Warpath
08-15-12, 11:35 PM
Amen again. I had a character profile accepted with this account name at some point, let's just pretend it never happened. Never used it anyway.
Name: Flint Skovik
Age: 28
Race: Human
Hair: Black
Eye: Hazel
Height: 5’6”
Weight: 230 lbs.
Personality
Skovik is not a good man: he is stoic, callous, brutal, and uncompromising in his cruelty. He feels empathy as keenly as a saint, but he willfully ignores it. Such a man should have been born a dullard, but this one was not. There are many dead men who thought Flint Skovik a common man – many who mistook his reticence for stupidity and his disturbing self-assurance for cockiness.
If he feels fear or doubt, he isn’t capable of showing it anymore, and such brazen confidence creates its own kind of wordless charisma. Take that charisma and pair it with his surprisingly erudite speech and voice, and his imposing body, and you have the makings of the worst kind of monster: an inspirational one.
Appearance
The first thing seen when looking upon Skovik is his bulk: he is typically the brawniest human being a person has ever seen. He is exceptionally deep of chest and thick of limb, and has broad, sloping shoulders, a bullish neck, and a back so hulking that it seems to push his upper body forward to loom. He knows what he looks like and comports himself appropriately: he swaggers when he’s sure and looms tensely when he’s not. His looks are so striking as to distort the memory. Few realize he’s a full foot shorter than the average Skavian, not unless they’re bold enough to stand right next to him.
He fastidiously shaves his head bald, and grows his beard full and black and cropped at an angle following his jaw. There is some hint on his face of the attractive young man he might have grown up to be - some empathy and wisdom behind his eyes and an old soul in his gaze. But to see it one would have to overlook the severity of his gaze, with the lids almost permanently pulled back in a fierce and unblinking stare, framed by a heavy brow devoid of eyebrows and decorated by thin scars.
His skin is Salvic-pale and shows the hardship he has endured, from the cruel, criss-crossing red-white gifts of the whip on his broad back to the more chaotic lines on his forearms and the backs of his hands – the tell-tale kisses from a sword or knife. There is only one ugly old pucker on the left side of his stomach, where he was stabbed as a child and an old small brand mark on his right pectoral, but otherwise no foe has ever visibly harmed him by coming straight on.
He dresses as a thug ought to, favoring leather, black and brown, and he leaves his arms bare whenever possible. When he deigns to armor himself, it’s in a gladiator’s motley.
History
Flint Skovik, called Rauk, Dwarf-kin, Frost-Heart, Bear, orc-blood, Stonebrother, Breaker of Men, and other things, is the first and greatest son of Bron and was born in Skavia. He was a child soldier and a good one, and raided north and east and far to the south where men loyal to a noble captured him and sold him into slavery as a gladiator. There he lived the rest of his childhood and young adulthood, learning to fight and kill with many weapons.
But he was best with his bare hands.
Most men are born and raised soft, and that makes them brittle so that the gladiator schools drive them mad and break them before they die. Not Skovik. The schools and the pits tempered him, and instead of breaking his mind just…bent. Pain became an old friend, more soothing than leisure, but always distinct from pleasure. Men came from all over the world to teach him by daylight, lured by coin. By torchlight he killed, and earned his masters ever more of said coin. But in the dark he honed his mind, and learned the ways of civilized men.
When his masters could no longer find challenges for him in the pit, he manipulated and rallied his brothers in secret, and he orchestrated revenge. He killed his teachers, and then the guards, and then his masters, and then he killed what few of his brothers remained. The massacre was remembered, but not the man.
His life has taken a troubling path since then, from the back streets and slums of Akashima and Alerar back home to Salvar, where he fought in the civil war, to the present day, where he has fallen in with a mercenary company – but those are all stories that deserve a full treatment. Suffice it to say that he is a great man, but he is most certainly not a good one.
Skills
Streetwise in Salvar, Akashima, and Alerar. He knows all about dishonest living in those places and places similar to them, and can survive in the dark corners, underworlds, and illicit cultures therein.
Survival. He grew up in the harshest wilds of Salvar and can be self-sufficient there.
Language and Literacy. He speaks Salvic and Trade fluently, albeit with a very thick Skavian accent. He has a decent understanding of Akashiman and can even read a little, but would never attempt to speak it.
Martial Skills. Skovik is a highly trained gladiator, and has been at war since he could walk. He is familiar with every basic weapon type used by humanoid races on Althanas. He has been extensively trained in the use of a weapon and shield in concert, but he is truly deadliest (and happiest) engaged in fisticuffs. He has become very good at predicting attacks based on body language alone.
Sword and Board. He is trained in the gladiatorial use of a heavy one-handed weapon and a large personal shield, and these are his preferred armaments. Perhaps incongruously, he tends toward the defensive when using weapons, preferring to exhaust and unbalance his opponents before choosing a safe opening to land a killing blow. Note that Skovik is not a soldier and has never been trained as one – he doesn’t know anything about shield walls or partnering, as a gladiator is concerned mainly with his own protection and single combat.
Fisticuffs. Flint is a brawler by nature, and though he has had some formal training in the art a majority of what he practices is self-taught and reflects his unique attributes. His fighting style is brutal and efficient, a philosophy as much as a series of techniques. For example, he is known for allowing himself to be struck by relatively inconsequential attacks. The reason why is multipronged: he becomes ever more tolerant to pain with every blow, builds a reserve of adrenaline and rage, and demonstrates his impressively high threshold for pain and damage, thus intimidating and demoralizing his opponent. Likewise, his attacks are subtly telegraphed and always goal oriented: to overpower, to cause fear or pain, to maim, or to kill. There’s no middle ground.
Crossbows. Flint loves ‘em. He’s not great at aiming, but if somebody stubbornly insists on remaining out of reach, there’s nothing better.
Shrewd. He’s a great deal smarter than he looks or sounds, and his barbarity is the result of a philosophical choice rather than just not knowing any better. He understands people, even those who have vastly different experiences than his, and he can be very manipulative and persuasive.
Abilities
Strength x1.5
Endurance x1.5
Damage Threshold x1.5
Equipment
Wooden Club: Thick at the business end, narrow at the grip. It’s a bit more than three feet long. There are leather strips wrapped around the narrow end to provide a better grip. Not pretty or elegant, but it’ll do the job. Carved from Salvic oak.
Shield: A large, deeply-dished shield made of oak and wrapped in blackened arctic leather, with an iron rim. A crude bear paw has been painted upon it in scarlet ink.
Seax: A long iron knife, mainly used for cooking and such, but deadly in a pinch. Flint typically keeps this sheathed at the base of his spine.
Wraps and Bracers: A pair of thick leather bracers with hidden steel plates, perfect for deflecting blows and blades with the forearm, and thick cloth wraps to pad one’s knuckles.
Name: Flint Skovik
Age: 28
Race: Human
Hair: Black
Eye: Hazel
Height: 5’6”
Weight: 230 lbs.
Personality
Skovik is not a good man: he is stoic, callous, brutal, and uncompromising in his cruelty. He feels empathy as keenly as a saint, but he willfully ignores it. Such a man should have been born a dullard, but this one was not. There are many dead men who thought Flint Skovik a common man – many who mistook his reticence for stupidity and his disturbing self-assurance for cockiness.
If he feels fear or doubt, he isn’t capable of showing it anymore, and such brazen confidence creates its own kind of wordless charisma. Take that charisma and pair it with his surprisingly erudite speech and voice, and his imposing body, and you have the makings of the worst kind of monster: an inspirational one.
Appearance
The first thing seen when looking upon Skovik is his bulk: he is typically the brawniest human being a person has ever seen. He is exceptionally deep of chest and thick of limb, and has broad, sloping shoulders, a bullish neck, and a back so hulking that it seems to push his upper body forward to loom. He knows what he looks like and comports himself appropriately: he swaggers when he’s sure and looms tensely when he’s not. His looks are so striking as to distort the memory. Few realize he’s a full foot shorter than the average Skavian, not unless they’re bold enough to stand right next to him.
He fastidiously shaves his head bald, and grows his beard full and black and cropped at an angle following his jaw. There is some hint on his face of the attractive young man he might have grown up to be - some empathy and wisdom behind his eyes and an old soul in his gaze. But to see it one would have to overlook the severity of his gaze, with the lids almost permanently pulled back in a fierce and unblinking stare, framed by a heavy brow devoid of eyebrows and decorated by thin scars.
His skin is Salvic-pale and shows the hardship he has endured, from the cruel, criss-crossing red-white gifts of the whip on his broad back to the more chaotic lines on his forearms and the backs of his hands – the tell-tale kisses from a sword or knife. There is only one ugly old pucker on the left side of his stomach, where he was stabbed as a child and an old small brand mark on his right pectoral, but otherwise no foe has ever visibly harmed him by coming straight on.
He dresses as a thug ought to, favoring leather, black and brown, and he leaves his arms bare whenever possible. When he deigns to armor himself, it’s in a gladiator’s motley.
History
Flint Skovik, called Rauk, Dwarf-kin, Frost-Heart, Bear, orc-blood, Stonebrother, Breaker of Men, and other things, is the first and greatest son of Bron and was born in Skavia. He was a child soldier and a good one, and raided north and east and far to the south where men loyal to a noble captured him and sold him into slavery as a gladiator. There he lived the rest of his childhood and young adulthood, learning to fight and kill with many weapons.
But he was best with his bare hands.
Most men are born and raised soft, and that makes them brittle so that the gladiator schools drive them mad and break them before they die. Not Skovik. The schools and the pits tempered him, and instead of breaking his mind just…bent. Pain became an old friend, more soothing than leisure, but always distinct from pleasure. Men came from all over the world to teach him by daylight, lured by coin. By torchlight he killed, and earned his masters ever more of said coin. But in the dark he honed his mind, and learned the ways of civilized men.
When his masters could no longer find challenges for him in the pit, he manipulated and rallied his brothers in secret, and he orchestrated revenge. He killed his teachers, and then the guards, and then his masters, and then he killed what few of his brothers remained. The massacre was remembered, but not the man.
His life has taken a troubling path since then, from the back streets and slums of Akashima and Alerar back home to Salvar, where he fought in the civil war, to the present day, where he has fallen in with a mercenary company – but those are all stories that deserve a full treatment. Suffice it to say that he is a great man, but he is most certainly not a good one.
Skills
Streetwise in Salvar, Akashima, and Alerar. He knows all about dishonest living in those places and places similar to them, and can survive in the dark corners, underworlds, and illicit cultures therein.
Survival. He grew up in the harshest wilds of Salvar and can be self-sufficient there.
Language and Literacy. He speaks Salvic and Trade fluently, albeit with a very thick Skavian accent. He has a decent understanding of Akashiman and can even read a little, but would never attempt to speak it.
Martial Skills. Skovik is a highly trained gladiator, and has been at war since he could walk. He is familiar with every basic weapon type used by humanoid races on Althanas. He has been extensively trained in the use of a weapon and shield in concert, but he is truly deadliest (and happiest) engaged in fisticuffs. He has become very good at predicting attacks based on body language alone.
Sword and Board. He is trained in the gladiatorial use of a heavy one-handed weapon and a large personal shield, and these are his preferred armaments. Perhaps incongruously, he tends toward the defensive when using weapons, preferring to exhaust and unbalance his opponents before choosing a safe opening to land a killing blow. Note that Skovik is not a soldier and has never been trained as one – he doesn’t know anything about shield walls or partnering, as a gladiator is concerned mainly with his own protection and single combat.
Fisticuffs. Flint is a brawler by nature, and though he has had some formal training in the art a majority of what he practices is self-taught and reflects his unique attributes. His fighting style is brutal and efficient, a philosophy as much as a series of techniques. For example, he is known for allowing himself to be struck by relatively inconsequential attacks. The reason why is multipronged: he becomes ever more tolerant to pain with every blow, builds a reserve of adrenaline and rage, and demonstrates his impressively high threshold for pain and damage, thus intimidating and demoralizing his opponent. Likewise, his attacks are subtly telegraphed and always goal oriented: to overpower, to cause fear or pain, to maim, or to kill. There’s no middle ground.
Crossbows. Flint loves ‘em. He’s not great at aiming, but if somebody stubbornly insists on remaining out of reach, there’s nothing better.
Shrewd. He’s a great deal smarter than he looks or sounds, and his barbarity is the result of a philosophical choice rather than just not knowing any better. He understands people, even those who have vastly different experiences than his, and he can be very manipulative and persuasive.
Abilities
Strength x1.5
Endurance x1.5
Damage Threshold x1.5
Equipment
Wooden Club: Thick at the business end, narrow at the grip. It’s a bit more than three feet long. There are leather strips wrapped around the narrow end to provide a better grip. Not pretty or elegant, but it’ll do the job. Carved from Salvic oak.
Shield: A large, deeply-dished shield made of oak and wrapped in blackened arctic leather, with an iron rim. A crude bear paw has been painted upon it in scarlet ink.
Seax: A long iron knife, mainly used for cooking and such, but deadly in a pinch. Flint typically keeps this sheathed at the base of his spine.
Wraps and Bracers: A pair of thick leather bracers with hidden steel plates, perfect for deflecting blows and blades with the forearm, and thick cloth wraps to pad one’s knuckles.