Name: Bartuc CrestFallen
Appearance:
Age(20 and up): 45
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Rank: Templar
Personality: Vicious and often destructive, Bartuc was known from his training days as a monster of a man. Weapons in hand there were many hard pressed to hold an even match with his sheer ferocity. Though that isn't to say he is uncaring or bloodthirsty. Bartuc can be described as passionate and extremely loyal.
Fast to take advantage of an enemies failure and quick to come to an allies aid.
Problems with authority have become an issue as he progressed through his training but when talked to accordingly the warrior is often receptive and understanding of his mistakes. But he will never forgive himself for someone elses harm under his care.
Bio: The legends all begin with a name, a title, and a story that leaves the hardest of warriors reeling on their heels at the prospect of such enormous tasks accomplished by a single individual. Such thoughts have no place in the mind of Bartuc, too many other important thoughts course through his mind. Such as focusing on the lessons of his master.
Trained in the art of pyromancy and combat he had the opportunity to wield his blades with ruthless efficiency despite his young age. But the task of training him to be a champion was beyond his teachers, both villagers of no true skill or experience. Incapable of casting powerful fire spells he had instead focused on infusing his chosen weapons with the essence of flame for maximum damage possible, his chosen weapons were a vicious hooked axe and a mace with 5 large bladed nubs surrounding the heavy metal tip of the weapon. When he was of age he left his homeland to become a member of the Knights of dawn, inspired by a traveler he had met at a young age who talked of knights battling for the good of all. His acceptance had been almost guaranteed.
But he had not been prepared for the harsh reality of true combat at first.
Bartuc had struggled through his first years to becoming a knight worthy of the order, devoting every waking second to a single-minded focus on his weapons. It wasn't long before even his instructors were hard-pressed to fight him on equal terms. Bartuc did not excel in leading a squadron, he did not rise above his classmates as a tactician or a stealthy fighter. No.
Bartuc had excelled in throwing himself into a fight he could not hope to win and then proving everyone wrong. A rage within him burned out thought or even the sensation of pain, leaving him a blur of instinct and ferocity to put a wild bear to shame, always the edge of disaster and yet the pinnacle of strength.
Years later, sitting at the age of 45, he was no man worth mentioning. A soldier pure and simple. Ever eager to throw himself into carnage.
Weapons(Primary, Secondary, Tertiary):
Magic: Pyromancy - Infuse weapon/Fire
Other: n/a
Post Example:
Bartuc took up his axe from its belt loop with a growl, his fists turning to white from holding it too hard. He was recruited into a small squad of templars going into a large swampland, reports had come in that a traveler had seen ghouls in mass on the outskirts but hadn't come out to hunt yet. Left unattended it could spell annihilation for anything neighboring the swamps.
Bartuc and the group had ventured into the swampland and fought a host of such creatures, a hive of mindless undead festered in the black waters. It had only taken a few skirmishes with the creatures to see how badly they were outnumbered. Bartuc had personally headed the retreat, covering the injured groups retreat as he put his axe to great use.
Sadly, the group had lost a man.
The templar-seargent had made it explicitly clear that the fallen knight would be honored but Bartuc had refused to listen. A brother had fallen there but nobody saw him fall?
"GET THE IDEA OUT OF YOUR HEAD OR I WILL TEAR IT OFF YOUR SHOULDERS. DO YOU HEAR ME?!" The sergeant roared, but was summarily ignored by the rage inside of Bartuc. Until he saw a corpse, he would not leave.
"stat and hide, coward," He spat the last Word, "I Will die knowing i did what was RIGHT" Without bothering for a response of curses and threats he turned around and strode into the swamp.
Almost a full day had passed when Bartuc, bloody and exhausted, finally stumbled into the neighboring village many miles from the swamp, all but collapsing into the hands of the locals.
All of which running to find help for the man Bartuc was carrying on his shoulders.
Theme Song(optional):
