[hider=Anima Mundi Character Sheet] [center][h3]Basic Information[/h3][/center] [b][color=orange]Anima Mundi Name:[/color][/b] Goram Trollbasher [b][color=orange]Earth name:[/color][/b] Goran Trutti [b][color=orange]Age:[/color][/b] 147 years [b][color=orange]Race:[/color][/b] Orc [b][color=orange]Gender:[/color][/b] male [b][color=orange]Appearance:[/color][/b] [hider=Don't be scared...][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/018e95fa-a149-4212-806f-42856c7cfc29.jpg[/img][/hider] [hr] [center][h3]Personal Information[/h3][/center] [color=orange]Height:[/color] 7'10" [color=orange]Weight:[/color] 408 lbs. [color=orange]Hair color:[/color] silver white [color=orange]Eye color:[/color] steely grey [color=orange]Skin color: [/color]ashen grey [color=orange]Description: [/color] 147 years old?! As you look at the hulking giant, you wouldn’t believe it. Goram Trollbasher looks like a big silverback gorilla in the prime of his life. It took some powerful shamans to keep his body and mind up to speed. Goran has a way of convincing anybody to do his bidding. Usually a menacing growl does the trick. If not, then a solid thump on a skull wipes away any doubts on how wise compliance would be. Trollbasher is a big hunk of muscle. He easily towers over most creatures on Anima Mundi and Earth. His rugged skin is decorated with faded and new scars and tattoos. All of them testimonials to scuffs, fights and full on battles. One glance at this body and you just know you’re watching a seasoned veteran. You can also see it in the confidence of his stride. Above sharp tusks - one broken to a jagged dagger - steely eyes survey their surroundings ever ready to react to any threat. Goram’s whole body looks like it is barely holding back the aggressive energy penned up inside. It feels like one false move may cause the Orc to explode into action. And you’d probably be right! [b][color=orange]Personality:[/color][/b] Greedy, pompous, cancerous, sweet-tooth. That sums it up nicely. [b][color=orange]Likes:[/color][/b] - Females, preferably chubby and soft - Coins, loads of coins - Warfare, and the spoils which come from it - Sweet pastries - Gambling [b][color=orange]Dislikes:[/color][/b] - Music, being tonedeaf - Flowers - Back stabbing - Losing, he’s a very bad sport - Bees - Climbing [b][color=orange]Fears:[/color][/b] Pah! Goram isn’t afraid of anything! Except for heights, poverty and bees. [b][color=orange]Backstory:[/color][/b] Born to the Orc chieftain of the Trollsheim Orc clan, the Deathwalkers and his proud and greedy partner, Goram's youth was a fine one. When he wanted something, he took it. Nobody dared to deny him his demands, as Brok Bonegnawer's shadow always loomed over the young Orc. Brok didn't want anything to happen to his precious firstborn. Firstly he is the clan leader and secondly Bonegnawer wasn't prepared to face his mate if anything ever happened to their offspring. In his priviliged position as the chieftain in waiting Goram was well dressed, well fed and well trained. It didn't take him long to grow into an impressive Orc warrior, who didn't need his pa's shadow to keep him safe. Now, if he wanted something he still claimed it. One low growl usually convinced his opponent to back down. As time passed, and his father and moterh passed, it was only natural that Goram took over the joint. It quickly turned out that the pampering he'd received in his youth, made him ill-prepared for this new leadership role. Okay, he coulf fight. But diplomacy was far beyond him, as was patience, and some other important qualities needed to lead his tribe. After fiver years of leadership his tribe had been dwindled away by too many defeats, malinvestments and general distrust in Trollbasher's abilities. So, the tribe ganged up on him and threw him out. "And never come back!", they yelled. As a chieftain Goram had receive the blessing of the tribe's shamans. Something his former tribe couldn't rob of him anymore. The Deathwalker shamans had long ago discovered how to prolong life. It took cryptic rites, painful ceremonies and lots of Troll blood and guts to make the magick work. Normal Orcs live to about 50 years old, but with the Deathwalker blessing an Orc can reach up to... well, older. As most Orcs don't die of natural causes the exact prolonged life expectancy of a blessed Orc still is a mysterie. For now, Goram has discovered that reaching the respectable age of 147 - in good health - is a real possibility. [b][color=orange]Motivation:[/color][/b] Goram hires himself out as a mercenary to die filthy rich, surrounded by a harem of at least fifty females, who feed him all the sweets and pastries of the world! [b][color=orange]How much time on Earth?:[/color][/b] Exactly 153 days, 9 hours, 43 minutes and 34 seconds - and counting. [hr] [center][h3]Battle Information[/h3][/center] [b][color=orange]Abilities/Skills:[/color][/b] - Smashing, bashing and other refined fighting styles - More of that - And some more of that [b][color=orange]Strengths:[/color][/b] - Biceps - Calves - Six pack... well Orcish muscles [b][color=orange]Weaknesses:[/color][/b] - Anything shiny, sugar sweet or bashing it's eyelashes at him - Heights - Bees - Gambling debts [b][color=orange]Weapons and Tools:[/color][/b] - A huge broadsword, razor sharp and heavy as hell - A good ol' hunting knife - A solid trollhide shield - A backpack with the regular stuff [hr] [center][h3]Music Themes (Optional)[/h3][/center] [b]"I told ya! I frigging HATE music!"[/b] [/hider] [hider=Earth Character Sheet] [center][h3]Basic Information[/h3][/center] [b][color=orange]Name:[/color][/b] Goran Trutti [b][color=orange]Age:[/color][/b] 67 years [b][color=orange]Race:[/color][/b] kaukasian [b][color=orange]Gender:[/color][/b] male [b][color=orange]Appearance:[/color][/b] [hider=Big picture alert][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/950ead81-2ae3-471f-9322-243fcfdb1a85.jpg[/img][/hider] [hr] [center][h3]Personal Information[/h3][/center] [color=orange]Height:[/color] 5'7" [color=orange]Weight:[/color] 148 Lbs. [color=orange]Hair color:[/color] silver white [color=orange]Eye color:[/color] steely grey [color=orange]Skin color: [/color]ashen grey [color=orange]Description: [/color] 67 years old? As you look at the slumped down, crooked figure, you can believe it right away. Goram looks like a beat down, old drunk who hates his life. He has discovered that age comes with dilapitadation and degeneracy. His joints ache, his back is weak and his mind wanders. As Goram scurries about, people tend to tower over him - "Especially those damned younglings!". Nobody is impressed by the grey, bend down man. A couple of weird tattoos could attract attention, but as they're almost faded away that attention wanes quickly. The old man walks around tentative, unsure of himself and his body. A broken tooth stands out in the man's mouth. It looks festering and painful. The rest of the Goram's face just looks wrinkly and grey. A deep edged road map of a life of hardship. Those steely grey eyes burn with a weird light. Is it despair, self-mockery or madness? [b][color=orange]Personality:[/color][/b] Greedy, pompous, cancerous, sweet-tooth. Don't you know: you can change the packaging but the inside still stinks. [b][color=orange]Likes:[/color][/b] - I frigging hate Earth! Where's my fit warrior body, where are my stashes of gold and where is the frigging way back?!! [b][color=orange]Dislikes:[/color][/b] - Music, being tonedeaf - Flowers - Back stabbing - Losing, he’s a very bad sport - Bees - Climbing - American Idol and other talent shows [b][color=orange]Fears: [/color][/b] - Heights - Poverty - Aging - Bees - Trams - Elephants [b][color=orange]Backstory:[/color][/b] As Goram sat in the run down motel room he thought back on that faithful day. 'How long ago?', he wondered. Sliding his right pants' leg up he counted the marks he made there. One cut for every day in this stinking place. "153...", he concluded. "Has it been so long?" A sigh, sounding much like a bear farthing, exploded from the thin, wrinkly lips. To Goram his days on Earth had been a living hell. Some Gods-awful magick had ripped him from the battle field at Gore peak. One moment he'd been happily caving an opponents skull in with his sword and the next he stood in an alley in - what he now knew to be - New York city. His sword tore him down and his shield kept him there. All air was smashed out of him. Completey disoriented Gorman tried to get up. He couldn't! 'Hell and bone! What's wrong with me? Am I wounded?' As he started to examine his body, his mind went blank. Stubby little fingers fondled an old corpse. 'What...? Where...where is my body?', Goram's mind reeled in panic. That was a sensation he hadn't had before, ever. "What magick did this!", he roared. Well, an Orc's throat would have made it a roar. What came out was a high shriek. With an almost manical giggle Goram tried to stand up. Again the weight of his equipment made his legs buckle. Once more het hit the dirt. "KEEP THE FRIGGIN' NOISE DOWN!", someone yelled into the alley, "Some people are trying to sleep here!" Oh, how Goram wanted to smash that skull in, but he just couldn't find the strength to lift his sword. Somehow the thing was as tall as half the length of his body now. Hoping that this all was a terrible dream, the Orc crawled into a musty, old cellar nearby, and fell in a full out coma. Now, so may days later, Goram knew that he was stranded here. There wasn't much bread in his past profession as a mercenary in this place and time. Not, that he could take it up anyways. He wasn't a strong Orcish brute anymore, he was a sad piece of human debris. Old, worn out and no good for nothing. Somehow he'd miracously scraped together a living. He'd even eaten rats to survive. 'Till this day Goram hadn't come to terms with this new world and his now human body. For a weak old guy there were so many dangers in this world. [hr] [center][h3]Music Themes (Optional)[/h3][/center] [b]"Was I not clear? I really, really, really, frigging HATE music!"[/b] [/hider]