Love
Deity
I am unbaptized 
Snakes & Foxes 3: The ****oo's Nest (Character Backgrounds)
- Thread starter Niklas
- Start date
Are you even allowed to write here when you are dead? Anyways i'll write here after i've won
.EDIT: Ok i lied
, posted some below, more to follow after the battle.Spoiler :
Ok here is a picture. An ancient amurite archmage. He have studied magic all his life. He hav explored the arcane depths of this world. He knows most types of magic and when to use them. He is always interested in figuring out more about magic. The more he learns, the more he discover to learn. Always hungry to know more. Always searching, always finding more knowledge. Of course there are some things one can't learn alone. Through intereaction with others you can often learn much more than you could alone. He is here primarily to learn. Learn about himself and others. Some things you'll never know before you've tried it out. In the arena he can finally test out his most powerful spells.
RRRaskolnikov
Goldfish
Awesome pic Oyzar 
[I'm still having ridiculous amounts of trouble with this. 
But here's the start. More to be added later if I live long enough to figure it out.]
The man looks old and shabby at first glance, past his prime. You notice the grizzled hair, twisted into a myriad of short braids beneath a tar-streaked red bandanna. You notice the deep wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, the 3-days' growth of beard.
But then you look closer. The man walks with the rolling gait of the sea, but it's a steady, smooth movement, unhampered by injury or age. His eyes are bright black and gimlet-hard. And not all of him is shabby. The delicately cut emeralds in his ears weren’t bashed out on any dockside forge in Innsmouth, and the glossy boots he wears would not be out of place on the finest streets of Kwythellar.
You don’t get to be a rich pirate by being bad at it.
But here's the start. More to be added later if I live long enough to figure it out.]The man looks old and shabby at first glance, past his prime. You notice the grizzled hair, twisted into a myriad of short braids beneath a tar-streaked red bandanna. You notice the deep wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, the 3-days' growth of beard.
But then you look closer. The man walks with the rolling gait of the sea, but it's a steady, smooth movement, unhampered by injury or age. His eyes are bright black and gimlet-hard. And not all of him is shabby. The delicately cut emeralds in his ears weren’t bashed out on any dockside forge in Innsmouth, and the glossy boots he wears would not be out of place on the finest streets of Kwythellar.
You don’t get to be a rich pirate by being bad at it.
The Minotaur:
A beast of myths and legends.
Its mighty battle-cry shakes the nerves of but the bravest of souls.
The legendary stories of this particular Minotaur start at its birth, some say he was born under the Great Tree itself and was able to take down a half-Orc at the age of 6. Well actually it was an oak tree and the half-orc was made of wood but still. He grew up with the customs and values of his race; pride and honour in peace, strength and determination in battle.
There are some that say the primitive beast cannot speak, others know that they only do so when needed and only if the other has shown courage in a battle with the majestic creature. Since a battle with a Minotaur is always a battle to the death it explains the nature of this particular misconception.
This particular Minotaur, some say was named K'tar, lived with the others of his tribe on one of the southern Continents. In an area called the Rock Flats they had made a home on a clearing between the many tall sharp rocks that were so typical of the land and which were somewhat of a natural labyrinth for those from far away.
Though mostly arid it was still home to a variety of plants and animals, one of these animals was the Sand Basilisk. About 3 foot tall and 7 foot long the creature was smaller than the average Minotaur and didn't pose any threat for the experienced hunters. Still its fangs and spiked tail made it anyting but a harmless creature. As such it killing it was deemed the perfect test for those coming of age.
For K'tar it was no different, his parents had trained him well and he felt at home between rock and sand. He felt confident on the day he was send out not to return before he had slain a Sander, as proof he was to take back the organs, considered a delicacy, and prepare them for the festivities at night were he would eat them.
He set off that morning with nothing more then his hunting knife and the axe his father had given to him. The axe was small and simple in nature but it had a double blade and was sharp enough so that only the finest mithril could stop it. Still it was the first time K'tar went hunting alone and he felt anxious even though he did not let it show from the outside. It took him only an hour before he saw the first Sander, it was a youngling, the creature was small and would bring him little honour. However its mother could not be far away. K'tar was right, unfortunately for him the creature had deceived his senses and was standing a mere two metres behind him. Kssss, the hissing sound that announced the Sanders attack came as a shock, quickly turning around he was just able to deflect the deadly fangs with the side of his axe. The shock blew the blade of the handle. Ksss ksss ksss there were more. Surrounded by one adult and three young Sanders with only a cracked piece of wood in his hands. This was not how K'tar had imagined his hunt to go. Looking around he discovered a small ledge on one of the big rock spires. He quickly climbed up. The youngsters tried to follow him, unsuccessfully, and were left jumping against the rock. The older and more experienced adult mother took her place a few meters from the rock and waited. At one point he had to come down or he would starve.
...
A minute later the big beast lay dead on the ground and the small Sanders quickly fled.
K'tar picked up his hunting knife and started to take out the intestines. The feast would be grand. On his return he received various gifts which included a new axe, made out of a single piece of steel, a battle armour and a crimson cape. Not made for hunting but for glorious battle, K'tar did not anticipate that one day he would use them daily and that hunting had become something of the past.
His mother was a dark priestess and trained him the arts of demonic magic, something that would prove most useful to him. When he was twenty years of age he had become so skilled in the use of magic that he was able to infuse his weapon with it, something that would later show it self to be the key to a life a court. It was on the fourth day of the sixth month of the same year when a caravan entered the lands, it was heavily guarded something that became more and more necessary. Raiders had ambushed caravans on multiple occasions and there was one in particular that was considered dangerous, they had nicknamed him "Fire Starter", no raider would dare to attack this caravan though. It was decorated with the seal of Tebryn Arbandi and flanked by several Manticore's.
The woman that stepped from one of the bigger horses was anyone but Tebryn Arbandi. At first K'Tar thought she was just a simple guard, a pretty guard, but just a guard. For now he was more distracted by the man with the black armour, it seemed to absorb all light around it and the shadows formed an unusual circle around him. He was Rahkesardnahc, commander of the king's personal guard. Feared by all but whom he served to protect. It soon became clear why he was here, war had broken out. By law the Minotaur clan had to send all able warriors to the front. However this had not happened, it seems the caravan carrying the messenger was attacked. At least the message never made it to the village. So now Rahkesardnahc had come to take what was not given.
Thirty-four had to come with him, more than a third of the entire clan, two of the warrior women were carrying. Nobody said Rahkesardnahc was kind or understanding, he sought to protect what he saw holy at all cost and by any means necessary. Of course K'Tar was one of them, that night he did not dream of the exciting battles ahead of him but of a sensual redhead. The next morning they set off it wasn't until long until the world around him started to change and he saw things he had never seen before; Animals that looked unnatural to him and cities buzzing with life. Finally after an uneventful 8 day journey the group arrived at the Sheaim Capital.
During the training that followed K'Tar was put to the test, countless demons he fought summoned by the court Shamans, he fought other Minotaurs from his own and from other clans all brought here to make them in to the warriors the Sheaims needed to win the war. He won every battle and it didn't take long before the commander started to notice him. When the others where send to the front lines to fight, K'Tar was not among them. He was to become part of the Royal Guard. Not uncommon for a non-native but a first for the Minotaur. K'Tar felt proud that he was chosen for this honourable task.
It was two weeks later, his training to become a Personal Guard well under way, that he set his eyes on a familiar face. He saw her leaving the Royal Chambers accompanied by two guards, wearing a silk dress and expansive jewellery it was clear that she was no housemaid. She was a princess and he fell in love with her in an instant. She was clearly the most beautiful Minotaur he had ever seen.
In the weeks that followed he saw her often, sometimes she even came to watch when he had combat training. The rare eye-contact he had made his heart race faster than any battle could. It was during his training he found out who she really was. Ashari, princess of Tybir. Tybir was a small city state and had a small army, it couldn't be called a civilization and the world would always see it as just another barbarian faction. But it had a culture and more important in its borders resided three sources of Chaos Mana. The princess was taken hostage and would only be set free alive when the city became part of the Sheaim realm.
The Minotaur struggled for days with his feelings, torn between love and loyalty.
Then it happened, it was the last day of his training. His instructor came to him, he had been given a great honour. It seems Tybir had not taken their offer seriously and as such the princess was to be executed. K'Tar was given the task of fulfilling the role of executioner, a tradition for those who completed their training. A gift as it were for the soon to be Royal Guard. A gift it was not.
That night he took his chance, he knew when the guards would change shifts and he managed to sneak in the chambers where Ashari was held. A night of passion followed.
It was midday the following day. The sun stood high on the central square. K'Tar stood in full body armour. His crimson cape moving in the breeze, his axe in his hands. His love at his feet, she was also dressed in her armour and her trident lay next to her. Traditions that would prove most useful. As the bell rang K'Tar raised his axe but a strike did not follow instead he made a quick spin. Killing both guards that were standing next to him. He jumped and brought his axe down on two more surprised victims. An alarm bell sounded and more guards came running on to the square. Ashari had gotten up now as well and a bloodbath unleashed itself together they fought countless of guards until they were outside the palace gates. Strangely they were not followed. Perhaps there were none left to follow them. Whatever the reason was they were able to reach their home and settle down in a quiet location. It was not until a few years later that he heard of the Tournament held by Perpentach. He travelled once more for honour, glory and the promise of bloodshed.
A beast of myths and legends.
Its mighty battle-cry shakes the nerves of but the bravest of souls.
The legendary stories of this particular Minotaur start at its birth, some say he was born under the Great Tree itself and was able to take down a half-Orc at the age of 6. Well actually it was an oak tree and the half-orc was made of wood but still. He grew up with the customs and values of his race; pride and honour in peace, strength and determination in battle.
There are some that say the primitive beast cannot speak, others know that they only do so when needed and only if the other has shown courage in a battle with the majestic creature. Since a battle with a Minotaur is always a battle to the death it explains the nature of this particular misconception.
This particular Minotaur, some say was named K'tar, lived with the others of his tribe on one of the southern Continents. In an area called the Rock Flats they had made a home on a clearing between the many tall sharp rocks that were so typical of the land and which were somewhat of a natural labyrinth for those from far away.
Though mostly arid it was still home to a variety of plants and animals, one of these animals was the Sand Basilisk. About 3 foot tall and 7 foot long the creature was smaller than the average Minotaur and didn't pose any threat for the experienced hunters. Still its fangs and spiked tail made it anyting but a harmless creature. As such it killing it was deemed the perfect test for those coming of age.
For K'tar it was no different, his parents had trained him well and he felt at home between rock and sand. He felt confident on the day he was send out not to return before he had slain a Sander, as proof he was to take back the organs, considered a delicacy, and prepare them for the festivities at night were he would eat them.
He set off that morning with nothing more then his hunting knife and the axe his father had given to him. The axe was small and simple in nature but it had a double blade and was sharp enough so that only the finest mithril could stop it. Still it was the first time K'tar went hunting alone and he felt anxious even though he did not let it show from the outside. It took him only an hour before he saw the first Sander, it was a youngling, the creature was small and would bring him little honour. However its mother could not be far away. K'tar was right, unfortunately for him the creature had deceived his senses and was standing a mere two metres behind him. Kssss, the hissing sound that announced the Sanders attack came as a shock, quickly turning around he was just able to deflect the deadly fangs with the side of his axe. The shock blew the blade of the handle. Ksss ksss ksss there were more. Surrounded by one adult and three young Sanders with only a cracked piece of wood in his hands. This was not how K'tar had imagined his hunt to go. Looking around he discovered a small ledge on one of the big rock spires. He quickly climbed up. The youngsters tried to follow him, unsuccessfully, and were left jumping against the rock. The older and more experienced adult mother took her place a few meters from the rock and waited. At one point he had to come down or he would starve.
...
A minute later the big beast lay dead on the ground and the small Sanders quickly fled.
K'tar picked up his hunting knife and started to take out the intestines. The feast would be grand. On his return he received various gifts which included a new axe, made out of a single piece of steel, a battle armour and a crimson cape. Not made for hunting but for glorious battle, K'tar did not anticipate that one day he would use them daily and that hunting had become something of the past.
Spoiler :
His mother was a dark priestess and trained him the arts of demonic magic, something that would prove most useful to him. When he was twenty years of age he had become so skilled in the use of magic that he was able to infuse his weapon with it, something that would later show it self to be the key to a life a court. It was on the fourth day of the sixth month of the same year when a caravan entered the lands, it was heavily guarded something that became more and more necessary. Raiders had ambushed caravans on multiple occasions and there was one in particular that was considered dangerous, they had nicknamed him "Fire Starter", no raider would dare to attack this caravan though. It was decorated with the seal of Tebryn Arbandi and flanked by several Manticore's.
The woman that stepped from one of the bigger horses was anyone but Tebryn Arbandi. At first K'Tar thought she was just a simple guard, a pretty guard, but just a guard. For now he was more distracted by the man with the black armour, it seemed to absorb all light around it and the shadows formed an unusual circle around him. He was Rahkesardnahc, commander of the king's personal guard. Feared by all but whom he served to protect. It soon became clear why he was here, war had broken out. By law the Minotaur clan had to send all able warriors to the front. However this had not happened, it seems the caravan carrying the messenger was attacked. At least the message never made it to the village. So now Rahkesardnahc had come to take what was not given.
Thirty-four had to come with him, more than a third of the entire clan, two of the warrior women were carrying. Nobody said Rahkesardnahc was kind or understanding, he sought to protect what he saw holy at all cost and by any means necessary. Of course K'Tar was one of them, that night he did not dream of the exciting battles ahead of him but of a sensual redhead. The next morning they set off it wasn't until long until the world around him started to change and he saw things he had never seen before; Animals that looked unnatural to him and cities buzzing with life. Finally after an uneventful 8 day journey the group arrived at the Sheaim Capital.
During the training that followed K'Tar was put to the test, countless demons he fought summoned by the court Shamans, he fought other Minotaurs from his own and from other clans all brought here to make them in to the warriors the Sheaims needed to win the war. He won every battle and it didn't take long before the commander started to notice him. When the others where send to the front lines to fight, K'Tar was not among them. He was to become part of the Royal Guard. Not uncommon for a non-native but a first for the Minotaur. K'Tar felt proud that he was chosen for this honourable task.
It was two weeks later, his training to become a Personal Guard well under way, that he set his eyes on a familiar face. He saw her leaving the Royal Chambers accompanied by two guards, wearing a silk dress and expansive jewellery it was clear that she was no housemaid. She was a princess and he fell in love with her in an instant. She was clearly the most beautiful Minotaur he had ever seen.
In the weeks that followed he saw her often, sometimes she even came to watch when he had combat training. The rare eye-contact he had made his heart race faster than any battle could. It was during his training he found out who she really was. Ashari, princess of Tybir. Tybir was a small city state and had a small army, it couldn't be called a civilization and the world would always see it as just another barbarian faction. But it had a culture and more important in its borders resided three sources of Chaos Mana. The princess was taken hostage and would only be set free alive when the city became part of the Sheaim realm.
The Minotaur struggled for days with his feelings, torn between love and loyalty.
Then it happened, it was the last day of his training. His instructor came to him, he had been given a great honour. It seems Tybir had not taken their offer seriously and as such the princess was to be executed. K'Tar was given the task of fulfilling the role of executioner, a tradition for those who completed their training. A gift as it were for the soon to be Royal Guard. A gift it was not.
That night he took his chance, he knew when the guards would change shifts and he managed to sneak in the chambers where Ashari was held. A night of passion followed.
It was midday the following day. The sun stood high on the central square. K'Tar stood in full body armour. His crimson cape moving in the breeze, his axe in his hands. His love at his feet, she was also dressed in her armour and her trident lay next to her. Traditions that would prove most useful. As the bell rang K'Tar raised his axe but a strike did not follow instead he made a quick spin. Killing both guards that were standing next to him. He jumped and brought his axe down on two more surprised victims. An alarm bell sounded and more guards came running on to the square. Ashari had gotten up now as well and a bloodbath unleashed itself together they fought countless of guards until they were outside the palace gates. Strangely they were not followed. Perhaps there were none left to follow them. Whatever the reason was they were able to reach their home and settle down in a quiet location. It was not until a few years later that he heard of the Tournament held by Perpentach. He travelled once more for honour, glory and the promise of bloodshed.
Chandrasekhar
Determined
Years ago, there was a small Bannor settlement on the edge of the untamed wilds. As in all Bannor villages, the virtues of the Order were held in high regard, and once it grew big enough, a confessor was dispatched to oversee the construction of a proper temple there.
On the surface, everything appeared to continue smoothly, but there was some unexplainable uneasiness among the settlers. The confessor himself undeniably contributed to this. Of course, the main task of a confessor is not to summon flames to purge the unfaithful, nor to heal the wounded or sanctify the land. No, a confessor is there to reassure his people, to act as a shepherd for his flock. When the orcs attack, the confessor tells his people that the righteous will prevail in the end, and that the village's dead sons have gone on to a better place. When the crops fail, the confessor reassures his people that things can only get better, and that if they continue to work hard for the community, they will be justly rewarded.
In that sense, this particular confessor was an utter failure. His people came to him for gentle reassurances, and instead they got the harshest truth. Many of those that spoke to him soon packed up and left the settlement, going on to live somewhere easier. Others, disillusioned, went so far as to fall to the side of the Ashen Veil, preferring to give their souls to demons, rather than be used as pawns by the Order. All of this happened by the subtle speech of that confessor, who spoke every word true, yet somehow turned the truth to his own ends. It was not long before the church of the Order took notice, and dispatched some soldiers to remove the troublesome confessor.
Of course, this confessor was not truly a confessor at all. He was, if not a "priest," then at least a servant of the Council of Esus. With a mind capable of grasping the higher truths of the universe, and exploiting the small cracks that exist in all mortals' beliefs, he could make people doubt even their own existence, given a few minutes to talk and the inclination to do so. As with all those who serve Esus, he was motivated not by faith for the god of lies, but by his own enigmatic ends. Of course, the nature of those ends remained a mystery to all but the so-called confessor himself. In any case, his mission in the small Bannor settlement was to destabilize it to the point where it would become a weak point for the Undercouncil to attack, but changing political factors rendered this mission obsolete. Rather than pull him from the village and send him elsewhere, the Council decided to simply have him killed - ironically for a person whose specialty is inspiring doubt, the Council had begun to doubt his loyalty.
It must have been a coincidence that the heretic hunters of the Order and the assassins from the Council of Esus descended on the temple on the same night. Surely, no one in the man's position could have manipulated events with such precision as to stage that unexpected confrontation. In the chaos that followed the two groups meeting each other, the church and much of the surrounding village was burned to the ground. All the assassins died, and presumably, the supposed confessor's corpse was among theirs, unrecognizable in the ashes.
Some time later, one of the many immigrants to join the Grigori became a Luonnotar. There's no way that he's the same so-called confessor that died in that fire. He's a little too tall, a little too young, and his facial features are different. Yet, though his voice has a different tone, it has that same creeping, piercing, disturbing quality. Dressed in simple robes blacker than an overcast midnight, the Luonnotar looks as far out of place among mages as he does among soldiers. Yet he came to compete here of his own will, and there is no hesitation or bluffing in his stance. When the Luonnotar says that he fully intends to win this competition, he's speaking every word true.
On the surface, everything appeared to continue smoothly, but there was some unexplainable uneasiness among the settlers. The confessor himself undeniably contributed to this. Of course, the main task of a confessor is not to summon flames to purge the unfaithful, nor to heal the wounded or sanctify the land. No, a confessor is there to reassure his people, to act as a shepherd for his flock. When the orcs attack, the confessor tells his people that the righteous will prevail in the end, and that the village's dead sons have gone on to a better place. When the crops fail, the confessor reassures his people that things can only get better, and that if they continue to work hard for the community, they will be justly rewarded.
In that sense, this particular confessor was an utter failure. His people came to him for gentle reassurances, and instead they got the harshest truth. Many of those that spoke to him soon packed up and left the settlement, going on to live somewhere easier. Others, disillusioned, went so far as to fall to the side of the Ashen Veil, preferring to give their souls to demons, rather than be used as pawns by the Order. All of this happened by the subtle speech of that confessor, who spoke every word true, yet somehow turned the truth to his own ends. It was not long before the church of the Order took notice, and dispatched some soldiers to remove the troublesome confessor.
Of course, this confessor was not truly a confessor at all. He was, if not a "priest," then at least a servant of the Council of Esus. With a mind capable of grasping the higher truths of the universe, and exploiting the small cracks that exist in all mortals' beliefs, he could make people doubt even their own existence, given a few minutes to talk and the inclination to do so. As with all those who serve Esus, he was motivated not by faith for the god of lies, but by his own enigmatic ends. Of course, the nature of those ends remained a mystery to all but the so-called confessor himself. In any case, his mission in the small Bannor settlement was to destabilize it to the point where it would become a weak point for the Undercouncil to attack, but changing political factors rendered this mission obsolete. Rather than pull him from the village and send him elsewhere, the Council decided to simply have him killed - ironically for a person whose specialty is inspiring doubt, the Council had begun to doubt his loyalty.
It must have been a coincidence that the heretic hunters of the Order and the assassins from the Council of Esus descended on the temple on the same night. Surely, no one in the man's position could have manipulated events with such precision as to stage that unexpected confrontation. In the chaos that followed the two groups meeting each other, the church and much of the surrounding village was burned to the ground. All the assassins died, and presumably, the supposed confessor's corpse was among theirs, unrecognizable in the ashes.
Some time later, one of the many immigrants to join the Grigori became a Luonnotar. There's no way that he's the same so-called confessor that died in that fire. He's a little too tall, a little too young, and his facial features are different. Yet, though his voice has a different tone, it has that same creeping, piercing, disturbing quality. Dressed in simple robes blacker than an overcast midnight, the Luonnotar looks as far out of place among mages as he does among soldiers. Yet he came to compete here of his own will, and there is no hesitation or bluffing in his stance. When the Luonnotar says that he fully intends to win this competition, he's speaking every word true.
Chandrasekhar
Determined
I doubt it's uncommon - canonically, I'm pretty sure that many if not most of the Grigori hero units are immigrants. The Grigori end up taking in lots of people who want to be free of the machinations of the gods. They're among the most open societies of Erebus. Of course, this particular Luonnotar is quite good at what he does, too.
Character update http://forums.civfanatics.com/showpost.php?p=8062500&postcount=26 
Also I am far more curious what the confessor has to do with the Luonnotar.
Also I am far more curious what the confessor has to do with the Luonnotar.
Angst
Rambling and inconsistent
OKAY I KNOW LIKE NO FFH BACKGROUND INFORMATION SO I'LL JUST GUESS WHAT KIND OF PERSONS CENTAURS ARE
The Centaur, Kharkash, the Sunhoof Rider.
Kharkash's actual origins are unknown, but he became renowned as the Captain of the Bannor Steeds during the troubled times with raids by the goblin Iron Claws in Eastern Bannor. His prominent ability to stay calm and properly command during a pressed situation saved him and his band of horse knights in the small village of Tardur, in which he defended a few 20 villagers agains hundreds of goblin brigands with a mere 31 human knights and himself.
Kharkash's skills as a one-to-one warrior rely on his tempo gain, the force sundered from his horse legs; he relies on his shocks and charges. Usually he uses his mobility to either evade the opponent while pinning him down with arrows; otherwise he will use his weight and might to unleash a thundering charge against his opponent, trampling, quickly laying down several attacks with his lance before aptly evading any further retaliations by switching his weight and running away again; repeating this process ultimately leaves the enemy weak to be finished by his bow or spear. However, against faster enemies, he usually runs them down and plainly directs his weapons at them while tireing them from running with a horse.
Personality-ish, I guess he is a redeemer of pride; as in "I will prevail against your demons, Dark Wizard Arathor; it is destined by my clan".
The Centaur, Kharkash, the Sunhoof Rider.
Kharkash's actual origins are unknown, but he became renowned as the Captain of the Bannor Steeds during the troubled times with raids by the goblin Iron Claws in Eastern Bannor. His prominent ability to stay calm and properly command during a pressed situation saved him and his band of horse knights in the small village of Tardur, in which he defended a few 20 villagers agains hundreds of goblin brigands with a mere 31 human knights and himself.
Kharkash's skills as a one-to-one warrior rely on his tempo gain, the force sundered from his horse legs; he relies on his shocks and charges. Usually he uses his mobility to either evade the opponent while pinning him down with arrows; otherwise he will use his weight and might to unleash a thundering charge against his opponent, trampling, quickly laying down several attacks with his lance before aptly evading any further retaliations by switching his weight and running away again; repeating this process ultimately leaves the enemy weak to be finished by his bow or spear. However, against faster enemies, he usually runs them down and plainly directs his weapons at them while tireing them from running with a horse.
Personality-ish, I guess he is a redeemer of pride; as in "I will prevail against your demons, Dark Wizard Arathor; it is destined by my clan".
Seon
Not An Evil Liar
Kharkash reminds me of a guy that always wears a mask...
Angst
Rambling and inconsistent
I don't understand the reasoning behind that. 
Seon
Not An Evil Liar
Karkash = Kakashi .
Anyways, the Assassin decides to shut up about his background because he is assassin and that's what assassins do. If you ask about his background, the only sound you will hear is the sound of your guts being ripped out.
(Meaning I don't have time!)
.Anyways, the Assassin decides to shut up about his background because he is assassin and that's what assassins do. If you ask about his background, the only sound you will hear is the sound of your guts being ripped out.
(Meaning I don't have time!)
CCRunner
Deity
- Joined
- May 13, 2008
- Messages
- 3,132
He rose from the desert sands in ambush. For three days he had stalked this particular caravan and now his hunt would bear fruit. This was his final test, the last thing until he became a full member of the tribe. It was expected he would perform perfectly—he was after all said to be the greatest swordsman the tribe had ever produced
Nothing ever went as expected.
With that thought in mind, he rose up behind the small group of three men guarding the wagons while the others hunted. Wordlessly, he slashed the throat of the largest with his twin blades, both containing a deadly desert poison. Before the others could react, he was jumping high into the air. The second man, obviously the leader barely had time to bring up his weapon before the blades came crashing down onto his head.
With two of his comrades lying dead in a matter of seconds, the third man was in the process stringing up an arrow. The dart never left his hand.
With the three guards dead, this desert raider called upon a ruby in the pommel of his right hand blade and set fire to the wagons.
His task was complete. He was a man.
OOC: Pretend the caravan guys were evil to fit in with the whole "Malakim are good guys" thing It's a lot easier to write an evil character than a good one
Nothing ever went as expected.
With that thought in mind, he rose up behind the small group of three men guarding the wagons while the others hunted. Wordlessly, he slashed the throat of the largest with his twin blades, both containing a deadly desert poison. Before the others could react, he was jumping high into the air. The second man, obviously the leader barely had time to bring up his weapon before the blades came crashing down onto his head.
With two of his comrades lying dead in a matter of seconds, the third man was in the process stringing up an arrow. The dart never left his hand.
With the three guards dead, this desert raider called upon a ruby in the pommel of his right hand blade and set fire to the wagons.
His task was complete. He was a man.
OOC: Pretend the caravan guys were evil to fit in with the whole "Malakim are good guys" thing
It's a lot easier to write an evil character than a good oneCharacter update http://forums.civfanatics.com/showpost.php?p=8062500&postcount=26
