Dolvgoc
02-21-17, 05:25 PM
Name: My name is Dolvgoc Rathor. Pleased to meet you!
Nickname/Alias:* Please, call me Rathor. Dolvgoc is a hassle to say.
Age: I’m only 23, so here’s hoping for a long life.
Race: Fur-kin, obviously. Specifically a mix between a Hare-Cat and a Drave.
Height: I’m 6’5’’. What can I say, both parents were tall.
Weight: 207 pounds, if you really have to know.
Occupation: Mercenary, bodyguard, adventurer. Whatever gets me out and about.
Personality: I consider myself a pretty friendly person by nature. Growing up a Fur-kin, and a half breed at that, made me appreciate everyone who doesn’t look down on me. If you’re a friend of mine, you can definitely count on my help. I can be kind of a prick at times, but I don’t mean it. Usually.
All that said, I do have a mouth on me. A loud one, and foul too. I’ve gotten myself into trouble by saying something that I shouldn’t have many times. I’m also a hopeless romantic. Or a relentless flirt. Depends who you ask.
History: I was born in small farming town on Corone. My parents were good and honest folk, content with working the land. Perhaps that’s because of their past lives. My father was sailor for much of his life, rarely seeing land for more than a few days at time. My mother was a traveling merchant, selling medicine, tools, clothes, and whatever else people needed. I guess they decided that settling down would be a welcome change.
It was the exact opposite with me. Being born into a calm village, I soon wanted out. The idea of being a farmer all my life sounded dreadful, so I looked forward to the day I could leave. Sadly, my parents kept me in town. They told me I was too young to head out adventuring. Besides, they needed my help on the farm. Reluctantly, I stayed and trained, looking forward to the day I could head out.
I’ve always had a habit of saying things that I shouldn't, but it got worse over time. Things came to a head when I was 19. I was out drinking, and implied that someone’s sister was a prostitute. Or did I say that his mother slept with horses? Either way, neither the man whose relatives I insulted nor his friends like my comments. After a short tussle, I managed to break away and get home.
At this point, my parents decided that it would probably be better for me to leave and go somewhere with fewer enemies. They wished me luck, and off I went.
Appearance: As I mentioned before, I’m a tall man. I have dark yellow fur, with some black spots on my back. My paws and muzzle are oversize like my Drave father, and I have the mane from my mother’s side cut short. My tail is similar to that of a wolf’s.My canines are around two inches long, and my claws are one and a half inches long.
Skills: Mace Wielding: I’m extremely proficient with a mace. While a simple weapon, swinging a mace takes some getting used to due to the weight. I’ve practiced a lot, so I know how much force is needed for a good swing.
Unarmed Combat: Just because one hand’s busy doesn’t mean I can't use the other to fight. My claws and teeth give me a natural advantage in a fist fight, and practice in bars taught me where to hit to bring someone down.
Archery: While I’m not as good at shooting as I am with melee, I’m a competent archer. I did a lot of hunting back home, and hitting a target isn’t all that hard with practice.
Abilities: Speed: I love to run. Whether short sprints or long distances, running is a good way to blow off steam. Or escape a fight. I’ve done a lot of running for both those reasons. That practice plus my animal heritage makes about twice as fast as a normal person. This also helps in a fight. Where most people could make only one or strikes, I can get in three or four.
Bestial Rage: Sometimes I lose my head. When this happens, I became a snarling whirlwind of claws. While I’m not technically stronger or faster, the rush sure pushes me a lot harder than normal. I’ll attack a lot and a lot harder. The downside is I tend to ignore incoming attacks. This can be dangerous.
Weapons: Iron Mace: My weapon of choice. It weighs 8 pounds and has a flanged head.
Bow: It’s about four feet long when strung, and made of yew wood.
Arrows: I usually have 12 of them on me. They’re made of cyper wood.
Equipment: Clothes: I wear a simple chainmail vest covered with the pelt of an elk. My pants are made of denim, and I wear a pair of leather boots.
Bedroll: A simple wool blanket covered by a piece of waxed canvas.
Satchel: A leather satchel. It carries things.
Dog: Azval, my pet dog, hunting partner, and travel companion. It’s easy to see his wolfish ancestry.
Nickname/Alias:* Please, call me Rathor. Dolvgoc is a hassle to say.
Age: I’m only 23, so here’s hoping for a long life.
Race: Fur-kin, obviously. Specifically a mix between a Hare-Cat and a Drave.
Height: I’m 6’5’’. What can I say, both parents were tall.
Weight: 207 pounds, if you really have to know.
Occupation: Mercenary, bodyguard, adventurer. Whatever gets me out and about.
Personality: I consider myself a pretty friendly person by nature. Growing up a Fur-kin, and a half breed at that, made me appreciate everyone who doesn’t look down on me. If you’re a friend of mine, you can definitely count on my help. I can be kind of a prick at times, but I don’t mean it. Usually.
All that said, I do have a mouth on me. A loud one, and foul too. I’ve gotten myself into trouble by saying something that I shouldn’t have many times. I’m also a hopeless romantic. Or a relentless flirt. Depends who you ask.
History: I was born in small farming town on Corone. My parents were good and honest folk, content with working the land. Perhaps that’s because of their past lives. My father was sailor for much of his life, rarely seeing land for more than a few days at time. My mother was a traveling merchant, selling medicine, tools, clothes, and whatever else people needed. I guess they decided that settling down would be a welcome change.
It was the exact opposite with me. Being born into a calm village, I soon wanted out. The idea of being a farmer all my life sounded dreadful, so I looked forward to the day I could leave. Sadly, my parents kept me in town. They told me I was too young to head out adventuring. Besides, they needed my help on the farm. Reluctantly, I stayed and trained, looking forward to the day I could head out.
I’ve always had a habit of saying things that I shouldn't, but it got worse over time. Things came to a head when I was 19. I was out drinking, and implied that someone’s sister was a prostitute. Or did I say that his mother slept with horses? Either way, neither the man whose relatives I insulted nor his friends like my comments. After a short tussle, I managed to break away and get home.
At this point, my parents decided that it would probably be better for me to leave and go somewhere with fewer enemies. They wished me luck, and off I went.
Appearance: As I mentioned before, I’m a tall man. I have dark yellow fur, with some black spots on my back. My paws and muzzle are oversize like my Drave father, and I have the mane from my mother’s side cut short. My tail is similar to that of a wolf’s.My canines are around two inches long, and my claws are one and a half inches long.
Skills: Mace Wielding: I’m extremely proficient with a mace. While a simple weapon, swinging a mace takes some getting used to due to the weight. I’ve practiced a lot, so I know how much force is needed for a good swing.
Unarmed Combat: Just because one hand’s busy doesn’t mean I can't use the other to fight. My claws and teeth give me a natural advantage in a fist fight, and practice in bars taught me where to hit to bring someone down.
Archery: While I’m not as good at shooting as I am with melee, I’m a competent archer. I did a lot of hunting back home, and hitting a target isn’t all that hard with practice.
Abilities: Speed: I love to run. Whether short sprints or long distances, running is a good way to blow off steam. Or escape a fight. I’ve done a lot of running for both those reasons. That practice plus my animal heritage makes about twice as fast as a normal person. This also helps in a fight. Where most people could make only one or strikes, I can get in three or four.
Bestial Rage: Sometimes I lose my head. When this happens, I became a snarling whirlwind of claws. While I’m not technically stronger or faster, the rush sure pushes me a lot harder than normal. I’ll attack a lot and a lot harder. The downside is I tend to ignore incoming attacks. This can be dangerous.
Weapons: Iron Mace: My weapon of choice. It weighs 8 pounds and has a flanged head.
Bow: It’s about four feet long when strung, and made of yew wood.
Arrows: I usually have 12 of them on me. They’re made of cyper wood.
Equipment: Clothes: I wear a simple chainmail vest covered with the pelt of an elk. My pants are made of denim, and I wear a pair of leather boots.
Bedroll: A simple wool blanket covered by a piece of waxed canvas.
Satchel: A leather satchel. It carries things.
Dog: Azval, my pet dog, hunting partner, and travel companion. It’s easy to see his wolfish ancestry.