delerak
GDB Superstar
PK'ed by jcarter
"When you want to fool the world, tell the truth." - Otto Von Bismarck
Posts: 1,656
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Post by delerak on Dec 4, 2014 0:36:30 GMT -5
Just posting because why not. Kaeso Mykale (My Calling is Death)
sdesc: the leathery dwarf
mdesc: Chaffed raw by harsh blows, this dwarf's face is a leather mask of tough flesh, his nose a large, bulbous thing that looks to have been broken a few times in his past, thick cracked lips that seem to be rimmed constantly by a perpetual smile, and a heavy jaw lined with a few nicks and straight scars. Two fierce, intensely blue eyes are set unevenly on his blocky skull and possess a queer look about them. His frame is light for one of the dwarven descent, his shoulders are naturally broad, and his bones thick, but his arms are not muscled with sheer bulk, most of his weight appears to be centered around his lower body, while his torso and arms appear very light and agile. Two strong, thickly-muscled legs hold up his leanly-muscled upper body with ease, and carry him with a patient stride. A very distinct, yet crude brand is burnt into the back of his neck - the universal sign of a slave.
background: Kaeso Mykale known in mirukkim as 'My Calling is Death' was born in the cursed alleys north of Allanak. His mother, a local spice-smuggler birthed him to the grime-infested streets, but the blood loss for her was too great and she died that day, her son bathed in her vaginal fluids and blood. Kaeso's father never forgave the child for taking away his love, he cursed the baby for bringing death to her. Kaeso's father could not raise a baby, he was a rugged thief with an eye for 'sid more then raising a family. Kaeso was sold to the highest bidder in Allanak, however his father warned the buyer of his curse. At the tender age of six, Kaeso was enslaved, his mind however remained free and he looked to the Labyrinth as his sanctuary, he labored for years, until the day he found an escape, toiling at building a new wall near the Road of Slaves, he ran, and the slaver's couldn't follow into there..the Labyrinth and there he has hidden for years, hatred brewing for the brutal Borsail slavers, Kaeso now steals, murders, and even burglarizes at times. However his hate for Borsail remains while he continues hiding out in the Labyrinth, preying on the weak and earning scars in battle.
the black dwarven woman
Chaffed raw by harsh blows, this dwarven woman's face is a leather mask of tough flesh, her nose a large, bulbous thing that looks to have been broken a few times in the past, thick cracked lips that seem to be rimmed constantly by a perpetual smile, and a heavy jaw lined with a few nicks and straight scars. Two fierce, intensely blue eyes are set unevenly on her blocky skull and possess a queer look about them. Her frame is light for one of the dwarven descent, her shoulders are naturally broad, and her bones thick, but her arms are not muscled with sheer bulk, most of her weight appears to be centered around her lower body, while her torso and arms appear very light and agile. Two strong, thickly-muscled legs hold up her leanly-muscled upper body with ease, and carry her with a patient stride. Her flesh is an ebon black in hue, dark, and eagerly drinking the light of Suk-Krath.
class/sub: Rukkian/ race:dwarf
mdesc: Firm, rigid muscles encase this short, stocky frame of this queer-looking man-dwarf. Crusty, varicolored mineral-deposits flake from his greyish flesh at the slightest touch and the faintest breeze of Whira, some tones varying from azure, to greenish-gray and darker clumps of crystalline salt-drops all seeming naturally engrained into him as if he spent his days tunneling through the earth like a salt-worm. Kind stone grey eyes are set unevenly on his blockish face, his features rugged, and leathery are no stranger to the harsh rays of Suk-Krath. Twisting about his thick brow is a delicate string of earthy, bright-white, beautiful alabaster deep-rooted into the skin, each one fixed close to the next so that they form some sort of natural crown about his hairless head. Razor sharp obsidian thrusts angrily from his knuckles, however no blood or breakage of skin is visible. Copped on his elbows are blocky, large deposits of granite, rooted into his flesh. Slivers of rich, reddish jasper run up both of his thick arms, each one snaking over the other and forming ridges within his skin. Encrusted deep into his shoulders are two blocks of green marble make, each one a perfectly forming plate about the muscle and bone.
sdesc: the firm, mineral-bound dwarf
class/sub: assassin race: dwarf
mdesc: This short male dwarf stands about four cords tall, his upper body filled with powerful muscles covered in bluish veins. Two broad shoulders extend out from his thick neck while naturally large bones make up his solid frame. Hairless from head to toe, this dwarf bears two dark, curious green eyes that stare out from his rounded skull. His flesh is a pale white in color, but a thin film of dirt, grime, sand, and other refuse of questionable origin covers his skin in certain areas, giving him an overall unnatural dark appearance. Scars, and darkened lines of flesh are visible on his knuckles and over his arms, torso, and neck, evidence of past battles.
sdesc: the filthy, bull-necked dwarf
background: Kaither, depending on who you talk to, was born in the Red Sun Commons, developing a focus at a young age to witness the city-state of Allanak fall. His father and mother died to the harsh obsidian blades of the soldiers while on a simple hunting trip, they entered Allanak as refuge from a sandstorm and caught the wrong eye of a templar. Scorn and loathing, especially for the city-state, it's Army, and it's Warrior-Priests, is something that rises in Kaither from time to time, his patience is not lacking though, and he has taken to foraging and exploring the Ruins of Tuluk. Being very stubborn, inherited from his father, he is not as stupid as one would think, he chooses his battles wisely and only fights if he must.
extra keywords: Thyrin Theron Jarek Jihae Lirathu Balon Soth Salenor
class/sub: ranger/acrobat race: dwarf
mdesc: This completely hairless and healthy dwarf is layered in thick knots of muscles. His face is squarish in nature, and bronzed to a darkened red by Suk-Krath. His deep blue eyes are a stark contrast to his dark complexion and reflect a vigorous youth, curious nature, and somewhat ferocity within them. His arms are thick and dense with muscles, looking very unflexible but bearing raw power and brute strength. Beneath his strong jaw is his muscular neck and broad shoulders, which are so wide make him look nearly longer at the shoulders then from head to toe. His throat looks to be the victim of a bad wound in the past, it has healed over into bad scars and deep teeth marks line the flesh around the neck.
sdesc: the large, sun-bronzed dwarf
background: Bult was born in the lush land of Gol-Krathu. His father a retired mercenary from Allanak was more drunk then ever around to help raise him. Bult's mother Driena, a north-born dwarven hunter, taught him the art of tracking. Bult's father, when he was there was brutal with him and his drunkeness often led to beatings and sparring matches that left Bult bloody and cut by his father's blunt sword. Bult developed a hardened outlook on life from his father's training. When Bult was soon to come of age, his father put him up against a gortok and Bult survived.. barely. His father cursed his son as the gortok nearly ripped out Bult's throat, saved only by the quick hands of his mother's crossbow. Bult healed slowly but could never speak again. Something happened to Bultfrom then on, a hatred developed not for his father but for the gortok, and he fled his home, his parents searched but Bult found refuge in the wilderness and Luir's, fleeing from his past and set on a future dimly lit by his passion for someday seeing the gortok, and all dangerous predators wiped out. His plans for the future are to some day join the Byn to see how he fares against the most popular mercenary force in the Known World.
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delerak
GDB Superstar
PK'ed by jcarter
"When you want to fool the world, tell the truth." - Otto Von Bismarck
Posts: 1,656
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Post by delerak on Dec 4, 2014 0:37:10 GMT -5
1age: ? height/weight, 90, 9
mdesc: Sun-darkened rough skin, marred by countless amounts of old wounds and scars wrap about this elven male like the natural chitin of an insect. A long sinuous body, overly corded with lean, hardened muscles show an athleticism that is not easily attainable without a hardy supply of nutrition, and a countless amount of running, and physical strain. Along his left jaw is a horrible patch of scar tissue, looking like some sort of clawed weapon or animal ripped away at it. Two long arms hang from his broad shoulders like small branches of a yypr tree, covered in countless old wounds, it is clearly visible on his left hand that he is missing part of his pinky, and his right hand is somewhat larger and the knuckles seem misshapen and swollen. A stoic, angular face is set atop a long fragile neck: bearing two fiery dark eyes devoid of emotion, a beak-like nose, and a set of thin cracked lips. Descending from his narrow face are long strands of filthy dark hair, kept at bay with some sharp instrument which doesn't allow it to grow any farther then his temples and nape of the neck.
sdesc: the war-scarred elf
background: Anderui-ui-fu-lan was born to a warrior tribe of scattered desert-dwelling cousins whom used to take part in much trading with the city-state of Allanak. During a savage battle with gith, Anderui-ui-fu-lan took a savage blow to his jaw, knocking him unconscious, and when he awoke he found his fellow tribes people mostly dead, still in shock he managed to pace to the nearest thing he could see, a blur of red walls in the distance. He was found by a unit of T'zai Byn mercenaries just oustide the gates, the rough group didn't see any profit in helping the bloodied, dying elf, but decided they would do their good deed for the year. A healer of the group patched him and by dusk and he left them with an elven translation of "Debt will be payed." or so says the elven mercenary that was translating for the group. Ander has since travelled from Tuluk to Storm, Abi-li-Pah to Salt Flats, even at times treading into the Grey Forest on occasion, but there is a deep emptiness in him from losing his tribesman, his friends and cousins, and while he meets other elves during the run he feels that his true purpose for the run is yet to be discovered.
Valen class/sub: warrior/- race: city-elf
Mdesc: Slender limbs make up the narrow frame of this tall effeminate elf, his long limbs and a thin, skinny neck give him an athletic, agile appearance, however make him appear very lacking in strength, and virility. Flamboyant dark hair is pulled back tightly against his scalp and bound with brightly-colored leather straps which separate the hair into two long and thick pigtails of hair, both curling back against the nape of his neck, and hiding the true length of his hair. Bright blue eyes are bejewelled on his narrow, tender face like two outcroppings of the Salt Flats, each orb mirroring shy apprehension. His eyebrows make a feminine arch near his temples, and his thin lips are painted a blood red, like the light of Jihae. Milky brown skin, soft-looking, and unmarred by blade or claw, stretches taut about his light bones.
sdesc: the invirile, pigtailed elf
background: Faen, born and raised in the spice-addled society of the Kh'anta'li tribe in Tuluk, has had fleeting contact with society in Tuluk, but can be very social at other times. Faen preferring to make his coin by nicking it from passersby, has always had a patient demeanor, as most of the tribe. Wearing his hair in a traditional style, his youth has vaguely taught him the dangers of the world yet, and his thieving acts have gotten him in trouble before, but never so far as to endanger his life. He thrives on the thodeliv and the city-run, his single thoughts pulse and pace when he is jogging the massive streets of Tuluk. He trusts nobody but his kin, and lives for spice and coin, and furthering the tribes existance.
Use with humans: Blue With Half-breds: Red With elves: Pah With kin: Faen With dwarves: Jaggor
Misc names:
Odin Wyrd Rayne
class/sub: Ranger/- race: elf
mdesc: Thin and lanky, this elf bears rugged features that make him look tough like an old leather boot. His facial hair is untouched and he seems to be growing a thick brown beard. Long, tangled hair sprouts from his head like weedy foilage, the hair grows over his ears, concealing the tips. His eyes are a dark blue, and bear a striking resemblance to dirty water. Leathery, cracked skin, weathered from the sun, stretches over his body, however his left hand seems to be purely scarred over, as if something tore the skin off and left the bone and tissue underneath unscathed.
sdesc: the lanky, rugged-featured elf
Bogatyr – Runs With Erdlu Sdesc: the skinny, pony-tailed young elf Ranger? Mdesc: This teenage elf stands at an average height for one of his kin, while taller than most humans, there are elves that easily stand a head taller. Long limbed and skinny, it would seem one of two things are possible; he either doesn’t get enough food, or he burns every ounce of nutrition that he consumes. His long dark hair is gathered into a pony-tail and left hanging down his back, an impressive length for his age. Two thin eyebrows are perched smoothly over his wide, eager eyes of a sandy brown hue. His face is smooth like the canyons, yet windburnt, a testament to years spent in the windy parts of Zalanthas. Few scars exist on him, but his hands are the most calloused and tough limb, looking to be accustomed to hard work with them.
Background: Runs With Erdlu was born in the Sun Runner’s tribe and is still very young on the totem pole. He is still learning from the older elves and simply follows orders. His parents were both a part of the warrior culture within the tribe and thus passed down their blades to him. The last word he heard was both were lost in a sandstorm in the South. Having lost them he now looks to others to learn from, having grieved for a year now. He gained his namesake while on a routine jog through the tablelands, a flock of erdlu spooked and as a natural sprinter, Runs With Erdlu at the age of 10 tried to keep up with the erdlu; failing miserably. Although he could not run with them, the name stuck as one of the tribesman saw this act and began to taunt him and say the words over and over again to him. He is a patient fighter and prides himself on his speed rather than using brute force. His father taught him to use his wit and rely on it over fighting, and his mother told him that patience is the key to survival. Amongst his fighting abilities he also learned to make crude weapons, which he hopes and plans to expand upon within the tribe and try to make weapons to sell during the trade routes that are taken throughout the world.
extra keywords:
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delerak
GDB Superstar
PK'ed by jcarter
"When you want to fool the world, tell the truth." - Otto Von Bismarck
Posts: 1,656
|
Post by delerak on Dec 4, 2014 0:38:26 GMT -5
class/sub: merchant/nomad race:human
mdesc: This young, hulking, brown-eyed man bears two broad shoulders that extend out and give him a heavy appearance. Features hardened by travel and age are compromised about his face with two deep, extremely dark brown eyes that produce a demeanor of certainty over his bent nose, thick wind-chapped lips and a knotty, strong chin. Long, sun-washed locks of dark brown hair sprout from his large head and are bound crudely with some sort of material. Unmarred by battle itself, his skin does not bear any marks or scars, but his hands are well-calloused and several nicks in the skin are visible on the thick fingers.
sdesc: a burly, brown-eyed man
background: Born to the Benjari tribe, Adriean Dragenfhain was always a very curious boy. He got in trouble many times as a young one, mainly because he was not a very skilled fighter. His mother Adrieanna Dragenfhain sees him as a disgrace to her other two sons whom are very proud and fierce warriors but Adriean has always been an arrogant and sharp-tongued boy. At the age of eight some of the more gullible tribemates say that he once convinced a durrit and a bamuk to shake claws and mate, of course Adriean always chuckles at that faint gossip. Adriean's travelling habits are a bit chaotic for the tribe but his wanderlust and fiery temper is something a few have learned not to toy with. Adriean travels about the Tablelands frequenntly and is known to be one of the most skilled crafters in the tribe, providing much for his tent and mother who normally turns her nose up at the gifts he brings her. Adriean is a boisterous type in social situations, but in business he is a quick-witted, razor-tongued snake that can haggle with the best. Adriean eventually wants to see himself in a position of power within the tribe, and to travel and see the wonders of the Known World.
extra keywords: Dragenfhain
the burly, shaven boy
This towering man, if looked at from neck up, appears to be in his mid-teens, however if one were to look at him from neck down would probably estimate him to be in far older and fed like a raptor amid a herd of chalton. His head, completely shaven with some sharp implement, bears black dots of budding hair all over, leading one to believe that his hair is very thick if grown in. Adolescence is etched into his sleek, hairless face, but his dark brown eyes mirror experience, and a mature demeanor, hinting that his baby face is quite illusory. Clear of any distinct scars or marks, his skin has tanned badly by the rays of Suk-Krath, bronzed to a dark brown by exposure to the harsh sun which his flesh is clearly unaccostumed to. Bearing a naturally thick bone structure he stands as tall as most grown men, and has a hardy, thickly-muscled physique: broad shoulders and a thick neck, strapping arms and large hands, a wide waist and hips, and two wiry travel-worn legs.
Agis was born in the wild town of Red Storm, his father a spice-hunter, bore him during a good year, and had plenty of 'sid to raise his giant son on. Agis was always a hefty child, his father is no small man but Agis outweighed his father at age eleven. Agis, being subject to whores and ale at a young age seemed to grow up quicker then other children, his mother being a whore herself had treated Agis to the desires of flesh, and when he was caught one night by his drunken father Agis fled with barely his life, and bore the gash of his fathers dagger on his stomach since that day. Agis being sixteen now, has fled into the sands, but lacking experience he never lasted long and the cities bearing his fathers henchmen and contacts, were no place for him.Nearing death Agis and his kank settled down on a comfortable dune of sand, ready to die, but it seems Agis' luck was going to change, the last thing he remembers is slipping unconscious, and the harsh sun burning his flesh.Awakening to the prods of a half-giant's massive fingers, Agis now finds himself at the mercy of the Zimand Gur, and perhaps a new life for himself among the unique family of outlaws.
class/sub: ranger/armorcrafter race: human
mdesc: Standing as tall as a hefty sapling, this wiry, well-muscled young man bears an air of wildness about him. His face is smooth and clean shaven, well-kept it seems, but with a shadow. Above his beard are two fierce eyes of the darkest shades of brown, even farther up are two arched brows. He has a full, lustrous head of dark brown hair that grows out in locks of curls and strands that plaster down upon his visage from sweat. His healthy form appears physically strong and sturdy, his arms are filled with thick blocky muscle, and his abdomen flattens out into a washboard stomach with small chaotic muscles stretching out in different directions all over his sun-bronzed skin. His heavy bulk is held up by two travel-worn, well-built legs, with spidery vein and sinew visible in the calves.
sdesc: the clean-shaven, striated young man
background: Hasaan was born in Red Storm commons. His mother gave birth with only the help of a good friend, and died after birth. Leaving him an orphan. Hasaan was adopted by his mothers best friend, a mercenary who sought to earn some fair coin from the boy. He was raised by the mercenary for several years, at the young age of 11 he was given a sword and told "You'll learn to use this, and then you'll repay me with your swordarm." Hasaan didn't know the truth and accepted his fathers words, his skill however was never good with the weapons he was given. Ahern earned coins on various jobs here and there and it all went to his father. One day however it all changed, Hasaan heard his father talking with a strange man from the North, talking of "Selling the runt" "He is no good" "Doesnt make me enough coin." "Isn't even my blood!" "Mother was a slut, died giving birth." Tears flowed from Hasaan's eyes for the first time. He fled into the Wastes. And he survived. Many years was spent hunting, fighting, and soul-seeking, now at the rugged age of thirty-two, he returns to the city as a bitter and embattled survivor of the wastes.
class/sub: warrior/mercenary race: human
mdesc:
This young boy bears a tall frame for one of his age, for he seems to be in his mid-teens but does not look a stranger to battle. His curious eyes are a simple brown, his dark black eyebrows arching slightly above them. Sun-bronzed flesh wraps about his thin and muscleless frame tightly, with a few small scars to mar the young skin. He has small hands that bear calloused knuckles and a few scars here and there. Sunless, pitch black hair sprouts naturally from his head and spreads in a mass over his forehead, however it seems somewhat contained by a crude cutting with some sharp instrument. A very distinct and straight scar stretches across the bridge of his nose.
sdesc: the thin, sunless-haired boy
background: Born and raised in a small mercenary company in the Tablelands, kraz grew up fighting. It was all he ever knew and the only man close to being called family was the leader of the company. He taught kraz how to wield the two-handed sword and it became his favored weapon. As kraz grew older he fought in a few battles, his ferocity was great, but his mistakes left him almost dead too many times to count. One fateful day however the mercenaries were ambushed by a tribe of elves hungry for the armor and weapons of the company, the leader suffered a fatal blow to his leg and would never lead again, his company dissolved and so did he, he blamed the atrocity on kraz, naming him a curse and saying he killed his mother when he was birthed. kraz was shattered but hung around for a while until one night he was attacked by his mercenary 'father', kraz with no other instinct but survival killed the only person he ever loved. He ran from the tents and the few men that were left within the company chased after him into the twisting Canyons. Soon the pursuit ended as they saw the night coming and knew the boy would never fight off the predators that came out at night. kraz did survive however, fighting until dawn he was bloodied and near-death when he made it to an outpost where he could rest. He is now living as a freelance mercenary in Luir's Outpost, his future a bleak one.
Serevus Severus 24 warrior, the athletic, stern-looking man 7 ten-stone
Mdesc: The smell of stale sweat clings to this old mature man heavily, and bits of sand, grit, and dust can be seen over his dirty, graying hair, and in various areas of his thin frame. Bone-thin and bone-hard he bears multitude of battle scars over his lightly-tanned flesh of all sorts and sizes, some looking to be the work of a blade and some looking very beastial in nature as if done by a claw or fangs. Austere, onyx-black eyes are set evenly on his angular face, and deep acne-scars line his cheeks with toughened pits of skin while a naturally flaring nose sets above two thin cracked lips, his features, while somewhat homely, bear a rugged handsomeness to them. His jaw is set firm and his features are overall stern and foreboding, with little warmth to them.
While not covered by clothing there is a tattoo on his shoulder in the common with three letters: A.O.G.
Background: Gregor Stel was born a native of Red Storm, his father a spicehunter by trade and a spice-addict by habit. Stel's father was irresponsible, irreputable, and irregular when it came to making coin for food and water, it is no wonder he went missing in the sands, while Gregor had to fend for the large family he left behind. He never knew his mother, who was supposidly some prostitute from the far North. Stel has worked as a mercenary since he can remember, he also has a few brothers and sisters who still reside in Red Storm, and whom he sends money when he can. Stel moved to Allanak four years ago and since then has been a freelance fighter, his ambition and ability to inspire others with his stern attitude has earned him the nickname Steely Stel. Although an overall easygoing personality, Stel's anger, thirst for battle and natural skill with a blade is sometimes frightening to behold. Stel is very dedicated to his career and never out of work. Some of his siblings have even considered moving to Allanak to join him.
human 24 9 ten-stone
the thickset, maze-tattooed man
assasssin
A maze of bluish-inked tattoos twist and turn along the pale flesh of this squat, heavily-muscled human. Neckless and corded in thick muscles his overall appearance is heavy, yet a certain nimbless remains in his squat, compact frame. Black hair is clumped together messily on his skull, plastered by sweat, grime, filth, and some sort of oily substance. Dead pale eyes stare out at the surroundings with a seemingly meaningless, and spiritless gaze, each orb mirroring the other on his narrow face. Several scars mar his tattooed skin, cutting through the neverending maze that moves over his torso, arms, and legs, while the current tattoos seem complete the maze itself does not, and it has parts near the neck where it could continue into his face and head, and a few lines string toward his ankles, the maze ending for some reason, short.
Cautious. Wary. Yet cunning and devious. Maze grew up in the slums north of Allanak. The Labyrinth has been his home for 14 long years. His parents raised him harshly, a corrupt father that would sell both him and his wife for spice, and a prostitute mother who slept with more men then Maze could count in his head. Born Hamad Siek, his true name has been long forgotten and Maze has sufficed since he fled the sanctuary of his father and mother and began using every coin he's earned in mugging, knife-fights, and even hand-to-hand boxing matches to further the inking of the Maze which he considers to represent his life: a neverending Maze of twists and turns (like hat of the Labyrinth) that no one can predict, not even the great and almighty Sorcerer-Kings. Maze has taken to atheism since entering the 'Rinth and seeing the horrors that Kings leave behind. He has grown into his own man, not knowing or caring where his parents are, his passion for the poor ignited somewhere along the Maze, but he cannot say where, his goal in life to someday see the 'Rinth liberated from the city-state.
Servanus
class/sub: ranger/ race: human
mdesc: Resolve and fortitude are etched in the sand-worn face of this human man, the thirst for survival glimmers in his simple, yet spirited brown eyes. Perched above his eyes are thin light-haired brows that arch slightly near the tips. Coarse light-brown hair cut quickly and hastily leaves him with uneven locks of thick hair atop an egg-shaped skull. Perhaps the most inconspicuous feature on his face is an average-sized, well-rounded nose, not readily noticeable as it blends a thin-lipped mouth and strong-looking chin. Two ears struggle for air beneath his hair both slightly pointed at the tips.
Two broad shoulders make this man look heavier at first glance, however his arms are only slightly muscled, and his ribs are easily visible from certain stages of starvation from the past. He bears a tall frame, with a pair of wiry travel-hardened legs and a thin waist. His peeling, sun-burnt flesh is a sign of time spent in the harsh rays of Suk-krath at high points of the day. The last remarkable characteristic of this human male is a scar of something sunken deep into his left leg and ripping out muscle and bone, the scar looks quite painful, however how a wound that large and horrible could have healed that well is a mystery.
sdesc: the gritty, able-bodied man
background: Servanus, "To Serve" in older dialects of Sirihish, was born to a life of hardship in the city-state of Allanak. His parents were both slaves in the House Borsail pens, laboring night and day, Servanus was to become a slave, however his parents did not see it that way. One stormy night both of his parents sacrificed their lives for their only son, Servanus was taken away by a wandering merchant who swore by Tektolnes he would keep the 2 year old alive. Servanus does not have much memory of his time in the slave pens with his parents, whom were both executed that night for their treachery in betraying the House. Servanus' fate unfortunately turned even worse then if he had stayed in the pens, the merchant was actually quite well to do, and was also a pediphile.. Servanus still has waking nightmares of his childhood. At the tender age of 6 it all began, and Servanus' mind would forever be racked with the blackness of the merchants heart. For years it continued until Servanus was old enough to realize the rapes and beatings slowly began to dwindle, at 12 they rarely came, by the time he was 15 it had been nearly a year since the merchant had touched him, Servanus realized something about himself and the merchant, pale skin, lecherous eyes, large fatty deposits of tissue, the merchant was.. weak, Servanus stared at himself in one of the many mirrors in the merchants house, his muscles were thin and sineous, but he was half-starved, ribs shown and his wrists were far too thin for his broad shoulders. Servanus wanted freedom and he had it several years later. 23, a grown man, and feeding himself on the merchants scraps, Servanus dug deep inside himself, .. "that knife on the table" he imagined himself grabbing it and sneaking up behind the merchant that was his demon, "one quick slit across his triple-chin.." The merchant was well-guarded and Servanus waited until dark when he slept alone with the newer boy-slaves that he bought. Like a snake he crept through the hall past the guards post where one lay passed out and drunk. The whimpers and confused wails of children echoed down the hall, Servanus gritted his teeth so hard blood began to drip down his chin, he tasted it and it only enraged him to continue until he was at the door, he saw what he had gone through first-person now. The children were confused but the merchant coaxed them with candies and freshly baked goods that were heaven to the poor starving slaves. Without thinking Servanus entered, and like a crazed tembo launched himself at the man who was his father, mother, his master, and the demon that now plagues his mind. It was over quickly, Servanus overpowered the merchant and slit his throat like he imagined, oddly enough the children were not crying, they were wiping their tears and watching him, some mutual connection was made, as if to say that he had saved them, but the look they now gave him was saving him from going insane. Servanus ransacked a chest of coins the merchant kept in a hidden compartment in his kitchen and led the children out to the streets and found them back to their Borsail pens, where they would endure beatings and lashings, far better treatment. Bleak and confused he finds himself in the Gladiator and the Gaj Tavern with a sack of coin, and an uncertain future.
class/sub: warrior/scavenger race: half-elf
mdesc: This filthy humanoidal male moves with a jakhal-like gait, his stride so akin to that of the tembo's cousin that it would seem he was more animal then human. His dirty hair sprouts out from his narrow skull in dis-array and bushy clumps of filthy locks, bound together with some sort of stringy material. If he were to stand at full height, he bears a tall and sineous stature known of most elves and the skinny sinewy limbs of someone who struggles for survival. He bears a face that is stricken with leathery from constant exposure to Suk-Krath, but the chiseled features of youth are still apparent in his survival-hardened features. His eyes seem to be the only civilized thing about him, blue and intelligent they peer about with a wariness known to hardy survivors, and alert hunters. Scars line his entire, brownish sun-hardened frame, nearly all seeming to be inflicted by the beastial claws and teeth of the wilds.
sdesc: the hunched, jakhal-like man
background: Uth does not remember much about his past. But his memories of the night he got lost he remembers vividly. Fear. It was fear that drove him from his home, but from what? Uth cannot remember why he ran away from Allanak, but he found himself at a tender age, 8, wandering the wastes of Zalanthas and surviving. Uth became a hardy survivor, finding roots and fruit, while he wandered the roads. Uth found himself far west from his home, losing himself. He lived off the land and watched predators of the Canyons, primarily the jakhal. Uth studied these movements, the way they hunted, their howls, and taking down prey, and he began to think and copy them. His memories of his past life and who he was Uther Anewane, son to Larainus Anewane and Naria Anewane, both soldiers in Allanak. Uther ran away from home when both of his parents, both cursed with a conscience and that did not bode well for several templars, as the house burned, Uther did run, and his new life as a jakhal began far from home.
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delerak
GDB Superstar
PK'ed by jcarter
"When you want to fool the world, tell the truth." - Otto Von Bismarck
Posts: 1,656
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Post by delerak on Dec 4, 2014 0:38:49 GMT -5
My templar write up that was approved by Dyrinis but nixed by Halaster a few days later.
class/sub: templar race: human
mdesc: Painful lacerations of scars tear and rip across every visible area of flesh on this human male, each one a countless reminder of the cruel and harsh training of a templar. Intense, knowledge-bearing blue eyes stare out with a knowing gaze from his round scar-riddled skull. On his temples, through the barrage of scars, are the faint visibility of thin, bluish veins. Farther down his clean shaven face, a strong, heavy jaw, covered in pale, scarred flesh shows off his hardy constitution. His entire body is laced in strong muscles, while thin near the neck, his shoulders are as broad as a dwarf's, and his biceps are far too large for his skinny frame. Streaks of muscles make up his forearms, and while thin at the waist, his thighs are wrought like a baobab, and his lower-legs are like hardy agafari, covered in a veiny outer core. A blanket of brown hair, curls about his head, over his ears and down his neck, very well-kept and barbered.
sdesc:the lacerated, intense-eyed man
background:
Artemis Rennik, born into the lower nobility of Rennik, grew up and was somehow fated to become a templar of Allanak. He was never the best, nor was he the cruelest, the problem with Artemis was he was never cruel by nature, he didn't have the making of a templar nor a warrior, but then again, some have said the ones that are beaten into submission at a young age, turned by the lashings, seemed to turn out..different. He was always a shy boy, but at the age of five, he was taken away from it all, the wealth, his parents, all of it, he began his templar training at that age, his first scar was given to him by Lord Rath Kasix, the scar is now covered on the jaw by countless others. Artemis' only problem was his rebelious attitude towards being so cruel, but after only a year in the templar school, he was the corrupted student - covered in scars from head to toe, and even at one point killing another templar in training during hand to hand combat. Artemis, is at an extremely young age, of 18, he was released from the school, and given authority in the city-state, much confidence is held within him, he is however..quite confused about his position at this age, but one thing is for certain, his faith in the Highlord which was somehow grafted to his mind by the pain of his rebelling in the templar academy, he is more pious and faithful to the Highlord then anyone ever could be.
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