Post by huntinkallim on Sept 22, 2009 14:33:57 GMT -5
Name: Aziros Lonespear
Age: 120
Race: Elf
Appearance: Elves like Aziros are a rare sight indeed. He looks as though was constructed, probably in a shipyard, as opposed to having been born, with a jaw you can hammer nails in with. He stands 6’2” and is almost half as broad again. Despite this he moves with the natural speed and grace inherent to his race, this deceptive burst of speed has been the downfall of many a cocksure opponent. Two striking tattoos swirl around his face marking him as a member of the tribal Elves that inhabit the wilds of Parlim.
Aziros radiates the aura of a warrior who has utter faith in his own abilities and those of his comrades. He is fiercely loyal to those he has befriended and would fight to the end to protect them. A vivid purple scar traces diagonally along his left palm from the numerous blood oaths he has sworn to his allies. Once he has made an oath he will not break his word unless death stops him.
He is largely silent, but when he speaks his voice rumbles with the force of an avalanche. Though he is not the most intelligent of Elves when he grasps an idea he holds onto it like a drowning man. His lack of intelligence has led to his magical abilities being reduced to almost nothing, however it has also produced an interesting side effect. Because he is only really able to focus on one thing at a time those magicians who have attempted to penetrate his mind have discovered a wall of steel around his thoughts. Occasionally however Aziros will have brief moments of strategic genius that more often than not catch his allies off-guard as much as they do his enemies.
Aziros’ lack of intelligence for an Elf means that others of his race can easily manipulate him. However he is not wholly simple, his character is shot through with an underlying sense of honour and duty, that often prevents him from undertaking some of the more villainous activities that his more disreputable friends engage in.
History: Aziros was born into one of the more prosperous clans on Parlim. Life in the wilds of Parlim is very different to that of the Elves in the forest of Du Weldenvarden. It is a harsh existence for those that must eke out a life there, a place where every day is a deadly battle for survival against the elements and other clans. The clans compete savagely for the islands scarce resources skirmishes over such simple things as water are a part of everyday life here. These skirmishes however are relatively devoid of fatalities because of the combat and magical skills of the warriors involved. However when fatalities occur in an imbalance a wergild must be paid. The champions of the tribes involved fight a non-fatal duel over the wergild, should the champion of the tribe that demanded the price be victorious then the price is paid but should he loose then all claims on the wergild must be withdrawn and recompense paid for the slur.
It was into this world of fierce honour that Aziros was raised. Starting training at the age of twelve, he quickly rose to prominence among the warriors of his tribe, in part due to his sheer size, but mostly because of his skill and sheer bloody-minded determination to never yield. After fifty hard years of training his skill with a spear was unmatched by any in his tribe. When his tribes’ champion was slain in a skirmish with another tribe, Aziros was unanimously elected as his replacement. In his first few battles he swiftly destroyed his opponents. However it was in his fifth duel, at the age of eighty, that would see him forced to leave Parlim.
Aziros, now bearing a single tattoo for his victories, was involved in a skirmish with another clan over hunting grounds. Such was his skill that he slew two elves before his foes routed form the field. Awarded another more intricate tattoo for his kills, he prepared to fight the customary duel. When the champions met Aziros was unstoppable. His weapon was a blur of motion that only the most keen-eyed elf warrior could follow. Unfortunately for Aziros he was too good for his foe, his staff struck his opponent in the temple, killing him instantly. Tribal laws forbade killing in inter-tribal honour duels. Aziros was banished. Taking a handful of followers he took ship, to Alagesia.
Over the past sixty years, Aziros and his band have travelled the length and breadth of Alagesia. He has killed, warriors of every race and faction on Alagesia, he is a frighteningly skilled practitioner of the art of death. Over time his band has been whittled down to Aziros alone, earning him the epithet “Lonespear”. Recently he has begun to hire himself out as a mercenary and has found employment with Mizaros Xelsare.
Role-playing example:(Can be from another site).
Aziros stalked through the burnt out ruins of the village. High in the mountains, he and the last few survivors of his warriors from Parlim had been stalking this band of Urgals for three weeks, through the passes of the southern Spine. The rank smell of twenty of the beasts carried to Aziros on the sharp mountain wind. Aziros began to finger the haft of his spear, it was a beautiful weapon, the haft was sung from a single piece of hardwood found only in the lethal wilds of Parlim, intricate patterns, matching the tattoos on Aziros face adorned the length of the haft. The tip of the spear though was even more impressive, a broad leaf bladed piece of metal, forged in a magically enhanced fire, by the greatest smith on all of Parlim from the metal found in the crater of a falling star, the handle had been sung around the tip making it a single piece.
Aziros glanced to his right and left, too where Ezemar and Mral, the last surviving members of his band crouched beside him. They were all that were left of the band of twelve blood brothers that had set out from Parlim almost fifty years ago. Now they were determined to slay these Urgals that had robbed them of three of their companions.
Aziros clasped them each upon the shoulder “Tonight brothers we avenge Miral, Espas and Frogar. Tonight we send these beasts to the underworld to slave for our fallen kin. For our brothers; CHARGE!!!”
Springing forward the three elves howled their bloodlust to the dark skies. Bewildered the urgals turned too face their attackers, bellowing in surprise and rage. Leaping into the air Aziros landed among them his spear singing out to open the throat of an urgal. Landing smoothly, he pivoted on his right foot to plant his spear in the chest of another urgal. Glancing around he saw that Mral and Ezemar had also dropped a further three urgals between them. Glancing ahead again he sidestepped to avoid a charging urgal, and pirouetted to slam the butt of his spear into the side of its head dropping it. Suddenly he heard Mral cry out in anguish, turning to see what had happened, he saw Ezemar fall to the ground, a number of Urgal corpses scattered around him, with the tip of a sword protruding from his chest. Distracted momentarily he only just avoided joining his brother in his fate, a spear tip whistled past his face missing him by a hairs breadth. Mral was not so lucky. A massive Kull, the leader of this band, caught him in the chest with a club, shattering his ribs and puncturing his vital organs with bone shards. Mral managed to cast his spear into the chest of another urgal before he too slipped away. Overcome with grief Aziros began to kill, and was only vaguely aware of the urgals retreating from his wrath.
Aziros slumped to the ground and wept for his fallen kin. After what seemed to him an eternity he managed to stagger to his feet. Collecting the bodies of the urgals and throwing them down the mountains he began wandering throughout the village to collect enough wood to build a pyre for his brothers. Then surrounding them with the weapons of their fallen foes he lit the pyre and committed their souls to the afterlife.
Tightening his grip upon his spear Aziros set out. For the Lonespear, the hunt would continue.
How did you find us? Elanzros referred me to the site
Age: 120
Race: Elf
Appearance: Elves like Aziros are a rare sight indeed. He looks as though was constructed, probably in a shipyard, as opposed to having been born, with a jaw you can hammer nails in with. He stands 6’2” and is almost half as broad again. Despite this he moves with the natural speed and grace inherent to his race, this deceptive burst of speed has been the downfall of many a cocksure opponent. Two striking tattoos swirl around his face marking him as a member of the tribal Elves that inhabit the wilds of Parlim.
Aziros radiates the aura of a warrior who has utter faith in his own abilities and those of his comrades. He is fiercely loyal to those he has befriended and would fight to the end to protect them. A vivid purple scar traces diagonally along his left palm from the numerous blood oaths he has sworn to his allies. Once he has made an oath he will not break his word unless death stops him.
He is largely silent, but when he speaks his voice rumbles with the force of an avalanche. Though he is not the most intelligent of Elves when he grasps an idea he holds onto it like a drowning man. His lack of intelligence has led to his magical abilities being reduced to almost nothing, however it has also produced an interesting side effect. Because he is only really able to focus on one thing at a time those magicians who have attempted to penetrate his mind have discovered a wall of steel around his thoughts. Occasionally however Aziros will have brief moments of strategic genius that more often than not catch his allies off-guard as much as they do his enemies.
Aziros’ lack of intelligence for an Elf means that others of his race can easily manipulate him. However he is not wholly simple, his character is shot through with an underlying sense of honour and duty, that often prevents him from undertaking some of the more villainous activities that his more disreputable friends engage in.
History: Aziros was born into one of the more prosperous clans on Parlim. Life in the wilds of Parlim is very different to that of the Elves in the forest of Du Weldenvarden. It is a harsh existence for those that must eke out a life there, a place where every day is a deadly battle for survival against the elements and other clans. The clans compete savagely for the islands scarce resources skirmishes over such simple things as water are a part of everyday life here. These skirmishes however are relatively devoid of fatalities because of the combat and magical skills of the warriors involved. However when fatalities occur in an imbalance a wergild must be paid. The champions of the tribes involved fight a non-fatal duel over the wergild, should the champion of the tribe that demanded the price be victorious then the price is paid but should he loose then all claims on the wergild must be withdrawn and recompense paid for the slur.
It was into this world of fierce honour that Aziros was raised. Starting training at the age of twelve, he quickly rose to prominence among the warriors of his tribe, in part due to his sheer size, but mostly because of his skill and sheer bloody-minded determination to never yield. After fifty hard years of training his skill with a spear was unmatched by any in his tribe. When his tribes’ champion was slain in a skirmish with another tribe, Aziros was unanimously elected as his replacement. In his first few battles he swiftly destroyed his opponents. However it was in his fifth duel, at the age of eighty, that would see him forced to leave Parlim.
Aziros, now bearing a single tattoo for his victories, was involved in a skirmish with another clan over hunting grounds. Such was his skill that he slew two elves before his foes routed form the field. Awarded another more intricate tattoo for his kills, he prepared to fight the customary duel. When the champions met Aziros was unstoppable. His weapon was a blur of motion that only the most keen-eyed elf warrior could follow. Unfortunately for Aziros he was too good for his foe, his staff struck his opponent in the temple, killing him instantly. Tribal laws forbade killing in inter-tribal honour duels. Aziros was banished. Taking a handful of followers he took ship, to Alagesia.
Over the past sixty years, Aziros and his band have travelled the length and breadth of Alagesia. He has killed, warriors of every race and faction on Alagesia, he is a frighteningly skilled practitioner of the art of death. Over time his band has been whittled down to Aziros alone, earning him the epithet “Lonespear”. Recently he has begun to hire himself out as a mercenary and has found employment with Mizaros Xelsare.
Role-playing example:(Can be from another site).
Aziros stalked through the burnt out ruins of the village. High in the mountains, he and the last few survivors of his warriors from Parlim had been stalking this band of Urgals for three weeks, through the passes of the southern Spine. The rank smell of twenty of the beasts carried to Aziros on the sharp mountain wind. Aziros began to finger the haft of his spear, it was a beautiful weapon, the haft was sung from a single piece of hardwood found only in the lethal wilds of Parlim, intricate patterns, matching the tattoos on Aziros face adorned the length of the haft. The tip of the spear though was even more impressive, a broad leaf bladed piece of metal, forged in a magically enhanced fire, by the greatest smith on all of Parlim from the metal found in the crater of a falling star, the handle had been sung around the tip making it a single piece.
Aziros glanced to his right and left, too where Ezemar and Mral, the last surviving members of his band crouched beside him. They were all that were left of the band of twelve blood brothers that had set out from Parlim almost fifty years ago. Now they were determined to slay these Urgals that had robbed them of three of their companions.
Aziros clasped them each upon the shoulder “Tonight brothers we avenge Miral, Espas and Frogar. Tonight we send these beasts to the underworld to slave for our fallen kin. For our brothers; CHARGE!!!”
Springing forward the three elves howled their bloodlust to the dark skies. Bewildered the urgals turned too face their attackers, bellowing in surprise and rage. Leaping into the air Aziros landed among them his spear singing out to open the throat of an urgal. Landing smoothly, he pivoted on his right foot to plant his spear in the chest of another urgal. Glancing around he saw that Mral and Ezemar had also dropped a further three urgals between them. Glancing ahead again he sidestepped to avoid a charging urgal, and pirouetted to slam the butt of his spear into the side of its head dropping it. Suddenly he heard Mral cry out in anguish, turning to see what had happened, he saw Ezemar fall to the ground, a number of Urgal corpses scattered around him, with the tip of a sword protruding from his chest. Distracted momentarily he only just avoided joining his brother in his fate, a spear tip whistled past his face missing him by a hairs breadth. Mral was not so lucky. A massive Kull, the leader of this band, caught him in the chest with a club, shattering his ribs and puncturing his vital organs with bone shards. Mral managed to cast his spear into the chest of another urgal before he too slipped away. Overcome with grief Aziros began to kill, and was only vaguely aware of the urgals retreating from his wrath.
Aziros slumped to the ground and wept for his fallen kin. After what seemed to him an eternity he managed to stagger to his feet. Collecting the bodies of the urgals and throwing them down the mountains he began wandering throughout the village to collect enough wood to build a pyre for his brothers. Then surrounding them with the weapons of their fallen foes he lit the pyre and committed their souls to the afterlife.
Tightening his grip upon his spear Aziros set out. For the Lonespear, the hunt would continue.
How did you find us? Elanzros referred me to the site
