Hey guys! I'm super sorry about disappearing without letting anyone know, though I'm glad this kept going. I've decided to not try and rejoin this, but I hope it goes well.
- Last Seen: 4 mos ago
- Joined: 9 yrs ago
- Posts: 720 (0.21 / day)
- VMs: 1
-
Username history
- Sypherkhode822 9 yrs ago
Status
Recent Statuses
5 yrs ago
Current
School: Out. Sun: Out. I'm: Playing FF7
3
likes
6 yrs ago
how much interest do y'all think there'd be for a climate change nation rp?
6 yrs ago
Me: Finally caught up on all my Rps. "Hmmm. Maybe I should join another one"
4
likes
6 yrs ago
im sleepy and dumn
1
like
6 yrs ago
Y'all ever do well in life just to get revenge on everyone you went to highschool with
2
likes
Bio
Functioning cog in some great machine.
Most Recent Posts
In
[Low-Fantasy Adventure] Gothic Lands: Arcana [Working Title]
→
7 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Interest Checks
This looks really neat, definitely hopping aboard.
This looks good and cool! Count me in!
<3 <3 <3
Transferred him over, hyped and ready!
Name: Henrik ibn Solumon
Age: 28
Skills/Talents:
Fast Hands: Henrik can fire and reload his blunderbuss in less than 30 seconds, and his pistol in half that time.
Polyglot: Henrik has a rudimentary grasp on every major language on the continent, and can order a beer in Dwarfish.
War Veteran: Henrik has been in combat for over a decade, and can handle anything that's thrown at him.
Wyvern Rider: Henrik used to ride a Wyvern, but had to sell her. He misses her sometimes.
Whistler: Henrik has an awful singing voice, but can whistle quite prettily.
Equipment: Hai San Blunderbuss. Matchlock pistol. Flanged mace. Powder horn and shot. Hunting dagger w/ sheathe. Plate and mail armor
Appearance: An incredibly muscular man of average height (5,11) with shaggy brown hair and dark brown eyes, Henrik's otherwise handsome features are marred by his cauliflower ears and the mangled wreck of his nose. He is missing the tip of the left pinky of his callused hands. He wears an Amidal mirror plate cuirass over chainmail. He wears simple brown breeches with black hose and pilk skin boots.
Religious Beliefs: Nominally raised as a Voldttist, Henrik has grown to respect Iodism more and more as the years go by, though he is not by any means a very contemplative man. Henrik prefers to live in the moment.
Personality: Brash and loud, laughter comes easy to Henrik, and he loves nothing more than drinking heavily and enjoying the company of whatever tavern girl or stable boy that catches his eye. Living in a constant state of violence has inured him to it, he'll thrash someone within an inch of their life if he decides to do so, and he frequently does. His moral compass rarely extends beyond 'might makes right'. Despite his evident boorishness, Henrik possess a low cunning that he's put to good use, often being able to fool people into giving into Henrik's wants without them realizing it. His decision to join the Kadari knights was as mostly a career move for him, though when asked he'd answer with caring about the defenseless. He more cares about the coin the defenseless tend to pay in.
Backstory: Born in a small southern Emril fishing hamlet, Henrik grew up the 5th son of a poor fisherman, receiving scant attention and only a little more food. When Henrik was 10, he was sold to be the servant of a retired Amidal mercenary captain, Solumon ibn Halun, who had been visiting north to meet with his Emrilian counterpart. Henrik was treated more like a surrogate son than a servant, teaching him Amidal and telling him stories of his days as a mercenary. When Henrik turned 12, he asked Solumon permission to join a mercenary company so he could be like him. Laughing, Solumon told the still scrawny Henrik that he would instead teach the boy how to fight, and Henrik began to train, hoping to impress Solumon with his dedication. By the time Henrik was 15, he joined the mercenary company of one of Solumon's friends as a runner. Although he had a slow start, Henrik was able to prove himself useful, and proved himself to be a fine warrior during a raid on a smugglers den. Henrik grew bold, and would frequently rush his enemies, intimidating them. Henrik continued to work for Solumon's friends company until he got into an argument with one of the company captains. The argument lead to blows, and Henrik soon found himself without a job. He bounced between different mercenary companies for a time, traveling far north to serve with the numerous companies that worked for the feuding Madari duchies. When he found out that Solumon was ill, he returned south as fast as he could. Standing over his old master's bedside, Henrik listened as Solumon called Henrik his son, giving him both his name and the small fortune he had accumulated during his time campaigning. Proud of his new surname, Henrik ibn Solumon started a new mercenary company. Henrik's new company was successful, and when a troublesome province in Emril tried to secede, he found easy employment. By making his mercenary company a winged light cavalry, Henrik made a small fortune by leading his company on select scouting and raiding missions, making a name for himself.
When Henrik was leading a a deep scouting mission, he came across a group of harried Knights fending off several Abddi in an abandoned village. Dropping from the sky atop wyverns, Henrik and his company caused a major shock for the Abbdi, who were quickly routed and then banished. The Knights, grateful for Henrik's help, thanked him and half jokingly suggested he should join the order. Laughing it off, Henrik departed. Less than a month later, Henrik's headquarters burnt down when a nearby stable burnt down and caught fire to nearly a third of the city while he was away. Losing all of that wealth meant he couldn't afford to maintain his wyverns or his men, so he had to disband the company. Catching up to the Knight's he had rescued before, Henrik asked if they would sponsor him again. When Henrik handily beat them in two on one combat, they readily agreed.
Age: 28
Skills/Talents:
Fast Hands: Henrik can fire and reload his blunderbuss in less than 30 seconds, and his pistol in half that time.
Polyglot: Henrik has a rudimentary grasp on every major language on the continent, and can order a beer in Dwarfish.
War Veteran: Henrik has been in combat for over a decade, and can handle anything that's thrown at him.
Wyvern Rider: Henrik used to ride a Wyvern, but had to sell her. He misses her sometimes.
Whistler: Henrik has an awful singing voice, but can whistle quite prettily.
Equipment: Hai San Blunderbuss. Matchlock pistol. Flanged mace. Powder horn and shot. Hunting dagger w/ sheathe. Plate and mail armor
Appearance: An incredibly muscular man of average height (5,11) with shaggy brown hair and dark brown eyes, Henrik's otherwise handsome features are marred by his cauliflower ears and the mangled wreck of his nose. He is missing the tip of the left pinky of his callused hands. He wears an Amidal mirror plate cuirass over chainmail. He wears simple brown breeches with black hose and pilk skin boots.
Religious Beliefs: Nominally raised as a Voldttist, Henrik has grown to respect Iodism more and more as the years go by, though he is not by any means a very contemplative man. Henrik prefers to live in the moment.
Personality: Brash and loud, laughter comes easy to Henrik, and he loves nothing more than drinking heavily and enjoying the company of whatever tavern girl or stable boy that catches his eye. Living in a constant state of violence has inured him to it, he'll thrash someone within an inch of their life if he decides to do so, and he frequently does. His moral compass rarely extends beyond 'might makes right'. Despite his evident boorishness, Henrik possess a low cunning that he's put to good use, often being able to fool people into giving into Henrik's wants without them realizing it. His decision to join the Kadari knights was as mostly a career move for him, though when asked he'd answer with caring about the defenseless. He more cares about the coin the defenseless tend to pay in.
Backstory: Born in a small southern Emril fishing hamlet, Henrik grew up the 5th son of a poor fisherman, receiving scant attention and only a little more food. When Henrik was 10, he was sold to be the servant of a retired Amidal mercenary captain, Solumon ibn Halun, who had been visiting north to meet with his Emrilian counterpart. Henrik was treated more like a surrogate son than a servant, teaching him Amidal and telling him stories of his days as a mercenary. When Henrik turned 12, he asked Solumon permission to join a mercenary company so he could be like him. Laughing, Solumon told the still scrawny Henrik that he would instead teach the boy how to fight, and Henrik began to train, hoping to impress Solumon with his dedication. By the time Henrik was 15, he joined the mercenary company of one of Solumon's friends as a runner. Although he had a slow start, Henrik was able to prove himself useful, and proved himself to be a fine warrior during a raid on a smugglers den. Henrik grew bold, and would frequently rush his enemies, intimidating them. Henrik continued to work for Solumon's friends company until he got into an argument with one of the company captains. The argument lead to blows, and Henrik soon found himself without a job. He bounced between different mercenary companies for a time, traveling far north to serve with the numerous companies that worked for the feuding Madari duchies. When he found out that Solumon was ill, he returned south as fast as he could. Standing over his old master's bedside, Henrik listened as Solumon called Henrik his son, giving him both his name and the small fortune he had accumulated during his time campaigning. Proud of his new surname, Henrik ibn Solumon started a new mercenary company. Henrik's new company was successful, and when a troublesome province in Emril tried to secede, he found easy employment. By making his mercenary company a winged light cavalry, Henrik made a small fortune by leading his company on select scouting and raiding missions, making a name for himself.
When Henrik was leading a a deep scouting mission, he came across a group of harried Knights fending off several Abddi in an abandoned village. Dropping from the sky atop wyverns, Henrik and his company caused a major shock for the Abbdi, who were quickly routed and then banished. The Knights, grateful for Henrik's help, thanked him and half jokingly suggested he should join the order. Laughing it off, Henrik departed. Less than a month later, Henrik's headquarters burnt down when a nearby stable burnt down and caught fire to nearly a third of the city while he was away. Losing all of that wealth meant he couldn't afford to maintain his wyverns or his men, so he had to disband the company. Catching up to the Knight's he had rescued before, Henrik asked if they would sponsor him again. When Henrik handily beat them in two on one combat, they readily agreed.
Name: Henrik ibn Solumon
Age: 28
Skills/Talents:
Fast Hands: Henrik can fire and reload his blunderbuss in less than 30 seconds, and his pistol in half that time.
Polyglot: Henrik has a rudimentary grasp on every major language on the continent, and can order a beer in Dwarfish.
War Veteran: Henrik has been in combat for over a decade, and can handle anything that's thrown at him.
Wyvern Rider: Henrik used to ride a Wyvern, but had to sell her. He misses her sometimes.
Whistler: Henrik has an awful singing voice, but can whistle quite prettily.
Equipment: Hai San Blunderbuss. Matchlock pistol. Flanged mace. Powder horn and shot. Hunting dagger w/ sheathe. Plate and mail armor
Appearance: An incredibly muscular man of average height (5,11) with shaggy brown hair and dark brown eyes, Henrik's otherwise handsome features are marred by his cauliflower ears and the mangled wreck of his nose. He is missing the tip of the left pinky of his callused hands. He wears an Amidal mirror plate cuirass over chainmail. He wears simple brown breeches with black hose and pilk skin boots.
Religious Beliefs: Nominally raised as a Voldttist, Henrik has grown to respect Iodism more and more as the years go by, though he is not by any means a very contemplative man. Henrik prefers to live in the moment.
Personality: Brash and loud, laughter comes easy to Henrik, and he loves nothing more than drinking heavily and enjoying the company of whatever tavern girl or stable boy that catches his eye. Living in a constant state of violence has inured him to it, he'll thrash someone within an inch of their life if he decides to do so, and he frequently does. His moral compass rarely extends beyond 'might makes right'. Despite his evident boorishness, Henrik possess a low cunning that he's put to good use, often being able to fool people into giving into Henrik's wants without them realizing it. His decision to join the Kadari knights was as mostly a career move for him, though when asked he'd answer with caring about the defenseless. He more cares about the coin the defenseless tend to pay in.
Backstory: Born in a small southern Emril fishing hamlet, Henrik grew up the 5th son of a poor fisherman, receiving scant attention and only a little more food. When Henrik was 10, he was sold to be the servant of a retired Amidal mercenary captain, Solumon ibn Halun, who had been visiting north to meet with his Emrilian counterpart. Henrik was treated more like a surrogate son than a servant, teaching him Amidal and telling him stories of his days as a mercenary. When Henrik turned 12, he asked Solumon permission to join a mercenary company so he could be like him. Laughing, Solumon told the still scrawny Henrik that he would instead teach the boy how to fight, and Henrik began to train, hoping to impress Solumon with his dedication. By the time Henrik was 15, he joined the mercenary company of one of Solumon's friends as a runner. Although he had a slow start, Henrik was able to prove himself useful, and proved himself to be a fine warrior during a raid on a smugglers den. Henrik grew bold, and would frequently rush his enemies, intimidating them. Henrik continued to work for Solumon's friends company until he got into an argument with one of the company captains. The argument lead to blows, and Henrik soon found himself without a job. He bounced between different mercenary companies for a time, traveling far north to serve with the numerous companies that worked for the feuding Madari duchies. When he found out that Solumon was ill, he returned south as fast as he could. Standing over his old master's bedside, Henrik listened as Solumon called Henrik his son, giving him both his name and the small fortune he had accumulated during his time campaigning. Proud of his new surname, Henrik ibn Solumon started a new mercenary company. Henrik's new company was successful, and when a troublesome province in Emril tried to secede, he found easy employment. By making his mercenary company a winged light cavalry, Henrik made a small fortune by leading his company on select scouting and raiding missions, making a name for himself.
When Henrik was leading a a deep scouting mission, he came across a group of harried Knights fending off several Abddi in an abandoned village. Dropping from the sky atop wyverns, Henrik and his company caused a major shock for the Abbdi, who were quickly routed and then banished. The Knights, grateful for Henrik's help, thanked him and half jokingly suggested he should join the order. Laughing it off, Henrik departed. Less than a month later, Henrik's headquarters burnt down when a nearby stable burnt down and caught fire to nearly a third of the city while he was away. Losing all of that wealth meant he couldn't afford to maintain his wyverns or his men, so he had to disband the company. Catching up to the Knight's he had rescued before, Henrik asked if they would sponsor him again. When Henrik handily beat them in two on one combat, they readily agreed.
Age: 28
Skills/Talents:
Fast Hands: Henrik can fire and reload his blunderbuss in less than 30 seconds, and his pistol in half that time.
Polyglot: Henrik has a rudimentary grasp on every major language on the continent, and can order a beer in Dwarfish.
War Veteran: Henrik has been in combat for over a decade, and can handle anything that's thrown at him.
Wyvern Rider: Henrik used to ride a Wyvern, but had to sell her. He misses her sometimes.
Whistler: Henrik has an awful singing voice, but can whistle quite prettily.
Equipment: Hai San Blunderbuss. Matchlock pistol. Flanged mace. Powder horn and shot. Hunting dagger w/ sheathe. Plate and mail armor
Appearance: An incredibly muscular man of average height (5,11) with shaggy brown hair and dark brown eyes, Henrik's otherwise handsome features are marred by his cauliflower ears and the mangled wreck of his nose. He is missing the tip of the left pinky of his callused hands. He wears an Amidal mirror plate cuirass over chainmail. He wears simple brown breeches with black hose and pilk skin boots.
Religious Beliefs: Nominally raised as a Voldttist, Henrik has grown to respect Iodism more and more as the years go by, though he is not by any means a very contemplative man. Henrik prefers to live in the moment.
Personality: Brash and loud, laughter comes easy to Henrik, and he loves nothing more than drinking heavily and enjoying the company of whatever tavern girl or stable boy that catches his eye. Living in a constant state of violence has inured him to it, he'll thrash someone within an inch of their life if he decides to do so, and he frequently does. His moral compass rarely extends beyond 'might makes right'. Despite his evident boorishness, Henrik possess a low cunning that he's put to good use, often being able to fool people into giving into Henrik's wants without them realizing it. His decision to join the Kadari knights was as mostly a career move for him, though when asked he'd answer with caring about the defenseless. He more cares about the coin the defenseless tend to pay in.
Backstory: Born in a small southern Emril fishing hamlet, Henrik grew up the 5th son of a poor fisherman, receiving scant attention and only a little more food. When Henrik was 10, he was sold to be the servant of a retired Amidal mercenary captain, Solumon ibn Halun, who had been visiting north to meet with his Emrilian counterpart. Henrik was treated more like a surrogate son than a servant, teaching him Amidal and telling him stories of his days as a mercenary. When Henrik turned 12, he asked Solumon permission to join a mercenary company so he could be like him. Laughing, Solumon told the still scrawny Henrik that he would instead teach the boy how to fight, and Henrik began to train, hoping to impress Solumon with his dedication. By the time Henrik was 15, he joined the mercenary company of one of Solumon's friends as a runner. Although he had a slow start, Henrik was able to prove himself useful, and proved himself to be a fine warrior during a raid on a smugglers den. Henrik grew bold, and would frequently rush his enemies, intimidating them. Henrik continued to work for Solumon's friends company until he got into an argument with one of the company captains. The argument lead to blows, and Henrik soon found himself without a job. He bounced between different mercenary companies for a time, traveling far north to serve with the numerous companies that worked for the feuding Madari duchies. When he found out that Solumon was ill, he returned south as fast as he could. Standing over his old master's bedside, Henrik listened as Solumon called Henrik his son, giving him both his name and the small fortune he had accumulated during his time campaigning. Proud of his new surname, Henrik ibn Solumon started a new mercenary company. Henrik's new company was successful, and when a troublesome province in Emril tried to secede, he found easy employment. By making his mercenary company a winged light cavalry, Henrik made a small fortune by leading his company on select scouting and raiding missions, making a name for himself.
When Henrik was leading a a deep scouting mission, he came across a group of harried Knights fending off several Abddi in an abandoned village. Dropping from the sky atop wyverns, Henrik and his company caused a major shock for the Abbdi, who were quickly routed and then banished. The Knights, grateful for Henrik's help, thanked him and half jokingly suggested he should join the order. Laughing it off, Henrik departed. Less than a month later, Henrik's headquarters burnt down when a nearby stable burnt down and caught fire to nearly a third of the city while he was away. Losing all of that wealth meant he couldn't afford to maintain his wyverns or his men, so he had to disband the company. Catching up to the Knight's he had rescued before, Henrik asked if they would sponsor him again. When Henrik handily beat them in two on one combat, they readily agreed.
Gonna start working on my guy! He's gonna carry a blunderbuss and a mace. His dump stat is agility.
Mags
Mags heard the satisfying crack as the jar broke over the head of the rog, and watched with growing pleasure as the fog rushed forth, obscuring and choking many of the war band. Still, they rushed forward, and the tall man carrying a staff began knocking back the Rogs with startling accuracy and force. The howling curses of the Worgs chilled her, and Mags began unconsciously backing away as she saw them stalk slowly closer their amber eyes flashing with malice. She froze in the street, ready to turn and flee.
They're faster than me. There's no way I could run from them.
The giant bear's roar drew her back to the fight at hand. She didn't know these people, but they were trying to fight off the Rogs, and some of them may have been looking for the dragon.
Good enough reason to stick around, I guess.
A Rog broke out from the fog, spitting obscenities and blindly swinging his wooden club. The Rog spotted Mags, and began to rush towards her. She backpedaled as the Rog closed the distance between them, raising his weapon high above his head, yellowing teeth bared in pleasure. When he was only a yard away, Mags stopped, dropped into a crouch, and flung herself at the legs of the Rog, tackling him. The club went down over her back, and the wind was knocked out of her as they crashed to the ground.
Wheezing, she began to crawl away when she felt the Rog grab her by the ankle. Twisting over, the Rogs bloody face swam in her vision as he stumbled to his feet, lifting the club from the ground and raising it up, readying to strike Mags.
A rainbow blur rain through her head as she flung a hand up to protect herself-
Excellent Prismatic Spray
The Rog's head and shoulders pulped themselves as the iridescent beams burst through, knocking the Rog backwards until it lay on the ground next to Mags, blood pooling out.
Chest heaving, she slowly pulled herself to her feet, looking around at the fighting around her. There were still more Rogs approaching.
Too late to run away, anyways.
The colors began to swirl as she summoned more magic, readying her next attack.
Mags heard the satisfying crack as the jar broke over the head of the rog, and watched with growing pleasure as the fog rushed forth, obscuring and choking many of the war band. Still, they rushed forward, and the tall man carrying a staff began knocking back the Rogs with startling accuracy and force. The howling curses of the Worgs chilled her, and Mags began unconsciously backing away as she saw them stalk slowly closer their amber eyes flashing with malice. She froze in the street, ready to turn and flee.
They're faster than me. There's no way I could run from them.
The giant bear's roar drew her back to the fight at hand. She didn't know these people, but they were trying to fight off the Rogs, and some of them may have been looking for the dragon.
Good enough reason to stick around, I guess.
A Rog broke out from the fog, spitting obscenities and blindly swinging his wooden club. The Rog spotted Mags, and began to rush towards her. She backpedaled as the Rog closed the distance between them, raising his weapon high above his head, yellowing teeth bared in pleasure. When he was only a yard away, Mags stopped, dropped into a crouch, and flung herself at the legs of the Rog, tackling him. The club went down over her back, and the wind was knocked out of her as they crashed to the ground.
Wheezing, she began to crawl away when she felt the Rog grab her by the ankle. Twisting over, the Rogs bloody face swam in her vision as he stumbled to his feet, lifting the club from the ground and raising it up, readying to strike Mags.
A rainbow blur rain through her head as she flung a hand up to protect herself-
Excellent Prismatic Spray
The Rog's head and shoulders pulped themselves as the iridescent beams burst through, knocking the Rog backwards until it lay on the ground next to Mags, blood pooling out.
Chest heaving, she slowly pulled herself to her feet, looking around at the fighting around her. There were still more Rogs approaching.
Too late to run away, anyways.
The colors began to swirl as she summoned more magic, readying her next attack.
I'll make a concerted effort to just call him 'old bear guy' in all of my posts 
I'll start working on a post to be up this weekend
I'll start working on a post to be up this weekend
© 2007-2024