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Insert name here- Gelyk Varyn
That photo is essentially perfect.
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As twisted as the Soviet sickle, and harder than the hammer that crosses it.
"Gelyk Varyn is a man in torment."
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Name: Gelyk Titus Varyn - Titus being his birthname, long forgotten by all; Varyn being a name he has adopted over the years after being lord of a house alongside his adopted son Syr, and Turik.
Full Titles:
Sir, Knight, Lord. Gelyk refuses to recognize these titles, as he has seen the title of knighthood be abused far too many times in his long life. He has grown to hate those who sport it, an extreme act of cynicism. "I am no ser."
Nickname/Alias:
+Old Bear, this name given to him by Nwalme originally due to his tendency to be a bit like a bear.
+ "Godslayer", he has been deemed such by Archaeus, for delivering the final blow, and slaying Harateth. He tries to dismiss these claims, despite their truth.
+"Tower" - Referring to massive height, and stone-like musculature.
That photo is essentially perfect.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As twisted as the Soviet sickle, and harder than the hammer that crosses it.
"Gelyk Varyn is a man in torment."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Name: Gelyk Titus Varyn - Titus being his birthname, long forgotten by all; Varyn being a name he has adopted over the years after being lord of a house alongside his adopted son Syr, and Turik.
Full Titles:
Sir, Knight, Lord. Gelyk refuses to recognize these titles, as he has seen the title of knighthood be abused far too many times in his long life. He has grown to hate those who sport it, an extreme act of cynicism. "I am no ser."
Nickname/Alias:
+Old Bear, this name given to him by Nwalme originally due to his tendency to be a bit like a bear.
+ "Godslayer", he has been deemed such by Archaeus, for delivering the final blow, and slaying Harateth. He tries to dismiss these claims, despite their truth.
+"Tower" - Referring to massive height, and stone-like musculature.
KEY INFORMATION:
Age:
Over two thousand years old. A result of Sisterhood rejuvenation, Gelyk stopped aging at around the age of 31and was frozen in time for 2000 years; he has begun to age again, at a normal age, since the end of the last Exodus. Gelyk still struggles to find a reason for living after the enemy he devoted all of his life to destroyed was vanquished.
Gender:
With a booming baritone, bulging muscles and a beard to rival Korog; Gelyk is most certainly a man.
Race:
Human, of a long-extinct Northern culture of old times.
Social Status:
Gelyk holds no hand, nor does he have the control of any men or women aside from those who may follow his wisdom. At this point in time, Gelyk holds no noble title, and has become rather disenchanted and jaded towards those who do. He despises the hypocrisy of knighthood.With a brutally cynical attitude, Gelyk certainly is unique in his hatred for riches and fame.
Sexuality:
Heterosexual, strictly. Although not for hatred of those who are not.
Height:
Gelyk has a massive frame, and stands closer if not touching eight feet than seven. His height is proportionately justified by a hulking body.
Weight:
Gelyk would likely weigh in around 550 pounds. The muscle he carries is in bulk, himself being built for strength, and not for toned looks. This is, of course, without his heavy plate.
Date of Birth:
His birthdate stretches beyond our current calendar, and even he does not know the exact date.
Date of Death:
He has not been put to death finally, just yet, albeit he has died many times in his long life; the slabs of muscle he bears etched with scars for proof.
Homeland:
Some village in the midst of twirling, swirling mountains in the deep North of a seperate world. He is very solitary, never leaving his own lands except for wars or tournaments. This has been seen changing.
Current Home:
Fortress Oren, his own hold far to the North-west. The hold is tended by a humble, paid crew of servants.
PHYSIOLOGY:
Build:
Extremely large man in stature with great massive arms and legs. Gelyk trades in chiselled look for slabs of muscle, built entirely for strength. Gelyk is a huge and heavily-muscled man. Apart from his freakish size, he is feared for his cruelty and unstoppable force on the battlefield. With thick arms and legs like some tree trunks, Gelyk weighs in at nearly 41 stone; with the strength to wield a blade larger than most men, giving him quite the reach advantage against most of his foes. Gelyka notoriously fearsome warrior with a tendency toward extreme violence, using his brawn to achieve this. As a warrior, Gelyk is feared for his imposing size and physical strength. In combat, his strength gives him a huge advantage over almost any opponent, able to overpower his enemies with brute force rather than rely on his skill. His weapon of choice was an enormous broad sword that most men would never be able to even swing with two hands, but which Gelyk is strong enough to wield one-handed.
Hair:
Matted, and a deep black. Gelyk grows a beard, which he keeps trimmed fairly short to his face.
Eyes:
Blood red, a result of his past a Vyre. His gaze is infused with the ice of the deepest heart of the North, his eyes likely his most intimidating feature.
Skin:
Extremely pale and pock-marked with scars and sigils of ancient dialects, and such. There's a deep scar over the bridge of his nose, stretching through the centre of his right eye.There is a twisted mass of scar around his face. Slick black flesh is pocked with craters and deep cracks that ooze red and wet. Near his jaw, bone shows slightly. Gelyk is almost constantly pained by the scars, a reminder of his injuries and past.
Identifying Marks:
His massive size, his face which is a mess of ropey flesh and scar tissue. His fangs, which he still bares from his time as a Vyre, and his blood-red eyes.
Appearance:
Large man, with a deep booming voice and a menacing aura. Would appear icy to the bones, and thoroughly is. Often viewed as a threat because of his ways, but keeps to himself unless needed. Gelyk is one of the largest men in Altera, with tree-trunk like limbs and a towering height.
Clothing:
Often found wearing a wolf-pelt over top of some sort of armour.
If Gelyk was to enter into a large battle, he wound be found wearing the set of armour he had crafted many, many years ago specifically for him. The armour itself being very, very thick, and him donning a metallic helmet of the shape of a wolf. The armour is slanted to deflect arrows, or blades. Both arms are armoured, enough to completely stop a sword. He wears a thick gorget, which rises from the front of his arm, and his shoulder plates have large vambraces to protect the sides of his neck.
Weaponry:
+Multitude of blades, his best being a large bastard sword, fashioned of steel and held to a precise point.
+A crossbow, which with he carries barbed bolts.
+A shield.
+Warhammer.
+A double-sided spear.
Voice:
Extremely deep, and booming. A baritone resounding sound. Gelyk carries little-to-no emotion or feeling within his voice.
QUALITIES AND FLAWS:
Strengths:
+Exceptionally gifted with a blade.
+Intelligent.
+Extremely strong.
+Pragmatic
Fears:
Figure these otu through RP.
Weaknesses:
Figure it out through RP.
Intelligence:
Really quite high, though he maybe doesn't show it sometimes.
Profession:
Wanderer, part-time murderer.
ETHICS AND MOTIVATIONS:
Personality:
Likely best judged through RP with him. Saying that, apathetic, cynical and jaded are words that come to mind. Known primarily for the horrible facial scarring he bears on the right side of his face and for his fierce demeanor and lack of chivalry. Gelyk is seen as a violent, aggressive and brutal man, with a fatalistic view of the world. The bear is a formidable warrior and he doesn't hide his love of killing people, believing all men love it, and he generally hates soldiers who try to convince themselves otherwise. However, he also displays small hints at being a reasonably affectionate and compassionate man underneath. Gelyk is taciturn, brutal, and frequently callous, but not completely without compassion if one can find a way. Gelyk has an insatiable bloodlust that he releases through acts of extreme violence, mostly commited in Fortress Oren, in the confinements of his own quarters... unbeknownst to all. Gelyk has a nearly uncontrollable temper, and is capable of very brutal violence for the slightest provocation. Lately, he has began to control this.
Religion or Cults:
Gelyk no longer follows any gods. He believes in them, of course, but does not approve of any of them to a point of following.
Alignment:
Chaotic Neutral, leaning towards true neutral. "There are no true knights, no more are there true gods. If you can't protect yourself, die and get out of the way those who can. Sharp steel and strong arms rule this world, never believe any different."
RELATIONS:
Loved: Syr.
Trusted: At this point in time, aside from Syr and Rex, Gelyk trusts no other person.
Befriended:
Liked: Many people who's names are not fit to be remembered in his eyes.
Neutral: Naelwyn, Joshua, Tzemik, Tybalt, various others,
Unsure of:
Wary of: Legion.
Afraid of:
Disliked: Arcturians, Scardrac, all of the other Corrupteds.
Hated:
BACKSTORY:
My in-game name is: ArkenGuard
Backstory:
The pack travelled lightly as possible. The unforgiving wind lashing at their weathered faces. In a group movement of tugging of cloaks, and in the continuously falling curtain of snow, the blackened flow of their robes stood out in the veil of white.
The group moved along the mountain-side quickly and with relative ease, the battering wind buffering their cloaks and spraying the lone new-born child which was cradled within the group with a mist of cool, crisp flakes. Stomachs lurched each time a layer of thick, collective snow would topple from beneath their feet and tumble off the steep incline into the icy abyss below. The journey was treacherous, spires of great icicles towered upwards towards the thick, grey clouds twisted with signs of struggle, albeit this group had navigated such a route many-a-time and it was nothing but routine for them now. Each and every child was brought up this way in the Northern tribe's culture; if the child was strong enough to survive the hike up the steep and twisted hills of the Northern-most mountains, the child was sufficient to share the warrior life-style. To the right, great pines grew, and thin icy layers tumbled from them silently like rain from the great clouds albeit it went un-noticed, the group already occupied by the stinging wind ripping towards their cheek-flesh.
Words were muttered in a guttural, rough tongue, the child being unwrapped in the whipping ice-wind, and held at extended arms length. The babe sported rose cheeks, and eyebrows frosted with snow. Multiple times, it was turned over within the leathery hands of the man holding him, being inspected by inquisitive eyes. A simple nod was returned, the babe being quickly wrapped and slung beneath the back of one of the elders.
"Let it be known - Gelyk, the seventh babe of Winter - has passed examination, and shall not be terminated for physical inadequateness." Proclaimed a single, grey haired man, with thick brows as he lifted Gelyk high above his head and muttered a prayer to the Gods above. A single cry from the babe was the only response.
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Six years of age, Gelyk.
The sound of blades clashing filled the dark and stuffy chamber, a yelp emanated also, as a thin blade sliced across a thick fore-arm, drawing the sweet red nectar. The sound of flesh against flesh resounded, as a fist was bashed into a gut, and yet another slice was made across meaty skin. In the centre stood Gelyk, the young child who wielded a blade nearly as long as him. Upon the ground was a child just the same age, bleeding profusely from the nose, fore arm and lower leg. Begging for mercy, the child looked up, holding a dirty, sweaty palm towards Gelyk. With a sudden flick of the long blade, the hand was sent cart-wheeling, landing with a small splat just a foot away.
The child cried out, falling onto his side and clutching the bleeding stump with a whimper. Gelyk remained still of face, blade pointed towards the boy, before twirling it and bringing it swiftly across the boy's face, cleaving the flesh in a cascade of gore. Before long, the thin boy's face was twisted into a pulpy mess as the thick blade forced through the cheek flesh, and into the skull, pulverizing the adolescent brain and removing half of the face, speckling the floor with a puddle of blood. Gelyk stood to admire his work momentarily, before a dull clap filled the room, echoing slightly, followed by another, and another. Increasing in the monotone speed. Gelyk slowly slid the long glimmering blade back into the leather and wooden sheath, a coat of blood scraping off around the entrance and dripping down the hard leather.
For many, many years Gelyk trained within his tribe, excelling in the use of blades, and blunt weapons. Gelyk was never the ace shooter with a bow, albeit.
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Fourteen years of age, Gelyk.
Tonight was the night of Gelyk's greatest trial. His graduation night, per se. Tonight, Gelyk would face off against the other remaining children of this years' training academy in a brutal, vicious fight to the death.
The midnight moon lingered silently over the dreary rain, echoes of screams and yelps of pain, as blades danced and twirled against each other. The test had begun, and the fourteen remaining initiates had begun their fateful duel. Already two had fallen into the dirty, mucky floor, their remains being trampled upon by the living fighters. Gelyk wore a single breastplate, and a nose-pieced helm, the chin strap dug into his grimy flesh, yet he shielded it out. He swirled, bringing his long-sword down upon another challenger, it digging into the flesh and cleaving the young man from shoulder to hip, veiny ropes of flesh etching across the expanse of gore. Turning on his heel, he ducked beneath a short-sword swipe, bringing his weight and shoulder up into the under-belly of a particularly obese initiate, driving the fat boy backwards and into the dirt, before tearing the ugly, smeared belly asunder with his blade. As the cold air met with the warm insides, the air steamed, the fat boy churning and screaming in pain upon the floor, his intestines leaking out into the dirt and smearing the floor red. Gelyk backed against one of the surrounding oak fences, over-seeing the fight. As he watched, another teen fell, his legs cleaved in a single blow by Wulfgar, the largest of the fourteen, and the brute. Wulfgar turned and in a single well-sent blow cleaved another boy directly in half from the right shoulder to the left hip. Gelyk glanced down at his long-sword, the end was dulled now, and bent slightly. It was of crude make, and would serve well no longer. Without hesitation, he dropped the blade, unslinging his long-bow and nocking a single arrow, firing it towards an approaching foe. The arrow twisted in the air, landing within the chest of the other young initiate, carving a hole into the flesh and eventually into the heart. Turning, Gelyk nocked another, firing it upon the youngest of the group. Daniel, who was only eight was torn into by the arrow, doubling over as it punctured his left lung, soon to be decapitated by the raging Wulfgar.
Izabila, the only female initiate twirled towards Wulfgar, being one of the last three, she ducked low, rolling into a somersault and swinging at Wulfgar's achilles heel. The swipe was successful, dropping the young giant, and she leaped up, driving the blade into his lower back before being struck by a glaring elbow to the nose. Izabila lay motionless in the snow when Wulfgar lay his axe into her stomach, peeling away the soft expanse of flesh and letting the innards spill out into the cascading snow. Gelyk watched in horror, dropping his bow, having used up his maximum of three arrows and with-drawing the broad dagger from his belt. He held it in reverse grip, the rusted blade too heavy for his liking. Wulfgar turned slowly, brandishing his might war axe which was smeared in the blood of many smoted foes. Rarely did he fear a fight, but on this night both young warriors feared for the out-come. Wulfgar charged towards Gelyk, stopping and twirling his whole weight into a might spinning-swing, which would have completely lobbed Gelyk head from his shoulders if not for his ... mediocre acrobatic skill. Gelyk leaped out to the side, rolling in the snow and narrowly missing the razor-sharp blade; turning, he holds the dagger out towards Wulfgar, crouched low. Wulfgar swings with his whole body, bringing the axe down into the earth towards Gelyk, and with a simple roll, he evades the swing, the axe laying waste to the soft dirt and getting stuck. The moon glinted off of Gelyk's dagger as he rolled forward once more and stood, burrowing the blade into Wulfgar's right fore-arm, before spinning and digging it into his side, twisting and pulling out. With a spinning move, Gelyk sprints under-neath Wulfgar's mighy arms, bringing the dagger across his underbelly and planting it finally into his side.
Wulfgar stood for only a few more moments, before his stomach flesh parted and organs, intestines and tendons came pouring out, steaming in the snow. Wulfgar toppled into the fence, shattering it beneath him, his blood glissening upon Gelyk's dagger.
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