Penance
11-27-13, 08:07 PM
Act boldly and the gods will reward you. (http://th09.deviantart.net/fs70/PRE/f/2013/042/0/2/mars_and_venus_by_hellstern-d2mzmb8.jpg)
Name: Malarik Sorenson
Age: twenty-six
Race: human
Hair Color: black
Eye Color: ice-blue
Height: six foot seven
Weight: two-hundred and fifty pounds
Occupation: highland lord
Personality: A cold killer, portraying the archetype of the 'tough guy.' Malarik is a man of little words, preferring to let his actions do all his talking. Always the first into a fight and the last out of it, he's survived some rough experiences and it has changed him irrevocably. He believes in old codes of justice: blood for blood and an eye for an eye. Despite the harsh, icy exterior reflective of the Kalev Highlands his people hail from there is a soft underbelly: a sort of romanticism to the man. Though he's emotionally shallow, fearing genuine commitment and having a habit of fleeing such endeavors. Something that puts him at odds with his chivalric sense.
Appearance: Tall, handsome and covered from head to toe in muscle and scar tissue, Malarik is the image of an Andvallian warrior to a t. His black hair is generally kept trimmed short at about the same length as his facial hair. He has a wide, powerful build to match his height.
Skills:
Skilled in horesback riding, mounted combat and fighting with sword and spear.
Advanced hunting & tracking.
Passable cook.
Adept combat medic.
Capable map reader.
Extensive survival knowledge.
Proficient hand to hand combatant.
Knowledge of battlefield tactics.
Abilities:
_________ Agares, The Nightmare Steed
A massive, many winged demon horse that Malarik has made a grudging alliance with as neither can kill the other. He ripped out the beasts black heart, only to watch in despair as it melted in his hand and bonded to his flesh in a skin-tight glove unable to be removed by blade or magic. The creature; Agares, a demon that occupies its time torturing damned souls and inevitably making them its servants, regularly intrudes his mind with its mocking voice. Despite the enmity they hold for one another, Agares sometimes lends Malarik his strength. On such occasions, Agares manifests as a four-winged horse that towers above other destriers, made of solid muscle and a shadowy intangibility. Its mane is comprised of scorching flame, hotter than the forges of Andvall. The sight of the creature drives fear into the heart of the weak, scattering formations as it charges them, though the terror it inspires is short-lived as it dissipates after only a few short moments. Agares can only be summoned thrice per day.
_________ Sangréal, The Hungering Blade
Sangréal is a relic of the north. It's a masterwork blade forged of steel belonging to an old king of Andvall at a time their heirarchy was more structured than it is today. The blade itself is black and its surface is scoured in pulsing gold runes etched symmetrically along its grooves. Fitted on its hilt and cross-guard is a curious red gemstone unlike any else with a strange nebulous of black storm clouds unfurling within its center. Those who have seen the blade ensanguined in the blood of its victims swear that they beheld a glimmer of sentience. A living blade. Not an extension of its user, but the user an extension of its own ravenous hunger. It's said that when blood runs its entirety, the old words of power inscribed on it are once again restored and the sword grows harder, razor-sharp, ensconced in an aura of its wielders will, allowing it to cut through magic with ease. Its adjoining sheath is leather rung in three bands of iron for decoration, two at each end and one between.
_________Andvallian Eugenics
For centuries, his family has undergone extensive biological engineering. By mating only the strongest, fastest and smartest, and through occasional magical tampering by wizards they've hired to improve their line, their descendants are thorough-bred warriors. It allows Malarik to move with unsettling grace for a man his size.
Equipment:
Sangréal.
A large oak round-shield to provide more than ample protection for a man of his size with Malarik's family heraldry painted on its surface: three leaves interposed; yellow, orange, and brown resting above a sword. The shield's edge is covered in a band of iron to delay its eventual demise, and its back is further reinforced by iron studs.
He dresses like a tank into battle; a chainmail shirt beneath a steel breastplate, articulated steel leg armor, thick steel plate pauldrons, and steel boots and gloves. He wears a hooded wolfskin cape that makes him appear more animal than man.
He wears a large linen rucksack backpack to carry an assortment of necessities from a cooking kit, wooden bowl and eatingware, rope, lantern, torch-making materials and a few bits of extra clothing.
History:
A man shrouded in secrets and mystery, though what they are, he isn't saying. The little known information about him is merely extrapolation from his motley appearance or whatever useful tidbits could be gleaned from those with the misfortune of having come across him in his past. Born in Andvall, son of a prestigious noble family with an impressive pedigree. His father was a warrior of note. He seemed a promising prodigal son until he fell off the face of the earth. Friends and family members were questioned by Andvallian soldiers about his whereabouts and informed that Malakrias was wanted under suspicion of treason.
Name: Malarik Sorenson
Age: twenty-six
Race: human
Hair Color: black
Eye Color: ice-blue
Height: six foot seven
Weight: two-hundred and fifty pounds
Occupation: highland lord
Personality: A cold killer, portraying the archetype of the 'tough guy.' Malarik is a man of little words, preferring to let his actions do all his talking. Always the first into a fight and the last out of it, he's survived some rough experiences and it has changed him irrevocably. He believes in old codes of justice: blood for blood and an eye for an eye. Despite the harsh, icy exterior reflective of the Kalev Highlands his people hail from there is a soft underbelly: a sort of romanticism to the man. Though he's emotionally shallow, fearing genuine commitment and having a habit of fleeing such endeavors. Something that puts him at odds with his chivalric sense.
Appearance: Tall, handsome and covered from head to toe in muscle and scar tissue, Malarik is the image of an Andvallian warrior to a t. His black hair is generally kept trimmed short at about the same length as his facial hair. He has a wide, powerful build to match his height.
Skills:
Skilled in horesback riding, mounted combat and fighting with sword and spear.
Advanced hunting & tracking.
Passable cook.
Adept combat medic.
Capable map reader.
Extensive survival knowledge.
Proficient hand to hand combatant.
Knowledge of battlefield tactics.
Abilities:
_________ Agares, The Nightmare Steed
A massive, many winged demon horse that Malarik has made a grudging alliance with as neither can kill the other. He ripped out the beasts black heart, only to watch in despair as it melted in his hand and bonded to his flesh in a skin-tight glove unable to be removed by blade or magic. The creature; Agares, a demon that occupies its time torturing damned souls and inevitably making them its servants, regularly intrudes his mind with its mocking voice. Despite the enmity they hold for one another, Agares sometimes lends Malarik his strength. On such occasions, Agares manifests as a four-winged horse that towers above other destriers, made of solid muscle and a shadowy intangibility. Its mane is comprised of scorching flame, hotter than the forges of Andvall. The sight of the creature drives fear into the heart of the weak, scattering formations as it charges them, though the terror it inspires is short-lived as it dissipates after only a few short moments. Agares can only be summoned thrice per day.
_________ Sangréal, The Hungering Blade
Sangréal is a relic of the north. It's a masterwork blade forged of steel belonging to an old king of Andvall at a time their heirarchy was more structured than it is today. The blade itself is black and its surface is scoured in pulsing gold runes etched symmetrically along its grooves. Fitted on its hilt and cross-guard is a curious red gemstone unlike any else with a strange nebulous of black storm clouds unfurling within its center. Those who have seen the blade ensanguined in the blood of its victims swear that they beheld a glimmer of sentience. A living blade. Not an extension of its user, but the user an extension of its own ravenous hunger. It's said that when blood runs its entirety, the old words of power inscribed on it are once again restored and the sword grows harder, razor-sharp, ensconced in an aura of its wielders will, allowing it to cut through magic with ease. Its adjoining sheath is leather rung in three bands of iron for decoration, two at each end and one between.
_________Andvallian Eugenics
For centuries, his family has undergone extensive biological engineering. By mating only the strongest, fastest and smartest, and through occasional magical tampering by wizards they've hired to improve their line, their descendants are thorough-bred warriors. It allows Malarik to move with unsettling grace for a man his size.
Equipment:
Sangréal.
A large oak round-shield to provide more than ample protection for a man of his size with Malarik's family heraldry painted on its surface: three leaves interposed; yellow, orange, and brown resting above a sword. The shield's edge is covered in a band of iron to delay its eventual demise, and its back is further reinforced by iron studs.
He dresses like a tank into battle; a chainmail shirt beneath a steel breastplate, articulated steel leg armor, thick steel plate pauldrons, and steel boots and gloves. He wears a hooded wolfskin cape that makes him appear more animal than man.
He wears a large linen rucksack backpack to carry an assortment of necessities from a cooking kit, wooden bowl and eatingware, rope, lantern, torch-making materials and a few bits of extra clothing.
History:
A man shrouded in secrets and mystery, though what they are, he isn't saying. The little known information about him is merely extrapolation from his motley appearance or whatever useful tidbits could be gleaned from those with the misfortune of having come across him in his past. Born in Andvall, son of a prestigious noble family with an impressive pedigree. His father was a warrior of note. He seemed a promising prodigal son until he fell off the face of the earth. Friends and family members were questioned by Andvallian soldiers about his whereabouts and informed that Malakrias was wanted under suspicion of treason.