Post by Ser'ika-chaaan! on Apr 9, 2009 13:04:55 GMT -5
Name: Galadraumr 'Magic-Tongue' Elyrion (Galadraumr means Dreamsing, but that's his bard name. His real name is Bakura, and pretty much everyone calls him that.)
Age: 47
Race: Elf
Standing: Neutral
Appearance: Bakura is lithe, as to be expected of most elves, but with little muscle. He walks with a slight limp because of the scar on his left thigh. He wears the traditional clothes of a bard; a loose fitting, sandy-coloured tunic with various mildly hued layers for effect more than warmth. His appearance all blends together because of the lack of difference - his lightly tanned skin, his long treebark-brown hair kept in a low ponytail down his back, his innocently childlike eyes, his dull clothing - but he likes to camouflage himself behind this. Bakura has a distinct absence of strong features, resulting in an instantly-forgettable personage.
There is a darker side to this outer show, however. The multiple folds of clothing hide inside them a wide array of throwing knives, along with a dismantled bow disguised as a harp, a dagger, and a dozen arrows. There isn't a person that knows about these weapons, besides of course Bakura. One can never be too careful in this day and age.
Personality: Bakura is rather... different. The nicer side of the world would describe him as a nature-loving bard with a beautiful musical talent, that would never harm anything. The others would see him as a paranoid, womanly wimp who doesn't know how to use a weapon. He has many knives and such as a precaution, but only knows basic tricks and methods for them. As he sees it, better to be armed and clueless than weaponless and knowledgeable. Not many agree with this.
Bakura's only real purpose in life is his music, and he devotes himself to it. The flute, mandolin, and just voice are his various instruments, and he is skilled with each of them, mainly the mandolin. Performing in front of crowds has caused him to become fearless - in the face of numbers, at least. When he isn't singing, dancing, or playing an instrument, he's quite talkative. He doesn't like beer, but will usually drink a watered-down mead when he's in taverns or pubs.
History: Bakura was originally born Ryou, warrior-to-be of the Varden. He was born out of wedlock, a love child, but his mother wanted nothing to do with him if he wouldn't stay as a soldier. All Ryou wanted to do was make music and be merry, so he joined his father and went on a scouting mission, but snuck off in the nighttime. He faked his own death, slicing open his left thigh with a stolen dagger to make it look like he'd been wandering and taken by a large animal of some kind. Knowing only basic magic, he attempted to heal the cut, but botched it and made it worse. Tying a scarf around it, he limped through the forest until he collapsed from blood loss.
Three days later, he was stranded, eating supplies he had taken from the other elves on the mission and drinking from his waterskin. He steadily limped to the east, where he knew there was a village. As the wound got worse, he had to use a branch as a crutch. Then he had to crawl. Then drag. Finally, when he was close enough to the village to be heard, he yelled weakly. When no one heard him, he blasted a note on his flute. People came to investigate.
He spent four days in the village, with a little old elven woman magically healing in a small room above the tavern in the square. On days when he felt a bit better, he limped down the stairs and played entrancing and haunting melodies on his flute. Children gathered in his room by day to hear stories. The one Ryou liked telling the most was of the day that his flute had saved his life; he said it proved that his destiny was to be a bard.
When he left the village, he decided to change his name from Ryou to Bakura, so that if his father followed the trail of blood to the tavern and asked for him. He hopped from town to town, swiftly gaining experience and knowledge. He is a nomad, and regularly circuits around the continent, but keeping far from the Varden.
Roleplaying example: Huntress. Moiraine's eyes widened in shock and she let go of the rider, David. This deep voice must be the dragon! It was speaking to her? My Rider and I pose you no harm or threat. I know that you know nothing of me, and so I will tell you. My name is Aviand, and I am not a king of the sky as you think. I am not even that accomplished enough to earn a bow from even a commoner let alone you. And I would have you know that the elf you see before you is my Rider, and without him, my life means nothing. I have no life. She looked twice at the man. At that moment, the wind blew his long hair off of his pointed ears, revealing what Aviand had said to be truth.
Moiraine stepped back and knelt again, laying her bow, quiver, and daggers down on the ground in front of her. "Forgive me, please." she gasped, thinking it ironic to be doing this a second time, after almost mistakenly killing a magical being yet again. "It was entirely my fault and I bear witness to the fact that there may be consequence. I am ashamed of my actions, and hold fast to my duty and honour. The outcome of my awry conduct I leave to your choice." There, that ought to be cryptic enough for even an elf. Closing her eyes, she bent her head forward, as if he was going to cut her head off.
To die this way, she thought, waiting for whatever he may do. Would it not be the best way possible? Though Moiraine was forever telling herself that she was not afraid of death, now that she had seen a dragon... Seeing this majestic beast had made her realize that she didn't want to die. She knew now that there was more than killing and deception to life, and that these beings must have come from somewhere. Shivering involuntarily, she thought that maybe that was where her real place was.
Moiraine stood, putting away her weapons. "I've changed my mind. Do with me still as you believe just, but I need to know this. From whence do you both come, and what is the bond of rider and dragon? I ask forgiveness still of you both, but I no longer believe that dying is necessary to fulfill that quota of equality between us." She lifted her chin confidently, as though daring them to challenge her.
How did you find us?LEE-LEE
LOL, biggish history.
Age: 47
Race: Elf
Standing: Neutral
Appearance: Bakura is lithe, as to be expected of most elves, but with little muscle. He walks with a slight limp because of the scar on his left thigh. He wears the traditional clothes of a bard; a loose fitting, sandy-coloured tunic with various mildly hued layers for effect more than warmth. His appearance all blends together because of the lack of difference - his lightly tanned skin, his long treebark-brown hair kept in a low ponytail down his back, his innocently childlike eyes, his dull clothing - but he likes to camouflage himself behind this. Bakura has a distinct absence of strong features, resulting in an instantly-forgettable personage.
There is a darker side to this outer show, however. The multiple folds of clothing hide inside them a wide array of throwing knives, along with a dismantled bow disguised as a harp, a dagger, and a dozen arrows. There isn't a person that knows about these weapons, besides of course Bakura. One can never be too careful in this day and age.
Personality: Bakura is rather... different. The nicer side of the world would describe him as a nature-loving bard with a beautiful musical talent, that would never harm anything. The others would see him as a paranoid, womanly wimp who doesn't know how to use a weapon. He has many knives and such as a precaution, but only knows basic tricks and methods for them. As he sees it, better to be armed and clueless than weaponless and knowledgeable. Not many agree with this.
Bakura's only real purpose in life is his music, and he devotes himself to it. The flute, mandolin, and just voice are his various instruments, and he is skilled with each of them, mainly the mandolin. Performing in front of crowds has caused him to become fearless - in the face of numbers, at least. When he isn't singing, dancing, or playing an instrument, he's quite talkative. He doesn't like beer, but will usually drink a watered-down mead when he's in taverns or pubs.
History: Bakura was originally born Ryou, warrior-to-be of the Varden. He was born out of wedlock, a love child, but his mother wanted nothing to do with him if he wouldn't stay as a soldier. All Ryou wanted to do was make music and be merry, so he joined his father and went on a scouting mission, but snuck off in the nighttime. He faked his own death, slicing open his left thigh with a stolen dagger to make it look like he'd been wandering and taken by a large animal of some kind. Knowing only basic magic, he attempted to heal the cut, but botched it and made it worse. Tying a scarf around it, he limped through the forest until he collapsed from blood loss.
Three days later, he was stranded, eating supplies he had taken from the other elves on the mission and drinking from his waterskin. He steadily limped to the east, where he knew there was a village. As the wound got worse, he had to use a branch as a crutch. Then he had to crawl. Then drag. Finally, when he was close enough to the village to be heard, he yelled weakly. When no one heard him, he blasted a note on his flute. People came to investigate.
He spent four days in the village, with a little old elven woman magically healing in a small room above the tavern in the square. On days when he felt a bit better, he limped down the stairs and played entrancing and haunting melodies on his flute. Children gathered in his room by day to hear stories. The one Ryou liked telling the most was of the day that his flute had saved his life; he said it proved that his destiny was to be a bard.
When he left the village, he decided to change his name from Ryou to Bakura, so that if his father followed the trail of blood to the tavern and asked for him. He hopped from town to town, swiftly gaining experience and knowledge. He is a nomad, and regularly circuits around the continent, but keeping far from the Varden.
Roleplaying example: Huntress. Moiraine's eyes widened in shock and she let go of the rider, David. This deep voice must be the dragon! It was speaking to her? My Rider and I pose you no harm or threat. I know that you know nothing of me, and so I will tell you. My name is Aviand, and I am not a king of the sky as you think. I am not even that accomplished enough to earn a bow from even a commoner let alone you. And I would have you know that the elf you see before you is my Rider, and without him, my life means nothing. I have no life. She looked twice at the man. At that moment, the wind blew his long hair off of his pointed ears, revealing what Aviand had said to be truth.
Moiraine stepped back and knelt again, laying her bow, quiver, and daggers down on the ground in front of her. "Forgive me, please." she gasped, thinking it ironic to be doing this a second time, after almost mistakenly killing a magical being yet again. "It was entirely my fault and I bear witness to the fact that there may be consequence. I am ashamed of my actions, and hold fast to my duty and honour. The outcome of my awry conduct I leave to your choice." There, that ought to be cryptic enough for even an elf. Closing her eyes, she bent her head forward, as if he was going to cut her head off.
To die this way, she thought, waiting for whatever he may do. Would it not be the best way possible? Though Moiraine was forever telling herself that she was not afraid of death, now that she had seen a dragon... Seeing this majestic beast had made her realize that she didn't want to die. She knew now that there was more than killing and deception to life, and that these beings must have come from somewhere. Shivering involuntarily, she thought that maybe that was where her real place was.
Moiraine stood, putting away her weapons. "I've changed my mind. Do with me still as you believe just, but I need to know this. From whence do you both come, and what is the bond of rider and dragon? I ask forgiveness still of you both, but I no longer believe that dying is necessary to fulfill that quota of equality between us." She lifted her chin confidently, as though daring them to challenge her.
How did you find us?LEE-LEE
LOL, biggish history.
