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A walking disaster
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Guardian Angel Haruki
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In
The Relics (No Plot/Fantasy/Character Driven/Worthy of Skepticism)
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12 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
Post is done. I still need to practice my fighting scenes.
In
The Relics (No Plot/Fantasy/Character Driven/Worthy of Skepticism)
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12 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
After the inital shock of getting water thrown at him and being yelled to at the same time, Typhus scowled and grunted at the man in front of him. Refusing to take off his helmet, Typhus instead put his hand on the hilt of his sword before talking, an act that wasn't unnoticed by the holy knights behind him. Speaking in a quiet but gravely voice, Typhus said "I don't see the issue here inquisitor. From the looks of the now empty bounty board and the sack of coins I have in my possession, I'd say I did this miserable city a favor. Besides, it's not like I've been trying to convert others from your weak god."
Seeing the look of flustered rage radiating from the inquisitor made the inevitable fight worth it and hey, maybe he will be a worthy battle. Giving a hidden smirk, Typhus said with unhidden malice, "I say it how it is Inquisitor, if your god accepts these weak willed fools than he isn't worth taking people from him. Besides, only cunts build churches." With the last insult put onto the heritical cake, the inquisitor drew his sword to strike down Typhus.
However, quicker than one could dream of a man of his size doing, Typhus rocketed his fist forwards and collided with the inquisitors face. Causing a fountain of blood to spray from his nose as it shattered under the force, with a smirk Typhus saw teeth fly out as well. Before the holy knights could react, Typhus threw his the massive weight of his shield into the body of a knight as he withdrew he sword. With a thump of power, blue energy exploded from the surface of the blade once it connected with the knight and with a satisfying shower of gore the knight was left as a pile of scrap and viscera. Continuing with his ram, Typhus pushed the knight pinned between his shield and the wall until the spikes pushed through the armor, bringing unpleasant death upon the holy man. Admiring his work, he was rocked out of it as a heavy sword met with his shoulder. Giving a grunt, Typhus twisted his body and turned to face the now unarmed knight as his weapon caught the large horns of his armor and flung from his hands. With a single strike it was over.
Soon after the final knight was struck down, the inquisitor regained his bearings. He tried spouting religious nonsense but a flood of blood and teeth fragments stopped him. Giving a dark chuckle, Typhus said "Come Inquisitor, how can you make me face justice if you can't fight. I'll even make it easier for you." Dropping his shield, Typhus grasped his sword with one hand and said "Now fight little man. Lets see your god protect you now." as he finished his sentence, Typhus brought his sword down over the inquisitor's head. With a block the inquisitor began to go on the offensive. Swing, slash, stab, swing, slash, stab. The pattern went on and on, it was getting boring. With an effortless block, Typhus shoved the blade out of his way before giving the inquisitor another punch albeit weaker than the first. This little dance continued for about five minutes before the inquisitor broke under his own weight.
With a disappointed sigh, Typhus said "I was hoping more from you, you know. I was hoping that you would bake up your claims and make me face the wrath of your god. However I let my hopes go to high. Tell you god that Typhus sent you their when you see him." With that, Typhus plunged his sword into the inquisitor's chest and watched as the life drained from his eyes.
Frelseren marched along with the others as he brooded. This day had been one fraught with tragedy, grief, and somehow also happiness. He could not deny he preferred "Frelseren" over "9", however he couldn't shake what had happened to his family so easily off his shoulders. One day he will know what happened, perhaps when he finishes this metamorphosis? No matter, battle was on the horizon and Frelseren was aching for blood. Not literally, it wasn't like he was a Feaster, but with no kin to protect his warrior instincts replaced his guardian ones. As he moved along, he took stock of the "beast" that the antlered one had taken. In all honesty he would make a better mount than it, plus it was mean. A fact he learned shortly after moving along with it when it snapped at him with those teeth of its. Giving it a nasty hiss in return, Frelseren backed off a tad but still kept close to the antlered one in case things got hairy. Pointy eared ones made him angry.
As the group got closer, this belief was reinforced when they came upon the army of pointy eared ones. It took a great amount of willpower to suppress his urges to lung at the one that seemed to be the leader as his air of arrogance permeated and invaded his lungs as he breathed in his horrid scent. As talk turned to insults, Frelseren could only seethe while words were said then rebuked from the pointy eared ones high horse. Frelseren was thankful when they left his presence, his patience for his attitude sprained to its limits. The march back was as somber as the first and it did nothing to cheer up his mood. Taking deep breaths, Frelseren willed himself to calm himself for the coming storm. Now was not the time for blood, that would come later.
When the group came back to the ruins, Frelseren stood over the others as they collected and talked of what to do next. The antlered one spoke of interrogation, something that Frelseren could do. The angry man brought out a mad at the behest of Mundhir and they talked of what the happy man should do. As they finished, Frelseren sent out a message to the others, "If you are in need of an interrogator, than you have found one." Flicking his feelers out of his hands, Frelseren continued "I have ways of making it painful."
As the group got closer, this belief was reinforced when they came upon the army of pointy eared ones. It took a great amount of willpower to suppress his urges to lung at the one that seemed to be the leader as his air of arrogance permeated and invaded his lungs as he breathed in his horrid scent. As talk turned to insults, Frelseren could only seethe while words were said then rebuked from the pointy eared ones high horse. Frelseren was thankful when they left his presence, his patience for his attitude sprained to its limits. The march back was as somber as the first and it did nothing to cheer up his mood. Taking deep breaths, Frelseren willed himself to calm himself for the coming storm. Now was not the time for blood, that would come later.
When the group came back to the ruins, Frelseren stood over the others as they collected and talked of what to do next. The antlered one spoke of interrogation, something that Frelseren could do. The angry man brought out a mad at the behest of Mundhir and they talked of what the happy man should do. As they finished, Frelseren sent out a message to the others, "If you are in need of an interrogator, than you have found one." Flicking his feelers out of his hands, Frelseren continued "I have ways of making it painful."
In
The Relics (No Plot/Fantasy/Character Driven/Worthy of Skepticism)
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12 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
Oh god, sorry I haven't posted in awhile. Once I finish with the post I'm working on now I will make one here. A thousand apologies.
Makin a post.
Pffft.
Ok, I was just going to go with generic north tribesman but here goes nothing. Keep in mind, all of this I am making up.
Located on the small patch of viable land in the north, there is little known of the Northern Tribes. For the most part they are very isolationist with little to no contact with the outside world. However that doesn't mean that they are all savage, primitive people. While that is true for the majority of the smaller tribes, the four biggest ones are on par with many cities.
The home of Angron, Khorne. The tribe is the farthest to the north, laying inside a great glacier. How the Bronze City came to be is a mystery lost to time as none within its halls care for such trivial matters. The people of Khorne are warriors, raiders, and soldiers renowned for their great strength and size. With the average male being 6'3. However living inside the ice does not bode well for agriculture and as such much of the food is taken from the tribes of the south.
Their god, Kharn, is a god of blood, skulls, and honorable combat. When a warriors dies in the fires of battle, than his soul is taken to the Halls of Kharn where he will feast, tell tales of battle, and fight in the Ash Pits with his fellow warriors. Holy symbols are Axes, blood, and bronze.
Many would assume that tribes of the north are stupid, wild beings that are not worth much attention. However, many are surprised to find that they are capable of making wonderous and often time deadly creations. Like the Maze of Tzeentch, the Plague Forests of Nurgle, the Palace of Pleasure dedicated to the pleasure god Fulgrim, or even the Bronze City. When the North men put their minds to something, there is very few beings that can stop them. Thankfully they seem content to fight each other in petty wars.
Located on the small patch of viable land in the north, there is little known of the Northern Tribes. For the most part they are very isolationist with little to no contact with the outside world. However that doesn't mean that they are all savage, primitive people. While that is true for the majority of the smaller tribes, the four biggest ones are on par with many cities.
The home of Angron, Khorne. The tribe is the farthest to the north, laying inside a great glacier. How the Bronze City came to be is a mystery lost to time as none within its halls care for such trivial matters. The people of Khorne are warriors, raiders, and soldiers renowned for their great strength and size. With the average male being 6'3. However living inside the ice does not bode well for agriculture and as such much of the food is taken from the tribes of the south.
Their god, Kharn, is a god of blood, skulls, and honorable combat. When a warriors dies in the fires of battle, than his soul is taken to the Halls of Kharn where he will feast, tell tales of battle, and fight in the Ash Pits with his fellow warriors. Holy symbols are Axes, blood, and bronze.
Many would assume that tribes of the north are stupid, wild beings that are not worth much attention. However, many are surprised to find that they are capable of making wonderous and often time deadly creations. Like the Maze of Tzeentch, the Plague Forests of Nurgle, the Palace of Pleasure dedicated to the pleasure god Fulgrim, or even the Bronze City. When the North men put their minds to something, there is very few beings that can stop them. Thankfully they seem content to fight each other in petty wars.
Hope you guys like him.
Appearance:
Standing at a hefty 6'6, Angron dominates most others in height and not only that he is built like a brick house. His eyes are an amber color while his hair would be a light brown if he didn't shave it. Due to his life of battle, Angron is covered in scars, big and small. The most proud one would be the massive claw mark that goes down across his chest.
Name: Angron
Race: Human
Color: Sanguine
Gender: Male
Age: 25
Weapon(s):
Gorechild: This weapon has been remade several times throughout Angron's family history. Starting out as a humble axe, it is now an engine of destruction in its own right as it not only hacks and slashes through the hardest of materials but activating the teeth on the blade transforms the axe into a handheld chainsaw perfect for tearing flesh and splintering bone.
Hail Fire: An extremely large pistol. Switches between semi to full automatic fire with the flip of a switch and is capable of tearing concrete apart under its powerful bullets. When a situation calls for it, he will switch to "Warpfire" rounds. Incendiary rounds that function much like thermite when they connect with a solid surface.
Semblance: Rage.
Causes Angron to become a demon on the battlefield. Able to heavily dent armor with his fists, dominate others in fear, and shrug off mortal wounds at the cost of sane thought. Instead of the loud and collected warrior that he usually is, Angron is replaced by reckless battle. Fairly easy to manipulate.
History: A warrior from the far north, Angron doesn't have much history. Since he could hold a weapon he has been fighting. For life, for food, for respect, conflict is the center of his life and the life's of his tribesman. However they are now dead, Angron is the last of the World Eater tribe of warriors. This doesn't effect Angron as much as you would expect, they died honorably and as such are now joined with their god in the halls of Kharn, forever drinking and fighting in the Ash Pits.
Angron has come south to seek new experiences and possibly new companions.
Personality: The first into battle and the last to leave, Angron lives for conflict. However this doesn't rule his life. Outside of battle he is a wise, sagely warrior who can often lend his ear to those in need of one. While on the exterior he is a brutish man, he is bound by a code of honor that he lives strictly by and enforces heavily.
1. Do not harm innocents or noncombatants.
2. Only take the skulls of worthy kills.
3. Do not spill blood without reason.
4. Never desecrate the honor of a woman.
5. Abide by the laws of hospitality.
Those that are found to break or disregard them entirely are highly disliked and are exempt from rule number 1.
Extra Information:
Has no ill feelings towards Faunus, in fact he finds them extremely amusing to be around.
Has several human skulls as trophies, unnerving to most.
Password: Red Like Roses
Standing at a hefty 6'6, Angron dominates most others in height and not only that he is built like a brick house. His eyes are an amber color while his hair would be a light brown if he didn't shave it. Due to his life of battle, Angron is covered in scars, big and small. The most proud one would be the massive claw mark that goes down across his chest.
Name: Angron
Race: Human
Color: Sanguine
Gender: Male
Age: 25
Weapon(s):
Gorechild: This weapon has been remade several times throughout Angron's family history. Starting out as a humble axe, it is now an engine of destruction in its own right as it not only hacks and slashes through the hardest of materials but activating the teeth on the blade transforms the axe into a handheld chainsaw perfect for tearing flesh and splintering bone.
Hail Fire: An extremely large pistol. Switches between semi to full automatic fire with the flip of a switch and is capable of tearing concrete apart under its powerful bullets. When a situation calls for it, he will switch to "Warpfire" rounds. Incendiary rounds that function much like thermite when they connect with a solid surface.
Semblance: Rage.
Causes Angron to become a demon on the battlefield. Able to heavily dent armor with his fists, dominate others in fear, and shrug off mortal wounds at the cost of sane thought. Instead of the loud and collected warrior that he usually is, Angron is replaced by reckless battle. Fairly easy to manipulate.
History: A warrior from the far north, Angron doesn't have much history. Since he could hold a weapon he has been fighting. For life, for food, for respect, conflict is the center of his life and the life's of his tribesman. However they are now dead, Angron is the last of the World Eater tribe of warriors. This doesn't effect Angron as much as you would expect, they died honorably and as such are now joined with their god in the halls of Kharn, forever drinking and fighting in the Ash Pits.
Angron has come south to seek new experiences and possibly new companions.
Personality: The first into battle and the last to leave, Angron lives for conflict. However this doesn't rule his life. Outside of battle he is a wise, sagely warrior who can often lend his ear to those in need of one. While on the exterior he is a brutish man, he is bound by a code of honor that he lives strictly by and enforces heavily.
1. Do not harm innocents or noncombatants.
2. Only take the skulls of worthy kills.
3. Do not spill blood without reason.
4. Never desecrate the honor of a woman.
5. Abide by the laws of hospitality.
Those that are found to break or disregard them entirely are highly disliked and are exempt from rule number 1.
Extra Information:
Has no ill feelings towards Faunus, in fact he finds them extremely amusing to be around.
Has several human skulls as trophies, unnerving to most.
Password: Red Like Roses
I have a character in the works.
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