This thread will not be actively updated anymore. For accurate information, turn to the dedicated Groups thread. -- Tarbo
Username: The Buoyancy of Water
Name: Rakia Kane
Player: TBoW
Sex: Female
Age: 126
Height: 5’4”
Weight: 97 lbs
Other Description: Pale skin and dressed in the darkest black. Two razor thin scars run from the corners of her eyes back to her ears, whiter than even her smooth ghostly pale skin. Her black hair flows down to her mid-back, though it is almost always tied up in a ponytail. There are dark purple streaks in her hair, matching the colour of her eyes.
Character Class: Shade
Character Level: 2
Weapon Skill: 6
Strength: 2
Toughness: 3
Dexterity: 6
Intelligence: 5
Equipment: Repeating Crossbow, Short Sword, Shade Cloak.
Skills: Basic Stealth, Infiltrate, Rapid Fire.
Background:
Rakia became a mercenary many years ago. She was born into a nomad family who lived in the wilderness, never venturing near the vast cities of civilization. In such a community it was necessary for every young elf to learn the skills of the shade, and she soon became proficient at looking after herself in the harsh wilderness. However Rakia was never completely happy living this life. She longed to explore the world and see the mystical sights her Uncle always told her of.
Rakia set out to make a name for herself as soon as she was old enough. She opted for the mercenary route; her Uncle had told her it would lead to exciting travels, fame and fortune faster than any other career choice. At first she was almost too scared of the big cities to even speak to most, but she eventually found a group of elves with the same goals as her. Eventually, after much adventuring, she found herself in the employment of one Lord Ureal, a powerful noble. Her early training meant she quickly rose through the ranks of his servants, eventually becoming his most valued employee. She became very successful under his wing, and soon began making a name for herself. However this was all about to change.
In a most important mission that Lord Ureal trusted only to her, she failed. Lord Ureal became the laughing stock of the upper class, and many a rumour of his declining power sprang up. He could not let this lie, and unfortunately for Rakia, his wrath fell upon her. After a long time in the prisoners and torture cells of Lord Ureal she was let free. But she was cursed, losing all the skill that had made her successful, and being turned back into the nervous wreck she was when she first became a mercenary. Finally free, she set out again, wishing only to exact revenge upon Lord Ureal.
However before this happened she found herself caught up in a desperate battle with the forces of Chaos. Against her will she was hired, along with several other mercenaries, to settle this from the inside. Powerless to stop the scenario unfolding around her Rakia and the others tried to stop the Khornites. Members of the group started dying or simply disappearing, until only Rakia was left. With no other choice she fled the cities to escape imminent death. Only now, after a year passed, has she plucked up the courage to return to civilisation and once again begin her quest to find Lord Ureal.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Username: Warpix
Character Name: Drak'Ne Warsong
Character Height and Weight: 6'2" 120 LBS
Character Age: 177
Other Descriptions: Drak'Ne has slicked back hair that is as dark as night and has ice blue eyes that in the right light seem to luminate, his skin is fairly pale and has a tone of a sickening light shade of yellow, he is very skinny and wears knee high black boots, pants, shirt, as well as cloak, the inside of his cloak is a greyish green that is ideal for hiding himself with while surrounded by nature, he wears a black scarf imbetween his shirt and cloak that he occasionally pulls up to help hide his face, he also wears a black sash around his waist, which is ideal for attaching objects to as well as hiding small objects in. His dagger is strapped to his left thight, blade pointing up, so he may make a wuick diping movement to his left whilest ducking to quickly draw his dagger and attack in the same movement. His short sword is slung by a two leather straps that goes diagonally across his torso and horizontally under his sash.
Character Class: Trainie
Character Background: Drak'Ne, the son of assassin Warsong, was once a mighty warrior. However, that had all changed after leading a slave raid on a Bretonian city and facing defeat and then capture, Drak'Ne was strong, fierce, and a great leader, however, six months of rotting away in a tower had changed all that, his body withered away and he had became demoralized, but one day, he was escorted out of his tower to be executed, knowing what was to happen, Drak'Ne had quickly grabed one of the escort's daggers and then quickly disposed of the escort group that had contained two men, he then dressed in one of thier uniforms and made to the sea, he quickly sold the equipment for a robe and passage to Naggaroth, promissing more riches upon arrival, the crew of the skiff he was very worried during the whole trip, expecialy because during the entire time they had known him, Drak'ne never spoke of his real name, past, nor did he ever show his face. After about three days, the skiff was boarded by a small group of Durchii Corsairs on a slave raid, glad to see his kin again, Drak'Ne disposed of his cloak and was taken back to Naggaroth, however, his skills as a warrior had dulled and he then decided to pick up the trade of the cutthrought, he still uses the dagger of his captors to this day
Weapon Skill (WS): 5
Strength (S): 3
Toughness (T): 2
Dexterity (D): 5
Intelligence (I): 3
Equipment: Short Sword, Dagger
Skills: Two Weapon Fighting, Uncontrollable Frenzy
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Username: Darmort DECEASED (KILLED BY BANE)
Character Name: Ventress
Character Height and Weight: Ventress is approximately 6'6", and weighs around 140 pounds.
Character Age: 210
Other Descriptions: Ventress' body is slip and subtle. She usually wears a tight-fitting corset, designed for moving around sharply in combat, and a pair of tight-fitting shorts. She has long dark hair that she has tied back into a long pony tail, and near crimson eyes. Her skin is remarkably pale, even for a Witch Elf. She also carries a pouch full of old brooches, broken daggers, bits of skin, locks of hair, and other assorted oddities.
Character Class: Trainee Of Khaine
Character Background: Ventress was born Death Night eve, which her family thought to be an omen. Her family, rather than trying to hide her, gave her to the Temple as soon as she was born. She grew up, living in silence and in darkness, watching, learning, training. She grew obsessed with simple things that lay around the temple; discarded brooches, broken dagger blades, bits of flesh. Nothing interesting. But out of these things, Ventress built herself; a scavenger and a shadow. It wasn't until she was around ninety when she first spoke in front of anyone else; why doesn't Khaine lead us?
For years this has puzzled her, but each time she asks the question, she's ignored or given an answer that makes little sense.
She doesn't have great people skills, as a Witch Elf, a she isn't necessarily the one who comes up with the greatest ideas as she speaks very little, but unlike some, she hides what she knows and uses it to her advantage when and where she sees fit. When Ventress does speak, she speaks slowly in an old form of language. She must have picked this up somewhere, but no one knows where, or from whom. She doesn't know herself.
Unlike a lot of Druchii, Ventress isn't driven by a blind anger against Asur; though she does hate them for what they've done, she believes that if Khaine wanted them on Ulthuan, they would have Ulthuan.
Weapon Skill (WS): 5
Strength (S): 2
Toughness (T): 2
Dexterity (D): 5
Intelligence (I): 4
Equipment -Trainee: 1 Short Sword and 1 Dagger [C]
Skills - Two Weapon Fighting, Uncontrollable Frenzy.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Username: Raneth
Name: Raneth Jointcrusher
Age: 106
Height: 6'2"
Weight: 79 kg
Class: Trainee
STATS:
WS: 4
S: 4
T: 5
D: 3
I: 2
EQUIPMENT:
1 Short Sword, 1 Dagger
SKILLS:
Two Weapon Fighting, Uncontrollable Frenzy
BACKGROUND:
One of relatively many to emerge from the Cauldron that year, Raneth received his martial education in a target-rich environment. Compared to the other children he was a tough one, and despite his compartive slow-wittedness, he soon came to realize this simple fact.
Raneth grew up to be a bully and a braggart, challenging his peers to attack him - trusting in his own ability to resist their attacks. So far, his tactic of wearing opponents down has seemed to work, and he learned several complementary fighting styles, focusing on submissions, counterstrikes and locks. His sadistic enthusiasm has earned him the nickname Jointcrusher.
Though a very capable fighter, Raneth is quite headstrong and very unlikely to leave combat of his own free will, being convinced of his own superiority and all. Therefore relies on party members to, well, NOT bite off more than he can chew. His depraved tendencies has on occasion seen opponents forced into submission, taken captive, and never reported back. Raneth's skill at intimidating people may suggest that he is also a consummate torturer...
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Username: Messiah of Death
Character Name: “Sinfulblade”
Character Height and Weight: 6ft 5” 140lbs
Character Age: 275
Other Descriptions: His hair is jet black; eyes are deep green in color. Chest and neck are marked with ritualistic tattoos, left palm scared by flesh ripping hooks (old would from his early training days) yet he never removes his gloves.
Character Class: Trainee of Khaine
Character Background: Very little is told about his past, all that is known is that his father was the captain of “Agony-shard” a corsair raid ship, often making slave hunts in ulthuan territory. It is said that along with the many petrified labor salves the ship once returned carrying an elven maiden of obvious high standard in the high elven society, spiteful as his father was he couldn’t help falling for the charming maiden which lacked the fearful character of the weak kin and was fierce enough to even slay an unruly corsair that attacked her right after they set down in the land of chill, rumours say that she strangled the pirate with her thighs. Sinful’s father claimed Sphyreth (Sinfulblade’s mother) as his own and struggled hard, but in the end managed to claim her, her freedom in exchange for their firstborn son to be sacrificed on the altar of Khaine…
Several years later Edex their firstborn came to the world and was immediately abducted by witches to give fresh blood to the murder god. All would have ended if not one unimaginable fact – when the crying infant was placed on the altar, something happened… His flesh was teal from the dim shadows, but even as the candles all around were light his flesh remained ice blue. The Khainates took this as a divine intervention and a sign from the bloody handed god himself that this shadow-skinned elf was destined to become an aspect of murder…
weapon skill (Ws): 4
Strength (S): 2
Toughness (T):3
Dexterity (D): 5
Intelligence (I):4
Wargear: 1 Short Sword and 1 Dagger
Skills: Two Weapon Fighting, Uncontrollable Frenzy.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Username: DiscipleofKhaine
Name: Maeko Blackmist
Height/Weight: 6'3"/185 lbs.
Age: 121
Other Descriptions: Maeko is fit and well built, with dark hair that is kept messy and short, and dull greenish gray eyes. Though he wears simple light armour, and the occasional cloak, he almost never covers his face or hair to disguise himself, as he prefers open battle in which he is sure he has made himself known.
Class: Warrior
Background: Maeko is the eldest son of the Blackmist family, a class of lower nobility but fair wealth. He keeps his hair short as a symbol of youthful angst and rebellion against the snobbish noble society he finds himself being forced into by his father. Maeko wishes to leave the large port city he lives in and travel the world, to not only grow into a fierce druchii warrior like the legendary Malus Darkblade, but also to escape the clutches of noble society and gain for himself a sense of freedom. Maeko, while often more clumsy than he is graceful, has found over the years that he has a high threshold for pain, an attribute that combined with his prowess in fighting makes him quite formidable. Maeko's main fault lies in his lack of experience and knowledge, both of which he is overconfident about within himself. This fault often leads him into situations that he loses control of and can end up being a burden on himself and his comrades.
Stats:
WS-4
S-4
T-5
D-2
I-3
Equipment:
Longsword, Shield, Lightarmour
Skills:
None
----
Group 9
Moderator: The Makers of Chains
-
Brinnyunlimited
- Shade
- Posts: 115
- Joined: Wed Apr 05, 2006 2:38 pm
Group 9
Last edited by Brinnyunlimited on Mon Aug 27, 2007 6:22 pm, edited 2 times in total.
-
Brinnyunlimited
- Shade
- Posts: 115
- Joined: Wed Apr 05, 2006 2:38 pm
Username: BloodyAngel
Name: Illiiya Jaelrae
Height/Weight: 5' 8" 112lbs
Age: 134
Description: Illiiya is a short, frail-looking thing, noticeably small for a Druchii and with the lithe, slender frame of so many of her kin. Her skin is ghostly pale, her hair dark as night and long... almost un-functionally long in fact... falling to just above her knees. Her eyes are a pale, icy blue. Illiiya dresses in tight-fitting black leather armor, with a equally dark tunic over it all and simple wrappings of deep red cloth around her wrists
Class: Warrior
Background: Despite her profession, Illiiya has only middling talent as a warrior. She is the oldest daughter of Az'aral Jaelrae, once a great and potent noble in service to the armies of the witch king himself. Az'aral took his children with him to war... and as such Illiiya was raised around soldiers, slaves and bloodshed. She was never physically potent... something age did nothing to change, but she always possessed a cunning and devious mind. The small girl bordered on brilliant. Illiiya and her father were close... unnaturally close, some would say... but he taught her everything he knew about war. The appeal of battle and bloodshed appealed to the cruelty in her... and she learned the arts of war as her father groomed her for the day that she might lead her own force of Druchii. In a century or so, he was convinced she might have what it takes to lead a force of her own.
Illiiya raided with her father's band for several years... Spilling her share of blood and becoming a decent tactician, as well as skilled with a crossbow. Despite her talent however, Illiiya would never get her chance to lead. It was to be that her father was betrayed. After a long and successful raiding trip, greed took hold of several of the lesser nobles who desired a greater share of what they had fought for than they were due. Az'aral fell to something so many Druchii have.... his own kind. Rather than be killed during the mutiny along with her father... Illiiya turned on him as well... And watched as he was shot, beheaded and thrown overboard into the cold waters off the coast of Naggaroth. Once she reached port, Illiiya left raiding behind... Even if she held no grudge for her father's death, she could not trust the crew. She would find no allies on land either however. For her part in his death, Illiiya's family forsook her. Now, she is in the unenviable position of finding a place for herself on her own, without the aid of her family or her former comrades... Still young and relatively inexperienced, her intelligence alone may not be enough.
Personality/Fighting Style: Born small and physically frail (Even for a Druchii), Illiiya embodies the credo of "brains over brawn". She is no great force in battle, and she knows it. She has had a scant few years of training as a warrior and is relatively inexperienced. Thus, she favors ranged weapons, surprise attacks, traps, deception and manipulation over close-up fighting, and will do all she can to avoid it. Illiiya is more than willing to seem weak, submissive or harmless in order to manipulate someone into lowering their guard or dismissing her as less of a threat than other, more capable opponents.
Weapon Skill: 4
Strength: 3
Toughness: 2
Dexterity: 4
Intelligence: 5
Equipment: Repeater Crossbow, Dagger, Leather Armor (Light Armor), Shield
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Username: Akimoto
Name: Akimoto Yamada
Age: 125
Appearance: Shoulder length dark brown hair, lightly tanned skin and pale green eyes. When leading his fathers army into battle he rides his proud steed Salana, wearing an ornate suit of Ithilmar armour, dark blue sea dragon cloak and shield bearing his family crest (a Jade, bleeding heart). however in small scale raids he wears a light breast plate, chain mail, and black cloak, preferring it for the lighter weight and maneuverability it offers in combat.
Height: 6' 10"
Weight: 80Kg
Class: Warrior
History: Akimoto is the elder son (brother of Takumi) of Masato, Lord of the Yamada House. While his family has never had a great standing in the courts of Naggaroth they have a reasonable holding due to some prosperous raids on Ulthuan. However they have their rivals in Naggaroth, namely the house of Kuniko, and a decade ago the Yamada family's estate and holdings were relocated to a outpost city in the mountains, west of Arnheim, named Silmani.
There Akimoto and his family have remained, not having enough political power to dispute the decision. To make a living in this provincial city the Yamada armies sail out to the Bleak coast, from the rivers in the Doom Glades, to perform sea raids trading barges traveling between Arnheim and Ulthuan, this has brought the city a small wealth of supplies (foods, weapons, armour), treasures (silks, jewells, etc) and slaves. Great numbers of slaves are sent into the mountains to either labor in the mines or to construct the tunnel system between the port and Silmani.
However these activities haven't gone unnoticed, the attention of Arnheim has fallen upon Silmani. There has been a steadily increasing number of attacks on the city, which have so far been repulsed with minimal losses, but it is only a matter of time before a full scale force is sent to deal with them.
Slowly the small city is beginning to prosper and grow, and Akimoto's skills in battle are developing, an indication of his future prowess. Now he has the chance to extend these skills further as well as improve his family's treasury. Rumours of a highly profitable expedition have reached Silmani, and Akimoto is ready...
weapon skill: 5
strength: 4
toughness: 2
dexterity: 3
intelligence: 4
Equipment - Long Sword, Shield, Light Armour.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Username: Roman V. Numeral
Name: Barath Blackblade
Class: Warrior, armed with longsword, shield and light armour
Height and Weight: Roughly 6’2” and weighs around 150lbs.
Age: 180
Ws: 4
S: 5
T: 4
D:3
I: 2
Description: Barath is fairly unremarkable, a warrior approaching middle age in a population of veteran raiders and soldiers. The fact that he’s missing half his right ear keeps him from ever being in danger of being called handsome and his quiet, thoughtful manner means that he’d be easy to pass by without a second glance in most other situations. He has dark brown hair hacked short to keep it from his grey eyes. He's missing the fingers on his left hand from the second knuckle down due to having them bitten off by a savage beast man from the north. His shoulders are thin and narrow even for a elf, but his body is lean and knotty with thick muscle from the years of raiding and combat he’s been through. Barath is dressed in dark blue robes, covering the thick white fencing and battle scars that slash across his arms and chest. From the condition of is high black leather boots and the fraying edges and stains on his thick grey cloak, it‘s clear he‘s not one of the moneyed class and a close look at the lines of face and the perpetual frown he wears on his thin lips will tell you that he’s had a hard life, filled with long days of hunger and pain and the constant battle against his addiction to drink.
Background:
Barath swore viciously. With his eyes closed he felt like he was still on that cursed raiding ship. With his eyes opened, it was even worse. The world rolled and dipped as he tried to stand, one hand on the cold wet wall of the narrow, dank alley. Filth lined the gutter and the sound of water dripping nearby rang mercilessly and somehow unnaturally loud in his ears. His head pounded like he’d been smacked with a hammer, which, considering the drinking binge he’d been on last night, was a definite possibility. He slowly pulled himself erect before noticing his shield was still on the ground by his worn out boots.
“ Time for me to get some new footwear, “ he thought, “Starting out in a convoy of raiding ships, we sure had to march a lot last trip, not to mention having to run from those filthy barbarians. And with barely a handful of gold at the end of it!”
With a deep sigh, he slowly bent to pick it up by one of it’s broken leather straps. The effort made his stomach roll and with an explosive breath, the dregs of last night’s cheap wine sprayed onto his battered shield and the muddy cobblestones underneath, barely missing a rolled up grey rag. Barath coughed and swore, but he felt a little better.
He grabbed the rag off the ground to wipe his shield, but a sudden realization made him stop, he was missing his cloak! That sea dragon cloak had cost a dear price to buy, and more than a few drops of blood to keep from the scum ridden mercenaries and cocky corsairs he’d sailed with over the years. Fragments of the night were beginning to return to his memory. The worthless sell swords he’d been drinking with had probably stole it off his back while he was drowning in his cups. Instinctively his maimed left hand went for his purse at his belt, the stumps of his fingers reaching for the strings that would have held it in place and found nothing. It too had been stolen. He had slogged through rain and mud for that gold, endured the cramped decks of the raiding vessels for that gold, had fought and killed for it and even shovelled the stinking dung of cold ones from the ship’s hold!
Furious he drew his sword , at least he hadn’t lost it yet. It’s long straight blade glinted in the gloomy alley. Notched and scratched from too many battles, the long steel still held an edge that hungered for blood.
Barath pressed a hand to his pounding brow and tried to think back to the last pub he’d been before apparently passing out and being robbed and dumped in an alley by his companions. He thought back to the raiding captain paying off his hired swords and corsairs at the dockyards, handing out the gold pieces to scowling and eager sailors and warriors. Then came the traditional first night on shore; where had he gone to spend his coin first? There had been the Golden Skull, then there was that waitress at the Corsairs Keg, or was that the Cold One’s Mug? Seemingly unconnected glimpses of pub interiors and drunken revelry surfaced through his hangover, but he couldn’t put them together. Barath swore out loud, he couldn’t try to find the thieves if he couldn’t remember where he had been robbed, much less by who. He punched the slimy alley wall in impotent rage and snarled at his misfortune.
His anger was burning off the last of the desired affects of the wine, leaving him cold and hungry. Like so often before, the feeling of damp cold air cutting through his threadbare robes and a hollow stomach helped clear his thoughts and focus on priorities. Survival. Always survival first. Luckily, he’d been left with all he needed to make a living. He sheathed his sword and hefted his spattered and dented shield over his bony shoulder. His old, weather beaten armour was no comfort against the cold, it’s frayed leather only held the hard, clammy steel plates closer against his body.
Again it occurred to him to maybe use that grey rag to clean off the vomit, only now he realized it wasn’t a rag at all. He’d been sleeping balled up on a wrinkled dirty grey cloak. He’d most likely found it discarded somewhere by luck in his drunken wandering, there was no one he knew in this city who’d be kind enough to provide him with a thick hooded cloak like this to keep off the nights chill.
Wordlessly, he thanked Khaine for this gift and threw the stained cloak over his shoulders. Quickly, he rinsed his shield in a puddle of oily water and gathered his thoughts. He needed funds now, not only for food and lodging, but also to get some decent clothes. He knew where he could get work, where a druchii like him could always get a paying job. Standing now, he looked down the alley to the quiet, dreary city street , his grey eyes cold and hard under his heavy eyebrows. There was always someone who would pay him to spill some blood.
Name: Illiiya Jaelrae
Height/Weight: 5' 8" 112lbs
Age: 134
Description: Illiiya is a short, frail-looking thing, noticeably small for a Druchii and with the lithe, slender frame of so many of her kin. Her skin is ghostly pale, her hair dark as night and long... almost un-functionally long in fact... falling to just above her knees. Her eyes are a pale, icy blue. Illiiya dresses in tight-fitting black leather armor, with a equally dark tunic over it all and simple wrappings of deep red cloth around her wrists
Class: Warrior
Background: Despite her profession, Illiiya has only middling talent as a warrior. She is the oldest daughter of Az'aral Jaelrae, once a great and potent noble in service to the armies of the witch king himself. Az'aral took his children with him to war... and as such Illiiya was raised around soldiers, slaves and bloodshed. She was never physically potent... something age did nothing to change, but she always possessed a cunning and devious mind. The small girl bordered on brilliant. Illiiya and her father were close... unnaturally close, some would say... but he taught her everything he knew about war. The appeal of battle and bloodshed appealed to the cruelty in her... and she learned the arts of war as her father groomed her for the day that she might lead her own force of Druchii. In a century or so, he was convinced she might have what it takes to lead a force of her own.
Illiiya raided with her father's band for several years... Spilling her share of blood and becoming a decent tactician, as well as skilled with a crossbow. Despite her talent however, Illiiya would never get her chance to lead. It was to be that her father was betrayed. After a long and successful raiding trip, greed took hold of several of the lesser nobles who desired a greater share of what they had fought for than they were due. Az'aral fell to something so many Druchii have.... his own kind. Rather than be killed during the mutiny along with her father... Illiiya turned on him as well... And watched as he was shot, beheaded and thrown overboard into the cold waters off the coast of Naggaroth. Once she reached port, Illiiya left raiding behind... Even if she held no grudge for her father's death, she could not trust the crew. She would find no allies on land either however. For her part in his death, Illiiya's family forsook her. Now, she is in the unenviable position of finding a place for herself on her own, without the aid of her family or her former comrades... Still young and relatively inexperienced, her intelligence alone may not be enough.
Personality/Fighting Style: Born small and physically frail (Even for a Druchii), Illiiya embodies the credo of "brains over brawn". She is no great force in battle, and she knows it. She has had a scant few years of training as a warrior and is relatively inexperienced. Thus, she favors ranged weapons, surprise attacks, traps, deception and manipulation over close-up fighting, and will do all she can to avoid it. Illiiya is more than willing to seem weak, submissive or harmless in order to manipulate someone into lowering their guard or dismissing her as less of a threat than other, more capable opponents.
Weapon Skill: 4
Strength: 3
Toughness: 2
Dexterity: 4
Intelligence: 5
Equipment: Repeater Crossbow, Dagger, Leather Armor (Light Armor), Shield
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Username: Akimoto
Name: Akimoto Yamada
Age: 125
Appearance: Shoulder length dark brown hair, lightly tanned skin and pale green eyes. When leading his fathers army into battle he rides his proud steed Salana, wearing an ornate suit of Ithilmar armour, dark blue sea dragon cloak and shield bearing his family crest (a Jade, bleeding heart). however in small scale raids he wears a light breast plate, chain mail, and black cloak, preferring it for the lighter weight and maneuverability it offers in combat.
Height: 6' 10"
Weight: 80Kg
Class: Warrior
History: Akimoto is the elder son (brother of Takumi) of Masato, Lord of the Yamada House. While his family has never had a great standing in the courts of Naggaroth they have a reasonable holding due to some prosperous raids on Ulthuan. However they have their rivals in Naggaroth, namely the house of Kuniko, and a decade ago the Yamada family's estate and holdings were relocated to a outpost city in the mountains, west of Arnheim, named Silmani.
There Akimoto and his family have remained, not having enough political power to dispute the decision. To make a living in this provincial city the Yamada armies sail out to the Bleak coast, from the rivers in the Doom Glades, to perform sea raids trading barges traveling between Arnheim and Ulthuan, this has brought the city a small wealth of supplies (foods, weapons, armour), treasures (silks, jewells, etc) and slaves. Great numbers of slaves are sent into the mountains to either labor in the mines or to construct the tunnel system between the port and Silmani.
However these activities haven't gone unnoticed, the attention of Arnheim has fallen upon Silmani. There has been a steadily increasing number of attacks on the city, which have so far been repulsed with minimal losses, but it is only a matter of time before a full scale force is sent to deal with them.
Slowly the small city is beginning to prosper and grow, and Akimoto's skills in battle are developing, an indication of his future prowess. Now he has the chance to extend these skills further as well as improve his family's treasury. Rumours of a highly profitable expedition have reached Silmani, and Akimoto is ready...
weapon skill: 5
strength: 4
toughness: 2
dexterity: 3
intelligence: 4
Equipment - Long Sword, Shield, Light Armour.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Username: Roman V. Numeral
Name: Barath Blackblade
Class: Warrior, armed with longsword, shield and light armour
Height and Weight: Roughly 6’2” and weighs around 150lbs.
Age: 180
Ws: 4
S: 5
T: 4
D:3
I: 2
Description: Barath is fairly unremarkable, a warrior approaching middle age in a population of veteran raiders and soldiers. The fact that he’s missing half his right ear keeps him from ever being in danger of being called handsome and his quiet, thoughtful manner means that he’d be easy to pass by without a second glance in most other situations. He has dark brown hair hacked short to keep it from his grey eyes. He's missing the fingers on his left hand from the second knuckle down due to having them bitten off by a savage beast man from the north. His shoulders are thin and narrow even for a elf, but his body is lean and knotty with thick muscle from the years of raiding and combat he’s been through. Barath is dressed in dark blue robes, covering the thick white fencing and battle scars that slash across his arms and chest. From the condition of is high black leather boots and the fraying edges and stains on his thick grey cloak, it‘s clear he‘s not one of the moneyed class and a close look at the lines of face and the perpetual frown he wears on his thin lips will tell you that he’s had a hard life, filled with long days of hunger and pain and the constant battle against his addiction to drink.
Background:
Barath swore viciously. With his eyes closed he felt like he was still on that cursed raiding ship. With his eyes opened, it was even worse. The world rolled and dipped as he tried to stand, one hand on the cold wet wall of the narrow, dank alley. Filth lined the gutter and the sound of water dripping nearby rang mercilessly and somehow unnaturally loud in his ears. His head pounded like he’d been smacked with a hammer, which, considering the drinking binge he’d been on last night, was a definite possibility. He slowly pulled himself erect before noticing his shield was still on the ground by his worn out boots.
“ Time for me to get some new footwear, “ he thought, “Starting out in a convoy of raiding ships, we sure had to march a lot last trip, not to mention having to run from those filthy barbarians. And with barely a handful of gold at the end of it!”
With a deep sigh, he slowly bent to pick it up by one of it’s broken leather straps. The effort made his stomach roll and with an explosive breath, the dregs of last night’s cheap wine sprayed onto his battered shield and the muddy cobblestones underneath, barely missing a rolled up grey rag. Barath coughed and swore, but he felt a little better.
He grabbed the rag off the ground to wipe his shield, but a sudden realization made him stop, he was missing his cloak! That sea dragon cloak had cost a dear price to buy, and more than a few drops of blood to keep from the scum ridden mercenaries and cocky corsairs he’d sailed with over the years. Fragments of the night were beginning to return to his memory. The worthless sell swords he’d been drinking with had probably stole it off his back while he was drowning in his cups. Instinctively his maimed left hand went for his purse at his belt, the stumps of his fingers reaching for the strings that would have held it in place and found nothing. It too had been stolen. He had slogged through rain and mud for that gold, endured the cramped decks of the raiding vessels for that gold, had fought and killed for it and even shovelled the stinking dung of cold ones from the ship’s hold!
Furious he drew his sword , at least he hadn’t lost it yet. It’s long straight blade glinted in the gloomy alley. Notched and scratched from too many battles, the long steel still held an edge that hungered for blood.
Barath pressed a hand to his pounding brow and tried to think back to the last pub he’d been before apparently passing out and being robbed and dumped in an alley by his companions. He thought back to the raiding captain paying off his hired swords and corsairs at the dockyards, handing out the gold pieces to scowling and eager sailors and warriors. Then came the traditional first night on shore; where had he gone to spend his coin first? There had been the Golden Skull, then there was that waitress at the Corsairs Keg, or was that the Cold One’s Mug? Seemingly unconnected glimpses of pub interiors and drunken revelry surfaced through his hangover, but he couldn’t put them together. Barath swore out loud, he couldn’t try to find the thieves if he couldn’t remember where he had been robbed, much less by who. He punched the slimy alley wall in impotent rage and snarled at his misfortune.
His anger was burning off the last of the desired affects of the wine, leaving him cold and hungry. Like so often before, the feeling of damp cold air cutting through his threadbare robes and a hollow stomach helped clear his thoughts and focus on priorities. Survival. Always survival first. Luckily, he’d been left with all he needed to make a living. He sheathed his sword and hefted his spattered and dented shield over his bony shoulder. His old, weather beaten armour was no comfort against the cold, it’s frayed leather only held the hard, clammy steel plates closer against his body.
Again it occurred to him to maybe use that grey rag to clean off the vomit, only now he realized it wasn’t a rag at all. He’d been sleeping balled up on a wrinkled dirty grey cloak. He’d most likely found it discarded somewhere by luck in his drunken wandering, there was no one he knew in this city who’d be kind enough to provide him with a thick hooded cloak like this to keep off the nights chill.
Wordlessly, he thanked Khaine for this gift and threw the stained cloak over his shoulders. Quickly, he rinsed his shield in a puddle of oily water and gathered his thoughts. He needed funds now, not only for food and lodging, but also to get some decent clothes. He knew where he could get work, where a druchii like him could always get a paying job. Standing now, he looked down the alley to the quiet, dreary city street , his grey eyes cold and hard under his heavy eyebrows. There was always someone who would pay him to spill some blood.