Post by Oz on Apr 20, 2008 6:12:39 GMT 9.5
Name: Sven 'Worg-Bane'
Age: Late 30's, best chance 38
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Class/Rank: Self employed Hunter of all.
Abilities: Considering he's been bitten clawed and otherwise injured by every form of creature on Riiga, poisons, toxins, and attacks as such, have no effect on him.
Personality: Believes monsters and beast-folk to be everything that is wrong with the world. Well aware that they do indeed have sympathisers, he lives to destroy them without debate. Accepting payment wherever a contract decrees to end such a creatures life. Terrified at the fact that people believe him to be a Gruitin, he constantly tries to shave whenever he can. This doesn't stop him from donning creatures pelts however, as he always removes something from a kill.
Is also a devout follower of the temples, and old religions. Has only ever killed a human in defense of someone who believed the same as he does.
Is ridiculed in drinking circles for being gynophobic, and unable to hold his usual Stalwart composure against an advanceful woman. As such, he vowed to himself to remain chaste in his duties. But is highly vulnerable to any hypnosis from a female human.
Appearance: Wiry blonde hair, cut back to whatever degree it can be, held back with a crimson rag. along with a crudely shaved beard. Unruly locks of hair oft' hide his un-calculatable brown eyes and his missing left cheek. Slashed off to the bone by a sadistic Sirin'. Unless bathing, he seldom removes his padded leather armour, with assorted wolf bear and Lion pelts stitched upon it for added protection and boasting rights. This armour suit consists of a sleeveless tunic, a set of leg protecting plates of leather in the same design. His wrists and hands are protected by singular gaurds, with countless patches sown back onto them, as many wolves and the like have sunk their teeth into them, hoping to score flesh. Considering most folks don't enjoy seeing an armour clad barbarian march into their town, he conceals his ever donned and ready battle garb beneath a golden cloak, wrapped around his shoulders with an attachment to cover the front of his outfit, pinned on by a pair of intricate wolfs head clasps. He throws this cloak off immediately before every contact with an enemy.
Weapon/Magic: A chain, long enough to wrap around ones chest twice, the final three rings bear sharp, cruel barbs. Used as a whip against creatures, and keeps it coiled upon his hip. Along with an un-impressive, but not discountable hatchet, for places where his torturous chain may prove unwieldy.
History: A self employed mercenary, who will take upon any dirty job against a non-human target. He lives with the comical trait of being mistaken for a wereanimal, due to local superstition that he becomes one at night to hunt their livestock, because they must of bitten him and changed him. Complete superstition, but her carries the visage, recieving hexes from old women and rhymes from children wherever he wanders. He doesn't dwell on it in conversation, but he is deathly terrified of those who believe he IS a beast, even a half-animal.
Haunted by a sage's words:
'Do not do battle with monsters, lest you become one yourself.'
Age: Late 30's, best chance 38
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Class/Rank: Self employed Hunter of all.
Abilities: Considering he's been bitten clawed and otherwise injured by every form of creature on Riiga, poisons, toxins, and attacks as such, have no effect on him.
Personality: Believes monsters and beast-folk to be everything that is wrong with the world. Well aware that they do indeed have sympathisers, he lives to destroy them without debate. Accepting payment wherever a contract decrees to end such a creatures life. Terrified at the fact that people believe him to be a Gruitin, he constantly tries to shave whenever he can. This doesn't stop him from donning creatures pelts however, as he always removes something from a kill.
Is also a devout follower of the temples, and old religions. Has only ever killed a human in defense of someone who believed the same as he does.
Is ridiculed in drinking circles for being gynophobic, and unable to hold his usual Stalwart composure against an advanceful woman. As such, he vowed to himself to remain chaste in his duties. But is highly vulnerable to any hypnosis from a female human.
Appearance: Wiry blonde hair, cut back to whatever degree it can be, held back with a crimson rag. along with a crudely shaved beard. Unruly locks of hair oft' hide his un-calculatable brown eyes and his missing left cheek. Slashed off to the bone by a sadistic Sirin'. Unless bathing, he seldom removes his padded leather armour, with assorted wolf bear and Lion pelts stitched upon it for added protection and boasting rights. This armour suit consists of a sleeveless tunic, a set of leg protecting plates of leather in the same design. His wrists and hands are protected by singular gaurds, with countless patches sown back onto them, as many wolves and the like have sunk their teeth into them, hoping to score flesh. Considering most folks don't enjoy seeing an armour clad barbarian march into their town, he conceals his ever donned and ready battle garb beneath a golden cloak, wrapped around his shoulders with an attachment to cover the front of his outfit, pinned on by a pair of intricate wolfs head clasps. He throws this cloak off immediately before every contact with an enemy.
Weapon/Magic: A chain, long enough to wrap around ones chest twice, the final three rings bear sharp, cruel barbs. Used as a whip against creatures, and keeps it coiled upon his hip. Along with an un-impressive, but not discountable hatchet, for places where his torturous chain may prove unwieldy.
History: A self employed mercenary, who will take upon any dirty job against a non-human target. He lives with the comical trait of being mistaken for a wereanimal, due to local superstition that he becomes one at night to hunt their livestock, because they must of bitten him and changed him. Complete superstition, but her carries the visage, recieving hexes from old women and rhymes from children wherever he wanders. He doesn't dwell on it in conversation, but he is deathly terrified of those who believe he IS a beast, even a half-animal.
Haunted by a sage's words:
'Do not do battle with monsters, lest you become one yourself.'
