In a time between the fall of Troy, its inhabitants enslaved or dispersed to distant corners of the Earth, and the emergence of the world that today is known as that of a united and powerful Greek nation - a country of squabbling city states united by common cause - there was a time when the glories of mighty heroes, their deeds said to rival that of the Gods themselves, had barely left this world; while it is true that no longer did Herakles walk among mortal men, nor did Perseus or Jason ply their legendary trades as warriors and adventurers in lands both far and near, others barely lessened in their own skills and acts stepped forth from the fringes of the world to see this void filled.
Blood, brains and bravery did these figures bring - though unknown to one another, they nevertheless would carve their names out in the very halls of Olympus itself!
Yet, as with all ventures of note, beginnings were small - feeble even - and the threads of the Fates spun swiftly to find these minds converge, gathered so that they may proceed on their allotted paths and see things done that the common man may find impossible.
Our tale begins, as most good tales do, on a blustery and rain-sodden night, lightning from Zeus himself wracking the heavens and the thunderclap echoing across the ink black skies. Sat solitary and alone, save for a feeble fire constructed of hastily gathered materials, was the hunched figure of a man; a man that had managed to survive the worst of the storm by sheltering within the mouth of a cave, half way up the slopes of the alpine mountain pass that he proceeded to take from distant lands to his own home and bed once again.
He was a man of middling age, his black hair of curls slackened by the rain, streaks of grey here and there upon both head and unkempt beard, hazel eyes looking out into the storm and judging the weight that sudden rainfall would have on his journey back to his homeland. A tunic of coarse white wool sat firmly about his torso, girded at the waist by a simple but stout leather belt, as soaked as the rest of his body, his traveling boots off his feet and resting as close to the fire as he dared. Within reach of one hand, a hand calloused and as browned as the rest of the mans body by the Italiote sun, rested the haft of a twin-headed axe, the other casually stroking the rough facial hair as he sat deep in thought, at his hip a short stabbing sword good for puncturing flesh.
Teitu Leprna, a citizen-soldier and sailor of Etruscan Adria - a port nestled on the eastern coast of the land named Italy by Herakles himself - glared out into the storm and once more spat out the bits of gravel from his roughly ground bread. He was indeed an Etruscan, called Rasenna in their own tongue, and named as Tyrhenni by the Hellenes across the sea, an experienced seafarer and killer of over a dozen men who had sought to bring enough men back to Adria to crew his small sailing ship - a ship which could be most useful in raiding the property of others, and seeing great fortune to him. Now he was trapped here, the Gods pissing all over him with this rain, and his broad form shivered by the meek but obvious flames of his hastily contruscted fire.
One way or another he would have his crew, he would have his gold, and he would see himself lifted above his beginnings and into the annals of history and legend!
OOC: Welcome, one and all, to the first IC post. As to your own posts, feel free to write a little about your character, their thoughts, where they are at this moment - perhaps even in the same mountain pass as my own man? - and where they wish to go. All is generally open, and accepted, as long as they are heading eventually in the same direction as my man. Other than that, I look forward to seeing what everyone can come up with.
Blood, brains and bravery did these figures bring - though unknown to one another, they nevertheless would carve their names out in the very halls of Olympus itself!
Yet, as with all ventures of note, beginnings were small - feeble even - and the threads of the Fates spun swiftly to find these minds converge, gathered so that they may proceed on their allotted paths and see things done that the common man may find impossible.
Our tale begins, as most good tales do, on a blustery and rain-sodden night, lightning from Zeus himself wracking the heavens and the thunderclap echoing across the ink black skies. Sat solitary and alone, save for a feeble fire constructed of hastily gathered materials, was the hunched figure of a man; a man that had managed to survive the worst of the storm by sheltering within the mouth of a cave, half way up the slopes of the alpine mountain pass that he proceeded to take from distant lands to his own home and bed once again.
He was a man of middling age, his black hair of curls slackened by the rain, streaks of grey here and there upon both head and unkempt beard, hazel eyes looking out into the storm and judging the weight that sudden rainfall would have on his journey back to his homeland. A tunic of coarse white wool sat firmly about his torso, girded at the waist by a simple but stout leather belt, as soaked as the rest of his body, his traveling boots off his feet and resting as close to the fire as he dared. Within reach of one hand, a hand calloused and as browned as the rest of the mans body by the Italiote sun, rested the haft of a twin-headed axe, the other casually stroking the rough facial hair as he sat deep in thought, at his hip a short stabbing sword good for puncturing flesh.
Teitu Leprna, a citizen-soldier and sailor of Etruscan Adria - a port nestled on the eastern coast of the land named Italy by Herakles himself - glared out into the storm and once more spat out the bits of gravel from his roughly ground bread. He was indeed an Etruscan, called Rasenna in their own tongue, and named as Tyrhenni by the Hellenes across the sea, an experienced seafarer and killer of over a dozen men who had sought to bring enough men back to Adria to crew his small sailing ship - a ship which could be most useful in raiding the property of others, and seeing great fortune to him. Now he was trapped here, the Gods pissing all over him with this rain, and his broad form shivered by the meek but obvious flames of his hastily contruscted fire.
One way or another he would have his crew, he would have his gold, and he would see himself lifted above his beginnings and into the annals of history and legend!
OOC: Welcome, one and all, to the first IC post. As to your own posts, feel free to write a little about your character, their thoughts, where they are at this moment - perhaps even in the same mountain pass as my own man? - and where they wish to go. All is generally open, and accepted, as long as they are heading eventually in the same direction as my man. Other than that, I look forward to seeing what everyone can come up with.