[hider=Þórsteinn Halvardsson] [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/HxY9Idd.png[/img][/center] [b]Name[/b]: Þórsteinn Halvardsson [b]Race/Faction[/b]: Northman [b]Age[/b]: 24 [b]Description[/b]: Þórsteinn (far right) and his brothers: [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/kQn1NGQ.jpg[/img][/center] Þórsteinn is a man of average height for his time, but an unexpected strength lays in him, honed by some years of rowing, hacking and labour. His hair and beard are brown with some red in it, and his eyes grey. He wears his hair tied back in a knot. His most often wears leather boots, dark woolen breeches, a belt, a tunic, a cloak, and his axe. He has tattoos on the back of his neck and his upper chest, crude depictions of sea beasts and a rune sequences dedicated to Ægir and Njǫrðr. His right hand had been burnt "Class": Whaler crewman /Whale hunter/ Hunter/ Fighter for pay as of late [b]History[/b]: Þórsteinn comes from a family that has been in the whaling business for as long as people have hunted them in those parts. He and his brothers inherited their father’s ships two years prior to the story, but their partnership did not last long. Þórsteinnwas soon exiled from the land for killing a man who happened to be Jarl’s nephew with a harpoon. Þórsteinn learned from the other crewmembers that the man wanted to capture him in his sleep and give him to a Muslim chieftain to be his slave in exchange for a well-made saber. Þórsteinn tricked him by pretending to be asleep, and as soon as the man lay his hands on him, he turned over and pierced him through. He was lucky the Jarl considered the youngster a possible future enemy for the title of the ruler, and thanks to this he kept his life, although the Jarl had to maintain an appearance of anger and ended up dealing some sort of justice. Everyone suspected this was the case, but of course everyone kept their mouths shut and let it all slide. So Þórsteinn ended up exiled from the country for a year and a half, and exiled from his hometown forever. Þórsteinn this time in a Slavic tribe to the east until the ban was lifted, but no one knows a lot about his life there. He was apparently a hunter and worked for a local chieftain in exchange for a place to sleep and food, and he also went on expeditions to the east with traders and plunderers. The chieftain apparently grew to like him and praised his skill in fighting, navigating, sailing and raiding other neighbouring places, and for this he gave him many rings, trinkets, furs, and had Þórsteinn's current weapon forged for saving his son’s life, a ‘bastard’ axe, too long and heavy to be a normal one, but not quite long to be a two-handed weapon. Þórsteinn hid all this treasure except for the axe in a location only he knows about. Þórsteinn also claims to have married the chieftain’s daughter thanks to this feat, but she does not appear to be travelling with him, although his plans are to earn money in plunder to start his own whaling business and allow her to move in with him into a decent home because she’s from a richer background. Since he can now return to the country, but not to his home town from which he is banned for life, he seeks work in other towns and ports. [b]Strengths[/b]: Experienced sailor; physically more than capable; navigation; knowledge of foreign herbalism and improvised medicine; understands some foreign languages he learned during his exile. [b]Weakness[/b]: He does not believe in using shields and much armor: more than often he’ll fight just in a tunic or even without it, if a battle breaks suddenly; he’s prone to disregard the opinions of the priests and try to go against their warnings if he thinks he could get away with it; he’s prejudiced against many foreigners after his experience with the Spanish Muslims. [b]What is the most important thing to know about your character[/b]: He has nothing to lose. [b]One paragraph writing example of dialogue or interaction with another character plus a second paragraph writing example of combat. If your character is a non-combatant (i.e. specializes in healing) use whatever specialization that character would have for the second paragraph.[/b] [hider=Dialogue] “Do you see the billows, boy?” Halvard asked his little son, pointing at the fjord. “How they rise and crash on the rocks?” ”Yes, father,” Þórsteinn said, staring at the sea through the hail. The truth was, he could barely see the water, because it was almost as dark as the cliffs it beat upon. “Is this why you and brothers pulled the ships on shore? Because of the storm?” ”Yes, yes, of course!” he answered and pulled his hood back on, this time clutching it with his fingers. “They would have shattered into pieces, the storm is so wild. The most violent one in years, I tell ya.” Thor confirmed these words with a thunder. “What about the people who have no yet returned?” Þórsteinn asked and wiped the damp hair from his forehead. “They are at the waves’ mercy now, I am afraid. Maybe Njǫrðr will spare them, and take them to Nóatún and prepare a feast for them!” But in a way known only to children, Þórsteinn could sense the worry underneath his father’s words, and the sea became a horrible realm in his eyes for the first time. ”Maybe the giants have taken them,” Þórsteinn said. “Nonsense! You speak like your mother now!” Halvard reproached him. “The waves are alive, boy. They are Ægir’s daughters. They are merely crying for the passing of Baldr blessed by all the gods. Their sadness and tears cause the storms and in their misery they toss the ships into the sky, so Óðinn tells us.” The sea certainly seemed swollen to the boy, and in his childish imagination he pictured great sea maids trashing in the depths, weeping for their loss, and, much like he and other kids would when their will was denied, picking up the ships and throwing them furiously away as if they were toys. He longed to switch the subject. “Is it true, papa? About mother.” ”Ha! Her stories about her grandmother?” ”Yes.” ”Who knows...” said Halvard. “We believe stranger things than her story, that’s for sure.” ”So her grandma really was a Valkyrie?” he asked wide-eyed. ”Go inside,” said Halvard. It’s getting cold. He ushered the boy inside and followed him, althought he lingered for a moment, perhaps to say a prayer for the companions he knew would not return with the morning. [/hider] [hider=Combat (in medias res)] Warlord Vsevlad's archers proved to be too larger in number than they expected. It was the first time Þórsteinn's tactic seemed to be shaken and the men around him became confused. They were all on the edge, not knowing whether to fly or maintain formation. The deal was to occupy the archers while the vanguard advanced through the woods on their side unnoticed; but the enemy surprised them with their numbers, because their chief had hired mercenaries from the east whose bow skills were unreal, and Þórsteinn could have sworn he saw some of them shooting from horseback. The volleys were so thick that every time they loosed one an arrow would find its way through the gaps in the shields. "We have to remain where we are!" Þórsteinn commanded. "Just stay where you are, alive or dead! We have to wait for the other group to come from around! Advance slowly in between volleys!" The man to his right screamed as a splinter from the shield stabbed him in the eye. Þórsteinn raised the man's shield with his hand. "Hold the shield up!" But it was late, another volley was on them and the man lay dead in seconds with arrows in his thighs and liver. "Heads down! Shields up!" Their pitiful situation encouraged some of the enemies to try their luck, thinking themselves invincible and sure to win. The fools wanted glory so they charged at the shields under their own arrows. Some fell pierced in the back before they even crossed the stream, while others knocked against the wood with their shoulders and boots, trying to break the formation. "Don't kill them! Push them forward, use them as shields!" But that idea did not come to pass, because the enemy did not care about his own men. They fell dead immediately after the archers let loose another round. Þórsteinn's allies, seeing the fallen men had armor and arms of considerable quality, hoped to disarm the corpses and spoil them once they were close enough. But no sooner they had approached the corpses that the second group sounded their horn and the men began charging from the right. Þórsteinn saw rocks, spears and arrows flying and the enemy's attention turn to the other side. This is when his group began the charge and in no time they were over the stream and on top of the hill mingling with the enemy. Here Þórsteinn slew a dark eyed mercenary just as he was reaching for his knife: he smashed his face with the head of his ax and fell down facing the sky. The lightly armoured band was as laughable in close as it was terrifying from afar. Here Þórsteinn's friend Vladimir threw his lance and it stabbed a richly attired man through the breast, who must have been a noble warrior because many of his comrades surrounded the body and tried to drag him away lest his arms be taken by the enemy and his burial denied. A heated battle began near the dead man, and soon his body was lost among his kinsmen and enemies who lay killed around and above him. etc. etc. [/hider] [/hider]