Obaral Sung
06-12-14, 10:05 PM
"Fear not, brothers. Our time will come."
Obaral Sung
Of unknown age.
A human.
Hair of black.
Eyes of dark blue.
Standing six feet and five inches tall.
Weighing two hundred and fifty pounds.
No occupation, a simple wandering warrior.
~Personality~
Obaral is a proud and reserved man, but his eyes dance with visions of the future, and his bearing holds the pride of promises yet to be fulfilled. He is unfailingly loyal to his friends, unrelentingly brutal to his enemies, and unapologetically careless of those who are neither. He has a subdued sense of humor, and a poetic solemnity about him which may seem contrived to those who don't know him.
~Appearance~
Obaral wears rotting scraps of cloth and fur that have long since lost any merit, beyond covering his nudity. His skin is a pale and deathly pallor, like one gravely ill. His lank hair is grown long, falling below his shoulders, and his eyes are slanted, predatorily sharp. His brows are heavy and his eyes deep-set, with a hawk nose and a thick jaw.
~Skills~
General Weapons (Adept)
Magic Lore (Adept)
Two-handed Swordfighting (Expert)
Wildcraft (Adept)
~Traits & Abilities~
The Ember Preserved
Because of the preserving magic wrapped around him, Obaral does not need to sleep, breath, or eat, though he will feel mortal urges. He is not affected by cold or heat. He will not age, and so is effectively immortal. He will never die from the ravages of time, but can be unmade with violence.
Paragon Warrior
Obaral, in his first 'life,' was the foremost warrior among his people. Part of this stemmed from his raw physical ability – twice the strength and stamina of an average man, and twice as fast. Even this current wealth of force is a diminishing from the power Obaral formerly wielded.
~Equipment~
(All weapons and armor are the strength of iron, due to corrosion and aging.)
A longsword, weakened and ravaged by time.
A rusted helm, made with a T-slit, and with bull's horns mounted on either side.
A rusted cuirass.
A pair of rusted vambraces.
A pair of rusted greaves.
A carved bone amulet on a leather thong.
~Familiar~
Obaral often wonders if the things he sees out of the corner of his eye are real or not. Maybe they're both.
~History~
Obaral Sung was once a powerful warrior, long before the War of the Tap. The foremost warrior of his people, as it happened. He spoke to dragons as his friends, and wielded his power like the edge of his sword: with brutal skill and cunning speed. In time, he overshadowed his own king. It was said that he planned to overthrow this king; which, in truth, he could very easily have done. With the aid of his powerful and loyal wizards, the king struck Obaral down and sealed away his body, along with his comrades, Aurion the elf and Garroth the knight.
But Obaral Sung's power was very great, and some say had a mind of its own. It wrapped itself around the man, preserving his life like an ember under ashes. Obaral slept a sleep of unending dreams, his power slowly fading, waning, withering with time, until all that remained was the shroud preserving his life, a veil so tightly wound that it could not fall away. Then, Obaral Sung awoke.
"Fear not, brothers. Our time has come."
Obaral Sung
Of unknown age.
A human.
Hair of black.
Eyes of dark blue.
Standing six feet and five inches tall.
Weighing two hundred and fifty pounds.
No occupation, a simple wandering warrior.
~Personality~
Obaral is a proud and reserved man, but his eyes dance with visions of the future, and his bearing holds the pride of promises yet to be fulfilled. He is unfailingly loyal to his friends, unrelentingly brutal to his enemies, and unapologetically careless of those who are neither. He has a subdued sense of humor, and a poetic solemnity about him which may seem contrived to those who don't know him.
~Appearance~
Obaral wears rotting scraps of cloth and fur that have long since lost any merit, beyond covering his nudity. His skin is a pale and deathly pallor, like one gravely ill. His lank hair is grown long, falling below his shoulders, and his eyes are slanted, predatorily sharp. His brows are heavy and his eyes deep-set, with a hawk nose and a thick jaw.
~Skills~
General Weapons (Adept)
Magic Lore (Adept)
Two-handed Swordfighting (Expert)
Wildcraft (Adept)
~Traits & Abilities~
The Ember Preserved
Because of the preserving magic wrapped around him, Obaral does not need to sleep, breath, or eat, though he will feel mortal urges. He is not affected by cold or heat. He will not age, and so is effectively immortal. He will never die from the ravages of time, but can be unmade with violence.
Paragon Warrior
Obaral, in his first 'life,' was the foremost warrior among his people. Part of this stemmed from his raw physical ability – twice the strength and stamina of an average man, and twice as fast. Even this current wealth of force is a diminishing from the power Obaral formerly wielded.
~Equipment~
(All weapons and armor are the strength of iron, due to corrosion and aging.)
A longsword, weakened and ravaged by time.
A rusted helm, made with a T-slit, and with bull's horns mounted on either side.
A rusted cuirass.
A pair of rusted vambraces.
A pair of rusted greaves.
A carved bone amulet on a leather thong.
~Familiar~
Obaral often wonders if the things he sees out of the corner of his eye are real or not. Maybe they're both.
~History~
Obaral Sung was once a powerful warrior, long before the War of the Tap. The foremost warrior of his people, as it happened. He spoke to dragons as his friends, and wielded his power like the edge of his sword: with brutal skill and cunning speed. In time, he overshadowed his own king. It was said that he planned to overthrow this king; which, in truth, he could very easily have done. With the aid of his powerful and loyal wizards, the king struck Obaral down and sealed away his body, along with his comrades, Aurion the elf and Garroth the knight.
But Obaral Sung's power was very great, and some say had a mind of its own. It wrapped itself around the man, preserving his life like an ember under ashes. Obaral slept a sleep of unending dreams, his power slowly fading, waning, withering with time, until all that remained was the shroud preserving his life, a veil so tightly wound that it could not fall away. Then, Obaral Sung awoke.
"Fear not, brothers. Our time has come."