Joined: Sun Aug 10, 2008 3:17 pm Posts: 5882 Location: Winnipeg, Manitoba
In the second age of this realm, the Kingdoms were in a relative state of balance. Wars were fought, peace was had, trade took place, and through these means the kingdoms flourished and waned. It was not perfect by any definition, but it was functional. However, the throne of the Westmarch, the largest kingdom in the West, has upset that balance. A totalitarian takeover of this once regal and Oligarchic society has turned the once trade focused people into militaristic and expansionist zealots. Rallying the support of the populous, the King of Westmarch has the undeniable devotion and loyalty of his people, and his armies overflowed with new recruits, nourished by the recruitment campaigns and the new mantra of the Kings words. The mages guilds have either fled or were roped into the army, the combat magic is potent, bolstered by the dark arts if need be. The Kingdom of Westmarch has begun to expand its territory, forcing villages to join them or face destruction. The “Crusade” as they call it is moving on to the surrounding Kingdoms with a force none seem to be able to compete with. A mysterious and feared General has taken the reigns of the Westmarch Legions, executing his orders with brutal efficiency and unrelenting success. The Legions prepare to fight the world as they assemble in the main cities, a dark future of war and violence is foretold by oracles, and it is unclear if anyone will be able to stop the King of Westmarch in his dream of creating a unified world. The Kingdoms hastily prepare for war, locking down borders and hoarding foodstuffs. Militias are raised from the populace to defend villages and towns; the balance of the realm has been shifted. In the darkness of the looming shadows of war, it will be up to the courage of unlikely heroes to put their hands on sword, bow and the arcane to stand up to this future Empire.
Joined: Wed Jan 12, 2011 7:58 pm Posts: 1899 Location: melbourne australia
Name: khani taiware Age: 16 Height: 6.2 Weight: 53kg Personality: quirky and determined Race: human Gear -Head: n/a -Chest: baggy cloth shirt -Arms: n/a -Legs: pants -Feet: leather boots -Miscellaneous: small knife in pocket Physical appearance -Face: gaunt, mediumish cheek bones -Hair: dark brown and wavy -Eyes: blue -Musculature: quite unmuscular -Defining features: small black strike on right cheek -Racial Features (if not assumed):
Skills -Strengths: very deft and subtle -Weaknesses: afraid of everything that could kill him -Trade/Training Skills: proffeional pick pocket Biography: At the age of 8 khani taiware (tae-waar-eee) was orphaned when his parents were brutally murdered, his mother threw him out of the window of their house and he scraped his chin on the way down. On the street with no food or water khani had to steal to live, he tried to go back to his home but it had been burned down. Some would think that he would want revenge but all khani could say was "thank god that wasen't me" 8 years later khani has honed his skill as a pickpocket, thief and burglar. His life is good, he lives in a wooden crate filled with food and various riches and is in constant company by the little gang of street urchins he has amassed. He feeds them and teaches them how to survive and in return they steal things for him. He treats these urchins like nephews and nieces, they are precious to him.
_________________ Khani is more OT family then Shas! There I said it! -IGfanatic
Khani I have to admit, you're awesome -wulfrun
In the grim darkness of the near future there is only.... Khani? -the airman
Last edited by khani on Wed Mar 07, 2012 6:49 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Joined: Sun Jul 03, 2011 2:34 pm Posts: 2549 Location: Right behind you. Don't look.
Name: Calcifer Age: 17 Height: 6’2” when human, 6’10” when wolf Weight: 220 lbs Personality: Dissapointed, On Edge Race: Lycanthrope Gear: -Head: hood -Chest: leather -Arms: silk sleeves -Legs: leather -Feet: dirty, worn boots -Miscellaneous: embezzled necklace, cloak when it’s cold Physical appearance -Face: human-like most of the time, wolf-like during full moon -Hair: long, ragged, with a braid and two beads -Eyes: hazel -Musculature: Muscular -Defining features: Obvious dimples, huge teeth (when wolf) -Racial Features (if not assumed): Dark Tan
Skills -Strengths: clever, powerful arms -Weaknesses: Clumsy, someone most people do not like -Trade/Training Skills: Hunting, herding Biography: Calcifer lived a quiet life in his county Dole, in kingdom Ferax. Calcifer never had proper education, except for the afternoon teachings from his now-ill mother. At night, Calcifer would have to go out into the forest to hunt, or turn into a werewolf and hide out the night. He would spend most of his days taking care of the animals and hunting food for the family. Calcifer did not have any friends, due to the family plantation’s location, except for animals. The animals enjoyed the company of the “dog” to keep them in line. He would have to travel to Colt, the small town four miles away, where he would sell and buy necessary materials. His name was infamous there for being dangerous. He set loose several chickens, knocked over stands, and once crashed a festival, all by accident of course. Also, he once lingered too long and began his transformation into werewolf, only to flee just in time before anyone realized what happened. His brother was his best friend, but he was called off to war a few weeks ago, and he hadn’t heard from him since. Ferax was hit hard by the war. Necessary textiles and other goods would not come to their farmlands, causing an economic depression. Festival dimmed down. Towns grew silent. Work intensified. Calcifer wants to help out in the war anyway he can, but his naivety and lack of experience hinders him from beginning his quest. Calcifer now trains himself to try to control the hunger inside him and keep his human mind when he is a werewolf.
_________________ Realize every dark cloud is a smoke screen meant to blind us from the truth, and the truth is whether we see them or not - the sun and moon are still there and always there is light.
Joined: Wed Jan 04, 2012 1:44 pm Posts: 89 Location: the Citadel of Titan
Name: Raycen Breuler Age: 24 Height: 6.3 Weight: 68 kg Personality: lonely Race: human Gear: -head-n/a -chest-thick Cotten shirt -arms- on lest arm he wears a thick leather gauntlent -legs-normal pants -feet-leather boots -miscellaneous-bag of bird seed Physical appearance: -face-has sharp features and a small amount of freckles -hair-light brown buzz cut hair -eyes-deep and dark brown -muscular-as muscular as a man who has regular workout -defining features-scar across cheek Skills: -Strengths-can speak with animals -weaknesses-has no idea about the hard world -trade-falconer
Biography:Raycen lived with his family in a small town ruled by a wealthy lord. As soon as he learnd to talk he knew he could under stand animals. He would sneak out to the woods outside the village as soon as he could walk. Their he met a friend, Olan the falcon. At the young age of 5 Raycen was out in the woods with Olan, the lord of the land was in a stroll when he saw Raycen's skill with the falcon. He took him to be his falconer and he has lived in the manor ever since. He never was excepted by the other members of the manors residence and is not aloud to leave the lord land and into the village. This led to a very lonely life with only the falcons as friends.
_________________ "shhhh, dont tell anyone but Draigo is the Emperor in disguise"
Joined: Sat Oct 15, 2011 9:06 am Posts: 843 Location: In your base planting the evidence.
Name: Hikz Age: 30 Height: 2 meters Weight: 150 Personality: Generally nice. Race: Saura Gear -Head: Nothing. -Chest: Apron and white shirt. -Arms: White shirt, gloves. -Legs: Trousers. -Feet: Boots. -Miscellaneous: Various cooking and baking implements. Sword and sheild. Physical appearance -Face: Pale scales -Hair: None. -Eyes: Blue and pupil-less. -Musculature: Pudgy. -Defining features: An overweight lizard-man. -Racial Features (if not assumed) Covered in scales, claws, tail, hunched posture. Skills Strengths: Excellent cook. -Weaknesses: Opposed to violence, has about as much spine as a slug. -Trade/Training Skills: Chef, basic militia training. Biography: Hikz immigrated into the Kingdom of Nerikasana, where he and his family set up a bakery, and he was later chosen to be Cheif Chef for the reagent. When Westmarch began it's advance, every able-bodied man was caleld to arms, and Hikz gladly accepted, taking up arms for his wife and child. He's been sent to an outpost about 50 kilometers from the Westmarchian border.
_________________ A Luna: Best reply ... ever.
Last edited by Cthulu Mechanicus on Fri Mar 16, 2012 6:30 am, edited 1 time in total.
Joined: Sun Aug 10, 2008 3:17 pm Posts: 5882 Location: Winnipeg, Manitoba
Name: General Nauticus Age: ??? Height: 6’4 Weight: 240lbs (???) Personality: Domineering, commanding, and calculating. Race: Human in appearance (Unknown) Gear -Head: Gorget formed by cloak he wears. -Chest: Plate cuirass, leather tunic, Westmarch Tabard. -Arms: Plate gauntlets and Pauldrons -Legs: Leather and Plates. -Feet: Steel plated leather boots. -Miscellaneous: Book on chains attached to his belt on the left side, Dark red cloak denoting his rank as General. -Weapons: Two handed broadsword which blade is broken leaving only ¾ of the blade length and a fractured end where the blade snapped. It is sheathed across his back as it is still 4’ long even though it is broken. It is magically warded for resilience and everlasting sharpness. Physical appearance -Face: Lower half covered by the cloak he wears, covered in a multitude of scars and a facial tattoo on his right cheek. -Hair: Short dark brown hair meets a thick, but well kept beard. -Eyes: Gray, with the left one fogged over from damage, complimenting some of his facial scars. -Musculature: Thick set and broad. -Defining features: Tall and broad stature, combat scars, facial tattoo, Mysteriousness/legends/rumors about him, the fear of him by most others. Racial Features (if not assumed): Human.
Skills -Strengths: Excellent Tactician, Leadership, very capable fighter, physically strong and tough, Experienced in Combat and Diplomacy. -Weaknesses: To be discovered by the players. -Trade/Training Skills: Martial training, soldiering, diplomacy and tactician. Biography: The origin of this man is just as much a rumour as it is a legend. There is no fact about his childhood or who raised him, he appeared in Westmarch several years ago, and was installed as the High General of all Westmarch’s legionnaires. Some say he is from the Northern Kingdoms that have gone into seclusion, some speculate that he is an avatar of war, summoned by a sorcerer to serve the King. He carries a large broken blade just as capable at cleaving through steel as it does flesh. Some say that the blade was broken fighting the Giants of the northern most mountains, and in a rage he exterminated the whole tribe. The sword seemingly looked like someone took a slab of dark-gray stone and fashioned a blade, with the point being broken off, leaving the 9” wide blade stump fractured. Few who get to see the blade drawn live to tell about what it looked like, leaving many things up to the imagination. When given a task, he executes it with cold, killing efficiency, be it laying siege to a castle or engaging an enemy army. Very few things are known truths about this man, but one thing that is for certain is that if you do not comply, you are likely never seen from again. He lays carnage among the battlefields, his elite formation of Grim Veterans slaying all in their paths. Many fear him, even his own men, but all respect him. He is the King’s favoured servant and sword arm of the Kingdome. He speaks rarely outside of giving orders or in parlay with enemy leaders. No one truly knows his feels about what he does, his past, or what he even is. He bears the scars of vicious combat, and some say that he is immortal, cursed to fight at the hands of men forever as punishment. He now leads Westmarch’s Legions in an effort to conquer the other kingdoms through diplomacy, or force.
Imagine he looks something along these lines. Not exactly, but same sort of likeness.
_________________ Regardez l'aventure àvenir Esse Eximius Ad Invicem Bad Company, till the day I die.
Joined: Tue Feb 08, 2011 4:47 am Posts: 2052 Location: 'Straya mate!
Name: Huor Calmacil Age: 20 Height: 1.7m Weight: 70kg Personality: Guarded, secretive, unwelcoming. Race: Elf Gear -Head: Hood -Chest: Leather tunic -Arms: Sleeves of Tunic -Legs: Cotton pants (very itchy!) -Feet: Leather Boots -Miscellaneous: Cloak, bow arrow, rope, sleeping bag (made from bear pelt), small knife. Physical appearance -Face: High Cheekbones, scar running down cheek. -Hair: Long (Think legolas' length) black. -Eyes: Slanted, brown. -Musculature: Thin, little muscle. -Defining features: His scar. -Racial Features (if not assumed): General elvish look. Skills -Strengths: Archery, hunting, sneak. -Weaknesses: Sociality, combat. -Trade/Training Skills: Hunter. Biography:
Huor's parents once lived in the secluded elven town of Feylantir, however Feylantir was defeated they moved away to a small clearing a few days walk away from the nearest civilisation. They brought with them their 3 year old son, Huor, and grandfather. The clearing had a small wooden shack that his father and grandfather (now deceased) had made many years ago. When he was old enough, Huor was taught to hunt with a bow and arrow. Hunting was the only way they lived. Huor would take the meat to his mum who would cook it, and creat clothes from the furs and skin. However as time wore on his parents died and Huor was soon left alone in his shack, waiting for something interesting to happen.
_________________ I feel like my one ribbon really represents who I am as a person...
Quit changing your avatar/names people! It's so hard to keep track of!
Last edited by Clabbage on Mon Mar 12, 2012 1:05 am, edited 1 time in total.
Name: Tyrael Age: 15 Height: 5"8 Weight: 170 Lbs. Personality: Quiet Race: Human. Gear: -Head: White hood -Chest: White surplices and leather armor beneath it. -Arms: Leather gloves. -Legs: Hardened leather. -Feet: Boots. -Miscellaneous: Cross shaped (Maltese cross shaped) pendant given to all the monks upon initiation. Physical appearance -Face: Very slim face, relatively young. -Hair: Black hair. -Eyes: Grey eyes, a common sign among the monks. -Musculature: Slim, but highly agile. (Imagine a gymnast) -Defining features: Various Tattoos carved into his chest in blue ink. -Racial Features (if not assumed):Human
Skills -Strengths: Tracking, Hunting, Riding and agility. -Weaknesses: Dealing with armored opponents, sustained combat. -Trade/Training Skills: Diplomacy, Hunting, Agility. Biography: Taken into the Monastery by Azreal, the leading monk, at the age of Four, he was absorbed into the order and began living with them. A reasonably average child, Tyrael was significantly more agile than his Brothers of his own age. As each of his Brother monks began partaking in various activities, Tyrael became one of the Hunting brethren. As one of the Hunters,Tyrael became a master tracker swiftly, and began training to become a master rider too. His accuracy with a bow was significant, but his true strength came from his horseback fighting, be it with a spear or simply a sword. As with every member, he had also trained using a sword and shield whilst dismounted, proving himself to be at least moderately capable.
_________________ Gott mit uns
Last edited by Bjorn on Sun Mar 11, 2012 1:20 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Joined: Sun Sep 18, 2011 4:21 am Posts: 138 Location: Dieing horrifically to saw blades
Name: Grymskale Age: 16 Height: 4ft 6in (hunched) Weight: 76kg Personality: Patient, Boastful, Independent, Courageous, Placid Race: Cross between: Mer (Aqua Incolentium) and Deep Mer (Aqua Iocinera) Gear -Head: N/A -Chest: N/A -Arms: N/A -Legs: N/A -Feet: N/A -Miscellaneous: N/A Physical appearance -Face: Fish-like, Small nostrils, Eyes on the side of head, Mouth full of razor-like teeth, Head connected to body -Hair: N/A -Eyes: Incredibly pale and white with no trace of pupil -Musculature: Mostly thick on the body with relatively thick arm and leg muscles -Defining features: Thick purple fin running down from head to tail, Large fish-like tail designed for swimming, Small angler light bulb dangling in front of face, Small line of fins on arms -Racial Details: Mer are a race of semi-aquatics that claim their home in the marshy lands of the Black Swamp which dominates a large quantity of land host to a huge amount of resources. Mer themselves are a very beastly race that resemble humanoid fish (being more fish than man) and are primitive in terms of intellect but can be incredibly aggressive towards trespassers . Despite their basic ways they still propose a problem for those who dare intrude their homelands and territory due to their adaptation towards their environment. Being fish-like means they are powerful swimmers so much so they spend most of their lives underwater, one sub-race in particular the Deep Mer spend their entire lives at the bottom of deep lakes. Most Mer have adapted to see clearly through murky water whilst also having certain skin colours that blend in with the boggy terrain, attempting to find a Mer that is lurking is almost impossible. What really effects the colonisation of other races to the Black Swamp is the sheer amount of water and unstable land which provides the perfect ambushing grounds for a team of Mer that can take down entire units in seconds. Despite being quite large and bulky creatures Mer are especially stealthy however this does matter on the Mer tribe. Most Mer do remain in their designated tribe but some do relocate do other parts of the Black Swamp although Mer do not ever travel to far from the Black Swamp or the sea for they can die easily of dehydration. Mer are a dangerous tribal race that should be avoided at all times, the only problem is trying to avoid them.
Skills -Strengths: Can see perfectly well in water, Amazing swimmer, Armed with two large knives that are designed for hunting/butchering, Stealthy -Weaknesses: Terrible with archery, Eyes perform poorly above water, Skin sometimes doesn't perform well as armour, Isn't that smart, Usually hunts alone -Trade: Skilled Hunter -Training Skills: Stealth, Swimming, 'Drowning' Technique, Hunting Biography: 'Be warned when stepping into the swamps, who knows what could be lurking underneath the water's surface," Grymskale lived a difficult life as a hatchling, for one it was hard living life as a hybrid between a major race and a sub-race, having to take extra precautions for survival. After a couple years travelling and looking after himself Grymskale learnt how to live independently in the harsh Black Swamp. Eventually he found a small tribe that accepted him in for his services, services which he did not disappoint. Taking the role of a hunter throughout his tribe Grymskale brought back a variety of marsh dwelling creatures that progressively got bigger and bigger the Mer found his role in society.
Joined: Mon Jan 24, 2011 5:44 pm Posts: 2373 Location: I live as the crow flies... err... You get what I mean.
Name: Tryn Mouring Age: 30 Height: 6'3 but he's permenently hunched over so he looks like he's 5'8 Weight: 254 Personality: Loner, Keeps to himself, isolated, tired, depressed Race: "Gravedigger" Mainly humanlike. Gear -Head: Ripped Hood -Chest: Ripped Leather Jacket -Arms: Ripepd leather gloves -Legs: Clothe pants, that are brown from dirt and dust, with holes in the knees. -Feet: Sandal like footwear that are falling apart -Miscellaneous: Shovel, Salt and Iron, Silver Chain, Journal/Information Book Physical appearance -Face: Large Square like chin, bigger nose, long ears. -Hair: Shaggy black hair that goes down to his eyes, and in the back it drops down to his shoulders, but you can barely see any of it because he has a hood that covers most of his face. -Eyes: Dark Grey, Completely Void of Emotions. -Musculature: Very Muscular -Defining features: He has his family's symbol tatooed on his chest, but nobody can quite make out exactly what it looks like. -Racial Features (if not assumed): Greenish Skin, Large Hunched over body, Horrifyingly bad teeth.
Skills -Strengths: Strong -Weaknesses: Slow, Isolated -Trade/Training Skills: Deals with the Denizens of the Dark also known as a gravedigger by local citizens because they burry the ones who have passed. At times they go around and dig up some of the bodies to take any of the valubles that they were burried with. Biography:
Tryn was born into the family of Mourings, but of course that family is well known but nobody cares to get to know them. His birth went unnoticed to everyone. When you are born into this world as a Gravedigger, that means you have one path in life, to deal with troubled spirits. Nobody knows your first name except for your parents. Nobody knows how you act, because they are scared of you. Nobody likes you. The only you reason you continue to exist is because people need you to deal with the unknown.
As a gravedigger you are always referred to as your last name. So Tryn mouring is always called Mouring nobody has ever called him Tryn in his life. What Mourings do is they pick up jobs and they go ahead and silence troubled spirits or any other means of unnatural forms of beings, such as rogue mages who are considered extremly dangerous. People also tend to stay away from Gravediggers useally there houses are located in the middle of nowhere. People consider them to be bad luck and dislike keeping them for any longer then they needed to be.
When Tryns father died along with his mother so he took his fathers place and nobody knew the difference, and nobody cared to know the difference. He dealed with peoples problems, he got paid he left, they didn't care about his life at home. Nobody cares about him nobody loves him, he's on his own in this world and that is how it will most likely stay.
_________________ The Sky holds the Storm RainMist Lightning Cloud and the Sun all in harmony
Name: Ches Age: 17 Height: 1.8 meters Weight: 62kg Personality: Playful, Deceitful, Manipulative, Cheerful, Cunning, Seemingly Insane Race: Fel Gear -Head: 3 ear rings in each ear (rings) -Chest: An embroidered shirt dyed blue, a dark blue coat with gold lace trim, jacket has hidden pockets. -Arms: white gloves -Legs: brown leather pants, hidden pocket on inner thigh -Feet: Black leather boots -Miscellaneous: lock picking set, Lute with an intricate design of a cat fighting a bear, 6 knives (balanced for throwing) Physical appearance -Face: Grey Fur with black stripes -Hair:grey fur with black stripes -Eyes:grey fur with black stripes -Musculature: untoned, somewhat skinny -Defining features: One eye is purple, the other yellow -Racial Features (if not assumed):Covered in fur, night vision, claws, doulbe jointed legs, slightly hunched posture.
Skills -Strengths: sneaking, foraging, knife throwing, story telling, lying -Weaknesses: combat, cooking, phobia of canines/canine like beings, coward -Trade/Training Skills: pickpocketing, lockpicking, disguise Biography: As a child Ches was abandoned in westmarch, not knowing where he was from, or anything about his past he lived off the streets. He was taken in by the local slums and tought how to fend for himself. As he aged he found he had a talent for the art of storytelling. Ches began telling stories of grand adventures at taverns and soon started a life as a bard. He learned to play the lute and compose poetry and prose. He now travels from tavern to tavern telling stories of adventures that he himself have never been on.
_________________ Only the dead have seen the end of war.
Blood Angels: Flesh Tearers= 4800pts W-6/D-2/L-6
There are few wars between good and evil: most are between one good and another good. -Yang Wenli
Joined: Fri Dec 23, 2011 12:42 pm Posts: 224 Location: Listening to WALK THE MOON while playing Shogun 2
Name: Harval Age: 41 Height: 3'9'' Weight: 250 lbs. Personality: Drunkard and friendly Race: Dwarf Gear -Head: Chainmail coif -Chest: Fur coat -Arms: Bandages -Legs: Fur trousers -Feet: Fur boots -Miscellaneous: Two handed war-hammer and smith hammer Physical appearance -Face: Tan from forge with some burn marks. -Hair: Large braided beard and long straight hair -Eyes: Green -Musculature: Strong with large biceps -Defining features: Bloody, bruised, and burned hands Skills -Strengths: Hammers and resistant against extreme temperatures -Weaknesses: Running, persuasion, and alcohol -Trade: Blacksmith Biography Harval grew up in the small mountain town of Ursthal. Ursthal is the town that stands before the gates to the mountain city of Valhalla. Valhalla is the center of government in the Kingdom of the Iron Mountain. The Kingdom is a smithing center and is the worlds largest exporter of iron and steel goods. It is ruled by The Grand King and Autocrat of all the Iron Mountains Rajnir the Grey. He is called King Rajnir for short. Harval's father was in the smith caste and so Harval became a smith. In the Iron Mountains there is a caste system that no one can change. For example, if your father was in the mining caste you are a miner or if he is in the warrior caste then you are a warrior. When Westmarch began their bloodthirsty Crusade, King Rajnir called on half of each caste beside the noble caste to join the militia and march to war alongside the warrior caste. The militia was chosen by lots and Harval was one of the many smiths to join the war effort.
_________________ "Here they talked of revolution. Here it was they lit the flame. Here they sang about 'tomorrow' And tomorrow never came." Les Miserables
Joined: Sun Oct 23, 2011 12:59 pm Posts: 291 Location: On the battlefield killing with my awesome...
Name: Grimm Age: ?? (even he doesn't know somewhere in his 20's) Height: 5'8 Weight: 140 Personality: dark, quiet, and doesn't care much for anyone else. (but that is because no one cares for him, I'm sure he would love it if sumwun wuved him D:)
Race: human Gear -Head: wheres nothing on his head -Chest: a ragged T-shirt beaten and torn from wear -Arms: nothing -Legs: ragged pants -Feet: nothing -Miscellaneous: weres a strange purple ring. Physical appearance -Face: (I honestly don't know how to describe that...) -Hair: black hair -Eyes: black eyes -Musculature: unmuscular, but not some skinny guy, the kind of build you would expect from a poor person -Defining features: he is well known for his black eyes... No one can look into them for very long. Some think he sucks out your soul if stare at them to long. (this of course isn't true, he just doesn't talk to anyone and is isolated from eveyone around him. people just make up rumours to stay away from people like him. -Racial Features (if not assumed): normal human being...
Skills -Strengths: after the death of everyone he cared about, and living is a harsh orphenage. He is hardened and shows no emotions, he also learned how to fight wlel with his fists -Weaknesses: Hes the definition of anti-social. Has no friends, and no one to back him up, hated by many many people. -Trade/Training Skills: Decent at hand to hand combat, has no job, for no one has the guts to hire him. He lives off of stealing the very little food he can. Biography: Both of his parents died when they were'nt able to pay their taxes. The soldiers cut them both down on the spot. Leaving the poor child alone. No one wanted to take care of the child, so they sent him to an orphenage in a village far off. In the orphenage he got into many fights with the other children, and some of the adults. After many severe beatings, and dishing out some he completely stripped himself of his own emotions. As soon as he was old enough to leave the orphenage, he did and returned to his village. Even still he was not welcomed, it may have been many years, but people still recognized those eyes... The same eyes his father had, as some people say. Now he lives off of stealing scraps, barely making it through the day. No one knows how he even manages to survive harsh winters.
_________________ Skies the limit? You havn't met me then.
"Commodore you are a hero to the world" ~ IGfanatic "You are now extremely awesome" ~ Tmb "You, sir, indeed are awesome" ~ teclis
Name: Swidhelm the Bastard Age: 29 Height: 6'7 Weight: 220 Personality: Stern and Serious, Kind and joking when comfortable Race: Human Gear -Head: n/a -Chest: Segmented mix of leather and steel plates over a chain mail shirt and thick cotton -Arms: Steal and leather mix vambraces and pauldrons paired with simple leather gloves -Legs: Practical steel thigh and shin plates -Feet: Steel toed boots -Miscellaneous: Fur collared green cape Physical appearance -Face: Sharp features -Hair: Shaved head with stubble -Eyes: Dark blue -Musculature: Strong conditioned build -Defining features: Two large scars along his chest and back
Skills -Strengths: Well trained with sword and shield, strong commander, likeable. -Weaknesses: Stands too strongly with his beliefs, known to keep a grudge, his social status. -Trade: Soldiering Biography: Born the unloved son of a paranoid lord, Swindhelm had a lot to prove in his early life. Instead of spending his life in luxury like his brothers and sisters, he was constantly found loitering by the soldiers barracks, running laps around the castle walls, and conditioning himself at a young age.
His father, Lord Attin, took noticed to his bastard sons efforts and had him personally be trained by the garrison commander, a seasoned veteran of an untold number of wars.
Attin himself is a paranoid and nervous man, and in his countries position. It pays off. He and his kinsmen have built there castle straight in the middle of the Cascadian Pass, the only save route to the northern states by land, the huge mountains surrounding it serving as a natural division, the pass is a point of major interest. Southern and Northern kingdoms have constantly waged war on the Picten capital for military access into the separated lands and each time the nation was able to pull through and beat back the invaders. But now the Pictens and Attin face a massive threat to the south, the nation of Westmarch.
Westmarch has put Attin and the Picten peoples on edge, boys as young as sixteen taking up box, spear, and shield, train for the predicted attack. Knowing he can not defeat the Legions alone Attin seeks aid from his northern rivals and brothers.
The two major kingdoms to the north are the Germani and the Danits. Each holding a vast amounts of vassals, and each forged in cold and bloody war. Tied together by an age old blood feud, the two coalitions the Germani Union and the Danit Confederacy commonly seek new gains. The two rival brother kings only ever make peace as to prepare for the next recurrent winter wars.
Now Attin prays that his most favored and proven general, his Bastard son Swindhelm can meet with the two 'Blood Kings' and unify them under a single banner to bring a halt to or even end the Westmarch threat. Currently Meeting at the north central Vassal of Hospitalia, Attin holds his breath, and prays to the gods his son can bring unity in the face of evil.
From this point to Swindhelm's childhood he had proved an excellent and respected commander, winning battles against foes north and south of the Picten walls, he has proved well trained in most all tactics. Whether it be huge formation clashes, or down right guerrilla warfare. He is unpredictable and deadly on the field, and his name is well know. Having the respect, loyalty, and command of Picten's elite and well numbered army, he has built a new name for himself.
Joined: Sun Aug 10, 2008 3:17 pm Posts: 5882 Location: Winnipeg, Manitoba
“Interesting.” That was the only word he thought to himself as he stood on a small outcropping, watching the matte steel finish of thousands of suits of armor marched in unison atop the Westmarch grand highway. The steps were like a low rolling thunder, undoubtedly heard quite a distance away. The Red banners bearing the seal of Westmarch, a Black book with broken blade fluttered in the autumn breeze, the warm sun could be felt in the cool air. The soldiers marched by, righteous fury in every face, they are prepared to fight and die, the king had completed his horde. General Nauticus was pleased with his army, so generously given for him to lead. Marching to the North-Eastern border, he would start his campaign near the mountains foothills and attack the major strongholds, leaving the southern villages nowhere to run. He was peering off down the road as Stagg, his appointed leader of the Veterans Grimm approached.
“My General, we will reach the first settlement within the hour…” Stagg stated.
Never turning to face Stagg, Nauticus responded with a deft nod, dismissing his favored Lieutenant. Walking back to down the small bern he mounted his waiting horse, and with Stagg in tow he joined in the ranks of the Cavalry marching down the road.
He marveled at the ever more populous trees, their splendorous oranges and reds reminded him of the flames of war, and of past battles. He was reminiscing about his past, before he was summoned to the King of Westmarch when he saw three soldiers on the side of the road, fallen out of ranks. One was lying face down on the grass, the other two tending to him. Stopping his horse, he dismounted and began to stride over to the three soldiers. The two helping the third man dropped him, quickly standing and putting a fist to their chest in salute. Nauticus could feel them averting their gaze.
“Why does this man stop?” Nauticus asked, a bass voice resonated from behind his cloak.
“He cannot go on my General. He is a frail man who joined out of pride.” One of the soldiers responded, a clear quiver rang through his voice in the middle of his statement.
Nauticus stared at the trio for a moment, and then raised an arm to his side, pointing at the troops. “You two, back into ranks.”
The two standing soldiers quickly complied, glancing back at their exhausted friend. They stepped into formation and once again became part of the vast legion of steel clad men and women.
Stepping towards the fallen soldier, his shadow had engulfed the man’s vision, and the soldier turned to see Nauticus standing above him. Looking up towards the generals face, there was visible fear in the soldiers expression. Nauticus looked down at the man, one gauntleted hand resting on the long grip of his sword, he uttered one phrase to the broken down soldier.
He walked back to his horse and began on the march once more.
After a half hours march along the cobbled highway, the smoke of homes and dwellings appeared on the horizon. Spurring his horse faster, he made it to the front of the formations, calling a halt to the marching legionnaires. The low foothills soon became quiet, the rolling thunder of matching footsteps halted. He dismounted, leaving Stagg at the head of the formation, and four Veterans Grimm flanked him, two to a side. He strode into the bustling town, his Veterans pushing people out of the way. Quickly the word spread, and less and less people were found on the streets as they walked towards the civic building to confront the mayor. Upon reaching the mayors residence, one of the Veterans banged on the door, shaking the banded iron wooden door on its hinges. Stepping back to the General he stood in formation.
The Mayor opened the door slowly, a look of disheartenment and sadness upon his face. He stood in the doorframe, hands together in anxiety.
“M-may we help you, fine sirs?” The Mayor asked.
“By order of the King of Westmarch, you are to submit your fealty to him and swear your lands to the sovereignty of Westmarch.” Nauticus commanded.
The Mayor looked down, clearly having not made up his mind before they arrived at the town. The mayor put on a stern face, and raised a finger to speak as Nauticus interrupted him.
“I hope that face does not want a fight, for you will not win. You will only succeed in killing your people, and we only want your fealty o’ wise mayor.” Nauticus said.
This seemed to push the wrong buttons with the mayor, his pride getting the best of him at the moment.
“NO! We will not bend to you! I know not what hellpit you arose from demon, but we will resist your King’s tyranny!” The mayor shouted. Just as he finished, a bell began to toll, summoning all the towns’ guards and the militia to arm themselves.
“So be it.” Nauticus responded, and turned away from the general, returning to his troops.
“They have defied us my comrades in arms, we will teach them the meaning of insolence. Kill only those armed to fight, and do not needlessly destroy. We are not monsters and raiders, we are here to unify the realm, not ruin it.” Nauticus said to Stagg and his men.
“Send in the conscripts, they need a taste of combat.” Stagg commanded through his closed helm.
With a nod, the captain of the first conscript regiment raised his sword in a forward motion, and the formation began a brisk jog into the town. They met no opponents until they got to the town square, where several hundred armed militia were waiting for them, spears and shields raised. The Westmarchian banners dipped as they broke into a charging sprint, the combined bellow of hundreds of conscripts hit the force of conscripts with enough force for some men to waiver. The clash of steel on wood, leather on leather filled the air; the wails of men impaled on blade and spear flew across the foothills. The formations pressed against each other tightly before they slowly intermingled into a free combat. The years worth of hard military training put even the conscripts at a large advantage to the towns militia. The distinctive matte grey steel of the Westmarchian legions quickly started to become the dominant color in the square. The blood from the fallen began to render the cobblestones slick and vicious, the brisk autumn air shimmering as the heat from hundreds of men breathing and bleeding rose above the town. After an hour of fighting, the militia broke, and some men fell to their knees. Immediately disarmed they were rounded up and imprisoned.
The vast horde began its march again, striding through the newly cleared town square out the other end of the town, leaving thousands of bloody footprints leading into the forests beyond it. Nauticus was pleased; he had minimal losses in that skirmish, and was mentally creating a plan for their real project; the stronghold of Picten that held firm atop the Cascadian pass.
_________________ Regardez l'aventure àvenir Esse Eximius Ad Invicem Bad Company, till the day I die.