Zeroth

A New Day; Cozy Fantasy Village Life

Just strap every wand to a single tube rotated by hand crank.

"I cast...EVERYTHING!"

A New Day; Cozy Fantasy Village Life

"Fourteen new posts, holy shi--"

Alrighty then. After going through the pages and looking all the CS'es, and I don't think I missed anone, a decision has been made and 7 characters have been approved.

@Xaltwind

YE YE YE YE YE YE YE---

I'll start working on the intro and first IC post tomorrow

A New Day; Cozy Fantasy Village Life

... You really should buy the battle pass though... I mean, just look at it! It's got cool graphics and visual effects! Just try it. You won't regret it. I guarantee it! *pushes basket of battle passes at everyone, trying to get them to buy one*

@Xaltwind

*When you shove the basket at me, I hurriedly stand in front of my computer screen and take off the tricorn skull-and-crossbones hat*

Yarr, I already found the torr--I MEAN, I UH, PRE-ORDERED ONE!

A New Day; Cozy Fantasy Village Life

Myrr will work on a potion to gigantify pumpkins. Then we can live inside the pumpkins and have food for weeks.

@Dragonydas

And then we'll all turn into slightly-terrifying 30-year-old stop-motion clay models! :D

Blackguards!

Orc Blademaster

Auguz the Manslayer

^{Image Credit to GreyRat84 of DeviantArt}

---

---

Name

Auguz Son-of-Ugum, of Hokur (Red Iron) Clan of Zimalzagh (Black Mountain)

Race

Orc

Gender

Male

Age

47

Appearance

Standing at 7' 6" and weighing just shy of 300 pounds, Auguz is an ideal specimen of an orc warrior. He speaks with a gravel-filled, roaring voice that could easily be mistaken for that of a tiger. It can be even more shocking to hear because, unless he's fighting, he can be eerily stoic. His eyes are a burning wolf-yellow, though they are often hidden beneath the shadow of his furrowed brow. A lattice of old scars covers the majority of his body--save for his back, which aside from a few puncture wounds originating on the other side, is relatively unblemished. He favors simple clothing; garments that are easy to fight in, fastened with old ropes or bits of bone.

Personality

"He who stands in the end is righteous."

Auguz believes in a broad form of "might makes right," recognizing that there are many kinds of "power" to obtain. If you are stronger, you can do whatever you want until someone with greater strength stops you. If your arm is greater, the strength of numbers or strategy may still overcome it. If your strength is unbreakable, strength of cunning and subterfuge may poison it. Yet despite this acknowledgment of nuance, Auguz stands by his own brand of strength---the open, bare-chested might of a warrior and his skills---and seeks to overcome all others with dogged stubbornness. The utter shame of his current predicament is a raw and festering subject, but ultimately, so long as he is contained by a greater power, he has no choice but to survive in the hope that he will one day surpass his oppressors.

He enjoys the revelry of good food and fine drink, and the debauchery of fair maidens, but nothing excites his blood more than using his blade. It is not wanton slaughter that drives him, though he is not above taking life in a trivial or cold blooded manner; the stronger his opponent, the more thrilling it is to bring them down. The more they boast, the more he enjoys to see them beg. The more they pretend to refinery, the more satisfying it is to see them seethe with rage and impotence. He doesn't just want to prove his skill and power, but to break down the opponent's sense of self.

Auguz spits on those who think ideals such as "law" will protect them, or who try to control others through social expectations, religion, and other abstracts. That form of strength can only survive in the presence of weak minds---even if, say, a religious leader had the strength of an entire theocracy backing him, a single person in the congregation could decide at any time to simply break the fool's neck in front of all his sheep. As one can imagine, this outlook makes him ill-suited to diplomacy, debate, or compromise.

Background

In the Hokur Clan, status is decided by strength, and strength by blood. The strongest take the strongest for their mates, and those of lesser stock are made to provide for the clan while the warriors train or march for war. Individual families within the clan compete in both tournaments and what passes for orcish politik, constantly seeking to prove themselves in order to rise up the ladder.

Auguz was born to a pair of, essentially, slaves. Their duty was to plough, and to sow, to pluck weeds, and reap harvest. In seasons when little would grow, they were made to break rock and chop trees to clear new fields for the next year, or make new paths in the treacherous terrain. Most of what they produced went to feed those above their station; Auguz still remembers the hunger he slept with as a child.

Yet one day, as he passed from one end of the clan's great fortress to the other on some errand, he happened to pass by a prominent family's courtyard. They were training several younglings, older than him at the time, in the way of swordsmanship. The master prepared a demonstration for the students, and though he had to climb the wall to peek over, Auguz couldn't help his curiosity. A lit candle was brought out, and the master explained some concept of "subtlety and control" of one's blade. Then, with a masterful movement that seemed to come out of a painting, the elder orc swept the candle's upper half away from its lower. The flame never went out, and wavered only a moment in the air. The lower end did not fall from the stand, and the other was perfectly balanced on the flat of the man's sword, held delicately at arm's length. Yet the cut had happened so fast, if Auguz had been able to blink he would have missed it.

Then someone saw him, and he had to scamper away before he could be caught. But like that flickering candle flame, a passion had been ignited in the runty orc. When his chores were done, he picked up a shaved stick, and began to mimic the motions he'd seen. When he carried water, or took the harvest to the storehouse, or brought repaired tools from the smiths, he would stop by the courtyard again. By mere enthusiasm and mimicry, he began to learn. His parents noticed a new brightness in their child, a strength of life and happiness at finding one's calling, but had they known his secret they most assuredly would've punished him. And perhaps, if they had, the Manslayer would've never come to be.

It was only a matter of time. The first time he failed to escape, the students dragged him before the master. Accused of stealing their techniques, or spying for another family, and most of all for daring to look above his own family's status within the Clan, the old orc ordered the youngling to be soundly beaten and sent away with dire threats. But Auguz did not cease his self-taught training. Again, he was caught---this time in a dark corner of the fortress, by three adolescents from the same family. They had found him with the stick in his hand, and held wooden training swords of their own. To humiliate him, break him spiritually as well as physically, they taunted him as they struck, over and over and over... Until Auguz fought back.

By the end, his stick was broken, and the three youths were dead. He took their wooden swords. When news spread, the other students began hunting him down---and he hunted them in return. Those who survived were crippled, no longer able to hold a sword. The family he'd offended was outraged, but even when his parents were imprisoned, Auguz managed to evade capture. When he killed an adult warrior---again, with only a piece of wood---the old swordmaster deigned to step up. It was time for this farce to end.

Their duel took place under a bright moon. In that pure white light, the old master finally saw this runt for what he was: a talent unbound by blood or status. A heart filled with love for the way of the blade, the art of the warrior---a heart that had been tainted and blackened by unforgiving tradition, cruelty, and bloodlust. What could this young orc have become, if that talent had been nurtured? How many like this had the Clan ignored, or even punished? As he was brought to his knees, the old swordsman felt tears pricking his eyes. He yielded to the youth, and begged for forgiveness. He declared that he would adopt Auguz, and train him, and---

Auguz smashed the orc's skull with the splintered wooden sword, and stole his first real blade. He left the Hokur that night, and began to carve a bloody trail across the lands. From town to town, tavern to tavern, he wandered in search of powerful adversaries. It was not enough to prove himself more skilled, to meet peers of a like mind---he had to show that he, a slave, with nothing but talent and effort to his name, was better than those who had beaten him, better than those who called themselves "masters." Values? Ideals? Give a man enough pain, and he will forsake everything he claims to love to escape it. Only those who are strong have the right to be free. Only those who can kill have the right to live. That was what his childhood had shown him.

Thus, when he heard of a brave knight who had, singlehandedly, bested an entire gang of bandits, he sought that man out for a duel. And he killed him. When the nobility hosted their tournaments and crowds filled the coliseums, he fought his way to the top---and then tracked down those he had not gotten to fight. And he killed them. When a veteran mercenary captain decided to retire and open his own fencing school, Auguz stormed the place and slaughtered his way through the students, the assistants, and the headmaster.

These tales continued, time and time again. The number of Auguz's victims rose ever higher, until the Tyrant himself ordered the orc to be slain on sight should he ever be found within the kingdom's borders. But, even an entire regiment of the king's men could not bring down the blade-wielding monster...

Then, she appeared. The Witch. The abomination, in Auguz's mind. He had not often fought mages, those who could bend fire and call down the winds, but he had fought them. If he could but place his blade against them, they died like any other. But not her. Strength and skill, speed and strategy, did not seem to matter to her. What was more, she accomplished something no other opponent had, not since those beatings so many long years ago. Auguz was unnerved by her. He feared her. He tried to banish it from his mind, to burn it like creeping ivy with rage and bloodlust. But he could not escape that icy, tenebrous grasp. And so he was finally brought to justice, in a kingdom far from his home, and thrown into the deepest, blackest pits they called the Maw...

Talents

• Immaculate Swordsmanship
  If everyone has a "thing," Auguz's thing is the way of the blade. He lives for it, loves it, in a way only great painters or musicians might understand, not soldiers. Everything else he has attained has been for the sake of the sword. He calls his personal, self-made style the Eighteen Demon Blades.
• Expert Martial Artist
  To master the blade, master one's self. Though one might argue his understanding of this proverb given his general hedonism, Auguz's physical talents and experiences have allowed him to mimic a number of martial arts techniques. Because this benefits his swordsmanship and athletic ability, he considers it a required secondary skill for any warrior. Fisticuffs, footwork, and wrestling techniques all factor into his personal style to varying degrees---he's probably best with his hands, but his heavy kicks can be devastating even if he's not doing a bunch of flexible flippy-dippy nonsense.
• General Weapon Skill
  To defeat one's enemy, you must know your enemy. Auguz may not give a crap about getting to know other people, but in order to best other weapons with only a sword, he's had to learn a great deal about them. While he couldn't match up to someone who has done specialized training, he can generally pick up a spear, an axe, so on and so forth and wield it with above average ability.
• Made of Iron
  Not in a literal sense, of course. Auguz's stamina and toughness, even for an orc, are extremely well developed---but so is his mental strength. You might be faster than him, but he's going to keep plodding after you. You might even be stronger than him, but he's going to figure out your weak point. If you're more skilled than him, he's going to refuse to acknowledge that. With an unhealthy amount of determination, he has resolved that if he's going to die, he's going to do two more things as well: die standing upright, and swing his sword one last time as his head rolls off.

Flaws

• Run The Fade
  Auguz will prioritize his ability to enjoy a duel over anything else. He can be forced to do whatever stupid thing he has to do instead of fighting, but it will breed deep discontent and he will always look for a way to avenge such interference.
• Gambler
  Auguz can be suckered by games of chance, because he believes that luck is a skill too. He doesn't understand how to cut his losses or quit while he's ahead, responds impulsively to dares and challenges, and gets violent when he feels he's been cheated. If someone's trying to dissuade or calm him during these moments, though, at least it's not as difficult as it would be to keep him out of a "proper" fight.
• Glutton
  When he's not fighting, Auguz enjoys eating, drinking, and...carousing...to great excess. Maybe it's because he remembers having nothing back at home, and hasn't learned how to reign in his over compensation. Maybe it's just because he lives every moment to the fullest. But if he's allowed to indulge, he's going to wake up with a hangover, eat so much he vomits the next time he gets gutpunched, and so on.
• Seasick
  He hates boats. And you will too if you ever have to be on one with him.

Equipment

• Northern Gale
  A well made, and well used, steel katana. Its hilt is white rayskin wrapped with a deep blue cord, and the tsuba is a golden mitsudomoe pattern.
• Western Storm
  A wakazashi that has been well-maintained, but is old enough that there's a lot of visible wear and tear. The flaking layers of steel from its spine give it a damascened appearance. Its hilt is also white rayskin, but the cord is a faded green. The tsuba is a simple bronze disk, but a golden horsehair tassel is tied to its pommel.
• Southern Breeze
  A kabutowari---a thick dagger with a truncheon hook near the base of the blade, meant to pry open armor. Its short grip is solid wood, but has been painted a deep, blood red.

Miscellaneous

• While brutish and straight forward, he has a surprising intellectual side. He enjoys reading about military history in particular and has an appreciation for "old soldier's poems."
• He has a tendency to steal blades from fallen opponents, and blames their workmanship if his rough usage damages them.

Blackguards!

@Red Wizard Thanks! :D So he's good to go in the Char tab?

A New Day; Cozy Fantasy Village Life

The Blacksmith

Name: Yasunami Akitsugu
Age: 23
Gender: Male
Race: Human

Appearance:

Height: 5' 8" / 173 cm
Eye Color: Light brown/amber
Hair Color: Red

Description:
Akitsugu has wide shoulders, but still has that youthful litheness of a man who hasn't quite grown into his bulk yet. His hair seems naturally unkept, though he keeps it quite clean, and likewise he maintains a neat and clean-shaven countenance. Most of the clothes he currently owns don't look like they're suited for outdoor labor, but he doesn't seem to have a problem tying up his sleeves and girding his robes. He bears all the signs of athletic training, but from how little he moves one wonders how he could've ever built that muscle. He often appears deep in thought, looking down at the ground or up at the ceilings, and has a habit of turning away from people to do other tasks even if he's genuinely interested in what they're saying, or speaking directly to them.

Personality:
Akitsugu is the type that gets an idea and can't stop working on it until they've figured out all the nitty gritty details. However, anyone else who looked at his workspace would see "orderly chaos," and God help you if you move something out of place.

When complimented, he becomes flustered and nervous; but no matter how biting the criticism he always seems to let it roll off his back. He clearly hates asking anyone for help, but will give his own freely whenever it's requested. However, one should beware being too specific, or not specific enough. If you ask him to dig a hole but don't tell him how deep, you'll soon need a ladder to get him out.

He's quite morally upright in terms of his values, but also very respectful of privacy and doesn't abide gossip. He doesn't have any inkling of desire to "police" others' behavior, save in instances where they're clearly overstepping their bounds or committing some direct offense towards another. He's quick to jump to the defense of children.

He likes savory foods over sweets, meat over bread, and bitter tea rather than coffee or milk. His tastes in music are soft and melodious, favoring wind instruments over drums or strings. He dislikes people that interrupt others, but also people who talk to much.

Quirks:

• If confronted or questioned, he gives away any insecurity by over-explaining.
• He will mutter, scribble on a napkin, or leave himself various "clues" to organize his thoughts.
• Sometimes he writes secret poetry.

Brief History:
Akitsugu hasn't been the most forthcoming about his past. His family, the Yasunami Clan, live in a nation far from The Hamlet, and seem to be some form of nobility or knighthood. However, they were apparently not happy with Akitsugu's desire to become a blacksmith for some reason. It's not clear whether he was forced out or left on his own, but before he departed he stole a rare and valuable heirloom from the family vault: a blade named Miyusahime.

He traveled for some time, rarely stopping until after his supplies ran out. He began to do hard labor for coin, but many villages were rightly suspicious about a lone, foreign wanderer with a sword. Sometimes, they thought it even more suspicious that Akitsugu asked for work that didn't involve using said sword. Whether because he couldn't find enough friendly faces, or wanted to get further from his family's reach, or for some other purpose, he just kept walking...until he heard a new voice Calling him. It rang in his ears, like a hammer on hot steel.

He had been walking a long disused, rocky trail, said to lead to a mine now abandoned, when he came across the hamlet. Again, he heard the ringing, but now it was different. Direct. Perhaps...perhaps this was to be the place, then. A place where he could finally settle down, and get to some real work.

-- Skills/Spells, Stats & Items ---

Occupation: Blacksmith

Social Status: Foreigner

Skills:

• Swordsmanship (Expert): Can wield swords for a variety of techniques up to Expert level.
• Jujutsu (Adept): Unarmed combat suited to throwing, disarming, and grappling up to the Adept level.
• Blacksmithing (Apprentice): Knows how to smelt and process basic metals, and make simple tools/objects such as hammer and axe heads, ploughshares, nails, etc. The quality is only up to Apprentice level.

Equipment:

MIYUSAHIME

In Akitsugu's homeland, there is a belief that the most skilled craftsmen imbue spiritual power into their creations, and also that as objects age they accumulate spiritual power of their own. The Yasunami Clan is an old bloodline, and Miyusahime is an old sword. Yet the blade's "power" has nothing to do with how well the edge cuts, nor how it channels any kind of supernatural spell or ability.

"Eugh! Your hands are cold! Hey, are you sure that choji oil is fresh?!"

Basically, she talks. More specifically, Miyusahime can somehow speak, hear, and--within only a short distance of herself--perceive her surroundings as a human would. And unfortunately, she has an attitude to go with it.

Otherwise, she is a "normal," albeit absolutely beautiful sword. Her hamon pattern appears like dappled sand dunes, uneven in height yet smoothly flowing down the blade. Her sheen is such that, if tilted just right in the light, she scatters rainbows against the walls. The silvery, mirror-like surface of her steel is unblemished, and her tsuba is of finely wrought and embossed gold depicting a dragon curling over itself. Ivory white rayskin wraps her hilt first, then a criss-crossing black cord, which threads into the gold, rounded pommel at its end. Her scabbard is lacquered in a glossy, midnight blue with more vibrant slashes of white-froth-tipped, watery waves--like the ocean's surface on a dark night.

• Tarnished Copper Hatchet
• Iron Smith's Hammer
• Simple Hunting Bow
• Simple Backpack

Spells:
None known yet

--- My House ---

Until the RP actually starts and you guys get a feel for what the village looks and feels like, please leave this section alone.

Location: Where in, or outsde, the village is your home located.
Type: Is it just a residence? SOme kind of shop? A facility of some kind?
Floors: Is it a single or multi-storey building?

Description:
Here you can describe the out and inside of yoour building, along with any special or notewrothy aspects of it. If you're feeling articularly creative, you could even include a floor-plan for others to look at, if you're into the artsy drawing biz.

A New Day; Cozy Fantasy Village Life

The only change is that I switched the skill levels as discussed before, and clarified the smith's hammer as "Iron" material. Let me know if anything else needs to be tweaked!

The Blacksmith

Name: Yasunami Akitsugu
Age: 23
Gender: Male
Race: Human

Appearance:

Height: 5' 8" / 173 cm
Eye Color: Light brown/amber
Hair Color: Red

Description:
Akitsugu has wide shoulders, but still has that youthful litheness of a man who hasn't quite grown into his bulk yet. His hair seems naturally unkept, though he keeps it quite clean, and likewise he maintains a neat and clean-shaven countenance. Most of the clothes he currently owns don't look like they're suited for outdoor labor, but he doesn't seem to have a problem tying up his sleeves and girding his robes. He bears all the signs of athletic training, but from how little he moves one wonders how he could've ever built that muscle. He often appears deep in thought, looking down at the ground or up at the ceilings, and has a habit of turning away from people to do other tasks even if he's genuinely interested in what they're saying, or speaking directly to them.

Personality:
Akitsugu is the type that gets an idea and can't stop working on it until they've figured out all the nitty gritty details. However, anyone else who looked at his workspace would see "orderly chaos," and God help you if you move something out of place.

When complimented, he becomes flustered and nervous; but no matter how biting the criticism he always seems to let it roll off his back. He clearly hates asking anyone for help, but will give his own freely whenever it's requested. However, one should beware being too specific, or not specific enough. If you ask him to dig a hole but don't tell him how deep, you'll soon need a ladder to get him out.

He's quite morally upright in terms of his values, but also very respectful of privacy and doesn't abide gossip. He doesn't have any inkling of desire to "police" others' behavior, save in instances where they're clearly overstepping their bounds or committing some direct offense towards another. He's quick to jump to the defense of children.

He likes savory foods over sweets, meat over bread, and bitter tea rather than coffee or milk. His tastes in music are soft and melodious, favoring wind instruments over drums or strings. He dislikes people that interrupt others, but also people who talk to much.

Quirks:

• If confronted or questioned, he gives away any insecurity by over-explaining.
• He will mutter, scribble on a napkin, or leave himself various "clues" to organize his thoughts.
• Sometimes he writes secret poetry.

Brief History:
Akitsugu hasn't been the most forthcoming about his past. His family, the Yasunami Clan, live in a nation far from The Hamlet, and seem to be some form of nobility or knighthood. However, they were apparently not happy with Akitsugu's desire to become a blacksmith for some reason. It's not clear whether he was forced out or left on his own, but before he departed he stole a rare and valuable heirloom from the family vault: a blade named Miyusahime.

He traveled for some time, rarely stopping until after his supplies ran out. He began to do hard labor for coin, but many villages were rightly suspicious about a lone, foreign wanderer with a sword. Sometimes, they thought it even more suspicious that Akitsugu asked for work that didn't involve using said sword. Whether because he couldn't find enough friendly faces, or wanted to get further from his family's reach, or for some other purpose, he just kept walking...until he heard a new voice Calling him. It rang in his ears, like a hammer on hot steel.

He had been walking a long disused, rocky trail, said to lead to a mine now abandoned, when he came across the hamlet. Again, he heard the ringing, but now it was different. Direct. Perhaps...perhaps this was to be the place, then. A place where he could finally settle down, and get to some real work.

-- Skills/Spells, Stats & Items ---

Occupation: Blacksmith

Social Status: Foreigner

Skills:

• Swordsmanship (Expert): Can wield swords for a variety of techniques up to Expert level.
• Jujutsu (Adept): Unarmed combat suited to throwing, disarming, and grappling up to the Adept level.
• Blacksmithing (Apprentice): Knows how to smelt and process basic metals, and make simple tools/objects such as hammer and axe heads, ploughshares, nails, etc. The quality is only up to Apprentice level.

Equipment:

MIYUSAHIME

In Akitsugu's homeland, there is a belief that the most skilled craftsmen imbue spiritual power into their creations, and also that as objects age they accumulate spiritual power of their own. The Yasunami Clan is an old bloodline, and Miyusahime is an old sword. Yet the blade's "power" has nothing to do with how well the edge cuts, nor how it channels any kind of supernatural spell or ability.

"Eugh! Your hands are cold! Hey, are you sure that choji oil is fresh?!"

Basically, she talks. More specifically, Miyusahime can somehow speak, hear, and--within only a short distance of herself--perceive her surroundings as a human would. And unfortunately, she has an attitude to go with it.

Otherwise, she is a "normal," albeit absolutely beautiful sword. Her hamon pattern appears like dappled sand dunes, uneven in height yet smoothly flowing down the blade. Her sheen is such that, if tilted just right in the light, she scatters rainbows against the walls. The silvery, mirror-like surface of her steel is unblemished, and her tsuba is of finely wrought and embossed gold depicting a dragon curling over itself. Ivory white rayskin wraps her hilt first, then a criss-crossing black cord, which threads into the gold, rounded pommel at its end. Her scabbard is lacquered in a glossy, midnight blue with more vibrant slashes of white-froth-tipped, watery waves--like the ocean's surface on a dark night.

• Tarnished Copper Hatchet
• Iron Smith's Hammer
• Simple Hunting Bow
• Simple Backpack

Spells:
None known yet

--- My House ---

Until the RP actually starts and you guys get a feel for what the village looks and feels like, please leave this section alone.

Location: Where in, or outsde, the village is your home located.
Type: Is it just a residence? SOme kind of shop? A facility of some kind?
Floors: Is it a single or multi-storey building?

Description:
Here you can describe the out and inside of yoour building, along with any special or notewrothy aspects of it. If you're feeling articularly creative, you could even include a floor-plan for others to look at, if you're into the artsy drawing biz.

Cozy Fantasy Village-Life RP

I just mean it helps the caster to write the text correctly as they copy it into a new book. It's why they need to have plenty of ink, quills, a pen knife to carve new tips for the quills, and time.

@Expendable

This is just me, but I think if a spell allows someone to do something at a level that would take someone doing it without magic years and years to master, it probably shouldn't be a novice level spell. Cause otherwise it'd be too easy to stack something like:

"Blademaster's Dance (Novice): Allows a person to use Master level Swordsmanship as long as the spell is active.
Runner's Wind (Novice): Allows a person to use Master level Sprinting as long as the spell is active.
Giant's Strength (Novice): Allows a person to use Master level Strength as long as the spell is active."

In addition to the economic busting ripple effects of the printing press, as was also mentioned.

Blackguards!

I've finalized Auguz's age, and since no one else's character was pushing 100 or anything I figure all the races have the same humanish lifespan? If it doesn't match up to an "older but not quite OLD Orc age" in the setting, please let me know! I also included some of the details we talked about to clarify his backstory, so give that another read through if you would!

Orc Blademaster

Auguz the Manslayer

^{Image Credit to GreyRat84 of DeviantArt}

---

---

Name

Auguz Son-of-Ugum, of Hokur (Red Iron) Clan of Zimalzagh (Black Mountain)

Race

Orc

Gender

Male

Age

47

Appearance

Standing at 7' 6" and weighing just shy of 300 pounds, Auguz is an ideal specimen of an orc warrior. He speaks with a gravel-filled, roaring voice that could easily be mistaken for that of a tiger. It can be even more shocking to hear because, unless he's fighting, he can be eerily stoic. His eyes are a burning wolf-yellow, though they are often hidden beneath the shadow of his furrowed brow. A lattice of old scars covers the majority of his body--save for his back, which aside from a few puncture wounds originating on the other side, is relatively unblemished. He favors simple clothing; garments that are easy to fight in, fastened with old ropes or bits of bone.

Personality

"He who stands in the end is righteous."

Auguz believes in a broad form of "might makes right," recognizing that there are many kinds of "power" to obtain. If you are stronger, you can do whatever you want until someone with greater strength stops you. If your arm is greater, the strength of numbers or strategy may still overcome it. If your strength is unbreakable, strength of cunning and subterfuge may poison it. Yet despite this acknowledgment of nuance, Auguz stands by his own brand of strength---the open, bare-chested might of a warrior and his skills---and seeks to overcome all others with dogged stubbornness. The utter shame of his current predicament is a raw and festering subject, but ultimately, so long as he is contained by a greater power, he has no choice but to survive in the hope that he will one day surpass his oppressors.

He enjoys the revelry of good food and fine drink, and the debauchery of fair maidens, but nothing excites his blood more than using his blade. It is not wanton slaughter that drives him, though he is not above taking life in a trivial or cold blooded manner; the stronger his opponent, the more thrilling it is to bring them down. The more they boast, the more he enjoys to see them beg. The more they pretend to refinery, the more satisfying it is to see them seethe with rage and impotence. He doesn't just want to prove his skill and power, but to break down the opponent's sense of self.

Auguz spits on those who think ideals such as "law" will protect them, or who try to control others through social expectations, religion, and other abstracts. That form of strength can only survive in the presence of weak minds---even if, say, a religious leader had the strength of an entire theocracy backing him, a single person in the congregation could decide at any time to simply break the fool's neck in front of all his sheep. As one can imagine, this outlook makes him ill-suited to diplomacy, debate, or compromise.

Background

In the Hokur Clan, status is decided by strength, and strength by blood. The strongest take the strongest for their mates, and those of lesser stock are made to provide for the clan while the warriors train or march for war. Individual families within the clan compete in both tournaments and what passes for orcish politik, constantly seeking to prove themselves in order to rise up the ladder.

Auguz was born to a pair of, essentially, slaves. Their duty was to plough, and to sow, to pluck weeds, and reap harvest. In seasons when little would grow, they were made to break rock and chop trees to clear new fields for the next year, or make new paths in the treacherous terrain. Most of what they produced went to feed those above their station; Auguz still remembers the hunger he slept with as a child.

Yet one day, as he passed from one end of the clan's great fortress to the other on some errand, he happened to pass by a prominent family's courtyard. They were training several younglings, older than him at the time, in the way of swordsmanship. The master prepared a demonstration for the students, and though he had to climb the wall to peek over, Auguz couldn't help his curiosity. A lit candle was brought out, and the master explained some concept of "subtlety and control" of one's blade. Then, with a masterful movement that seemed to come out of a painting, the elder orc swept the candle's upper half away from its lower. The flame never went out, and wavered only a moment in the air. The lower end did not fall from the stand, and the other was perfectly balanced on the flat of the man's sword, held delicately at arm's length. Yet the cut had happened so fast, if Auguz had been able to blink he would have missed it.

Then someone saw him, and he had to scamper away before he could be caught. But like that flickering candle flame, a passion had been ignited in the runty orc. When his chores were done, he picked up a shaved stick, and began to mimic the motions he'd seen. When he carried water, or took the harvest to the storehouse, or brought repaired tools from the smiths, he would stop by the courtyard again. By mere enthusiasm and mimicry, he began to learn. His parents noticed a new brightness in their child, a strength of life and happiness at finding one's calling, but had they known his secret they most assuredly would've punished him. And perhaps, if they had, the Manslayer would've never come to be.

It was only a matter of time. The first time he failed to escape, the students dragged him before the master. Accused of stealing their techniques, or spying for another family, and most of all for daring to look above his own family's status within the Clan, the old orc ordered the youngling to be soundly beaten and sent away with dire threats. But Auguz did not cease his self-taught training. Again, he was caught---this time in a dark corner of the fortress, by three adolescents from the same family. They had found him with the stick in his hand, and held wooden training swords of their own. To humiliate him, break him spiritually as well as physically, they taunted him as they struck, over and over and over... Until Auguz fought back.

By the end, his stick was broken, and the three youths were dead. He took their wooden swords. When news spread, the other students began hunting him down---and he hunted them in return. Those who survived were crippled, no longer able to hold a sword. The family he'd offended was outraged, but even when his parents were imprisoned, Auguz managed to evade capture. When he killed an adult warrior---again, with only a piece of wood---the old swordmaster deigned to step up. It was time for this farce to end.

Their duel took place under a bright moon. In that pure white light, the old master finally saw this runt for what he was: a talent unbound by blood or status. A heart filled with love for the way of the blade, the art of the warrior---a heart that had been tainted and blackened by unforgiving tradition, cruelty, and bloodlust. What could this young orc have become, if that talent had been nurtured? How many like this had the Clan ignored, or even punished? As he was brought to his knees, the old swordsman felt tears pricking his eyes. He yielded to the youth, and begged for forgiveness. He declared that he would adopt Auguz, and train him, and---

Auguz smashed the orc's skull with the splintered wooden sword, and stole his first real blade. He left the Hokur that night, and began to carve a bloody trail across the lands. From town to town, tavern to tavern, he wandered in search of powerful adversaries. It was not enough to prove himself more skilled, to meet peers of a like mind---he had to show that he, a slave, with nothing but talent and effort to his name, was better than those who had beaten him, better than those who called themselves "masters." Values? Ideals? Give a man enough pain, and he will forsake everything he claims to love to escape it. Only those who are strong have the right to be free. Only those who can kill have the right to live. That was what his childhood had shown him.

Thus, when he heard of a brave knight who had, singlehandedly, bested an entire gang of bandits, he sought that man out for a duel. And he killed him. When the nobility hosted their tournaments and crowds filled the coliseums, he fought his way to the top---and then tracked down those he had not gotten to fight. And he killed them. When a veteran mercenary captain decided to retire and open his own fencing school, Auguz stormed the place and slaughtered his way through the students, the assistants, and the headmaster.

These tales continued, time and time again. The number of Auguz's victims rose ever higher, until the Tyrant himself ordered the orc to be slain on sight should he ever be found within the kingdom's borders. But, even an entire regiment of the king's men could not bring down the blade-wielding monster...

Then, she appeared. The Witch. The abomination, in Auguz's mind. He had not often fought mages, those who could bend fire and call down the winds, but he had fought them. If he could but place his blade against them, they died like any other. But not her. Strength and skill, speed and strategy, did not seem to matter to her. What was more, she accomplished something no other opponent had, not since those beatings so many long years ago. Auguz was unnerved by her. He feared her. He tried to banish it from his mind, to burn it like creeping ivy with rage and bloodlust. But he could not escape that icy, tenebrous grasp. And so he was finally brought to justice, in a kingdom far from his home, and thrown into the deepest, blackest pits they called the Maw...

Talents

• Immaculate Swordsmanship
  If everyone has a "thing," Auguz's thing is the way of the blade. He lives for it, loves it, in a way only great painters or musicians might understand, not soldiers. Everything else he has attained has been for the sake of the sword. He calls his personal, self-made style the Eighteen Demon Blades.
• Expert Martial Artist
  To master the blade, master one's self. Though one might argue his understanding of this proverb given his general hedonism, Auguz's physical talents and experiences have allowed him to mimic a number of martial arts techniques. Because this benefits his swordsmanship and athletic ability, he considers it a required secondary skill for any warrior. Fisticuffs, footwork, and wrestling techniques all factor into his personal style to varying degrees---he's probably best with his hands, but his heavy kicks can be devastating even if he's not doing a bunch of flexible flippy-dippy nonsense.
• General Weapon Skill
  To defeat one's enemy, you must know your enemy. Auguz may not give a crap about getting to know other people, but in order to best other weapons with only a sword, he's had to learn a great deal about them. While he couldn't match up to someone who has done specialized training, he can generally pick up a spear, an axe, so on and so forth and wield it with above average ability.
• Made of Iron
  Not in a literal sense, of course. Auguz's stamina and toughness, even for an orc, are extremely well developed---but so is his mental strength. You might be faster than him, but he's going to keep plodding after you. You might even be stronger than him, but he's going to figure out your weak point. If you're more skilled than him, he's going to refuse to acknowledge that. With an unhealthy amount of determination, he has resolved that if he's going to die, he's going to do two more things as well: die standing upright, and swing his sword one last time as his head rolls off.

Flaws

• Run The Fade
  Auguz will prioritize his ability to enjoy a duel over anything else. He can be forced to do whatever stupid thing he has to do instead of fighting, but it will breed deep discontent and he will always look for a way to avenge such interference.
• Gambler
  Auguz can be suckered by games of chance, because he believes that luck is a skill too. He doesn't understand how to cut his losses or quit while he's ahead, responds impulsively to dares and challenges, and gets violent when he feels he's been cheated. If someone's trying to dissuade or calm him during these moments, though, at least it's not as difficult as it would be to keep him out of a "proper" fight.
• Glutton
  When he's not fighting, Auguz enjoys eating, drinking, and...carousing...to great excess. Maybe it's because he remembers having nothing back at home, and hasn't learned how to reign in his over compensation. Maybe it's just because he lives every moment to the fullest. But if he's allowed to indulge, he's going to wake up with a hangover, eat so much he vomits the next time he gets gutpunched, and so on.
• Seasick
  He hates boats. And you will too if you ever have to be on one with him.

Equipment

• Northern Gale
  A well made, and well used, steel katana. Its hilt is white rayskin wrapped with a deep blue cord, and the tsuba is a golden mitsudomoe pattern.
• Western Storm
  A wakazashi that has been well-maintained, but is old enough that there's a lot of visible wear and tear. The flaking layers of steel from its spine give it a damascened appearance. Its hilt is also white rayskin, but the cord is a faded green. The tsuba is a simple bronze disk, but a golden horsehair tassel is tied to its pommel.
• Southern Breeze
  A kabutowari---a thick dagger with a truncheon hook near the base of the blade, meant to pry open armor. Its short grip is solid wood, but has been painted a deep, blood red.

Miscellaneous

• While brutish and straight forward, he has a surprising intellectual side. He enjoys reading about military history in particular and has an appreciation for "old soldier's poems."
• He has a tendency to steal blades from fallen opponents, and blames their workmanship if his rough usage damages them.