Alright, having thought about it, I think I'm going to drop the High Elf idea. It was only going to complicate things, and I feel bad for enforcing my will on others. 

If anyone wants to take anything from what I've written for the High Elves, then they are free to indulge themselves.

So here's my second character. He's a nobody, but I should be able to use him to go on some adventures. 


[hider=Oglaff the Mighty]
[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/Oi5F2P2.jpg?1[/img][/center]

[center][h3]Oglaff the Mighty[/h3][/center]

[b]Appearance:[/b] Oglaff is seven feet tall, and a walking mountain of muscle. Scars and enlarged veins sprawl across his entire body to form the kind of grizzly masterpiece one can only craft with a long life spent in hardship and war. His skin is tanned, but weather beaten and almost scaly in appearance - telling onlookers that this man is no stranger to bearing the elements. 

Rustled grey hair runs in thick strands from his scalp, and stretches across his shoulders. A beard, patchy in places where scar tissue has formed, blotches out the southern half of his face, and is longest around his chin. Cracked lips, and crooked white teeth (not all of which are there!) protrude from this hairy, scarred mass. Two menacing eyes of pale blue display constant scorn.

[b]Age:[/b] 62

[b]Gender:[/b] Male

[b]Race:[/b] Human, Barbarian.

[b]Race Description:[/b] Oglaff's people are a hardy race of barbarians, from across the great seas. They are physically imposing specimens, but hold no genetic advantage over other menfolk beyond a hardiness against the elements.

He wears little clothing, besides a leather groin covering (to hide his modesty from the womenfolk), and some robust marching boots. A thick but worn woolen green cloak is chained around his neck, and covers his back entirely. 

[b]Side:[/b] Neutral, Glory Seeker.

[b]Weapons(s):[/b] Oglaff carries a giant bastard sword, named Widow Maker, and has a couple of throwing axes hooked around his belt. None of his weapons boast any particular unique qualities, but should an onlooker treat the man to a bucket of ale, then he'd be glad to give them an in depth account of Widow Maker's proud history.

[b]Abilities/Powers:[/b] Berserker Strength - Oglaff comes from a warrior race of terrifying barbarians from across the great sea. Even in his advanced age, he is still capable of giving himself to bloodlust, which enhances his strength to fearsome proportions. He could literally rip a man in half with his bare hands, if he becomes "passionate" about any threatening situation.

[b]Talent(s):[/b] Hardy - Rain, wind and snow mean little to this man. He has traveled the world in nothing but a loin cloth and a cloak for most of his life, and he isn't about to stop now. Only extreme temperatures (fire, for example) will effect him. 

[b]Personality:[/b] Oglaff is a macho, loud mouthed boaster - but he can at least back up his boasts with actions. He is fiercely competitive, and gleefully accepts any test that can be considered "manly". Whether this involves throwing big rocks further than the man next to him, or downing a whole barrel of ale in one hit, nothing is beyond Oglaff's lust for accomplishment. 

[b]Biography:[/b] Oglaff the Has Been, Oglaff the Grey Warrior. 

That's what they started to call him, and such insults struck the aging barbarian's pride deep. Indeed, life for Oglaff was fast becoming unbearable. His friends had died years ago, in righteous combat. His children were dead too, having gave themselves willfully unto the blades of their enemies. But Oglaff? He was still there, still alive. Sixtytwo years of age! For a barbarian male, this was unheard of, it was shameful. The newer blood of his clan looked at him with disgust, rather than in awe. 

It wasn't his fault though, that he was still alive. It wasn't as if he hadn't tried to die valiantly. He was just unlucky; it was always a comrade getting that lucky stray arrow in the face, and it was always his enemy that fell before him, no matter what their advantage was. He'd seen a hundred battles, killed more men then he could remember, and ploughed more wenches than he... well no, he remembered most of those quite fondly.

He had done it all, not once, but several times. He had become a legend amongst his people; Oglaff the Mighty, they had called him once upon a time.

But now he was old. His knees were starting to ache, his breath was starting to get heavy after a few hours march, and don't mention how hard pissing had become! Like pushing a stone through the head of a needle! 

To be taken by the Great Reaper in sleep is perhaps the biggest shame of all in the culture of Oglaff's people, and this is a sin he was not ready to commit. He hopped the first ship off the continent, to get away from those who mocked him, and to find his demise in some foreign land where no beast nor man would know of his shame. 

So as the ship, a merchant vessel from across the great sea, pulled into Frennstone, Oglaff dutifully glugged a skin of spirit and set off into the streets - a wolf among sheep - to find his end.

[b]Extras:[/b] Not sure where he will start yet, as Frennstone is miles away from anything of interest. His story may well start as much as a month after his arrival in the Kingdom, and place outside some haunted ruin or something. Anyone seeking a D&D style mini-side story is welcome to tag along.
[/hider]

Look good?