Approved characters only.
[CHAR] Something Wicked This Way Comes [IC]
- Fantasy
- Casual
- Small Group
- GM SmileyJaws
Join Status:
Full
GM
SmileyJaws
Member
Seen
5 mos ago
Name:
Balian
Age:
34
Appearance:
Balian stands at 5"10, his build is somewhere between slim and lean. Grey eyes chestnut brown hair and face almost always stubbled, his appearance is often seen as striking. His eyes lack life, probably from years spent on the road, only ever stopping for brief respites in towns and villages that he passed. Notable features are a small scar on his chin and skin tested by the elements.
Class:
Ranger
Can handle bladed weapons as well, allowing them to defend themselves against approaching enemies or close in for the kill. Ranged is preferred style of combat.
Alignment:
Neutral Good
Weapon(s):
Armor/Clothing:
As seen in picture. Also clad in a fine linen shirt, dark woolen hose and soft travel-worn leather boots, over his shirt Balian wears a jerkin secured by braided cord ties
Personal Trinkets:
Rabbit's foot (Lucky Charm)
These take many shapes, but the most common are symbolic religious symbols that a pious priest has touched or carved heads of ancient Gods. The rabbit’s foot is a symbol of good luck in many places of the world and is often threaded with a thin cord of leather or string
Wooden Flute
A simple wooden flute carved by Balian's father. He usually keeps it wrapped in a piece of cloth and kept away.
Short History:
Born to a master woodsman and a mill worker, Balian was taught from a young age the skills of being a woodsman. Even as a young lad he had a knack for navigation and survival skills. Balian is not shy of hard labor having worked all his young life. He spent all of this younger life in and around the midlands village he was born to, working and training. At age eight he was shown how to use a bow by his father for the first time and took to it like a duck to water, swordplay followed in an effort to teach his son how to defend himself if ever the need arose (as much as he did not want a violent life for Balian). It was in his teens that Balian decided he did not want to suffer the bondage of serfdom or peasantry his whole life but neither did he want the privilege associated with nobility.
At age seventeen, Balian left his village starting on a journey to see as much of the world as he could and to live off of the land. Before he left his father presented him with a parting gift a wooden flute carved by himself. Leaving the village of Vale that day was the last time he saw his parents. After some five years travelling, Balian returned to Vale only to discover his father had succumbed to a sudden illness two years previous and his mother so stricken with grief at the loss of her son and now husband had hanged herself in the mill where she worked. With no ties to his birthplace he set off once again after a short respite and since has traveled, stopping from time-to-time for short respites in towns, villages and cities he would come across. He made sure never to allow himself to become too attached to people or towns always making it easier when time came to leave. However, Balian has at least one trusted friend in many of the different steads from South to North, relying on these as his source of information and news when he does stop.
For a few years the ranger traveled with another, a woman by the name of Morrigan. Black hair, blue eyes and pale skin, Balian quickly became infatuated with her. During a stay at the village of Lindow they were awoken in the middle of the night by commotion, screams and cries filling the night air. A beastman warband had happened on the village in a raid, Balian pleaded with Morrigan to barricade herself indoors and once she agreed took himself outside into the middle of it all with sword and bow. The ranger was knocked unconscious in combat and when he awoke in the early hours of the morning the smell of burning, smoke and death filled his nostrils. In a daze he made his way to the inn, only to find it raised to the ground. Balian fell to his knees as his cries turned to a sour roar. It is since that day the ranger has taken it upon himself to actively hunt out Beast scouting parties, occasionally joining up with bands of rangers (many of whom share similar stories) to take on larger groups. It is the element of surprise, the ability to blend in with surroundings and that they pick the battlefield (usually woodland), that give Balian and other rangers alike the advantage over unsuspecting beastmen who have often been stalked for days like prey.
Balian has been in Galloway only a short few hours although this is not his first visit to the town-stead. He has grown weary of the road and has not stopped in a town for longer than a few hours in months.
Balian
Age:
34
Appearance:
Balian stands at 5"10, his build is somewhere between slim and lean. Grey eyes chestnut brown hair and face almost always stubbled, his appearance is often seen as striking. His eyes lack life, probably from years spent on the road, only ever stopping for brief respites in towns and villages that he passed. Notable features are a small scar on his chin and skin tested by the elements.
Class:
Ranger
Can handle bladed weapons as well, allowing them to defend themselves against approaching enemies or close in for the kill. Ranged is preferred style of combat.
Alignment:
Neutral Good
Weapon(s):
Armor/Clothing:
As seen in picture. Also clad in a fine linen shirt, dark woolen hose and soft travel-worn leather boots, over his shirt Balian wears a jerkin secured by braided cord ties
Personal Trinkets:
Rabbit's foot (Lucky Charm)
These take many shapes, but the most common are symbolic religious symbols that a pious priest has touched or carved heads of ancient Gods. The rabbit’s foot is a symbol of good luck in many places of the world and is often threaded with a thin cord of leather or string
Wooden Flute
A simple wooden flute carved by Balian's father. He usually keeps it wrapped in a piece of cloth and kept away.
Short History:
Born to a master woodsman and a mill worker, Balian was taught from a young age the skills of being a woodsman. Even as a young lad he had a knack for navigation and survival skills. Balian is not shy of hard labor having worked all his young life. He spent all of this younger life in and around the midlands village he was born to, working and training. At age eight he was shown how to use a bow by his father for the first time and took to it like a duck to water, swordplay followed in an effort to teach his son how to defend himself if ever the need arose (as much as he did not want a violent life for Balian). It was in his teens that Balian decided he did not want to suffer the bondage of serfdom or peasantry his whole life but neither did he want the privilege associated with nobility.
At age seventeen, Balian left his village starting on a journey to see as much of the world as he could and to live off of the land. Before he left his father presented him with a parting gift a wooden flute carved by himself. Leaving the village of Vale that day was the last time he saw his parents. After some five years travelling, Balian returned to Vale only to discover his father had succumbed to a sudden illness two years previous and his mother so stricken with grief at the loss of her son and now husband had hanged herself in the mill where she worked. With no ties to his birthplace he set off once again after a short respite and since has traveled, stopping from time-to-time for short respites in towns, villages and cities he would come across. He made sure never to allow himself to become too attached to people or towns always making it easier when time came to leave. However, Balian has at least one trusted friend in many of the different steads from South to North, relying on these as his source of information and news when he does stop.
For a few years the ranger traveled with another, a woman by the name of Morrigan. Black hair, blue eyes and pale skin, Balian quickly became infatuated with her. During a stay at the village of Lindow they were awoken in the middle of the night by commotion, screams and cries filling the night air. A beastman warband had happened on the village in a raid, Balian pleaded with Morrigan to barricade herself indoors and once she agreed took himself outside into the middle of it all with sword and bow. The ranger was knocked unconscious in combat and when he awoke in the early hours of the morning the smell of burning, smoke and death filled his nostrils. In a daze he made his way to the inn, only to find it raised to the ground. Balian fell to his knees as his cries turned to a sour roar. It is since that day the ranger has taken it upon himself to actively hunt out Beast scouting parties, occasionally joining up with bands of rangers (many of whom share similar stories) to take on larger groups. It is the element of surprise, the ability to blend in with surroundings and that they pick the battlefield (usually woodland), that give Balian and other rangers alike the advantage over unsuspecting beastmen who have often been stalked for days like prey.
Balian has been in Galloway only a short few hours although this is not his first visit to the town-stead. He has grown weary of the road and has not stopped in a town for longer than a few hours in months.
XenoCyanide Umbra Sicarius
Member
Seen
5 yrs ago
Name: Artemis Snowscar
Age: 28
Appearance:
Class: Infiltrator
Handles bladed weapons very well and is an accurate marksman with a crossbow. Preference is to flank the enemy, attacking weak points. Employs dirty tactics to win fights. Utilizes subterfuge, obfuscation, and alchemy to achieve his goals.
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral (True Neutral Inclinations)
Weapon(s):
Armor/Clothing:
The attire worn is usually either leather or hide for ease of movement, with metallic plates over his shoulders and forearms to provide protection and deflection. Only employs a mask when on a hunt, which otherwise he wears the clothing of the local populace to better blend in.
Personal trinkets: Wedding Band
Short History:
Artemis was born on the eastern edge of Mournhold along the banks of a river. It was a small hamlet comprised of simple people with simple lives. His father was a learned man with a trouble past and decided to make Coolwater his home, perhaps running from tragedy. His mother was a seamstress while his father took care of the hamlet’s more political machinations, acting as a liaison between the crown and the town. He held no true political office, but being one of the few men who could read, write, and orate in the town, the burden laid on him.
His father had a hidden flaw, however. He was a gambler, and a bad one at that. His addiction is one of the things he was running from, but one night when soldiers from the crown were passing through from one township to another, he took to the drink, and took to the cards. It wasn’t long before he had lost everything. His home. His wife’s business. Even his station. Worst of all, he lost his son. Artemis was only ten years old, still a child at heart. He wanted nothing more than to run amongst the cornfields, play soldier with his friends, and get weirded out by the young girls who would tease him.
It was a time where the kingdom needed to bolster its ranks, fearing retribution from neighboring warbands and raiding parties, these soldiers were tasked with searching for capable men and women. Thrown into a cage like some beast, he was hauled away to a weeping mother and a distraught father. He would never see them again and learned years later that his mother took her own life, walking into the river that bore them so much life and drowning herself and his father never woke up one day from a night of drink. It has been so long he had forgotten their names and their faces.
For the next eight years Artemis was in the service of the crown, being taught everything from stabling horses to sword play. He was a rebellious boy at first, ashamed and afraid of being torn away from the only life that he knew, but slowly over time, began to accept his life for what it was: Fodder for a king he never met to a kingdom he didn’t understand. It wasn’t long before those in charge of him noticed that Artemis embodied a certain quality about him. He didn’t stand out. He was never at the top of his class nor at the bottom. Those that paid attention, however, saw that he was exceptional with the blade, but lost duels on purpose. His looks were unremarkable and he wasn’t the largest of men. Unimposing, even.
A lieutenant took notice of the boy and took him before another man. Artemis learned never to be frightened by mortal flesh, for all that bleeds can die. But this man unnerved him. Something about him just seemed… off. The next several years were steeped in darkness. He was taught to blend in. Manipulate. Coerce. Prepare alchemical concoctions to paralyze or to kill. When he was deemed ready, he was given to task. At first, they were innocent enough. Befriend a local merchant or eavesdrop on a conversation in a tavern. All with the purpose of gaining information. Of course, innocence never lasts, and the darker part of his life began to take form. Steel would enter flesh, silently as a whisper in the wind. Blood would spill across wooden floors, never to creak and betray his existence to the world. This is who he was.
That is, even a man such as he can find love. Mournhold was hell embodied to Artemis. His entire life he saw nothing but the worst of man. Pedophiles and rapists, running from the crown, would not run very far. Corrupt politicians with the proclivity towards sadism, using their connections to keep from the executioner’s axe, mysteriously died in their sleep, comfortable under silken sheets in their mansions. In all of this, Artemis found her. Raven-haired Victoria, with a smile that could cut even the thickest of chains and a touch that would woo the soul of the most berserked man. In secret they married as he feared his employer would disapprove and their disapproval usually meant that one was not long for this world.
In the end it wasn’t the Crown that betrayed his heart. It was these… beastman. Victoria had convinced Artemis to visit his childhood home, having used some excuse as to why he had left in the first place. Perhaps he went to find solace and peace with his past but all he could muster was the venom against his father. His father, a man so deeply pained, killed his wife and lost his only son, and couldn’t even be man enough to do something about it. Upon his return, Artemis was met with ruin. Buildings smoldering and crushed bodies. Soldiers sifting through the debris, either trying to find survivors or looking to plunder whatever meager riches these peasants had. Something broke inside of Artemis that day. Whatever demons he compartmentalized away throughout the years began to break free, that delicate wall he had built cracking under the pressure.
This was almost a year ago. Ever since, he has been running and hunting. His main objective was to be a culling. The very apocalypse in which these beastman fear. It was in every town he went to, not beastman to kill, but men and women with such evil hearts and black souls. Retribution was not far behind.
Gear:
Age: 28
Appearance:
Class: Infiltrator
Handles bladed weapons very well and is an accurate marksman with a crossbow. Preference is to flank the enemy, attacking weak points. Employs dirty tactics to win fights. Utilizes subterfuge, obfuscation, and alchemy to achieve his goals.
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral (True Neutral Inclinations)
Weapon(s):
Armor/Clothing:
The attire worn is usually either leather or hide for ease of movement, with metallic plates over his shoulders and forearms to provide protection and deflection. Only employs a mask when on a hunt, which otherwise he wears the clothing of the local populace to better blend in.
Personal trinkets: Wedding Band
Short History:
Artemis was born on the eastern edge of Mournhold along the banks of a river. It was a small hamlet comprised of simple people with simple lives. His father was a learned man with a trouble past and decided to make Coolwater his home, perhaps running from tragedy. His mother was a seamstress while his father took care of the hamlet’s more political machinations, acting as a liaison between the crown and the town. He held no true political office, but being one of the few men who could read, write, and orate in the town, the burden laid on him.
His father had a hidden flaw, however. He was a gambler, and a bad one at that. His addiction is one of the things he was running from, but one night when soldiers from the crown were passing through from one township to another, he took to the drink, and took to the cards. It wasn’t long before he had lost everything. His home. His wife’s business. Even his station. Worst of all, he lost his son. Artemis was only ten years old, still a child at heart. He wanted nothing more than to run amongst the cornfields, play soldier with his friends, and get weirded out by the young girls who would tease him.
It was a time where the kingdom needed to bolster its ranks, fearing retribution from neighboring warbands and raiding parties, these soldiers were tasked with searching for capable men and women. Thrown into a cage like some beast, he was hauled away to a weeping mother and a distraught father. He would never see them again and learned years later that his mother took her own life, walking into the river that bore them so much life and drowning herself and his father never woke up one day from a night of drink. It has been so long he had forgotten their names and their faces.
For the next eight years Artemis was in the service of the crown, being taught everything from stabling horses to sword play. He was a rebellious boy at first, ashamed and afraid of being torn away from the only life that he knew, but slowly over time, began to accept his life for what it was: Fodder for a king he never met to a kingdom he didn’t understand. It wasn’t long before those in charge of him noticed that Artemis embodied a certain quality about him. He didn’t stand out. He was never at the top of his class nor at the bottom. Those that paid attention, however, saw that he was exceptional with the blade, but lost duels on purpose. His looks were unremarkable and he wasn’t the largest of men. Unimposing, even.
A lieutenant took notice of the boy and took him before another man. Artemis learned never to be frightened by mortal flesh, for all that bleeds can die. But this man unnerved him. Something about him just seemed… off. The next several years were steeped in darkness. He was taught to blend in. Manipulate. Coerce. Prepare alchemical concoctions to paralyze or to kill. When he was deemed ready, he was given to task. At first, they were innocent enough. Befriend a local merchant or eavesdrop on a conversation in a tavern. All with the purpose of gaining information. Of course, innocence never lasts, and the darker part of his life began to take form. Steel would enter flesh, silently as a whisper in the wind. Blood would spill across wooden floors, never to creak and betray his existence to the world. This is who he was.
That is, even a man such as he can find love. Mournhold was hell embodied to Artemis. His entire life he saw nothing but the worst of man. Pedophiles and rapists, running from the crown, would not run very far. Corrupt politicians with the proclivity towards sadism, using their connections to keep from the executioner’s axe, mysteriously died in their sleep, comfortable under silken sheets in their mansions. In all of this, Artemis found her. Raven-haired Victoria, with a smile that could cut even the thickest of chains and a touch that would woo the soul of the most berserked man. In secret they married as he feared his employer would disapprove and their disapproval usually meant that one was not long for this world.
In the end it wasn’t the Crown that betrayed his heart. It was these… beastman. Victoria had convinced Artemis to visit his childhood home, having used some excuse as to why he had left in the first place. Perhaps he went to find solace and peace with his past but all he could muster was the venom against his father. His father, a man so deeply pained, killed his wife and lost his only son, and couldn’t even be man enough to do something about it. Upon his return, Artemis was met with ruin. Buildings smoldering and crushed bodies. Soldiers sifting through the debris, either trying to find survivors or looking to plunder whatever meager riches these peasants had. Something broke inside of Artemis that day. Whatever demons he compartmentalized away throughout the years began to break free, that delicate wall he had built cracking under the pressure.
This was almost a year ago. Ever since, he has been running and hunting. His main objective was to be a culling. The very apocalypse in which these beastman fear. It was in every town he went to, not beastman to kill, but men and women with such evil hearts and black souls. Retribution was not far behind.
Gear:
- Waterskin
- Rope
- Firestriker
- Whetstone
- Carving knife
- Bedroll
- Alchemical Bag
Name:Aelrath Teasen'rretyn
Age:
25
Appearance:
Aelrath is neither exceptionally tall nor muscular at the height of 6’2” and the weight of 200lbs. He has short relatively unkempt black hair crowning his head. A square jaw and prominent nose are quickly noticed, but are even more quickly ignored on seeing his unusual silver-gray irises. His elvish blood is noticeable in his pointed ears. He inherited his tan skin from his father.
Class:
Arcane Swordsman
Capable of using some basic magic and masters of using swords. Arcane Swordsmen generally prefer using magic to enhance their melee combat, though they are capable of some ranged magic.
Alignment:
Neutral Good
Weapon(s):
Armor/Clothing:
As seen in the pictures he wears a hooded cloak over a chest plate. He wears leather boots reinforced with a chainmail-like material and the rest of his clothing is cloth.
Personal trinkets:
(Really just a fluff thing but you never know when something could come in useful etc).
Necklace with a silver-gray gem in the center of his mother’s family crest, a sword carried by an eagle.
Short History:
Aelrath has grown up shunned by many of those around him because of his mother. His mother was an elf who was the direct descendant of slaves. She had been relatively well off becoming a barmaid and saving money to leave her hometown of Lakeshore. It was around this time that she met a man who took a fancy to her, they were together for a few months until he found out she was pregnant. He disappeared that night leaving behind a sword and an old tome. After his birth his mother became a seamstress selling her wares to provide for her growing son. Aelrath was quite an intelligent child learning to speak before his first birthday. When he turned 7 his mother met an old scholar who was willing to teach Aelrath to read and write for a reasonable fee. He quickly caught on and was able to read fluently by age 9. It was around this time that his mother gave him the items left behind by his father, the old tome contained systematic instructions on how to wield the sword as well as a basic wind spell. Aelrath soon mastered the basic sword stances but it took until he was 12 for him to be able to cast the spell consistently. His mother arranged for him to be apprenticed to the town blacksmith, who was an excellent but strict teacher. Aelrath studied under him for 8 year learning all that he could. When Aelrath was 20 he had taken over the blacksmith's shop for the most part as his teacher was getting too old to forge. All seemed to be going well until one night the town was attacked by a large beastman warband. A group of rangers appeared shortly after however they were only able to drive the beastmen back after a tough fight were many townspeople died, Aelrath's mother and the old blacksmith among the dead. He joined the rangers temporarily as they continued to hunt down the warband. After they killed all those they could find he broke away from them roaming the country alone, honing his skills and learning new spells. He was in Galloway because he had heard there was a skilled mage there and he wanted to see if he could learn more spells from them.
Other:
Age:
25
Appearance:
Aelrath is neither exceptionally tall nor muscular at the height of 6’2” and the weight of 200lbs. He has short relatively unkempt black hair crowning his head. A square jaw and prominent nose are quickly noticed, but are even more quickly ignored on seeing his unusual silver-gray irises. His elvish blood is noticeable in his pointed ears. He inherited his tan skin from his father.
Class:
Arcane Swordsman
Capable of using some basic magic and masters of using swords. Arcane Swordsmen generally prefer using magic to enhance their melee combat, though they are capable of some ranged magic.
Alignment:
Neutral Good
Weapon(s):
Armor/Clothing:
As seen in the pictures he wears a hooded cloak over a chest plate. He wears leather boots reinforced with a chainmail-like material and the rest of his clothing is cloth.
Personal trinkets:
(Really just a fluff thing but you never know when something could come in useful etc).
Necklace with a silver-gray gem in the center of his mother’s family crest, a sword carried by an eagle.
Short History:
Aelrath has grown up shunned by many of those around him because of his mother. His mother was an elf who was the direct descendant of slaves. She had been relatively well off becoming a barmaid and saving money to leave her hometown of Lakeshore. It was around this time that she met a man who took a fancy to her, they were together for a few months until he found out she was pregnant. He disappeared that night leaving behind a sword and an old tome. After his birth his mother became a seamstress selling her wares to provide for her growing son. Aelrath was quite an intelligent child learning to speak before his first birthday. When he turned 7 his mother met an old scholar who was willing to teach Aelrath to read and write for a reasonable fee. He quickly caught on and was able to read fluently by age 9. It was around this time that his mother gave him the items left behind by his father, the old tome contained systematic instructions on how to wield the sword as well as a basic wind spell. Aelrath soon mastered the basic sword stances but it took until he was 12 for him to be able to cast the spell consistently. His mother arranged for him to be apprenticed to the town blacksmith, who was an excellent but strict teacher. Aelrath studied under him for 8 year learning all that he could. When Aelrath was 20 he had taken over the blacksmith's shop for the most part as his teacher was getting too old to forge. All seemed to be going well until one night the town was attacked by a large beastman warband. A group of rangers appeared shortly after however they were only able to drive the beastmen back after a tough fight were many townspeople died, Aelrath's mother and the old blacksmith among the dead. He joined the rangers temporarily as they continued to hunt down the warband. After they killed all those they could find he broke away from them roaming the country alone, honing his skills and learning new spells. He was in Galloway because he had heard there was a skilled mage there and he wanted to see if he could learn more spells from them.
Other:
Name:
Bjørn Ulfrikson
Age:
41 yo
Appearance:
Bjørn Ulfrikson, 6'2" tall and padded with muscle, is a tough looking creature. His brown manes - which includes his beard - show the first traces of grey, much against his liking. His eerily cold eye, its colour best described as colourless or pale, is often fixated on either ale or an attractive individual - most probably ale, while his other eye lays hidden beneath a thick, ugly scar which was the result of a dispute with the local guardsmen.
The sides of his skull are shaved and decorated with black - slightly faded - ink which creeps down his neck where it continues to flow over his shoulders, down his arms and towards his hands. The lines often interrupted by thick scars and scrapes from battle and brawls.
Class:
Berserker;
The Berserker is a character who throws himself into a fight with such reckless abandon, it almost seems a death wish. It could be over-enthusiasm, overconfidence, or an unstoppable, blinding rage that fuels him. Berserkers are equally capable of being good or evil, but almost always chaotic in their ways. They regularly have to be reminded by their teammates to control themselves after a particularly close call.
The berserkr of Viking-age Scandinavia: Warriors who are said to have thrown themselves into battle wearing only animal hides for armour and with no regard for their own safety. Their 'battle-madness', whose exact nature is presently unknown (some say it came from eating weird mushrooms before a battle) is said to have been a gift from the Gods. The word "berserkr" means "Bear-shirt" in Old Norse, referring to either their going into battle with the ferocity of bears or for wearing bear pelts into battle. Their effectiveness in battle is up for debate, but they were an imposing and terrifying nightmare to the continental Europeans — and, if The Icelandic Sagas are to be trusted, to their own civilization.
’His men rushed forwards without armour, were as mad as dogs or wolves, bit their shields, and were strong as bears or wild oxen, and killed people at a blow, but neither fire nor iron told upon them.’
Snorri Sturluson (1179–1241) Ynglinga saga
Alignment:
Chaotically Neutral
Weapon(s):
He'll carry with him his beloved axe, also used to chop wood whenever in need of a campfire, which he forged himself at the beginning of his journey. Found in his other hand - when not an ale - or on his back, he has a wooden, round shield which has seen better days and is in dire need of a repair or replacement. Hanging from his belt he'll also have a sharp, dagger-like knife which he uses to skin animals with, or - whenever needed - serves as a useful weapon against his enemies.
Armor/Clothing:
For battle, or quests, during colder months, he wears a sleeveless mail shirt formed of interlinked, riveted rings. It's mostly covered by thick furs and skins to make Bjørn look even broader than he already is. He'll have a bear-skin draped over his shoulder, its head sown on wolf-pelt to create a warm hood and rather disturbing sight.
During the warmer months, however, he wears a loin-cloth'like piece of dark fabric, underneath which - when not too warm - a tight pair of pants with leather boots and around his waist a massive gut belt, also functioning as armour to protect some of his vital organs.
He'll always dress to impress, having to seem intimidating in a way. So he'll most likely carry furs or animal bones with him to create such illusion.
Personal trinkets:
Short History:
Bjørn was born and raised in a mountainous township which was well-known for mining. His parents had raised him in a strict way and hoped he’d one day would take over his father’s mining company, but after years they gave up on that idea. Young Bjørn just wasn’t great student and had no interest in maths or economy. His interest laid beyond the safe walls of his home. He had always dreamt of being an adventurer, or a soldier serving the crown. He wanted to explore and help people out, but his parents didn’t approve.
One day when Bjørn was fifteen years of age, the king’s men came to inspect his father’s mining business, like they did often. There was always trouble between the king and his dad. The crown demanded a lower price, but his father had declined. They had lowered the price three times already that year. But his refusal had been the last straw.
The young Bjørn was helping out at the mines when he saw the flames arising from his home. He ran as fast as his legs would carry him, but when he arrived his home had already been devoured by flames and his parents buried beneath the embers. Bjørn grew a hatred towards the men who carried with them the king’s sigil. He had realised that day that there was nothing lawful about them.
His uncle let him live with him and his wife, they raised him like he was one of their own. His uncle had been a worker in the mines and took his father’s position while teaching Bjørn the ropes of mining itself. He grew older and stronger in the dark, picking stone until his muscles ached, day-after-day. Then one morning he said his goodbyes, leaving his home to seek the men who had taken his parents from him.
Of course, too many years had passed for him to find them. Their faces had faded from his memory and their traces disappeared over time. He wasn’t in peace, but he decided that helping others out would at least ease the still aching pain. Now traveling the land, he helps out wherever he can; keeping trade-routes safe, farmers who need an extra hand during the harvest, and more. These days, while being in the area, he spends his hours drinking and brawling with the local louts at ‘The Retired Sword’.
Personality:
Bjørn Ulfrikson lives up to his name; he's a musclebound goliath of great proportions. He's large, a little hairy and richly decorated with ink.. - Did I mention that he's large? With his axe in one hand and a mug of ale in the other, he’s often found causing havoc in taverns and other places of merriment. This bulky character is easily the brains of the group due to his vast knowledge of shapes and colours. - Okay, he’s clearly the muscle and not one to be trusted with difficult decision making. His intelligence has proven problematic in the past; Violence is his preferred approach. Quick and easy.
But don’t get fooled by those bulky arms and intimidating gaze. This ale-loving man could easily become your best friend. He’s as loyal as a dog and would never leave someone behind. This (surprisingly huggable) giant’s laughter could warm the coldest of hearts and he has proven himself to be more compassionate than people, and he himself, expect him to be. He has a good sense of right and wrong and serves justice as he deems fit, which might not always be the lawful way.
Bjørn Ulfrikson
Age:
41 yo
Appearance:
Bjørn Ulfrikson, 6'2" tall and padded with muscle, is a tough looking creature. His brown manes - which includes his beard - show the first traces of grey, much against his liking. His eerily cold eye, its colour best described as colourless or pale, is often fixated on either ale or an attractive individual - most probably ale, while his other eye lays hidden beneath a thick, ugly scar which was the result of a dispute with the local guardsmen.
The sides of his skull are shaved and decorated with black - slightly faded - ink which creeps down his neck where it continues to flow over his shoulders, down his arms and towards his hands. The lines often interrupted by thick scars and scrapes from battle and brawls.
Class:
Berserker;
The Berserker is a character who throws himself into a fight with such reckless abandon, it almost seems a death wish. It could be over-enthusiasm, overconfidence, or an unstoppable, blinding rage that fuels him. Berserkers are equally capable of being good or evil, but almost always chaotic in their ways. They regularly have to be reminded by their teammates to control themselves after a particularly close call.
The berserkr of Viking-age Scandinavia: Warriors who are said to have thrown themselves into battle wearing only animal hides for armour and with no regard for their own safety. Their 'battle-madness', whose exact nature is presently unknown (some say it came from eating weird mushrooms before a battle) is said to have been a gift from the Gods. The word "berserkr" means "Bear-shirt" in Old Norse, referring to either their going into battle with the ferocity of bears or for wearing bear pelts into battle. Their effectiveness in battle is up for debate, but they were an imposing and terrifying nightmare to the continental Europeans — and, if The Icelandic Sagas are to be trusted, to their own civilization.
’His men rushed forwards without armour, were as mad as dogs or wolves, bit their shields, and were strong as bears or wild oxen, and killed people at a blow, but neither fire nor iron told upon them.’
Snorri Sturluson (1179–1241) Ynglinga saga
Alignment:
Chaotically Neutral
Weapon(s):
He'll carry with him his beloved axe, also used to chop wood whenever in need of a campfire, which he forged himself at the beginning of his journey. Found in his other hand - when not an ale - or on his back, he has a wooden, round shield which has seen better days and is in dire need of a repair or replacement. Hanging from his belt he'll also have a sharp, dagger-like knife which he uses to skin animals with, or - whenever needed - serves as a useful weapon against his enemies.
Armor/Clothing:
For battle, or quests, during colder months, he wears a sleeveless mail shirt formed of interlinked, riveted rings. It's mostly covered by thick furs and skins to make Bjørn look even broader than he already is. He'll have a bear-skin draped over his shoulder, its head sown on wolf-pelt to create a warm hood and rather disturbing sight.
During the warmer months, however, he wears a loin-cloth'like piece of dark fabric, underneath which - when not too warm - a tight pair of pants with leather boots and around his waist a massive gut belt, also functioning as armour to protect some of his vital organs.
He'll always dress to impress, having to seem intimidating in a way. So he'll most likely carry furs or animal bones with him to create such illusion.
Personal trinkets:
- Personal
- Father's ring; given to him by his uncle after the fire.
- Grizzly claw; hanging from his neck he displays the claws of a massive beast, the same creature once owned the thick fur that now hangs from Bjørn's shoulder.
- Functional
- Knife (Weapon + Tool)
- Axe (Weapon + Tool)
- Whetstone
- Flint and Steel
- Tinder
- Waterskin; most probably filled with an alcoholic beverage
Short History:
Bjørn was born and raised in a mountainous township which was well-known for mining. His parents had raised him in a strict way and hoped he’d one day would take over his father’s mining company, but after years they gave up on that idea. Young Bjørn just wasn’t great student and had no interest in maths or economy. His interest laid beyond the safe walls of his home. He had always dreamt of being an adventurer, or a soldier serving the crown. He wanted to explore and help people out, but his parents didn’t approve.
One day when Bjørn was fifteen years of age, the king’s men came to inspect his father’s mining business, like they did often. There was always trouble between the king and his dad. The crown demanded a lower price, but his father had declined. They had lowered the price three times already that year. But his refusal had been the last straw.
The young Bjørn was helping out at the mines when he saw the flames arising from his home. He ran as fast as his legs would carry him, but when he arrived his home had already been devoured by flames and his parents buried beneath the embers. Bjørn grew a hatred towards the men who carried with them the king’s sigil. He had realised that day that there was nothing lawful about them.
His uncle let him live with him and his wife, they raised him like he was one of their own. His uncle had been a worker in the mines and took his father’s position while teaching Bjørn the ropes of mining itself. He grew older and stronger in the dark, picking stone until his muscles ached, day-after-day. Then one morning he said his goodbyes, leaving his home to seek the men who had taken his parents from him.
Of course, too many years had passed for him to find them. Their faces had faded from his memory and their traces disappeared over time. He wasn’t in peace, but he decided that helping others out would at least ease the still aching pain. Now traveling the land, he helps out wherever he can; keeping trade-routes safe, farmers who need an extra hand during the harvest, and more. These days, while being in the area, he spends his hours drinking and brawling with the local louts at ‘The Retired Sword’.
Personality:
Bjørn Ulfrikson lives up to his name; he's a musclebound goliath of great proportions. He's large, a little hairy and richly decorated with ink.. - Did I mention that he's large? With his axe in one hand and a mug of ale in the other, he’s often found causing havoc in taverns and other places of merriment. This bulky character is easily the brains of the group due to his vast knowledge of shapes and colours. - Okay, he’s clearly the muscle and not one to be trusted with difficult decision making. His intelligence has proven problematic in the past; Violence is his preferred approach. Quick and easy.
But don’t get fooled by those bulky arms and intimidating gaze. This ale-loving man could easily become your best friend. He’s as loyal as a dog and would never leave someone behind. This (surprisingly huggable) giant’s laughter could warm the coldest of hearts and he has proven himself to be more compassionate than people, and he himself, expect him to be. He has a good sense of right and wrong and serves justice as he deems fit, which might not always be the lawful way.
Heap241 The Inquisitive Improvisationist
Member
Seen
4 yrs ago
Evaline Summerfall
Age: 18
Appearance:
Alignment: Neutral
Class: Priest class mage
Weapon(s):Dagger
Armor/Clothing:
Wears a olive green scarf around her head to cover her ears. Clothes are also green. Knee length dress with several difference feathers attached to the left side of a brown leather belt around her waist. Also attached to her belt is her dagger. Boots are brown leather. Brown fingerless gloves. She wears a crystal necklace given to her by her mother. Over all of her apparel she wears a deep burgundy cloak.
Personal trinkets:
None other then what has already been described.
Short History:
Evaline's mother was an elf, she was taken by an aristocratic family while pregnant with Evaline and enslaved. Evaline was born soon afterwards, also kept as a slave. The family in question owned a very large and successful vineyard and winery. Evalines mother studying healing magic before her capture and began teaching this to Evaline at a very young age, keeping it to herself so the masters would not find out. At the age of 3 Evaline was kept indoors to work on household chores and jobs while her mother worked the vineyard, each night they slept under a trapdoor. It was kept under a rug with a coffee table over it to hide it from unwanted eyes and attention. This little space held a small shelf along the wall on one side and hay rolls with a few thin blankets covering the ground. The space was approximately 6 feet by 3 feet by 4 feet. They were allowed one candle a week. Evalines mother taught her, her native language and began teaching her how to read and write.
Once Evaline turned four she was branded by the family as her mother had been. Burned at the base of her neck with the familys emblem. A circle with a bears head and arrows crossed over the top. With her mothers healing abilities she was able to sooth the pain and burn but not heal the scar. Evaline was terribly mistreated, her ears, once a symbol of greatness as her mother told it, now were a mark of disgust and hatred. Each day she was slung with insults, beaten and laughed at, each night, she studied with her mother.
One morning when Evaline was 10 she burned her arm in the fire where she was making the families breakfast. Her mother instinctively saw her and began to sooth the wound. The masters saw this and a greedy smile spread across their faces. That night her mother gave her the blue crystal necklace and kissed Evaline on the forehead. 'Tomorrow I will be going away," She said before slipping off into sleep. The next morning the trap door opened with a start and her mother was wisped up and dragged away. The door was then closed and locked, after several hours Evaline heard voices laughing and shouting above. "If only we knew earlier! We made a fortune on that one!" From that day Evaline continued to work hard promising herself that one day she would find her mother and free her.
At the age of 15 after Evaline was shut under the trap door she heard the many yells and sounds of a beast invasion. She kept very still as the sounds of screams filled the estate. The invaders stayed in the home for a week, never finding Evaline under the floor board. On their final day they set the home to flame and vanished. In a hurry Evaline emerged from the now barricaded door, she searched the house for a satchel and stuffed it with food, she then grabbed a scarf and ran from the estate, her mothers necklace around her neck too afraid to turn and look back at the home set aflame. The smell of burning bodies and cooking wine filled the air.
Evaline wondered the woods for some time, she wrapped the scarf around her head (as you would a bandanna) to cover her ears and the family emblem. When she ran out of food she found the dagger at the bottom of the satchel. With this she began attempting to hunt, all the while travelling through the wood hoping to find a village. After 6 months of travelling she ended up in Galloway. Now 16 she collapsed at the local tavern, named The Retired Sword, where she was given food. With no money to pay she began working to pay off her meal. The owner of the tavern not knowing of her race offered her a job and a room, at this point she began going by Elaine. She continued to practice her healing abilities and listened to travellers conversations for any sign of her mothers whereabouts. "One day I will leave and find her," She often told herself. She saved her money to supply herself with the basic accommodations for travel, a bedroll, travelling cooking pot, flint sticks and a small portable wooden chest filled with healing herbs she has gathered over years.
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