SonofJET

Here Be Dragons - How to Train Your Dragon Roleplay

Trygir was relaxing against Orm's side, close to nodding off for a pleasant afternoon nap, when the serpentine dragon perked up quite suddenly, accidentally buffeting the boy with his huge feathered wings. The result, as seemed typical when they were out on the family fishing boat, was Trygir being knocked into a somersault over the side of the boat.

The frigid water doing wonders for his alertness, Trygir broke the surface with a surprised gasp and quickly clambered back onto the boat, where he lay shivering, paying no heed to the chum that slicked the deck.

"Why?!" He exclaimed through clenched teeth.

Orm offered an apologetic look and a mournful coo, before springing from his coiled position, quickly taking wing and leaving a very confused fisherman to his cold drippings on the boat.

"I've got to get a bigger boat if Orm is going to keep doing that..." He muttered, stripping his waterlogged clothes from his body and reaching for a length of linen he kept handy for drying.

The couatl, Orm, was roughly fifteen feet long, from nose to tail, and had a wingspan to match. Trygir had initially though it to be a leviathan, a mythical sea serpent that would lay waste to any ships in its path before moving to attack the shore. However, a few things set it apart from the fabled terror of the deep.

First were Orm's wings. They were mostly a sandy brown color, darkening into a rich amber towards the tips of his trailing feathers. They were by no means waterproof, like most seabirds. The first time he had tried to take Orm for a swim, the serpent was unable to fly for hours, heavy as his wings had become. The dragon was adept at swimming, yes, but would not be capable of immediate transitions back to the air.

Second was the size. Trygir thought that it might have been a baby leviathan at first, but the legends spoke of only one horror, and never measuring less than thousands of feet.

Finally, Orm was far too friendly to be any sort of monster. At least to Trygir, it seemed. Yes, the serpent would flatten his head and hiss at larger ships that overtook them unexpectedly, but the fisherman got the idea that this was more protective than anything.

As Trygir contemplated building a larger ship, Orm glided by, offering a sort of happy scrunching of the snout as he chewed on what seemed to be a seagull, completely derailing the boys train of thought.

"Maybe I should worry about a better source of food for Orm, as well..." He muttered, watching as his dragon glided seamlessly into a slither over the roof of his home, where he settled down to enjoy his meal.

Young Justice 2020 iCheck

I'll just leave this here... :|

Frostburn

Name - Hákon Kala

Alias - "Frostburn"

Age - 17

Sponsor - Ice

Personality - Perhaps unexpectedly, considering his abilities, Hákon is typically warm and friendly by default, figuring that an amicable attitude can do wonders when trying to de-escalate a potentially volatile situation. However, as he is human, his attitude is subject to change under varying circumstances.

Powers - Cryogenesis and Cryokinesis.

Weaknesses - Typical human squishiness. When not protected by allies or whatever defenses he has erected, Hákon isn't much physically tougher than an average man.

BRIEF Bio - Born in Norway, as a member of Tora Olafsdotter's tribe, Hákon was brought up in an almost monastic fashion, since his powers were seen as potentially dangerous. However, not one to be forced into something, Hákon began to rebel against his instructors.

When he was thirteen, he ran away from home, and began to train himself to use his abilities, seeking out knowledge from scientific sources as well as from nature.

By the time he was fifteen, he had started to get himself into trouble, solving most of his problems with his powers, which wasn't always the most "heroic" path he could have taken.

After he became suspected in a series of suspicious bank robberies, he was found by Tora, going by the name of Ice, and given an ultimatum. Change his ways and walk the straight path, or get locked away for his crimes.

Needless to say, he chose the former.

Notes - Hákon doesn't favor large, flashy, impressive displays of power, knowing full well what low enough temperatures are capable of. One of his main difficulties, as a matter of fact, is in restraining himself from using some of his more subtle, yet devastating applications of power.

Star Wars - Jedi Exile.

"It is," Alaric said, stepping forward and nodding to the girl humbly. "And you are Erin, and you are Jerek, correct? I apologize for interrupting, but I had hoped to check on Master Vor'loch."

Continuing his movement into the room, Alaric looked the noghri up and down, finding him to be in much better condition than most men would be, if they were to suffer from similar injuries. All things considered, the man looked good. The tank was clearly doing its job.

"I won't lie to you, Master Vor'loch..." He continued, checking on the recovering Jedi from every available angle. "Even if you hadn't been hit with that shrapnel, I wouldn't have expected you to survive the flight from the temple. Your injuries clearly defined your level of triage, and a more... objective medic wouldn't have bothered removing the shrapnel at all."

Alaric continued to pace about the ward, avoiding eye contact as much as possible. He didn't want to see the almost inevitable expressions of disgust or horror coming from his fellow padawans. But he needed to get the confession over with.

"You may very well owe Jerek your life, Master. I must admit that it was only a desire to avoid the weight of another grieving child on my conscience that I treated you so thoroughly. Please understand that I am not without empathy, but I wanted you to know how close you were to death. I hope that you hold that knowledge with you, so that you may better appreciate the life you have left."

The feeorin Jedi finally made eye contact with Vor'loch, and he offered an uncharacteristic smile, worn as it may have looked.

"Call it a silver lining. Nothing quite like a near-death-experience to give one a better appreciation for each day that follows."

Star Wars - Jedi Exile.

Post, aye, Captain.

Edit: Post completed. :)

Here be Dragons - How to Train Your Dragon Interest Check

Sounds cool. I usually get carried away when I make D&D characters, and end up writing a big backstory that never has a reason to be brought up in game. :(

Mass Effect: Exorcism (Heroquest 2E)

Seems logical, Captain. I'll be here.

Here be Dragons - How to Train Your Dragon Interest Check

Posted. Based on http://www.dandwiki.com/wiki/SRD:Couatl, but obviously without the crazy magic powers. :P

Here Be Dragons - How to Train Your Dragon Character Sheets

Name: Trygir
Age: 16
Gender: Male
Height: 5'9"
Weight: 150 lbs.
Description:

Trygir

Defining marks: N/A
Personality: Kind and carefree, but a bit too fond of scuffles, Trygir is a fisher and whaler by trade, and often sings shanties and leads in chants when he sails. He is slow to anger, but quick to tease, often resulting in situations becoming more heated than necessary.
Bio: Born to a pair of fishmongers, Trygir wishes to become a great viking one day, but he has always felt a sense of piety towards his parents, and wants to make sure that they are taken care of before getting out of the fishing business. Trygir met Orm whilst drawing back a fishing net one day, and quickly jumped overboard with the fear that the serpentine dragon was hungry. After running out of breath, the boy resurfaced to find that the dragon was indeed hungry, but was perfectly content to help himself to a few fish and watch the now waterlogged boy curiously. The dragon did not feel like leaving the boat, and Trygir eventually worked around him to row the ship back to the dock.

Dragon's Name: Orm
Breed: Couatl
Classification: Dangerous If Provoked
Description:

Orm

Personality: Friendly to familiar faces, but slightly territorial, Orm is fond of sunbathing, having his scales scrubbed, and listening to music. He is highly intelligent, and will pick up on nonverbal communication after seeing results (head nods and shakes meaning yes and no, for example), and mimic them when needed.

The White Island Prophecies

Here you go. I wasn't sure if you were going for "snooty noble" or "eater of humble pie" for this character, so I opted for the second one.

Soldier Post

The midday sun warmed his back, calming his nerves as he squared off with his opponent, and it lent an almost otherworldly glow to the training grounds. The grass transitioned abruptly from a vibrant, healthy green into a dry, flattened yellow ring, before giving way entirely to a worn dirt circle. The clear blue sky gave a view of a castle in the distance, and a bit of smoke coming from the fires of that castle's hold. There were a few trees growing near the clearing, providing shade in the evenings.

Countless multitudes of Balenian soldiers had spent time in this dirt circle. Circling each other, darting forward and back, repeating the steps of combat in its many forms until routine became reflex, and instruction became instinct. He was no different, although he had been blessed with a dexterity that had quickly attracted the attention of his instructors and peers.

"Old Dorje's son, Tashi," they could sometimes be heard whispering, "flows like the breeze around the strikes of his opponents. Surely, he will follow in his father's footsteps, and make a great soldier."

As warm as those statements made him feel, the boy knew better than to let that pride get the better of him. His early life, spent serving as a squire, had taught him humility, and the benefit of silence in lieu of arrogance.

Now, Tashi's breath came evenly, controlled in such a way as to create a rhythm. Specifically, he was panting lightly in time with one of his favorite marching cadences. He had found that it helped him to focus, and maintain his breath long after he would otherwise fall victim to exhaustion.

His sparring partner, an older soldier by the name of Jeroen, had not taken so much as a scratch for all of the blows they had exchanged. Tashi, on the other hand, seemed to be on a record losing streak. No fewer than twelve points of contact had been made. Were it not for the fact that they wielded wooden swords, Tashi would have been killed by most of them. As it was, he was certain to be sporting numerous welts and bruises the following day.

I certainly wouldn't refuse my armor right about now... He thought, frowning and doing his best to ignore the pain. The padded cotton tunic and leggings he was wearing hardly helped to lessen the deep sting of each strike.

"Again, Tashi." Jeroen called, flourishing his weapon casually.

This elicited a grimace from the young soldier, who usually tried to keep his opponent in the dark as to when he might attack. Honor and chivalry in combat were all well and good, but there was no honor in broadcasting an attack, so that an enemy of the crown might put a blade through one's heart.

But, since it seemed that Jeroen would be prepared regardless of when he struck...

Tashi wouldn't strike. At least not in the way the old soldier expected.

Feinting to the left, Tashi was able to successfully bluff his way into Jeroen's blind spot by suddenly pivoting on his heel and rushing to his off-hand side.

If Jeroen was surprised, he didn't show it. Tashi was able to score a glancing blow across the older man's lower back, but it was avenged by a swift chop to the back of the head from Jeroen's gauntlet-clad hand.

His vision exploded into darkness, punctuated by stars that popped in and out of his sight, and he was sent sprawling forward, where he was more intimately acquainted with the ancient dirt training circle. His mouth filled with the taste of blood, and he gritted his teeth in an attempt to hold back tears of pain.

"Speed is a great asset, to be sure." Jeroen said, looking down at Tashi with just a bit of compassion. "But the day might come when you meet an enemy who is faster, or better armored. And that is why I am beating you today. I want you to learn to not only strike with speed and precision, but also with power enough to drive a man to the ground."

Tashi growled from the back of his throat, rising on shaking knees to face Jeroen again. He spat blood into the dirt, glared at the older soldier, and brought his sword above his head, pointing it to the sky and holding the hilt with both hands.

"Come then," He said, his eyes focusing less on detail, but remaining alert for movement, "let us see if I possess that power."

And for just a moment, with the sun at his back, Tashi seemed to glow, from his lightly sun-browned skin and his short golden hair, to his soft leather boots and the battered wooden sword he held aloft. Jeroen smiled at this, then charged Tashi, continuing the lesson with a bark of a battle-cry.

Okay, so maybe a little of both. ;)

The White Island Prophecies

Hello! I am very interested in filling the role of the soldier.

I'm on the road right now, but I'm almost home, where I will plunk myself down upon my finely upholstered throne (couch) and create an application post. :D