SomethingRandom
Villager
Name:
Eldursal
Nickname/Alias:
Sal
Age:
31
Gender:
Male
Race:
Human
Height:
6'4''
Weight:
200lb
Hair:
None
Eyes:
Solid red. During the siege of Grashvatt, an encounter with what you call 'Creepers' set my eyes ablaze with the cruel fuel of corruption. My mind stayed pure, however all I see is the demonic fate of the world should all our efforts be in vain.
Skin:
My skin is black. The encounter with those creepers buried my skin in soot. For some reason it doesn't come off. It surprisingly helps me stay warm in very cold environments. Oh, and it helps with fire-resistance.
Identifying Marks:
My face. I doubt any man has ever suffered a fate worse than mine, but was allowed to survive with such a small sacrifice.
Appearance:
I am pretty well built, however, you couldn't tell under all this soot. I had to cut slits in the soot so that I could re-open the airways (mouth, nose) and my ears. My eyes, as stated before, are red with the consequence of defeat. I keep the rest of my body mostly concealed with cloaks, tunics, gloves, and boots that I scavenged from the hell-blaze of Grashvatt. My appearance and clothing might give you the impression that I'm a bad person, but honestly I'm a nice guy who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Strengths:
Generally, I am a skilled swordsman and bowman, as well as a talented blacksmith when it comes to blades. My mother also taught me one of her recipes for Mushroom Soup. I did go to school in Grashvatt before it was consumed by corruption, so I am an intelligent person.
The soot on my skin actually helps me blend in the darkness, which helps for stealth and espionage. In addition, it also allows me to resist heat more than most people, and it provides armour to some degree.
Weaknesses and fears:
The soot on my skin also leads me to avoid the sunlight, as the sun's rays of light will cause the layers of soot to trap heat and make it very uncomfortably and sometimes dangerously hot around my skin, not to mention it makes me look ugly.
I also have a phobia of creepers and fire, though I'm learning to deal with fire. Creepers just scare me. On that note, practically everything is scarier because of my eyes. Normal people look like flesh-eating zombies, and it's hard not to look away (you'll find I rarely make eye-contact with people).
Religion and cults:
I am normally not a religious person and I don't trust my fate into the hands of a superior being, although I acknowledge that they do exist.
Profession:
I'm hoping to become a blacksmith and start a new life in Altera
Backstory (taken from my Application):
I hail from a village up north. Grashvitt is the name, if I remember correctly. The name comes from the fact that although we endured bitter cold and frozen summers, grass grew white and covered in frost. Because of this, our styresman bestowed our village that title.
I was born to a family of blacksmiths. My father was very passionate about his swords, and taught me the way of the crafting bench when I was a wee-toddler! I even forged my own sword when I was not even double-digits! Skerald was its name. In truth it was a mediocre blade; only good for cutting butter, but in it was a spirit forged with the fires of passion.
My mother was a hunter-gatherer, and trained in the art of the bow. From her I learned accuracy as well as efficiency in archery. She taught me how to assemble arrows from the items I find in the environment: flint from gravel, feathers from the chickens we raised, and sticks were all that was needed to make an effective arrow.
In school I learned about the language of the Crafters and how to call upon its power in times of need. Using this knowledge, I called upon the fires of hate to dwell in Skerald lest I needed to use it. Heat radiated from the blade and with a swipe the blade was lit ablaze to cauterize the wounds of the world.
However...my village...Grashvitt...it does not stand today.
It lays in ashes, and the grass has turned black from the soot of those flames...
When the netherworld leaked into ours, a group of Kuxplodera...Creepers, I think you dub them as, attacked. The village was set ablaze as their cruel and chronic dreams were realized. There were five of us who survived, but we were separated after another attack cracked the ice and sent us drifting away from each other. Now, my travels bring me here in search of those survivors, and I hope one day I can let go of the memories and begin a new life.
Oh, my face? The gift of life was not without sacrifice, and a close encounter with one of those ...creepers... set my eyes ablaze and buried my face in soot. That is why I wear this cloak around my face, for through my eyes I can only see the impending future of despair that most of us here today are trying to prevent.
Eldursal
Nickname/Alias:
Sal
Age:
31
Gender:
Male
Race:
Human
Height:
6'4''
Weight:
200lb
Hair:
None
Eyes:
Solid red. During the siege of Grashvatt, an encounter with what you call 'Creepers' set my eyes ablaze with the cruel fuel of corruption. My mind stayed pure, however all I see is the demonic fate of the world should all our efforts be in vain.
Skin:
My skin is black. The encounter with those creepers buried my skin in soot. For some reason it doesn't come off. It surprisingly helps me stay warm in very cold environments. Oh, and it helps with fire-resistance.
Identifying Marks:
My face. I doubt any man has ever suffered a fate worse than mine, but was allowed to survive with such a small sacrifice.
Appearance:
I am pretty well built, however, you couldn't tell under all this soot. I had to cut slits in the soot so that I could re-open the airways (mouth, nose) and my ears. My eyes, as stated before, are red with the consequence of defeat. I keep the rest of my body mostly concealed with cloaks, tunics, gloves, and boots that I scavenged from the hell-blaze of Grashvatt. My appearance and clothing might give you the impression that I'm a bad person, but honestly I'm a nice guy who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Strengths:
Generally, I am a skilled swordsman and bowman, as well as a talented blacksmith when it comes to blades. My mother also taught me one of her recipes for Mushroom Soup. I did go to school in Grashvatt before it was consumed by corruption, so I am an intelligent person.
The soot on my skin actually helps me blend in the darkness, which helps for stealth and espionage. In addition, it also allows me to resist heat more than most people, and it provides armour to some degree.
Weaknesses and fears:
The soot on my skin also leads me to avoid the sunlight, as the sun's rays of light will cause the layers of soot to trap heat and make it very uncomfortably and sometimes dangerously hot around my skin, not to mention it makes me look ugly.
I also have a phobia of creepers and fire, though I'm learning to deal with fire. Creepers just scare me. On that note, practically everything is scarier because of my eyes. Normal people look like flesh-eating zombies, and it's hard not to look away (you'll find I rarely make eye-contact with people).
Religion and cults:
I am normally not a religious person and I don't trust my fate into the hands of a superior being, although I acknowledge that they do exist.
Profession:
I'm hoping to become a blacksmith and start a new life in Altera
Backstory (taken from my Application):
I hail from a village up north. Grashvitt is the name, if I remember correctly. The name comes from the fact that although we endured bitter cold and frozen summers, grass grew white and covered in frost. Because of this, our styresman bestowed our village that title.
I was born to a family of blacksmiths. My father was very passionate about his swords, and taught me the way of the crafting bench when I was a wee-toddler! I even forged my own sword when I was not even double-digits! Skerald was its name. In truth it was a mediocre blade; only good for cutting butter, but in it was a spirit forged with the fires of passion.
My mother was a hunter-gatherer, and trained in the art of the bow. From her I learned accuracy as well as efficiency in archery. She taught me how to assemble arrows from the items I find in the environment: flint from gravel, feathers from the chickens we raised, and sticks were all that was needed to make an effective arrow.
In school I learned about the language of the Crafters and how to call upon its power in times of need. Using this knowledge, I called upon the fires of hate to dwell in Skerald lest I needed to use it. Heat radiated from the blade and with a swipe the blade was lit ablaze to cauterize the wounds of the world.
However...my village...Grashvitt...it does not stand today.
It lays in ashes, and the grass has turned black from the soot of those flames...
When the netherworld leaked into ours, a group of Kuxplodera...Creepers, I think you dub them as, attacked. The village was set ablaze as their cruel and chronic dreams were realized. There were five of us who survived, but we were separated after another attack cracked the ice and sent us drifting away from each other. Now, my travels bring me here in search of those survivors, and I hope one day I can let go of the memories and begin a new life.
Oh, my face? The gift of life was not without sacrifice, and a close encounter with one of those ...creepers... set my eyes ablaze and buried my face in soot. That is why I wear this cloak around my face, for through my eyes I can only see the impending future of despair that most of us here today are trying to prevent.