wintersoldier
Bugman
RawrEspada4
Stern Algorithm
CitrusArms
Noctis
Snowdrops
Bacon
ApollosarcherBren Onyxshout
18 - He/Him - The Packless - Heterosexual
”I am…not used to common tongue. Forgive slippings of tongue. Bren has your front."
—Bren Onyxshout, the Packless
RACE
Mountain Gnoll of Clan Rockclaw
A proud, yet powerful people, Rockclaw gnolls take great pride in their strength and spirituality, cultivated through training and discipline rather than feverishly fighting for their own survival. Now however, they are on the decline, and a sight rarer due to their usual foraging grounds becoming polluted, and needing to sell their services as mercenaries or miners to the Iron Dwarves.
CLASS
Myrmidon
A sellsword of some training who, through dumb luck or skill, has managed to survive long enough to go from a boy with a sword to a warrior. Trained in his ancestral meditative techniques, as well as learning to fight from a young age due to his prolific size, Bren is most at home with a sword in hand with a clear-cut goal before him. A simple class, but deathly effective against anything that moves.
APPEARANCE
For a gnoll, Bren is on the large side, standing at a height of 7’ 8” and weighing 370 pounds. His fur is a ruddy red, common amongst his tribe, with red giving way to a dull gray on his muzzle, tips of his ears, and back. Like all gnolls, he has the visage of a hyena, and a slightly hunched back that causes him to slouch slightly. His face is marred with scars of the battles that he’s fought, including one which left a scar spanning from the side of his muzzle to the crown of his head. His eyes are a common dark brown, and one of his ears is missing a small portion of its left side.
HISTORY
Rockclaws live by the mountain.
Rockclaws die by the mountain.
So it was, is, shall be, and is ordained, as the gnoll tribe that called the mountains home fled their badland origins in order to carve out a life among the quiet mountains. A culture built on close familial ties, each familial unit is referred to as a “pack”, each part of the conglomerate. Each contributing to not just their pack, but the tribe as a whole. Bren wasn’t one of the founding firstborns, not even close. Just another pup born to a mother, even if he was a bit bigger. Born stronger than most and larger than everyone of his generation, Bren was expected to someday lead the Rockclaws, or at least, be the start of a great lineage. And so, he believed himself destined for greatness, throwing himself into the scrawled parchment of his people, and learned all that he could to prepare himself for life.
But, life happens to be entirely too short, too fast, and too impatient to predict as a famine hit the Rockclaws. One the likes of which meant their only choice to survive was to acquire the gold of men…specifically, to pledge their services to the Iron Dwarves who dwelled within their mountain home. At first it was just the elders who went, pledging tooth, claw, sword, and pick for glittering treasures, used to purchase food and medicine the Rockclaws now had no way of getting themselves. And so, an entire generation was lost, from mining accidents, coal-lung, and in fights against the dwarves’ enemies. And so another generation went. And another, And another. The coin came, glittering, golden, flowing back to the Rockclaws, but lives were lost again and again.
Even fated for greatness, Bren saw the need in his pack, in his thinning mother, his gaunt youngest brothers and sisters, and chose to use his might for the only thing he could before adulthood: Mining. Brawny and massive even at twelve, Bren worked in the mines until a cave-in sealed the fate of many miners, his own oldest sister included, after a stray spark ignited a gas vein. Shielded only by the body of his sister, Bren miraculously survived, now painfully aware of what his vaunted prepared destiny was.
He would die for the dwarves’ gold. Whether he wanted to, or not. Perhaps, this was punishment from the Fates for his hubris, but Bren would gain a grim resolve. The mines weren’t somewhere he could go again, and he would instead enlist for mercenary service at age fourteen, cutting into whatever enemies he was pointed at with reckless, feverish abandon. Battle was an escape to him, one where the far-off starving family wasn’t at the forefront, where the thrill of supremacy, the taste of blood, and adrenaline were all he could feel. He would do several tours of duty around the Ironspire Citadel, sending money home again and again, only keeping what he strictly needed for himself.
When the day of his seventeenth year arrived, Bren came home with the money himself, only to find an abandoned home. No tribe. No pack. Only bones of those who had none left to bury them. His family had been dead for at least a year, and yet the payments were still shipped back here. Coffers bled. No tribe. No pack. In a howl that seemed to shake the mountain itself, Bren realized that he had not only been lied to by his kin, but that they had left with everything he had worked to send back.
With his tours done, Bren was free. But even still, he threw himself at the dwarves’ problems once more, no longer seeking the empty clattering of coins, no longer assured of purpose that his family would survive, and no longer having the heart to face the world alone. Even with his sword chipped and his shield splintered, Bren won engagement after engagement, slaughtered beast and men alike as directed, and gained a new moniker as the only remaining Rockclaw of his tribe left of his ancestral home.
He had become Packless.
Rockclaws die by the mountain.
So it was, is, shall be, and is ordained, as the gnoll tribe that called the mountains home fled their badland origins in order to carve out a life among the quiet mountains. A culture built on close familial ties, each familial unit is referred to as a “pack”, each part of the conglomerate. Each contributing to not just their pack, but the tribe as a whole. Bren wasn’t one of the founding firstborns, not even close. Just another pup born to a mother, even if he was a bit bigger. Born stronger than most and larger than everyone of his generation, Bren was expected to someday lead the Rockclaws, or at least, be the start of a great lineage. And so, he believed himself destined for greatness, throwing himself into the scrawled parchment of his people, and learned all that he could to prepare himself for life.
But, life happens to be entirely too short, too fast, and too impatient to predict as a famine hit the Rockclaws. One the likes of which meant their only choice to survive was to acquire the gold of men…specifically, to pledge their services to the Iron Dwarves who dwelled within their mountain home. At first it was just the elders who went, pledging tooth, claw, sword, and pick for glittering treasures, used to purchase food and medicine the Rockclaws now had no way of getting themselves. And so, an entire generation was lost, from mining accidents, coal-lung, and in fights against the dwarves’ enemies. And so another generation went. And another, And another. The coin came, glittering, golden, flowing back to the Rockclaws, but lives were lost again and again.
Even fated for greatness, Bren saw the need in his pack, in his thinning mother, his gaunt youngest brothers and sisters, and chose to use his might for the only thing he could before adulthood: Mining. Brawny and massive even at twelve, Bren worked in the mines until a cave-in sealed the fate of many miners, his own oldest sister included, after a stray spark ignited a gas vein. Shielded only by the body of his sister, Bren miraculously survived, now painfully aware of what his vaunted prepared destiny was.
He would die for the dwarves’ gold. Whether he wanted to, or not. Perhaps, this was punishment from the Fates for his hubris, but Bren would gain a grim resolve. The mines weren’t somewhere he could go again, and he would instead enlist for mercenary service at age fourteen, cutting into whatever enemies he was pointed at with reckless, feverish abandon. Battle was an escape to him, one where the far-off starving family wasn’t at the forefront, where the thrill of supremacy, the taste of blood, and adrenaline were all he could feel. He would do several tours of duty around the Ironspire Citadel, sending money home again and again, only keeping what he strictly needed for himself.
When the day of his seventeenth year arrived, Bren came home with the money himself, only to find an abandoned home. No tribe. No pack. Only bones of those who had none left to bury them. His family had been dead for at least a year, and yet the payments were still shipped back here. Coffers bled. No tribe. No pack. In a howl that seemed to shake the mountain itself, Bren realized that he had not only been lied to by his kin, but that they had left with everything he had worked to send back.
With his tours done, Bren was free. But even still, he threw himself at the dwarves’ problems once more, no longer seeking the empty clattering of coins, no longer assured of purpose that his family would survive, and no longer having the heart to face the world alone. Even with his sword chipped and his shield splintered, Bren won engagement after engagement, slaughtered beast and men alike as directed, and gained a new moniker as the only remaining Rockclaw of his tribe left of his ancestral home.
He had become Packless.
FEARS
Small, enclosed spaces. Uncontrolled fire. Solitude. Simple things that speak of an underlying trauma in Bren that he isn't comfortable relaying to others. He will simply refuse to be near such things...unless, doing so, would result in the third.
GOALS
Prior to being fated, Bren sought a place to die. Now, he seeks to use his life as usefully as possible, wanting to believe that all things that happened to him happened for a reason. He will kill that which fate has guided him to fight, and will seek purpose after.
SECRETS
Bren is pretty much an open book. His only real secret that might embarrass him is that he still keeps a stuffed toy from his childhood in his pack, a small beaten up, chewed, and lovingly stitched back together hyena.
FLAW
Unlearned in the ways of hairless men, Bren can be culturally ignorant to downright getting culture shock from seemingly innocuous things. He is also very self-destructive, to the extent of viewing his life as being only worthwhile to protect those nearby him. If a sacrifice must be made, Bren will volunteer, and if anyone threatens those he grows attached to, he is prone to lashing out violently if not stopped.
SKILLS
A vast majority of Bren’s skills come in his vast combat experience, natural strength, and knowledge of survival, making him a valuable ally to have at your side when braving the wilderness. His social skills are somewhat lacking, only due to it being difficult for gnolls to translate their own language into common without great difficulty.
ABILITIES
Survivalist: Growing up foraging in the desolate central mountains, Bren is accustomed to roughing it, having never once known a soft bed or guaranteed meal in his life. His keen nose makes tracking down viable prey simple, and also lets him know of deadly poisons lying in wait.
Uncrowned Mastery of Steel and Self: Whether by his powerful body, battle experience, or training, Bren has the capability to find an application or technique for each weapon he comes across. As such, he can change battle tactics quickly, and utilize his own knowledge of a weapon against a foe, so long as it is a standard, or martial weapon. Something exotic or foreign to him would require extensive training to understand.
Outmaneuver: A veteran of the battlefield against men and beasts, Bren can spot weaknesses in virtually any fighter if given enough time and breathing room. Whether it be a cut to the wrist, an arrow to a shoddy knee, a knife inside of an opening in armor, or something’s fear, Bren can find a way to exploit a target’s Achilles heel.
Natural Savagery: Born with bone crushing teeth and skin-rending claws, Bren is a menace even when unarmed, capable of utilizing his species’ gifts in close quarters. Despite this, he personally hates the taste of blood, and believes that his other options are always better.
Strength of Self, Emptying Doubt: A mental meditation technique Rockclaw warriors often use in preparation for battle, allowing them to enter battle with a sound mind, and to not lose themselves in the chaos of bloodshed. Bren has had to utilize this in the midst of combat as well, allowing him to, if he has enough breathing room, regain his focus and shake himself out of any mental effects that would impede him.
Pack Tactics: Accustomed to fighting in a unit, Bren is good at staying out of others’ way, predicting his ally’s moves, and generally intervening in ways that assist them in whatever they’re doing.He will naturally fall into the rhythm of his allies, and will do his utmost to use his skills to strengthen their’s.
FATED WEAPON
Empty Shout
A sword hilt that carries within it fine, thin silk-like strings that can form into various shapes on the user’s command. The handle has a rusted, almost broken look to it, as if it was once far grander in appearance. Contrastingly, the silver strings that it extends are as beautiful as captured moonlight, and cut through flesh with shocking ease.
FATED WEAPON
Empty Shout has five different forms that it can takes on, with the command to switch being mental. Bren however prefers to let out his pent-up aggression by screaming the form names, and to warn his allies in case they are too close. In each state, the strings that form the weapon are virtually unbreakable, and even should they break, will regrow to their full length within 24 hours. These forms are:
First Score: Fang
A simple form that bids the strings to extend to their full length of two meters and spiral, forming a spear-like structure that can be safely grasped from any point behind the “tip”, designed to gouge through unarmored opponents while a flurry of noise whistles through the opening in the strings. Can also be shortened to a rapier-like form called Broken Fang if commanded to.
Second Score: Claw
Curving into a claw-like structure extending upwards from the handle, this form is best suited to fighting opponents wielding weapons, due to the strings now oscillating to clash with steel.
Third Score: Hide
Focused solely on defense, Hide has the strings whip around the user in an elliptical pattern, encompassing them in a barrier of steel that can ward off projectiles. However, it becomes difficult to hear anything outside, as the strings move fast enough to prevent sound from cleanly passing through. Less of a shield and more of a zero-range attack.
Fourth Score: Paw
Loosening up considerably, the strings lose their cutting edge in order to grasp something on the user’s command, functioning as a prehensile tool rather than an instrument of war.
Final Score: Howl
The final state of Empty Shout, temporarily restoring it to its fullest capacity, extending each of the forms’ total effective range by over a meter each. Fang becomes a penetrative force of reckoning, Claw becomes capable of wrapping around weapons to deliver fatal blows, Hide can be expanded to accommodate three people, and Paw condenses into a single, long, gentle strand that could support nearly a ton. This form shift can only be used once a day, and only lasts for a minute.
First Score: Fang
A simple form that bids the strings to extend to their full length of two meters and spiral, forming a spear-like structure that can be safely grasped from any point behind the “tip”, designed to gouge through unarmored opponents while a flurry of noise whistles through the opening in the strings. Can also be shortened to a rapier-like form called Broken Fang if commanded to.
Second Score: Claw
Curving into a claw-like structure extending upwards from the handle, this form is best suited to fighting opponents wielding weapons, due to the strings now oscillating to clash with steel.
Third Score: Hide
Focused solely on defense, Hide has the strings whip around the user in an elliptical pattern, encompassing them in a barrier of steel that can ward off projectiles. However, it becomes difficult to hear anything outside, as the strings move fast enough to prevent sound from cleanly passing through. Less of a shield and more of a zero-range attack.
Fourth Score: Paw
Loosening up considerably, the strings lose their cutting edge in order to grasp something on the user’s command, functioning as a prehensile tool rather than an instrument of war.
Final Score: Howl
The final state of Empty Shout, temporarily restoring it to its fullest capacity, extending each of the forms’ total effective range by over a meter each. Fang becomes a penetrative force of reckoning, Claw becomes capable of wrapping around weapons to deliver fatal blows, Hide can be expanded to accommodate three people, and Paw condenses into a single, long, gentle strand that could support nearly a ton. This form shift can only be used once a day, and only lasts for a minute.
Character Theme
Character Color: CD5C5C
Character Color: CD5C5C
And, my CS do be complete! I wasn't sure if the weapon was okay or not, so please let me know if anything needs changing.