Hi.
Not sure if you're still accepting characters, but I've been creeping this thread for the past little while and figured I may as well drop in with a wee CS anyway...
Not sure if you're still accepting characters, but I've been creeping this thread for the past little while and figured I may as well drop in with a wee CS anyway...
Name: Urien Talhaiarn
Sex: Male
Age: 24
Race: Human
Affinity: Telum
Personality: For a man who's been through all he has, Urien is... surprisingly well adjusted. Friendly (if a little sarcastic), good-hearted, remarkably strong-willed and seemingly devoid of fear (or just plain crazy), the man seemingly never loses his sense of humour even when faced with spectacularly terrible odds and certain death; giving rise to the running joke amongst his former colleagues that, in the three-pronged war on Tourmaline, Urien Talhaiarn was the only one having a good time.
Beneath the guise of the blithe warrior however, is a very disturbed, damaged young man fueled by anger and a raw, visceral hatred that propels him to nigh-superhuman feats of strength and endurance. Though his conscience remains intact enough to compel him to do the right thing, there are still those rare times when the mask slips, he stops laughing and the real Urien comes to surface- A pragmatic, cold-blooded, ruthlessly efficient killing-machine powered by rage and driven by a nightmarishly strong force of will.
And that Urien is absolutely terrifying.
Greatest Love: A warm fire, a strong drink and some good company. There's also a specific kind of drink he enjoys; an extraordinarily potent cream liquor served hot to drive away the cold and thoughts of being murdered by Snow Elves or eaten alive by giant monsters. It also tastes like white chocolate.
He has the means to brew this Colonial moonshine, but not the motivation- It's not something you traditionally drink alone.
Motivation: Currently lacking any real direction in life, Uri is motivated by his basic needs... Wherein he needs money to eat and needs to work to make money. Ergo, though he's not exactly ruled by avarice, getting paid must be his primary motivation out of sheer necessity.
Fighting Style: A trained commando, Urien fights with versatility, adaptability and pragmaticism; using stealth, surprise and weapons of opportunity as well as his own formidable arsenal and sheer brute force to put his opponent into the ground with brutal, machine-like efficiency. Though it isn't pretty to look at, and more honour-minded individuals might try to call him out on what they'd consider 'cheating', no one can refute that whether hunting from the shadows or fighting head-on, Urien gets the job done.
Bio: Growing up in the Soltice Colonies, Uri had a pretty standard childhood for a kid growing up where he did-
When he was six, his Dad was eaten alive by a giant cow-spider thing.
On his ninth birthday, his Mom was dragged off screaming into the night by Brotherhood raiders.
And at fourteen, a smartly dressed guy in a uniform offered him a free haircut, a gun and all the bullets he could ever need... and all things considered, that was a better deal than anything life had given him up to that point anyway. And so it was that a young Urien, orphaned, penniless and angry, found his true calling in life:
Killing things.
Over the next few years, Urien would make a name for himself in the Colonial Army by producing piles of dead monsters and Elven corpses while forming the persona of the grinning, smartass tough guy he's known as today; an unknowing coping-mechanism on his part to hide how the carnage and unrelenting horror he threw himself headlong into day and night had bent and warped his psyche to the point where the only thing holding his sanity together was the raw hatred he had for the things he killed and the sheer force of his will. He continued on this way for a decade, earning medals, accolades and some small measure of fame in the Colonies for his deeds until one day his commanding officer took a Brotherhood knife across his throat and was replaced by some wealthy sociopath from the Sovreignty who had bought their way into a position of command in the consistantly underfunded Colonial forces. Though the details are somewhat sketchy, and Uri isn't exactly eager to shed any light on the subject himself, the young man soon found himself discharged, disgraced and thrown into exile.
Restless, directionless and quietly unsure of what to do with himself now, the former Solstice folk-hero has spent the past few months wandering Chalcedony doing working as a mercenary to get by.
And whether it's by some rare fortune, or the poor luck that's chased him his entire life, his wanderings have brought him to Ebb.
Appearance: Standing at a mere 5'6" at first glance, Urien isn't exactly... what you'd expect from someone with his reputation. Closer inspection however would reveal a man that's clearly been through his share of adversity- His body is riddled with scars and covered in dense musculature, strong enough to do what he needs it to without any excess bulk to hinder him from doing it while his face looks like some kind of creature had made a solid go of trying to claw it off at some point and somehow didn't manage to rip out his hazel eyes as it left it's four-digited mark starting at the upper left side and working it's way diagonally downward across his face, being sure to mar to mar the living hell out of everything in it's way. Kind of a shame, really- it almost looks like Urien might've grown into a handsome young man... if he had chosen litterally any career that didn't involve fighting giant monsters on a daily basis.
Still garbing himself in the grey uniform of the Colonial Army (though he's since removed his patches and packed away his heavier winter kit since his exile and move to warmer Chalcedony), Urien wears a bandoleer to hold his ammo that doubles as a holster for his shotgun on the back as well as a belt to which he holsters his pistol on the right, tomahawk on the left and knife across the back with a few more pouches and holders for ammo and any other miscellaneous doodads he might want to pocket in the spaces between. He's also taken to cutting his brown hair short, rolling up his sleeves and wearing a bush cap to keep the sun off his neck, still clearly trying to get used to life in a country that isn't buried in snow all year-round.
Sex: Male
Age: 24
Race: Human
Affinity: Telum
Personality: For a man who's been through all he has, Urien is... surprisingly well adjusted. Friendly (if a little sarcastic), good-hearted, remarkably strong-willed and seemingly devoid of fear (or just plain crazy), the man seemingly never loses his sense of humour even when faced with spectacularly terrible odds and certain death; giving rise to the running joke amongst his former colleagues that, in the three-pronged war on Tourmaline, Urien Talhaiarn was the only one having a good time.
Beneath the guise of the blithe warrior however, is a very disturbed, damaged young man fueled by anger and a raw, visceral hatred that propels him to nigh-superhuman feats of strength and endurance. Though his conscience remains intact enough to compel him to do the right thing, there are still those rare times when the mask slips, he stops laughing and the real Urien comes to surface- A pragmatic, cold-blooded, ruthlessly efficient killing-machine powered by rage and driven by a nightmarishly strong force of will.
And that Urien is absolutely terrifying.
Greatest Love: A warm fire, a strong drink and some good company. There's also a specific kind of drink he enjoys; an extraordinarily potent cream liquor served hot to drive away the cold and thoughts of being murdered by Snow Elves or eaten alive by giant monsters. It also tastes like white chocolate.
He has the means to brew this Colonial moonshine, but not the motivation- It's not something you traditionally drink alone.
Motivation: Currently lacking any real direction in life, Uri is motivated by his basic needs... Wherein he needs money to eat and needs to work to make money. Ergo, though he's not exactly ruled by avarice, getting paid must be his primary motivation out of sheer necessity.
Fighting Style: A trained commando, Urien fights with versatility, adaptability and pragmaticism; using stealth, surprise and weapons of opportunity as well as his own formidable arsenal and sheer brute force to put his opponent into the ground with brutal, machine-like efficiency. Though it isn't pretty to look at, and more honour-minded individuals might try to call him out on what they'd consider 'cheating', no one can refute that whether hunting from the shadows or fighting head-on, Urien gets the job done.
Solstice Colonial Arsenal General-Purpose Runic Weapon Mk. III (GPRW-3) Lever-Action Shotgun:
A favourite amongst Colonial soldiers, foreign mercenaries and pirates alike, and by far the most famous product ever churned out by the SCA or indeed, all of the Colonies for that matter, the GPRW-3 is a beautifully simple, versatile weapon capable of firing both standard-calibre shotgun slugs and buckshot cartridges as well as specialized, rune-inscribed rounds for various magical effects without the fear of jamming or overheating (as was the case with the MK. I) thanks to a built-in dual-action conduit and without the need for bulky attatchments (as was the case of the MK. II) to switch between a wide, short-range cone of fire or a concentrated, long-range bolt thanks to a selector mechanism intergrated into the grip. Having been in service with Colonial forces for just over a decade now (where it earned the infamous nickname: 'Elf-Popper'), and being one of Solstice's chief exports to the outside world to fund their war-effort, the gun has come to be a symbol of Colonial fighting spirit and ingenuity.
...As well as a relatively cost-effective way to make your enemies really dead, really quickly.
Soltice Colonial Arsenal .45 Semi-Automatic Pistol (SCAP-45): Though not nearly as much fun as the GPRW-3, the SCAP-45 (sometimes called 'The Scrapper') is an old favourite in Solstice; cheap, reliable, and simple to use, this weapon can punch a hole through most things on two legs that might want to kill you as well as bring down small-to-moderate sized monsters that might want to eat you during those fun-filled nights on Tourmaline. Less effective on the larger beasties, though. In fact it kinda just pisses them off.
Colonial Survival Knife: A fold-out, footlong blade, a Colonial knife is sharp, heavy enough to chop through bone or wood as need be and, thanks to it's mangalloy-steel construction, incredibly tough and rarely ever loses it's edge. A staple of life in Solstice, an old Arcadian politician once remarked that 'A knife hangs off of every belt in that forsaken place.', and he wasn't actually that far off from the truth. Even if he was a jerk.
Tourmaline Tomahawk: A versatile weapon that has it's origins amongst the ancient tribes of nomadic Snow Elves that roamed the frozen lands of Tourmaline in days long past, this axe is as brutally effective at parrying and attacking in melee as it is a thrown projectile. This particular one though, is... odd... to say the least, especially when carried by a man like Urien: It's not one of the mass-produced copies churned out by the SCA, but an Elven original made of a metal he can't quite identify with a clever twist-mechanism that releases a second blade out the bottom to use in the knuckle of his off-hand if the need arises. It's been in his family for generations and feels... oddly comfortable in his hand, though he has no idea where it came from; whether it was found, stolen by or given to one of his ancestors... or perhaps something that Urien would find deeply unwelcome and profoundly uncomfortable.
...That there might just be some Snow Elf in his blood.
A favourite amongst Colonial soldiers, foreign mercenaries and pirates alike, and by far the most famous product ever churned out by the SCA or indeed, all of the Colonies for that matter, the GPRW-3 is a beautifully simple, versatile weapon capable of firing both standard-calibre shotgun slugs and buckshot cartridges as well as specialized, rune-inscribed rounds for various magical effects without the fear of jamming or overheating (as was the case with the MK. I) thanks to a built-in dual-action conduit and without the need for bulky attatchments (as was the case of the MK. II) to switch between a wide, short-range cone of fire or a concentrated, long-range bolt thanks to a selector mechanism intergrated into the grip. Having been in service with Colonial forces for just over a decade now (where it earned the infamous nickname: 'Elf-Popper'), and being one of Solstice's chief exports to the outside world to fund their war-effort, the gun has come to be a symbol of Colonial fighting spirit and ingenuity.
...As well as a relatively cost-effective way to make your enemies really dead, really quickly.
Soltice Colonial Arsenal .45 Semi-Automatic Pistol (SCAP-45): Though not nearly as much fun as the GPRW-3, the SCAP-45 (sometimes called 'The Scrapper') is an old favourite in Solstice; cheap, reliable, and simple to use, this weapon can punch a hole through most things on two legs that might want to kill you as well as bring down small-to-moderate sized monsters that might want to eat you during those fun-filled nights on Tourmaline. Less effective on the larger beasties, though. In fact it kinda just pisses them off.
Colonial Survival Knife: A fold-out, footlong blade, a Colonial knife is sharp, heavy enough to chop through bone or wood as need be and, thanks to it's mangalloy-steel construction, incredibly tough and rarely ever loses it's edge. A staple of life in Solstice, an old Arcadian politician once remarked that 'A knife hangs off of every belt in that forsaken place.', and he wasn't actually that far off from the truth. Even if he was a jerk.
Tourmaline Tomahawk: A versatile weapon that has it's origins amongst the ancient tribes of nomadic Snow Elves that roamed the frozen lands of Tourmaline in days long past, this axe is as brutally effective at parrying and attacking in melee as it is a thrown projectile. This particular one though, is... odd... to say the least, especially when carried by a man like Urien: It's not one of the mass-produced copies churned out by the SCA, but an Elven original made of a metal he can't quite identify with a clever twist-mechanism that releases a second blade out the bottom to use in the knuckle of his off-hand if the need arises. It's been in his family for generations and feels... oddly comfortable in his hand, though he has no idea where it came from; whether it was found, stolen by or given to one of his ancestors... or perhaps something that Urien would find deeply unwelcome and profoundly uncomfortable.
...That there might just be some Snow Elf in his blood.
Fermentation Spoon- Conduit- Magically accelerates the fermentation process of whatever it's stirring, usually to make Colonial moonshine. Good for campfires, birthdays.
Bio: Growing up in the Soltice Colonies, Uri had a pretty standard childhood for a kid growing up where he did-
When he was six, his Dad was eaten alive by a giant cow-spider thing.
On his ninth birthday, his Mom was dragged off screaming into the night by Brotherhood raiders.
And at fourteen, a smartly dressed guy in a uniform offered him a free haircut, a gun and all the bullets he could ever need... and all things considered, that was a better deal than anything life had given him up to that point anyway. And so it was that a young Urien, orphaned, penniless and angry, found his true calling in life:
Killing things.
Over the next few years, Urien would make a name for himself in the Colonial Army by producing piles of dead monsters and Elven corpses while forming the persona of the grinning, smartass tough guy he's known as today; an unknowing coping-mechanism on his part to hide how the carnage and unrelenting horror he threw himself headlong into day and night had bent and warped his psyche to the point where the only thing holding his sanity together was the raw hatred he had for the things he killed and the sheer force of his will. He continued on this way for a decade, earning medals, accolades and some small measure of fame in the Colonies for his deeds until one day his commanding officer took a Brotherhood knife across his throat and was replaced by some wealthy sociopath from the Sovreignty who had bought their way into a position of command in the consistantly underfunded Colonial forces. Though the details are somewhat sketchy, and Uri isn't exactly eager to shed any light on the subject himself, the young man soon found himself discharged, disgraced and thrown into exile.
Restless, directionless and quietly unsure of what to do with himself now, the former Solstice folk-hero has spent the past few months wandering Chalcedony doing working as a mercenary to get by.
And whether it's by some rare fortune, or the poor luck that's chased him his entire life, his wanderings have brought him to Ebb.
Appearance: Standing at a mere 5'6" at first glance, Urien isn't exactly... what you'd expect from someone with his reputation. Closer inspection however would reveal a man that's clearly been through his share of adversity- His body is riddled with scars and covered in dense musculature, strong enough to do what he needs it to without any excess bulk to hinder him from doing it while his face looks like some kind of creature had made a solid go of trying to claw it off at some point and somehow didn't manage to rip out his hazel eyes as it left it's four-digited mark starting at the upper left side and working it's way diagonally downward across his face, being sure to mar to mar the living hell out of everything in it's way. Kind of a shame, really- it almost looks like Urien might've grown into a handsome young man... if he had chosen litterally any career that didn't involve fighting giant monsters on a daily basis.
Still garbing himself in the grey uniform of the Colonial Army (though he's since removed his patches and packed away his heavier winter kit since his exile and move to warmer Chalcedony), Urien wears a bandoleer to hold his ammo that doubles as a holster for his shotgun on the back as well as a belt to which he holsters his pistol on the right, tomahawk on the left and knife across the back with a few more pouches and holders for ammo and any other miscellaneous doodads he might want to pocket in the spaces between. He's also taken to cutting his brown hair short, rolling up his sleeves and wearing a bush cap to keep the sun off his neck, still clearly trying to get used to life in a country that isn't buried in snow all year-round.