Erirag the Poet
05-25-07, 10:36 PM
Name: Erirag Songcrafter; The Poet
Age: 37 ((This is still considered young by Orcish standards, the equivalent of someone in their young twenties among humans.))
Race: Orc
Hair Color: Brown, streaked with a few ruddy red strands that catch the morning sun like blood flowing across a muddy battlefield.
Eye Color: Dirty amber, an ochred moonshine color worth drowning in.
Height: 7' 1"
Weight: 323 lbs
Occupation: Bard
Personality: Eri may be a bard, traveling around the world recording songs and poetry about what she sees, but it doesn't make her any less of an orc. Her art focuses around most of her favorite things: death, destruction, booze and brawling. She's a slow thinker, coming to conclusions sometimes days after everyone else, but what she lacks in mental capacity she makes up in passion. While the average human may not be able to see it, she's also a woman very rooted in her morals and beliefs. She's holding out for the right orc, she believes that all life should be respectfully smashed with the exception of elves who should be annihilated at all costs, damn whatever disdain it must be done with, and above all, she believes that vegetables are for fluffy bunny rabbits and fluffy bunny rabbits are for midnight snacks.
Appearance: Once a new aquaintance has gotten over just how toweringly tall Eri is, the fact that she's got an underbite that would make a gargoyle snigger, and the nearly zombie-like green skin stretched over her massive form, they would probably be drawn to her breasts. Erirag is clothed in nothing more than a skirt of grass and leather around her hips. Her long hair is held back by pins of iron, speared through the eye sockets of small rodent skulls as macabre reminders of how young human and elven girls might wear jewels among their tresses. Around her neck, a string filled with shards of shells and knucklebones is looped several times, each peice ranging from a perfect bleached white to a creamy yellow. Across her torso and forearms, in thin long lines of lighter flesh, scars cross randomly. On her shoulder, the fading reminder of a nasty bite stands garishly out against the otherwise smooth flesh. In her ears, several loops of steel are set, and small bone bars sit content from where they've been speared through her nipples.
History: Erirag was brought up with a normal Orcish upbringing, deep within the mountain recesses of Alerar. That is to say, she was mainly left to fend for herself along with the rest of the young. Education to the Orc is based largely on experience, and the motto "That which doesn't kill you only makes you stronger." While early attempts at warefare showed Erirag to have a promising future of survival within the tribe, there was something about the girl that wasn't quite right. Eri noticed things.
When the orc turned her 20th Winter, another trait began to show itself. She began to take those things that she noticed and put them into histories. She recorded stories and songs, poetry and thoughts down like an orc possessed. Each cave the nomadic tribe stopped in would soon be littered with the scratches of Orcish lyrical art that was Eri's new passion. However, because she was very good at smashing generally everything in sight, her eccentricities were tolerated.
For 17 years, Eri and her kind trooped through the Twilight Mountains, and Eri wrote. However, as the seasons changed, she began to notice that it was becoming harder to find new things to say about the things she'd seen. After a while, she began to think that maybe it would be good to go and see other things and write about them for a while. When she brought her concern to the Tribe Chief, he forbade her to leave. She was far too good at smashing things, he told her. And so, she did what any self respecting woman of independent means would do. She smashed him in the face.
The next morning, with the blessings of her family, friends, ancestors, and the muffled death threats from a broken-nosed Chief, she set out to compose the songs and stories of all she could find outside the tribe.
Weapons/Armor: Erirag uses only the natural things she was given with in this regard. Her skin is tough, weathered by the seasons and her natural racial trait of being a difficult thing to kill. It's roughly the toughness of leather, and can be pierced by pretty much anything metal but can withstand blows a bit better than a human's can. Her weapons are her hands. Large enough to single-handedly grab a human skull, when they are wrapped into fists, they become hammers all their own.
Equipment:
Thingur: Thingur is a very special lute, made by a fearful craftsman at Eri's request. The body is made of rosewood, with the soundboard made of stretched and stiffened elven skin. The soundboard has a single rose, or soundhole, under the strings, covered in a thin iron grille stylized to resemble the silhouettes of rats, all entwined in a knot. The tuning pegs are made of elven bone, and catgut was used for both the frets and the strings.
Familiar: Rroshatar was once a normal mountain rat, growing fat and content on the smaller rodents that the mountain streams brought to his lair. Then, one day an orcish tribe came through, a shaman pulling him from his bed in the weeds. The shaman did many experiments with the large rodent, intent on using him as a vessel for demonic forces. When this endeavor seemed to have failed, the shaman gave up, stabbing the rat through the heart and tossing him into a cave they were passing by. There, in the darkness, the demons finally came.
Rroshatar is currently possessed by two demons, one which grants him unlife, and the other which grants him intelligence akin to the level of a 12 year old child.
Rrosh currently has no special abilities, although he does have a very endearing chatter.
Age: 37 ((This is still considered young by Orcish standards, the equivalent of someone in their young twenties among humans.))
Race: Orc
Hair Color: Brown, streaked with a few ruddy red strands that catch the morning sun like blood flowing across a muddy battlefield.
Eye Color: Dirty amber, an ochred moonshine color worth drowning in.
Height: 7' 1"
Weight: 323 lbs
Occupation: Bard
Personality: Eri may be a bard, traveling around the world recording songs and poetry about what she sees, but it doesn't make her any less of an orc. Her art focuses around most of her favorite things: death, destruction, booze and brawling. She's a slow thinker, coming to conclusions sometimes days after everyone else, but what she lacks in mental capacity she makes up in passion. While the average human may not be able to see it, she's also a woman very rooted in her morals and beliefs. She's holding out for the right orc, she believes that all life should be respectfully smashed with the exception of elves who should be annihilated at all costs, damn whatever disdain it must be done with, and above all, she believes that vegetables are for fluffy bunny rabbits and fluffy bunny rabbits are for midnight snacks.
Appearance: Once a new aquaintance has gotten over just how toweringly tall Eri is, the fact that she's got an underbite that would make a gargoyle snigger, and the nearly zombie-like green skin stretched over her massive form, they would probably be drawn to her breasts. Erirag is clothed in nothing more than a skirt of grass and leather around her hips. Her long hair is held back by pins of iron, speared through the eye sockets of small rodent skulls as macabre reminders of how young human and elven girls might wear jewels among their tresses. Around her neck, a string filled with shards of shells and knucklebones is looped several times, each peice ranging from a perfect bleached white to a creamy yellow. Across her torso and forearms, in thin long lines of lighter flesh, scars cross randomly. On her shoulder, the fading reminder of a nasty bite stands garishly out against the otherwise smooth flesh. In her ears, several loops of steel are set, and small bone bars sit content from where they've been speared through her nipples.
History: Erirag was brought up with a normal Orcish upbringing, deep within the mountain recesses of Alerar. That is to say, she was mainly left to fend for herself along with the rest of the young. Education to the Orc is based largely on experience, and the motto "That which doesn't kill you only makes you stronger." While early attempts at warefare showed Erirag to have a promising future of survival within the tribe, there was something about the girl that wasn't quite right. Eri noticed things.
When the orc turned her 20th Winter, another trait began to show itself. She began to take those things that she noticed and put them into histories. She recorded stories and songs, poetry and thoughts down like an orc possessed. Each cave the nomadic tribe stopped in would soon be littered with the scratches of Orcish lyrical art that was Eri's new passion. However, because she was very good at smashing generally everything in sight, her eccentricities were tolerated.
For 17 years, Eri and her kind trooped through the Twilight Mountains, and Eri wrote. However, as the seasons changed, she began to notice that it was becoming harder to find new things to say about the things she'd seen. After a while, she began to think that maybe it would be good to go and see other things and write about them for a while. When she brought her concern to the Tribe Chief, he forbade her to leave. She was far too good at smashing things, he told her. And so, she did what any self respecting woman of independent means would do. She smashed him in the face.
The next morning, with the blessings of her family, friends, ancestors, and the muffled death threats from a broken-nosed Chief, she set out to compose the songs and stories of all she could find outside the tribe.
Weapons/Armor: Erirag uses only the natural things she was given with in this regard. Her skin is tough, weathered by the seasons and her natural racial trait of being a difficult thing to kill. It's roughly the toughness of leather, and can be pierced by pretty much anything metal but can withstand blows a bit better than a human's can. Her weapons are her hands. Large enough to single-handedly grab a human skull, when they are wrapped into fists, they become hammers all their own.
Equipment:
Thingur: Thingur is a very special lute, made by a fearful craftsman at Eri's request. The body is made of rosewood, with the soundboard made of stretched and stiffened elven skin. The soundboard has a single rose, or soundhole, under the strings, covered in a thin iron grille stylized to resemble the silhouettes of rats, all entwined in a knot. The tuning pegs are made of elven bone, and catgut was used for both the frets and the strings.
Familiar: Rroshatar was once a normal mountain rat, growing fat and content on the smaller rodents that the mountain streams brought to his lair. Then, one day an orcish tribe came through, a shaman pulling him from his bed in the weeds. The shaman did many experiments with the large rodent, intent on using him as a vessel for demonic forces. When this endeavor seemed to have failed, the shaman gave up, stabbing the rat through the heart and tossing him into a cave they were passing by. There, in the darkness, the demons finally came.
Rroshatar is currently possessed by two demons, one which grants him unlife, and the other which grants him intelligence akin to the level of a 12 year old child.
Rrosh currently has no special abilities, although he does have a very endearing chatter.