[hider Fjolte Big Dick]

[centre][img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/573159812259512322/732596064145768538/fjolt.png[/img][/centre]

[center][b][sub]═══════ H I S T O R Y ══════[/sub][/b][/center]
[indent]
I was once a warrior.

A man on a mission for blood like most Nords. Like we’re raised. Was the youngest of my family, with two sisters. Helga and Merna, twins! They have 10 years on me. We were a close family, and although we were each of us warriors, in our homestead closed doors there was only love.

My father Berek was known as a fearsome warrior throughout Rorikstead and the surrounding areas and by 16 we were adventuring together, and I’ll be honest, They were the greatest years of my life… Just me and my father... I think we take for granted moments like those when we’re in them, it’s not until after the fact that we see them for what they were and find the real beauty. 

By that point, Helga and Merna had both married, Helga bore 2 daughters - my nieces! Astrid and Risica! Two beautiful little girls too, as our family grew larger, life grew to be greater. My sister Helga is an amazing cook, often throwing huge feasts for our family which allowed us all to get together and reminisce about the old days and make new memories. I still remember Astrid trying her first ale at 8! Helga’s husband was a hell of a man too, he’d join us on hunts sometimes. 

But Merna… Well her husband was a rake of a man. Dark and gaunt. I don’t know what she saw in him. His name was Venato. I knew straight away he was a coward. I think he had been sickly as a child and just grew up without a spine. None of it made sense to me, anyway he wanted to take our Merna back to Cyrodiil to meet his family. 

And so they left. Never heard from her again, no letters, no updates - nothing. Something wasn’t right. My father travelled to Bruma to find her. We were all so worried - it had been months without a word, and I already explained how close of a unit we were, didn’t I? As it turned out, Merna and Venato were raided by bandits on the way to Bruma and she was kidnapped. That damned coward never told us, never fought for her, nothing - he just fled. 

I… would not stop searching for her. I spent a long time in a bloodthirsty rage looking for her, and only after two years did my search amount to anything… By then it was too late, ripped a hole right through our family. I just. Couldn’t. Rest. I was her brother - sworn to protect her from a young age like I was… I couldn’t give up. Gods, I even blamed the Imperials... I wanted to get back at those pricks. 

Eventually though - I found her, our Merna. She was in the wilds around Dawnstar. I don’t know exactly where, all I know is that she was in trouble and I went through that bandit camp in a berserker’s rage until I met their leader… He was all gnarled with burns, a gruesome individual… I’m ashamed to say it but he tore through me as if I was nothing but a piece of flimsy parchment. I was so angry and reckless. I didn’t know it then, but that’s why I lost. 

As I lay in the snow, sprawled and ready for death, Merna - she gave him a killing blow. Stabbed him in the neck with a dagger. It wasn’t enough though and he instead used his last bit of strength to drop his… He just dropped his axe right through her. The sight still haunts me and I doubt it will ever truly be something I come to terms with.

So there I was, stumbling towards Dawnstar - bleeding out, life fading… That’s when they came to me. The Stormcloaks. I was healed and mended by them, and carried on in life with them… Part of me was left behind in the snow, but something too was born inside. 

Rage.

I trained with them, learned the ways of healing and other magic at their side. Hard and fast I was taught. Hard and fast. They told me I was an asset, and not only that but people feared me. I was in peak physical shape, swinging a hammer into all of my adversaries, spraying blood against snow on a daily basis, and then mending up my companions before their eyes. They hated it. They hated us. They hated me.

After Windhelm we were forced to disband of course. I set aside my teachings, let the magic sit dormant as I found any and every excuse to hurt. But at some point in my empty rage I was found by High Hrothgar and then something just changed. I saw the first step and it was if Kyne whispered to me in the flakes of snow that were lifted from the stone in the wind. I ran. I ran up the steps. I did it everyday after that. I did it every day so that I could reach the peak of that mountain and below out to the sky, to roar out my loneliness, my pain. To hawk it from my chest and set it free. I couldn’t have gone on if I hadn’t discovered those steps. Eventually I caught the attention of a mage in the nearby village. She told me to seek out my truth. I had nothing to lose...

I went soul searching. 

It was in Elsewyr when I stumbled upon a group of travelling Khajiiti Monks, they were masters of the Whispering Fang technique and I was fascinated. I never did figure out why they let me travel with them for so long, let alone why they taught me in the way of Whispering Fang, but they did. I like to think that they just saw a man all alone in this world, carrying a great burden on his lofty shoulders. I don’t have the claws or the tail of a Khajiit, but they taught me all they knew, and for a Nord… Well, to my utmost surprise they said I was a natural at Hand-to-Hand.

They were gentle people, but deadly in combat. They taught me to step softly and gracefully, as well as to fight defensively and swiftly. They had me doing all kinds of things… From front flips, to back flips, to cartwheels, to diving off of cliff faces into cold waters. Sometimes I think I was just a source of entertainment to them, but they taught me a lot. 

I took the principles of the Whispering Fang and I moulded it to what I knew about being a Nord, aligned it to my body - made it mine. I don’t have a name for it, but if I did it would be the Singing Fist, with my secondary stance being the Steel Fist. Not that I’ve thought about it at all or anything.

I started paying attention to everything around me, found faith especially in Kyne. Sky, Air, Wind… You know what it is right? It’s breath, it’s life. It was learning to breathe again that allowed me to exhale all anger and hatred from my body. The cold air of High Hrothgar? It was her grace...

It was her grace that helped me to discover the shadow.

Nothing in the books I read, nothing I had learned prepared me for it. I had to find answers. So began again my training in restoration. Years to practice. To keep it at bay, that shadow. To shrink its size so I could continue on my path.

There was a long time clean and then… Shadows.

I made the decision then to not be bound by the darkness, but to seek out light. I founded a band of misfits and we adventured. Just like I did with my father as a child. We had such a camaraderie. You know, there was Ravar the Altmer mage, Ri’isa the shy and unassuming Khajiit - but if you got a drink down her she was as rowdy as us boys and told the dirtiest jokes! I travelled with an Argonian too, his name was Weeleel and he liked to tell riddles to occupy our minds on the long hikes. I met so many people from every walk of life imaginable. I remember each one.

I think that was my favourite part of it all. It wasn’t scoring the loot, it wasn’t the thrill of a hunt. It was the late nights around a campfire throwing back ales and eating our provisioned food - just talking. The brotherhood of it all. It’s what I’ll come to miss. It’s only a matter of time now. But still deep inside me I am less fearful with each day. Afterall...

Sovngarde sits on the other side.

My sister waits on the other side….
[/indent]


[center][b][sub]══════ A P P E A R A N C E ══════[/sub][/b][/center]

[indent]Standing proud at 6’7”, Fjolte is tall even by Nord standards. He is moderatly well built too, years of keeping himself physically fit has given him a well muscled body, even if it has softened in recent years. He He manages to stay in good shape and healthy by continuing his practice of martial arts and gentle acrobatics as part of a regular morning routine when it does not pain him to do so. He has a typically strong jawline for his race, gifted to him by his father. His eyes are ocean blue and of a thin almond shape. Were it not for his constant calming, disarming smile, they might appear to be intense and overly piercing.

He has bronze brown hair that falls to his shoulder blades and is worn tousled and thrown back, the sides either shaved down and clipped short, or braided and adorned with copper rings and beads of various shades and styles. He keeps his beard trimmed more as subtle stubble under his lower lip to his chin, and over his jawline.

For such a sturdy man, Fjolte has a soft air around him, and a warm, infectious smile that could light up a room. His fun and easy-going personality takes over his appearance at times and he is not in the least bit intimidating. That said, when it comes to matters of the heart - and when it comes to protecting his friends or standing up for his beliefs, then it can all melt away in a second. These times are extremely rare, and it pains him to ever have to get serious enough to have to rely on pure intimidation.

Fjolte chooses to dress casually in light armour at all times. Opting for simple, loose linens and usually sandals or very light boots.
[/indent]

[center][b][sub]═══════ P E R S O N A L I T Y ══════[/sub][/b][/center]

[indent]Upon first impression, one may describe Fjolte as an entertaining, charismatic man who is not one for taking life too seriously. He is naturally extroverted, and finds it natural and easy to communicate with others from all walks of life due to the air of calm he carries around with him. The interest that he has in others is genuine and well-meaning, almost to a fault. He remembers almost everyone he has crossed paths with. He makes the effort to remember everyone he has crossed paths with.

To help people is something he sees as his duty, as someone who values relationships and friendship over most things in life. Part of this of course, makes him occasionally incredibly flirtatious, using his charisma to win him over with members of the opposite sex who intrigue him. This happens less and less in his present life, it hurts him to think about relationships. 

He can be the life and soul of the party while the flame is burning, but when the party is over - the echoes of a deeper side show for he is not without contemplative moments. His eyes without their sparkle are just filled with regret and remorse. Fjolte enjoys his time in alone in nature. He enjoys deep meditation and these pangs of introversion are a more recent development. His age and life circumstances have led him to slow down some. To take time to be alone and reflect, he can get slightly prickled if he is not given this time to himself. 

As extroverted as he is, he knows it’s not his place to be the constant presence in people's lives -- while he takes great efforts to get to know others, he no longer gives away anything of himself, playing up something of a sudden enigmatic and aloof persona when pushed about his life which can be incredibly jarring. He has endless energy and a vivid imagination, which is another quality that has served him well and is another helpful strategy which he leans on to deflect with - making up tall tales. 

It gets tiring, though. It gets tiring to play up to what people want to see. Perhaps there is one true confidant left out there who can break the shell that he has masterfully crafted. He can’t always tell that he isn’t desperate for that...[/indent]


[hider Goals and Regrets]
[center][b][sub]═══════ G O A L  R E G R E T ══════[/sub][/b][/center]
Fjolte’s final goal in life is to go out on a high. To try everything, turn every stone over in Tamriel and see every sight that he can until he can no longer heal his own body and the illness consumes him.

His greatest regret is that he will never be a father. [/hider]

[SUB][b]▼   E Q U I P M E N T[/b][/sub]
[sup]▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
    ► [b]Simple linen rucksack.[/b]
    ► [b]Specialist leather fingerless gauntless enchanted with lightning magic, as well as red hand wraps that are used as a belt when not worn on the hands.[/b]
    ► [b]Various amulets and cultural bracelets from his travels so far.[/b]
    ► [b]A copper prayer bell, incense cones, several pouches of mysterious herbs and a smoking pipe.[/b]
    ► [b]Sprinkles of moonsugar, a dash of sleeping tree sap. Some other “medical” tinctures.[/b]
    
[/sup]

[/hider]