VoiD

Tales of Sythus: Rise of the Shadowlords

I'm rather surprised as well, I thought we'd get perhaps 4-5 posts in a day, at most. I am quite enjoying the pace so far!

Also, it seems I've learned a new word today. Never heard of "Brobdingnagian" before now.

Tales of Sythus: Rise of the Shadowlords

Haljon
Streets of Kathar → Palace of Kathar

"...the Empress has been murdered..."

The words reverberated across Haljon's mind even as his body went numb as stared slack-jawed towards the palace. It was all he could do to remain astride Grendel, his warhorse, as he trotted down the street. Haljon idly took in his surroundings: the expressions of panic, shock, and despair; the marching of the city guard; the shuttering of windows and locking of doors. Clarity took him then, along with a cold sense of certainty. This was the "special event" the letter had spoken of, he was sure of it. Haljon shook his head, objectifying his thoughts as feeling returned to his limbs. He leaned forward in his saddle, taking the reins firmly in his hands as he uttered a sharp cry to urge Grendel forwards. Grendel took off immediately, shifting into a thundering gallop which caused many a passerby to dive out of the way. Haljon took no mind of them, steering Grendel towards the palace even as his mind raced at the implications of the Empress' death.

It was a race now, he realized. A race between his enemies—the forces moving against them mentioned in the letter—and his fellow Followers. To whomever could react decisively first would be the victor of this first battle, one of many in the war Haljon was certain was coming. And it was unlikely any but a few would know it had ever occurred at all. Haljon contemplated whether or not if he was at a disadvantage. It was apparent to him that the majority of the battles he would be fighting from now on would not be fought on the open field as he was accustomed. No, his struggles—their struggles, he had allies now—would be fought in secret.

Bells began tolling suddenly, tearing Haljon away from his thoughts. He and Grendel were nearly at the Palace now, travelling uphill through the wealthier districts. Evidence of the celebrations were strewn across manor and street alike, though the celebrators were nowhere in sight. All shut inside their homes, He thought. Waiting for the curfew to end. Haljon noticed a patrol of guards further up the street, and one shouted out at him and raised a crossbow to his shoulder, but his comrade pushed it back down. Haljon guessed that they had orders not to fire on anyone approaching the palace. He wondered if any of them knew the reason behind those orders. Probably not.

He slowed Grendel as they approached the palace gates, patting him affectionately on the neck and murmuring words of thanks in his ears. His steed panted in response. Haljon spotted a guardsman peering down at him from atop the gate, and so Haljon called out to him. "Ho, guardsman! I was told to announce myself here, and that I would be taken to the Throne Room. My name is Haljon, mayhaps that would help you verify my story." He waited patiently for a response, but one never came. The gates opened, and a different guardsman saluted Haljon, telling him to leave his steed behind and follow him. He nodded as he dismounted, and handed off Grendel's reins before following the guard.

I hope I know what I've gotten myself into to... He thought, as they entered the palace.

Tales of Sythus: Rise of the Shadowlords

Posted.

TSA CS storage.

Haljon Perar

Name:
Haljon Perar
Nicknames :
Haljon "the Tall", Haljon "the Fist"
Gender :
Male
Age and birthday :
24, Spring of 1278
Origin :
He is of lower nobility, born into the House of Perar.
Length and build :
Haljon stands at just under 7ft. He has broad shoulders and a stocky build.
Weight :
325 lbs.
Sexuality :
Heterosexual.

---

Appearances :

---

Occupation :
Knight in service of House Perar, therefore House Rynir as well.

Favorite phrase/saying :
"A worthy foe is a rare thing. Relish them when found."

Favorite Food :
Meat and ale.

Favorite Weather and Season :
Spring because the weather is temperate. Cool, but not cold, weather is what Haljon favors.

Patron God/Goddess :
Rolor, as Haljon lives for the thrill of combat and a worthy foe.

---

Personality :
Haljon is an affable, boisterous character whose mood is rarely darkened. Out of battle he favors light jests and humor, though when in battle or nearing it he switches to dark humor. He is rarely grim, and makes for a hearty companion, one whose loyalty you need not question. Haljon lives for the thrill of combat, especially with whom he deems a worthy foe; which is a rare thing.

History :
Haljon was born into House Perar, his father a man-at-arms and his mother of low-nobility. From a young age, Haljon had a keen interest in martial pursuits, and could often be found sparring in the courtyard or against other boys, including commoners (though this detail was much frowned upon by his mother). His father began teaching him swordplay at age seven, and while he mainly focused on these lessons, he also managed to learn to read and write, though his penmanship is horrid and his reading laughably slow. Haljon learned basic manners and some arithmetic, though he was never good at either. However, Haljon proved to have a keen eye for strategy and tactics, and he adored military history.
Haljon was formerly taken into his father's tutelage at age fourteen. By this time Haljon was the size of a full-grown man, and his growth showed no signs of slowing. By sixteen he would be taller than his father, who was considered a fairly large man, and by eighteen he would reach his full height of nearly seven feet tall. Along with his enormous size came a tremendous strength, and he was often compared to an ox in that respect. Haljon also proved to be a more than competent swordsman, and one with a surprising amount of speed and agility. Coupled with both a weight and reach advantage, he proved to be quite the formidable foe after he was formally knighted in his twenty-first year. Since then he has been serving House Perar, and thus House Rynir, loyally, dreaming of great adventures and battles to be partake in.

Theme song :
Kickstart My Heart

---

Clothing and/or armor :
Haljon wears a heavy mail hauberk atop a reinforced gambeson. His gloves are made of hard-boiled leather and tipped with metal studs on the knuckles. He also wears a mail coif and hard-boiled leather breeches.

Tools and weapons :
=======
Name :
Limbcleaver
Description :
Limbcleaver is a two-handed longsword, it's total length being five feet but the actual blade being 4 1/2 feet. It has a black leather grip and is made otherwise completely of iron.
Appearance :

=======
Name :
Grendel
Description :
Grendel is Haljon's loyal warhorse, bred in trained in House Perar's stables. He became Haljon's when he was eighteen, and has been his companion ever since. Being a warhorse, and one that can support Haljon's enormous size as well as armor, Grendel is quite large himself. It is often commented upon that Grendel is a giant among his kind as well.
Appearance :

-Grendel has white socks as well
=======
Name :
Belt Knife
Description :
It's a belt knife. You know, for belts and such.
Appearance :

=======

---

Skill/Abilities :
-Tremendously strong and tall
-Excellent swordsman
-Can read/write passingly
-Good strategist
-Pugilist of some renown
-Can ride a horse

---

Traits
-Trained as a Knight
-Affable, loyal companion
-Brave
-Honorable
-Youthful body

The Shadows of Aeios

Sure, that sounds great.

The Shadows of Aeios

Not sure if I was clear enough Lucius, but my character is talking to your character Lucilia. I'm assuming the location I encountered her in is plausible as well.

The Shadows of Aeios

Haljon
Streets of Helias

Haljon rubbed his hands fiercely together, vainly trying to warm them. He had taken off his gloves, which had been damp at the time and were no doubt stiff from frost now. He mumbled a curse, wishing Noxios would move the damn sun out from the clouds. Haljon shivered involuntarily, and mumbled another curse at his mail hauberk for making him so damn cold. He lifted his head up from his hands, having been breathing on them, and took stock of his surroundings. Snow was everywhere, blanketing building and street alike. The stark white was contrasted in places by a grayish color, having been tainted by the filth of the city. He was at an intersection in some god-forsaken corner of the city. With a twist of regret, Haljon recalled the boy offering to guide him towards the North Gate—his destination—and him refusing.

Still, the price was outrageous.

The thought reminded him of his significant lack of funds. Enough to buy a horse, and perhaps a night's lodging at a half-decent inn. He snorted. What a sight he was, a Knight without a steed. Groaning, Haljon picked a random direction and started down the street. As he walked, he looked around towards the architecture. They were all dull colors of gray, brown and black; making the city seem even bleaker than it already had, with the sun covered by clouds and the streets filled with dirty snow. His stomach growled, reminding him that on top of freezing, he was also starving. Haljon found himself, not for the first time that day, fervently wishing he was in a tavern with a warm cup of wine, his stomach full of bread and a roaring fire in front of him.

He recalled the events that had brought him to Helias. The Head of House Perar had needed someone to give the Head of House Rynir a report about some such, and he was available, so of course he was sent. Araos knew why they decided to send him instead of one of the numerous courtiers. Haljon supposed they wanted someone who could defend himself against any highwaymen or bandits, but the roads had been fairly safe recently, so he wasn't too sure about that conclusion. Regardless, he had arrived in Helias and paid for lodgings in a nearby inn. He had led his horse into the inn's stables, foolishly leaving his saddle and pack on her as well. He awoke in the morning to find his horse gone, along with most of supplies and gold. Haljon cursed his stupidity and bad luck for the umpteenth time that day. He had reported in to House Rynir anyway, but was too ashamed to ask for a horse from their stables. Haljon knew it would be a while before he lived that one down. And now, here he was, roaming the gods-be-damned streets in the bitter cold, in search of a stables—which was supposedly near the North Gate—that would sell him a decent horse.

Clop, clop.

Haljon stopped. He had heard something, faint but growing louder. Clop, clop. Recalling the warnings given to him by the city guard regarding ambushes in the streets, he loosened his sword Limbcleaver in it's scabbard. The sound became louder. Clop, clop. Hoof-beats on cobblestone, he was certain. A large figure astride a horse rounded the bend, and Haljon relaxed as he recognized the figure to be a guard. "Ho, guardsman!" He boomed, and began trotting towards him when he realized, with a start, that it was not a him, but a her. Haljon shook his head, disregarding the revelation, and continued on his path towards her. As he approached, nearly as tall as she even atop the horse, he called out again: "Mighty cold day out, eh? Mayhaps you could point me towards the North Gate? I've no clue as to where I am." He let out a rumbling chuckle.

Tales of Sythus: Rise of the Shadowlords

Looks like my character is the only Follow of Erthantis so far. I wouldn't be averse to having a few fellow followers, haha.

Tales of Sythus: Rise of the Shadowlords

Sheet

Name:
Haljon

Age:
34

Appearance:


Race:
Human

Allegiance:
Follower of Erthantis

Class:
Warrior

Profession:
Mercenary Knight

Personality:
Haljon is an affable, boisterous character whose mood is rarely darkened. However, he is always in state of pain and rage, and the face he puts on in public is mostly for show to hide this fact. Though he is rarely grim, and makes for a hearty companion otherwise, he is a terrifying man when his public persona is dropped. Haljon is brave and loyal to a fault, a rare thing to find in sellswords such as him. He lives for the thrill of combat, especially with whom he deems a worthy foe; which is a rare thing.

Biography:
Haljon was born into an impoverished noble house with a small amount of land to it's name, his father a Knight of some renown and his mother of low-nobility. From a young age, Haljon had a keen interest in martial pursuits, and could often be found sparring in the courtyard or against other boys, including commoners (though this detail was much frowned upon by his mother). His father began teaching him swordplay at age seven, and while he mainly focused on these lessons, he also managed to learn to read and write, though his penmanship is horrid and his reading laughably slow. Haljon learned basic manners and some arithmetic, though he was never good at either. However, Haljon proved to have a keen eye for strategy and tactics, and he adored military history.

Haljon was formerly taken into his father's tutelage at age fourteen. By this time Haljon was the size of a full-grown man, and his growth showed no signs of slowing. By sixteen he would be taller than his father, who was considered a fairly large man, and by eighteen he would reach his full height of nearly seven feet tall. Along with his enormous size came a tremendous strength, and he was often compared to an ox in that respect. Haljon also proved to be a more than competent swordsman, and one with a surprising amount of speed and agility. Coupled with both a weight and reach advantage, he proved to be quite the formidable foe after he was formally knighted in his twenty-first year.

However, his father's liege-lord was apparently quite power hungry, and decided he was in a prime position to rebel against the Empire and forge a Kingdom of his own. As a vassal of this lord, his father was obligated to obey, and thus Haljon found himself marching to war against the forces of the Empire, much to his dismay. The war was, as could be expected, brutal and swift; the rebellion was crushed mercilessly in a single great battle, the rebellious lord slain on the field. His parents were executed for high treason, though Haljon was spared. Apparently he had acquitted himself quite well in the battle, and he was given the option of swearing fealty to a new lord. With little choice, Haljon accepted, swore an oath, and, in the dark of the night, absconded away to a nearby town. There he bought a horse and traveled to a far corner of the Empire, near it's very frontiers.

He drank away his grief and sorrow in a tavern, selling his horse and most of his clothes and armor to support his new-found love of ale. The only thing he kept was his sword Limbcleaver, a gift from his father. At some point whilst he was drowning his misery in the cups, he was approached by a man who introduced himself as Rikard, the leader of a mercenary company of some renown. He offered Haljon a place in the company, which Haljon accepted with a significant lack of grace. Over the next several years he traveled, fought, bled, ate, shit, and sweated with the company. He learned new skills and made many friends, some of which he believed to be his companions for life. OVer time the company became more and more famous, and thus their services were required by wealthier and more powerful men. Their battles became harder, but they endured and became stronger from it. Until, however, a day came when they were simply far too outnumbered. Rikard had insisted that they could handle any foe, and thus they found themselves surrounded on one lonely hilltop by three times their number. The company fought long and hard, but their numbers slowly dwindled; and although they killed two for every one they lost, they fell one-by-one until not a single one of them was left standing.

Haljon had slain a dozen or more of the enemy, and was only taken down after he was knocked over a shallow cliff ace onto several rocks below. He was presumed dead, but in reality alive, albeit gravely injured. He cursed the nine as he fled the aftermath, and once again turned to the cups to drown his sorrow in. Over time, a deep-seated hatred of the Immortal Nine took root in Haljon's soul, blaming them for the deaths of his parents and brothers-in-arms. He dreamed of the day he could take his vengeance, and that day seemed to come a few short weeks later in the form of a robed man. He spoke to Haljon of Erthantis and his followers and offered them a place in their ranks, and of course he accepted, recalling Rikard approaching him in the same manner, years ago...

Weapon of Choice:
Limbcleaver, his massive five-foot steel longsword.

Powers & Abilities:
Haljon is an excellent tactician and soldier, but has little talent in anything else. He also knows how to ride a horse proficiently, and his tremendous strength coupled with his large height give him a significant advantage in any sword-fight, on top of his already impressive swordsmanship. Haljon knows enough magic to heal minor wounds, but his magical talent does not extend any farther than that. Though some may consider him dim, in reality he is a quick, logical thinker; though sometimes his choices may be clouded by emotion. He can read and write passingly and knows quite a bit about military history.

Relationships:
-Father (deceased)
-Mother (deceased)
-Rikard (deceased)
-Other company members (deceased)

Other:
N/A

The Fractured South - Nation RP

Fixed.