Post by phrostphyre on Apr 14, 2010 15:31:13 GMT -5
Name: Convel MacTire (Con-vel Mac-Cheer)
Age: 17 years old
Race: Human
Appearance: Convel is 6 foot 6 inches, with auburn red hair that's got streaks of gold running through it from being out in the sun and blue eyes that look like the gray sea in the sunlight. His shoulders are broad from being a warrior, sailor and a farmer. He's tanned from spending so much time in the sun, weather it's fighting, sailing, farming, or taking care of his family's herd of sheep and several cows. There are scars of floggings on his back, for disobeying his father when they were on their long-boat. Wearing the hunting pattern tartan kilt for everything except balls his father holds, where he wears the dress pattern tartan, Convel can disappear into any stand of trees that he's in if he has to. The shirt that he usually wears is a light puffy cotton one, good for fighting in. The items in his badger-skin sporran are fishing lines and a few hooks, a mole paw to combat rheumatism, and three honey balls. Bi-lingual, Convel knows the Empire's language, and his own Gaeilge, the language his ancestors have spoken for centuries. "Dinnae worry, mo ghrá, I'll nae hurt ye."
Personality: Convel likes being outside, as he enjoys the way the outdoors smell. A great fighter with his broadsword, dirk, and Sgian dubh, he hates using anything he doesn't know about. A fairly educated man, he knows that not everything can be told about in books or scrolls. He enjoys fighting, though the only fights he's participated in have been cattle raids on neighboring clans and raids across the sea, into small parts of the Empire. Convel's very stubborn, having never lost an argument, due to the opposition giving up before Convel did. Having never lost an argument, Convel's fairly cocky, and the only time he runs is when he's outnumbered twenty to one. A fairly good boxer, Convel can take a hit and keep swinging.
History: Convel was born to a clan chieftain that was leader of a fairly large clan on a rocky, mountainous island to the Northwest of the Empire, called Alba. Being educated by an elf from Alagaesia, Convel wasn't particularly religious, believing in one God. Arguing with his father was a fairly common happening, which usually ended in Convel being bent over a fence and thrashed. Convel went on his first cattle raid at fourteen, riding back with three cows to his name. At sixteen, Convel went on a raid over the sea to the south east, hitting a small village just inside the mainland of the Empire. It was a complete success, leading Convel's father to think the Empire weak and ineffective. Which is on the second raid that Convel was knocked out and thought dead, so he was left to rot on the beach.
Roleplaying example: "Da, we're nearly at land. What'll we do when we beach the long-boat? Burst off screaming, or wait till night?" Nodding at his father's first mate, Doughs, Convel walked up to his father.
"We'll burst off screaming. Surprising the poor buggers is always fun." Checking his blades, which were still safe, thank Dea, Convel nodded at his father's wisdom. The ship thunked onto the beach, and all the men on it but three jumped onto the beachhead, bellowing their clan's war cry for all to hear. "SGURR UARAN!" Drawing his blades, Convel heard his father bellow about a shield wall, spears into the gaps, and swords behind spears. Running out into the surprised herdsmen, Convel mounted a cow and started crooning into it's ear. "Bog, mo ghrá. Ní mian liom go háirithe leis an."
Thundering broke the sounds of battle. Looking up, Convel saw a dragon, red in color. Flame erupted from it's mouth.
"CALL OFF THE RAID, RETREAT!" Doughs was calling for retreat, while Convel's father started climbing the mast with a longbow.
The men started pushing the ship back into the ocean while Convel tried to get off the cow, but was hit in the shoulder with an arrow. Falling off the cow, Convel was lying face up, watching the red dragon shoot one last terrible burst of the consuming fire at the clansman's longboat, then slowly wing back towards the mountains. Blacking out, Convel thought he heard a voice telling him not to worry.
How did you find us? I can't remember, but I do know one thing. I liked these books.
Age: 17 years old
Race: Human
Appearance: Convel is 6 foot 6 inches, with auburn red hair that's got streaks of gold running through it from being out in the sun and blue eyes that look like the gray sea in the sunlight. His shoulders are broad from being a warrior, sailor and a farmer. He's tanned from spending so much time in the sun, weather it's fighting, sailing, farming, or taking care of his family's herd of sheep and several cows. There are scars of floggings on his back, for disobeying his father when they were on their long-boat. Wearing the hunting pattern tartan kilt for everything except balls his father holds, where he wears the dress pattern tartan, Convel can disappear into any stand of trees that he's in if he has to. The shirt that he usually wears is a light puffy cotton one, good for fighting in. The items in his badger-skin sporran are fishing lines and a few hooks, a mole paw to combat rheumatism, and three honey balls. Bi-lingual, Convel knows the Empire's language, and his own Gaeilge, the language his ancestors have spoken for centuries. "Dinnae worry, mo ghrá, I'll nae hurt ye."
Personality: Convel likes being outside, as he enjoys the way the outdoors smell. A great fighter with his broadsword, dirk, and Sgian dubh, he hates using anything he doesn't know about. A fairly educated man, he knows that not everything can be told about in books or scrolls. He enjoys fighting, though the only fights he's participated in have been cattle raids on neighboring clans and raids across the sea, into small parts of the Empire. Convel's very stubborn, having never lost an argument, due to the opposition giving up before Convel did. Having never lost an argument, Convel's fairly cocky, and the only time he runs is when he's outnumbered twenty to one. A fairly good boxer, Convel can take a hit and keep swinging.
History: Convel was born to a clan chieftain that was leader of a fairly large clan on a rocky, mountainous island to the Northwest of the Empire, called Alba. Being educated by an elf from Alagaesia, Convel wasn't particularly religious, believing in one God. Arguing with his father was a fairly common happening, which usually ended in Convel being bent over a fence and thrashed. Convel went on his first cattle raid at fourteen, riding back with three cows to his name. At sixteen, Convel went on a raid over the sea to the south east, hitting a small village just inside the mainland of the Empire. It was a complete success, leading Convel's father to think the Empire weak and ineffective. Which is on the second raid that Convel was knocked out and thought dead, so he was left to rot on the beach.
Roleplaying example: "Da, we're nearly at land. What'll we do when we beach the long-boat? Burst off screaming, or wait till night?" Nodding at his father's first mate, Doughs, Convel walked up to his father.
"We'll burst off screaming. Surprising the poor buggers is always fun." Checking his blades, which were still safe, thank Dea, Convel nodded at his father's wisdom. The ship thunked onto the beach, and all the men on it but three jumped onto the beachhead, bellowing their clan's war cry for all to hear. "SGURR UARAN!" Drawing his blades, Convel heard his father bellow about a shield wall, spears into the gaps, and swords behind spears. Running out into the surprised herdsmen, Convel mounted a cow and started crooning into it's ear. "Bog, mo ghrá. Ní mian liom go háirithe leis an."
Thundering broke the sounds of battle. Looking up, Convel saw a dragon, red in color. Flame erupted from it's mouth.
"CALL OFF THE RAID, RETREAT!" Doughs was calling for retreat, while Convel's father started climbing the mast with a longbow.
The men started pushing the ship back into the ocean while Convel tried to get off the cow, but was hit in the shoulder with an arrow. Falling off the cow, Convel was lying face up, watching the red dragon shoot one last terrible burst of the consuming fire at the clansman's longboat, then slowly wing back towards the mountains. Blacking out, Convel thought he heard a voice telling him not to worry.
How did you find us? I can't remember, but I do know one thing. I liked these books.
