Foresaken By War
01-14-07, 03:39 PM
Name: Aralian – His last name, the army never used his first name and he forgot what it was for some reason. He really must not have liked it very much.
Gender: Male
Race: Elf (forsaken) aka- Evil, Night Elf, Undead Elf, etc.
Height: 4' 8"
Weight: 103 lbs
Alignment: Chaotic neutral
Body Feats:
Strength - he has a strong lower body and core, but he is weak with his arms. He is skinny and that would give you a little idea of his strength. It is relative for an elf of his size.
Dexterity - He is an elf that is skinny, lets face it he is going to be pretty quick. However he is no powerhouse and could be beaten in a footrace by a higher level person.
Constitution - He has a lot of will power for his size and strength and his level abilities.
Intelligence -He doesn't have the greatest streets smarts, but is very tactical in his approach to fighting.
Speed Is above average, but he can not keep the speed for long periods of time. For short durations he is one of the fastest people the elvin army had seen.
Occupation : Rogue/ Military General
Languages:
Common (English)
Draconic
Elven
Dwarven
Skills:
Language- He has very good language skills with the languages he knows. He can speak most fluently and picked them up in the Great War. There are a few problems that he has with Draconic, mainly because when he heard it, it usually meant run!
Fighting- He can hold his own with hand-to-hand combat, but would much prefer the fighting you from a distance for a while. His style would have to remain to throwing stuff at you, distant spells that cause damage the arena, and other tactical stuff. He would much rather be farther away from you that he knows he can be safe for a short while. Then after a paralyzed or a damaging injury when he had the upper hand he would fight you head up.
Magic: None yet, but he is going to unlock a spell/talent in a quest.
Weapons-
He has for now a quarter staff made of a hardwood, such as oak, but this wood is different. It is called “Aszelan” It’s a tree that was found on his home turf it was rare, because it unlike other woods it is more fireproof. Even in a dried state. It was specially made for him during the Great War.
He also has a small throwing dagger that he has managed to keep onto for awhile. It is not a very strong metal and it is not very expensive. But it does a good job.
Appearance- his hair is usually spiked about in a messy fashion with some curls here and there. His face is usually grimacing with the thoughts of war constantly flying through his head. His body is weathered, but young, young for an elf. His eyes hold the tale of an elf that has gone mad, stark raving mad. He wears a brown over coat that has a hood on it, resembling almost the same outfit that a monk would wear. It covers his green tunic that was made to match the forest and shrubberies that one could find around a town. His leggings are black and made for optimal concealment amongst the shadows of the vegetation. He has a pair of deer skin moccasins that are good for quiet movement and protective to the feet, but they suck for being water proof and warming. Underneath his left eye, is a birth mark, it appears to be a scar, but nobody knows for sure.
Armor- He doesn’t believe in armor it makes to much noise.
History- There isn’t a time that Aralian could remember not being in the army. Even when he was young he remembers running around with a non-loaded hand crossbow during basic training for the high elf army. The small crossbow that would be held in one hand by the rest of the adult members often took two for him because of his small stature. He looked like the little elf sniper. He copied members of the team and learned from their mistakes. He mimicked with great detail as they were taught basic hand-to-hand combat moves. Aralian even ate at the mess hall with them. It was like he had no choice, but to be in the army.
To his recollection he couldn’t even remember his own parents. No matter how far back he thought there was no vague memory of them at all. He did remember being read to as a child, but that was the master general on the base, and they were not stories of little boys becoming princess. They were about fighting. Midway through the story was always Aralian favorite part, because that was when it became interactive. “What do you do if your horse suddenly rides too far into an enemy trap and you are circled by the enemy on all sides?” Aralian would think for a moment sometimes a good ten minutes before the he would shout out the answer, “You ride don’t slow down, pick a weak point and hit it hard.” His young voice was full of excitement as he jumped from his little bunk pretending to hold a weapon. These is usually where the general would coral him back up and toss him into the bunk, tell him it was bed time and it would be time to get up in 1200 hours, even though he usually wouldn’t get up until a few hours later than the rest.
It wasn’t long before he was being treated like an equal member of the army, he would watch as a certain number of troops came each year and then a certain number left. Different platoons would be formed and moved out to different base camps each year. Then after almost twenty or so years of this, it became more intense. More and more people seemed to becoming at a time. He himself was even placed in one of the platoons. Like the rest of them he had to work his way up and build to become a higher ranking official. What these guys took a long time to do, he did in a short time. He could do what these people were just learning with his eyes closed. Even some of the newer stuff he could handle with great ease. He was better shape, stronger, and smarter than almost all of the recruits in his platoon. Soon he was made a platoon leader for the high elf army. His platoon and he were sent off to one more base camp, before the deported to the war.
His platoon was made up of 16 young elves, all of them around his age of 30 years old, which is the human equivalency to being 15 years old. There was one person in his platoon that he cared a lot about. It was a person who was right below him in command. He was a two year veteran at the camp and a person that Aralian even trained in his first year. His name was Rhox well that’s what Aralian called him. Everyone else referred to him as, Rhocian (Row-si-an). The two had a bond that held the group together. They lead tactical and strong, but sometimes cautious. The cautious tactical came from Rhox, and the Strong and Tactical came from Aralian. They completed each other, and together that platoon had killed more dwarves in this Great war than any of the others combined.
The war was entering the tenth year of fighting when a tragedy struck and Rhox was killed by a young dwarf yielding an axe. Aralian had made an order that sent his troops straight into an unprotected flank onto some ambushing dwarves. The young dwarf that killed Rhox came out from behind a big boulder and cut the leg off of his horse with one swoop. The next swoop beheaded Rhox with the ease of a breaking a twig just by stepping on it. Aralian watched in what seemed to be slow motion. The head rolled roughly three feet before he saw another solider throw a knife in the forehead of that dwarf that beheaded Aralian best friend.
He walked over slowly, fighting a few of the remaining dwarves and scoping out the casualties. The good news was, only two men had died from his platoon and the dwarves had been completely killed from that skirmish. The bad thing was that two men from his platoon had died, including his best friend. The platoon retreated to a base camp where it was safe for the new two weeks. Everyday Aralian cried. It hurt him deep and for the next month and half he called vengeance on the dwarves. He slaughtered a countless number, including some women and children. He had no remorse during this time. He was also careless with his platoon, often times letting all but two die before he would return to a safe area.
A week later he received notice from the Grandmaster of the Army. They thought he should either retire or return to training camp to become an instructor. He choose to retire, and began to make his way around Althanas. Which brought him by boat to a place called Radasanthia. He wasn’t sure what all was here, but he was going to find out.
Gender: Male
Race: Elf (forsaken) aka- Evil, Night Elf, Undead Elf, etc.
Height: 4' 8"
Weight: 103 lbs
Alignment: Chaotic neutral
Body Feats:
Strength - he has a strong lower body and core, but he is weak with his arms. He is skinny and that would give you a little idea of his strength. It is relative for an elf of his size.
Dexterity - He is an elf that is skinny, lets face it he is going to be pretty quick. However he is no powerhouse and could be beaten in a footrace by a higher level person.
Constitution - He has a lot of will power for his size and strength and his level abilities.
Intelligence -He doesn't have the greatest streets smarts, but is very tactical in his approach to fighting.
Speed Is above average, but he can not keep the speed for long periods of time. For short durations he is one of the fastest people the elvin army had seen.
Occupation : Rogue/ Military General
Languages:
Common (English)
Draconic
Elven
Dwarven
Skills:
Language- He has very good language skills with the languages he knows. He can speak most fluently and picked them up in the Great War. There are a few problems that he has with Draconic, mainly because when he heard it, it usually meant run!
Fighting- He can hold his own with hand-to-hand combat, but would much prefer the fighting you from a distance for a while. His style would have to remain to throwing stuff at you, distant spells that cause damage the arena, and other tactical stuff. He would much rather be farther away from you that he knows he can be safe for a short while. Then after a paralyzed or a damaging injury when he had the upper hand he would fight you head up.
Magic: None yet, but he is going to unlock a spell/talent in a quest.
Weapons-
He has for now a quarter staff made of a hardwood, such as oak, but this wood is different. It is called “Aszelan” It’s a tree that was found on his home turf it was rare, because it unlike other woods it is more fireproof. Even in a dried state. It was specially made for him during the Great War.
He also has a small throwing dagger that he has managed to keep onto for awhile. It is not a very strong metal and it is not very expensive. But it does a good job.
Appearance- his hair is usually spiked about in a messy fashion with some curls here and there. His face is usually grimacing with the thoughts of war constantly flying through his head. His body is weathered, but young, young for an elf. His eyes hold the tale of an elf that has gone mad, stark raving mad. He wears a brown over coat that has a hood on it, resembling almost the same outfit that a monk would wear. It covers his green tunic that was made to match the forest and shrubberies that one could find around a town. His leggings are black and made for optimal concealment amongst the shadows of the vegetation. He has a pair of deer skin moccasins that are good for quiet movement and protective to the feet, but they suck for being water proof and warming. Underneath his left eye, is a birth mark, it appears to be a scar, but nobody knows for sure.
Armor- He doesn’t believe in armor it makes to much noise.
History- There isn’t a time that Aralian could remember not being in the army. Even when he was young he remembers running around with a non-loaded hand crossbow during basic training for the high elf army. The small crossbow that would be held in one hand by the rest of the adult members often took two for him because of his small stature. He looked like the little elf sniper. He copied members of the team and learned from their mistakes. He mimicked with great detail as they were taught basic hand-to-hand combat moves. Aralian even ate at the mess hall with them. It was like he had no choice, but to be in the army.
To his recollection he couldn’t even remember his own parents. No matter how far back he thought there was no vague memory of them at all. He did remember being read to as a child, but that was the master general on the base, and they were not stories of little boys becoming princess. They were about fighting. Midway through the story was always Aralian favorite part, because that was when it became interactive. “What do you do if your horse suddenly rides too far into an enemy trap and you are circled by the enemy on all sides?” Aralian would think for a moment sometimes a good ten minutes before the he would shout out the answer, “You ride don’t slow down, pick a weak point and hit it hard.” His young voice was full of excitement as he jumped from his little bunk pretending to hold a weapon. These is usually where the general would coral him back up and toss him into the bunk, tell him it was bed time and it would be time to get up in 1200 hours, even though he usually wouldn’t get up until a few hours later than the rest.
It wasn’t long before he was being treated like an equal member of the army, he would watch as a certain number of troops came each year and then a certain number left. Different platoons would be formed and moved out to different base camps each year. Then after almost twenty or so years of this, it became more intense. More and more people seemed to becoming at a time. He himself was even placed in one of the platoons. Like the rest of them he had to work his way up and build to become a higher ranking official. What these guys took a long time to do, he did in a short time. He could do what these people were just learning with his eyes closed. Even some of the newer stuff he could handle with great ease. He was better shape, stronger, and smarter than almost all of the recruits in his platoon. Soon he was made a platoon leader for the high elf army. His platoon and he were sent off to one more base camp, before the deported to the war.
His platoon was made up of 16 young elves, all of them around his age of 30 years old, which is the human equivalency to being 15 years old. There was one person in his platoon that he cared a lot about. It was a person who was right below him in command. He was a two year veteran at the camp and a person that Aralian even trained in his first year. His name was Rhox well that’s what Aralian called him. Everyone else referred to him as, Rhocian (Row-si-an). The two had a bond that held the group together. They lead tactical and strong, but sometimes cautious. The cautious tactical came from Rhox, and the Strong and Tactical came from Aralian. They completed each other, and together that platoon had killed more dwarves in this Great war than any of the others combined.
The war was entering the tenth year of fighting when a tragedy struck and Rhox was killed by a young dwarf yielding an axe. Aralian had made an order that sent his troops straight into an unprotected flank onto some ambushing dwarves. The young dwarf that killed Rhox came out from behind a big boulder and cut the leg off of his horse with one swoop. The next swoop beheaded Rhox with the ease of a breaking a twig just by stepping on it. Aralian watched in what seemed to be slow motion. The head rolled roughly three feet before he saw another solider throw a knife in the forehead of that dwarf that beheaded Aralian best friend.
He walked over slowly, fighting a few of the remaining dwarves and scoping out the casualties. The good news was, only two men had died from his platoon and the dwarves had been completely killed from that skirmish. The bad thing was that two men from his platoon had died, including his best friend. The platoon retreated to a base camp where it was safe for the new two weeks. Everyday Aralian cried. It hurt him deep and for the next month and half he called vengeance on the dwarves. He slaughtered a countless number, including some women and children. He had no remorse during this time. He was also careless with his platoon, often times letting all but two die before he would return to a safe area.
A week later he received notice from the Grandmaster of the Army. They thought he should either retire or return to training camp to become an instructor. He choose to retire, and began to make his way around Althanas. Which brought him by boat to a place called Radasanthia. He wasn’t sure what all was here, but he was going to find out.