Post by vensyn on Jul 28, 2011 9:07:49 GMT -5
Character's Full Name: Vensyn Utharn (last name abandoned, he never uses it.)
Character's Login Name: Vensyn
Character's Species: Human
Character's Age: 28
Physical Description: 6'2 and around 180-190 lbs. Broad of shoulder, well muscled but far from bulky, looks a bit on a lean side. Golden blonde hair falls to about shoulder length, and he often sports a good bit of facial scruff, not caring to shave all that regularly. Eyes are a dark sapphire blue. Accent is subtle but comparable to Welsh. Clothing tends to be quite common, cream, tan or brown tunics, breeches and a pair of beat up looking old leather boots. He carries a longsword with a plain wood and brass leather wrapped hilt, in a battered leather sheath. For those who actually know swords however, the blade itself is of exceptional quality. Towards the base of the blade on either side is a small stylized etched symbol that appears to be some sort of waterbird. His skin is a light to medium tan, slightly bronzed from time spent working outside. He bares several signifigant scars. The most noteable, starts just under his right collarbone where it joins into his shoulder. It travels over the top of the shoulder, down one side and the underside of his arm, and down his upper back. It looks like clawmarks from a creature that was quite large. Its an old scar clearly, healed up many years ago, although his arm still twinges and gets stiff once in a while, typically just in cold weather. The other scar is a palm sized deep burn under the right side of his collarbone, just a few inches off from the center of his chest. A closer inspection might revel what looks like some other sort of symbol or brand under the burn.
Magical items/Powers: None. Vensyn is a Magic Void. He has no magical abilities or resistances, and carries no magical items on his person. However his ability with a sword sometimes seems to border on the supernatural, but it is a completely mundane skill, just a highly developed one.
Other Notes: Tries to pass himself off as a simple laborer, farmhand, or something along those lines to others. Tends to avoid reveling how skilled he actually is with a sword, unless he can't avoid it, as showing how skilled he is leads to questions of how he got that way. For that same reason, he tends to dodge any questions about his more signifigant scars, or make up a story about them that makes them seem like an accident of some sort. He struggles with alchoholism, and had been recovering and making good progress until his wife left him five months ago.
Sample RP Post:
Vensyn was, really just minding his own business and had he know there was a runaway slave, he would have likely just 'happened to look the other way' It wasnt like he hadnt done it before. <i>Outright sweltering night.. the summer before that fateful autumn when the armies of Varzalia moved Eastward, seeking out the Dawnbringer.. he heard some crying, sound of a struggle.. His jaw clenched a little, but he tried to ignore it.. a hollow thud however, then the sound of breaking pottery.. that was out of place... rustling, bare feet on hard packed dirt.. choked back sobs, perhaps ten strides at most from the opening of his tent.. He stood up from where he sat on the cot, a wet cloth in hand tossed aside, having been used to wipe away some of the sweat and road dust. Clad only in a pair of pants he pushed back the fur that served as a door.. it would have been cooler open.. but he wanted to be alone.. Like he could somehow hide from what had gone on during the day, the sights he had seen, the women screaming as some were pulled away from the rest of the hostages.. He had killed nine men that day himself, and watched far more die.. It was war right..? It shouldnt matter.. why then.. He dismissed the thoughts when he saw two of the women.. perhaps only a few years younger than himself.. girls really.. too thin, big eyes dark and frightened.. clinging to each other.. trying to make it through the gauntlet of tents to freedom that lay just beyond.. dark, most everyone asleep, and the watchmen, were likely to be dozing or drunk.. besides, who would dare attack the Nightmare's army? Simple, it would have been to simply capture them himself.. And he would have been rewarded.. Favor with the Nightmare, his own father was a rare thing, and most would stoop to any level to get it.. Vensyn watched them a moment.. and withdrew.. closing his eyes. "Best hurry.. before someone sees you." He muttered. "Least you can run from this."</i> Sandwich in one hand, half pint of cheap gin in the other, he moved down into the arena area. Quiet here at this hour, no one to bother him.. No slaves, no slavers.. Just him, some shredded beef on a large white roll with a bit of cheese, and a few swallows of gin to keep him going.. He had tried to stop drinking, but that particular devil had too strong a grip on him.. it wasnt about to let go just yet. Those who had known Vensyn, as the Nightmare's son, the Blademaster, Black Knight, that had lead those horrid armies into battle.. He might be a bit hard to reconize.. Older, hair tosseled, scruff on his cheeks, lacking the ominous taint of the power that had been granted to him, lacking the hardened cold that being a soilder has put in his expression, and lacking the regalia. But he still, unfortunatly looked like a Varzalian, and a bit too much like his father, even if his mother had left a mark on him as well, particularly his eyes.. dressed in the clothes of a typical laborer.. he flopped down, leaning back against the cool stone. Magic void, he could no more sense someone using the Aether than he could have used it himself. He had no idea he was not alone in the otherwise abandoned arena.
Read more: nasmara.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=memapps&action=display&thread=1#ixzz1TPHz3L00
Character's Login Name: Vensyn
Character's Species: Human
Character's Age: 28
Physical Description: 6'2 and around 180-190 lbs. Broad of shoulder, well muscled but far from bulky, looks a bit on a lean side. Golden blonde hair falls to about shoulder length, and he often sports a good bit of facial scruff, not caring to shave all that regularly. Eyes are a dark sapphire blue. Accent is subtle but comparable to Welsh. Clothing tends to be quite common, cream, tan or brown tunics, breeches and a pair of beat up looking old leather boots. He carries a longsword with a plain wood and brass leather wrapped hilt, in a battered leather sheath. For those who actually know swords however, the blade itself is of exceptional quality. Towards the base of the blade on either side is a small stylized etched symbol that appears to be some sort of waterbird. His skin is a light to medium tan, slightly bronzed from time spent working outside. He bares several signifigant scars. The most noteable, starts just under his right collarbone where it joins into his shoulder. It travels over the top of the shoulder, down one side and the underside of his arm, and down his upper back. It looks like clawmarks from a creature that was quite large. Its an old scar clearly, healed up many years ago, although his arm still twinges and gets stiff once in a while, typically just in cold weather. The other scar is a palm sized deep burn under the right side of his collarbone, just a few inches off from the center of his chest. A closer inspection might revel what looks like some other sort of symbol or brand under the burn.
Magical items/Powers: None. Vensyn is a Magic Void. He has no magical abilities or resistances, and carries no magical items on his person. However his ability with a sword sometimes seems to border on the supernatural, but it is a completely mundane skill, just a highly developed one.
Other Notes: Tries to pass himself off as a simple laborer, farmhand, or something along those lines to others. Tends to avoid reveling how skilled he actually is with a sword, unless he can't avoid it, as showing how skilled he is leads to questions of how he got that way. For that same reason, he tends to dodge any questions about his more signifigant scars, or make up a story about them that makes them seem like an accident of some sort. He struggles with alchoholism, and had been recovering and making good progress until his wife left him five months ago.
Sample RP Post:
Vensyn was, really just minding his own business and had he know there was a runaway slave, he would have likely just 'happened to look the other way' It wasnt like he hadnt done it before. <i>Outright sweltering night.. the summer before that fateful autumn when the armies of Varzalia moved Eastward, seeking out the Dawnbringer.. he heard some crying, sound of a struggle.. His jaw clenched a little, but he tried to ignore it.. a hollow thud however, then the sound of breaking pottery.. that was out of place... rustling, bare feet on hard packed dirt.. choked back sobs, perhaps ten strides at most from the opening of his tent.. He stood up from where he sat on the cot, a wet cloth in hand tossed aside, having been used to wipe away some of the sweat and road dust. Clad only in a pair of pants he pushed back the fur that served as a door.. it would have been cooler open.. but he wanted to be alone.. Like he could somehow hide from what had gone on during the day, the sights he had seen, the women screaming as some were pulled away from the rest of the hostages.. He had killed nine men that day himself, and watched far more die.. It was war right..? It shouldnt matter.. why then.. He dismissed the thoughts when he saw two of the women.. perhaps only a few years younger than himself.. girls really.. too thin, big eyes dark and frightened.. clinging to each other.. trying to make it through the gauntlet of tents to freedom that lay just beyond.. dark, most everyone asleep, and the watchmen, were likely to be dozing or drunk.. besides, who would dare attack the Nightmare's army? Simple, it would have been to simply capture them himself.. And he would have been rewarded.. Favor with the Nightmare, his own father was a rare thing, and most would stoop to any level to get it.. Vensyn watched them a moment.. and withdrew.. closing his eyes. "Best hurry.. before someone sees you." He muttered. "Least you can run from this."</i> Sandwich in one hand, half pint of cheap gin in the other, he moved down into the arena area. Quiet here at this hour, no one to bother him.. No slaves, no slavers.. Just him, some shredded beef on a large white roll with a bit of cheese, and a few swallows of gin to keep him going.. He had tried to stop drinking, but that particular devil had too strong a grip on him.. it wasnt about to let go just yet. Those who had known Vensyn, as the Nightmare's son, the Blademaster, Black Knight, that had lead those horrid armies into battle.. He might be a bit hard to reconize.. Older, hair tosseled, scruff on his cheeks, lacking the ominous taint of the power that had been granted to him, lacking the hardened cold that being a soilder has put in his expression, and lacking the regalia. But he still, unfortunatly looked like a Varzalian, and a bit too much like his father, even if his mother had left a mark on him as well, particularly his eyes.. dressed in the clothes of a typical laborer.. he flopped down, leaning back against the cool stone. Magic void, he could no more sense someone using the Aether than he could have used it himself. He had no idea he was not alone in the otherwise abandoned arena.
Read more: nasmara.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=memapps&action=display&thread=1#ixzz1TPHz3L00
