouth in a provocative smile. Her face didn't move an inch. He moved a decoy formation in position, seemingly carelessly, in order to fully set the trap. That's when he realized it. By performing the move of springing the trap he had effectively left her main formation pointing at his capital. It hadn't been his trap, it was hers. Hers all along. He looked up, "Io" Iovynne was now smiling, for the first time since the game had started. Yan took a few moments to watch the table, then sighed loudly. He was completely and utterly defeated.
"Does the 'tactical genius' want a rematch when he has had some training?" Iovynne said in a mocking voice.
"Yeah, that's a great idea, Io! Let's act like I didn't let you win." Yan hadn't lost his recollection for more than a few second, but he was pretty sure she had noticed.
"How sweet of you." She stated, as she got up from her chair, and walked over to the bar without paying Yan anymore attention. Yan remained at the table, watching the pieces on the table, thinking over his tactical mistakes. He drank the remainder of his beer in one single slurp.
He scanned the room, searching for anything to occupy him, and bring him from his now slightly depressed state of mind. There was the boss, Rinus, enjoying his meal alone, being seemingly even more miserable than Yan. There were Orson and his family, but now when Io had joined the people listening to the old man telling stories, he felt no wish to go there.
His eyes stopped when they came to the corner with the book reading Aryana. He got up from the chair and walked closer. Even considering Yan's slightly intoxicated state, and the fact that the chair basically had its back against a wall, sneaking up on her was easy, enclosed in her own world as she was. As he covered her eyes with his hands from behind, he said in a cheerful voice:
"Guess who!?"
This post made me stay up way past my bedtime. I'm crazy tired.
I might write up some info about the table game, Formation, if I get the time.
I might write up some info about the table game, Formation, if I get the time.
The smell of a stable was not entirely bad. It stunk of manure and pee and sweat, of course, but it also had that wholesome, grainy kind of scent that often accompanied the houses and establishments of homely folk. A musty combination of feces, animal feed, and good hard work to limber the fingers. Buyir liked it.
Tugging the last leather strap taught with a heavy grunt, the tell man surveyed his handiwork, smiling in satisfaction. He had spent this last month repairing the entire unit's saddle's, as well as modifying them and smoothing out any imperfections. It was a good, time-consuming job that kept his hands busy, and kept the "stagnation depression" away. Plus, they all had good saddles now.
"Whad'ya think a' that, eh?" he said, holding the saddle up for one of the horses to see. The animal simply snorted and waved it's tail, looking at Buyir with large, baleful eyes. The horse next to it did pretty much the same thing, except with less movement.
"Ah, I know, s'not right. None of it is." Buyir said sadly, setting the saddle down so that he could stroke the horse's neck. "You ought not be stalled up like this for so long. It'll pass though, mark my work. Any day now. Maybe even tonight." he knew there was little hope of the storm abating that soon, but how long could it go on? The stables, although kept warm by the animal's body heat and all the hay, were still stables, and no place for a majestic, energetic beast to be cooped up for weeks on end.
Buyir sighed heavily, scratching the horses' ear for a few more minutes before reluctantly turning to leave. If he stayed here much longer, he would risk getting depressed. Not that horses were bad company, but they didn't make for very good conversation partners.
Wrapping his cloak around his shoulders, he pushed the stable doors open and stepped out into the cold and wind. When they first arrived in Highburn, he had enjoyed the chill, crisp air and the frosty wind whipping his hair and beard. Now it was just annoying. After pushing the doors closed again, he trotted across the small courtyard between the stables and the Swamp Gold tavern, entering the building through the back door.
The smell of meat, beer, and smoke met his nose as he pulled the door closed behind him, and he inhaled deeply, grinning as he surveyed the scene. Many of his comrades and friends milled about in the Common Room, as well as a large number of villagers. The tavern had become a sort of bunker against the cold, a place for everyone to come and be safe.
"Morris!" he called as he meandered into the room, holding up a finger for the bartender to see. He clapped Silas on the back as he passed the man, adding a hearty greeting to boot. Then it was on to Cossan, who responded with only a brief nod, as his attention was on a rather heated discussion with one of the locals. Ravius sat at the far end of the bar, and reacted to Buyir's jovial hello with not but a depressed grunt.
"Thank'ya very much!" he said with another of his wide smiles, as Dalder handed him his beer. Crossing the sea of bustling people, towards Rinus' lone table, he gargled some more greetings through the mug pressed to his lips.
"The party's on the other side of the room." he said chidingly as he sat down across from Rinus, smacking his lips and wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. The Captain continued to eat, looking up only once to acknowledge Buyir's presence. "Hey, it'll let up. We'll be out of here by the end of the week. Town'll be long gone, we'll be rollin' happy on ship to the West, you'll be sitting on a nice, fat retirement stash."
"Hmph." Rinus continued chewing his steak.
Buyir shook his head. "Bein' happy and cheerful is a choice, Rinus. Just because it's howlin' and screamin bloody fury outdoors don't mean you hafta be so damn depressed. Specially a man with your kinda luck. You wait an' see, this'll all be for the better. Maybe the war'll be over once the blizzard ends, and these good folk won't have to leave!"
Rinus finally smiled. No amount of bad weather or gloomy circumstances could dampen Buyir's spirits, and no amount of dingy attitude could withstand his relentless encouragement.
"Alright, I get the point." he said, grinning as he swallowed another chunk of meat. "Y'know what'll help though? Another beer."
Buyir grinned back, his smile stretching from ear to ear. "Aye, sir." Getting up from the table, Buyir made his way back across the tavern towards the bar, greeting everyone he came across with a hearty hello.
Tugging the last leather strap taught with a heavy grunt, the tell man surveyed his handiwork, smiling in satisfaction. He had spent this last month repairing the entire unit's saddle's, as well as modifying them and smoothing out any imperfections. It was a good, time-consuming job that kept his hands busy, and kept the "stagnation depression" away. Plus, they all had good saddles now.
"Whad'ya think a' that, eh?" he said, holding the saddle up for one of the horses to see. The animal simply snorted and waved it's tail, looking at Buyir with large, baleful eyes. The horse next to it did pretty much the same thing, except with less movement.
"Ah, I know, s'not right. None of it is." Buyir said sadly, setting the saddle down so that he could stroke the horse's neck. "You ought not be stalled up like this for so long. It'll pass though, mark my work. Any day now. Maybe even tonight." he knew there was little hope of the storm abating that soon, but how long could it go on? The stables, although kept warm by the animal's body heat and all the hay, were still stables, and no place for a majestic, energetic beast to be cooped up for weeks on end.
Buyir sighed heavily, scratching the horses' ear for a few more minutes before reluctantly turning to leave. If he stayed here much longer, he would risk getting depressed. Not that horses were bad company, but they didn't make for very good conversation partners.
Wrapping his cloak around his shoulders, he pushed the stable doors open and stepped out into the cold and wind. When they first arrived in Highburn, he had enjoyed the chill, crisp air and the frosty wind whipping his hair and beard. Now it was just annoying. After pushing the doors closed again, he trotted across the small courtyard between the stables and the Swamp Gold tavern, entering the building through the back door.
The smell of meat, beer, and smoke met his nose as he pulled the door closed behind him, and he inhaled deeply, grinning as he surveyed the scene. Many of his comrades and friends milled about in the Common Room, as well as a large number of villagers. The tavern had become a sort of bunker against the cold, a place for everyone to come and be safe.
"Morris!" he called as he meandered into the room, holding up a finger for the bartender to see. He clapped Silas on the back as he passed the man, adding a hearty greeting to boot. Then it was on to Cossan, who responded with only a brief nod, as his attention was on a rather heated discussion with one of the locals. Ravius sat at the far end of the bar, and reacted to Buyir's jovial hello with not but a depressed grunt.
"Thank'ya very much!" he said with another of his wide smiles, as Dalder handed him his beer. Crossing the sea of bustling people, towards Rinus' lone table, he gargled some more greetings through the mug pressed to his lips.
"The party's on the other side of the room." he said chidingly as he sat down across from Rinus, smacking his lips and wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. The Captain continued to eat, looking up only once to acknowledge Buyir's presence. "Hey, it'll let up. We'll be out of here by the end of the week. Town'll be long gone, we'll be rollin' happy on ship to the West, you'll be sitting on a nice, fat retirement stash."
"Hmph." Rinus continued chewing his steak.
Buyir shook his head. "Bein' happy and cheerful is a choice, Rinus. Just because it's howlin' and screamin bloody fury outdoors don't mean you hafta be so damn depressed. Specially a man with your kinda luck. You wait an' see, this'll all be for the better. Maybe the war'll be over once the blizzard ends, and these good folk won't have to leave!"
Rinus finally smiled. No amount of bad weather or gloomy circumstances could dampen Buyir's spirits, and no amount of dingy attitude could withstand his relentless encouragement.
"Alright, I get the point." he said, grinning as he swallowed another chunk of meat. "Y'know what'll help though? Another beer."
Buyir grinned back, his smile stretching from ear to ear. "Aye, sir." Getting up from the table, Buyir made his way back across the tavern towards the bar, greeting everyone he came across with a hearty hello.