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Skills and Stats
Skills and Stats
player name: David Dror
STR: 17 nonweapon proficiencies: alertness (3), riding (2), running (1), survival (2), tracking (2) weapon proficiencies: scimitar (2), horsebow (3), shortsword (2), spear (1), dagger (1) equipment: shortbow and quiver with arrows, two mismatched short scimitars, clothing, and the loan of Cat's battlesteed funds: what funds?
Character DescriptionHe is shorter [for Ashen Lands nomads], only 5'7" or so, but very compact, wiry, tough. Black haired and green eyed, his low Cha is due to some very heavy scarring. He is very alert, knows how to ride or run as necessary, and is skilled in survival in the Ashen Lands. He has two fighting styles, the first being typical horse archer style, the second being to wait until the opponent acts and then retaliate swiftly and viciously. His temper works in an odd way--if you get him angry, he won't respond physically, unless you do first, but if you try to add injury to insult he will be more likely to respond with deadly force. He has a very messed up sense of humor, mainly following the line that irony is hilarious--it sometimes seems to others like he is laughing at them, but that implies a sense of judgement that is absent. He is taciturn and a bit fierce.
Character HistoryAll these details are secondary, though, to his current driving force. His entire clan was massacred by wraiths, though this particular set of wraiths didn't survive his clan, and he hates wraiths with a cold fire. This event has also completely destroyed the basis of his last 25 odd years of experience. He himself barely survived, and has very heavy scars--both physical and mental--to show from the event. The only lacking history is that, as the only surviving member of his clan, he killed the last wraiths, and decided that a single man in his physical condition had no chance of survival in the Ashen Lands. He rode to Qenar, and arrived there barely alive. His life was saved by some good work on the part of a physician stationed (with a garrison near the Black Wall? on the Black Wall? in a town near the Black Wall?)--anyway, he got lucky. He knew the Qenar/Ashen Land trade tongue, and since has learned to speak Qenar [Chedraqis]. Beyond that, it's your story.
Writing SampleAs Frenil jogs back after scouting around camp, his mind picks at what had looked like three distinct wraith tracks. Couldn't be. No one has ever seen wraiths cooperating, that I know of, and if they're not together but merely passing through that's pushign coincidence. Could it be one wraith with several shapes? But then why have two unicorn forms and one feline? Either way, this is really bad news. Chief Srantem won't be happy at all -- tough luck for him. We'll need to move again. While this was going through his mind his instincts weren't dead -- he'd been trained to never be surprised by having every fighting clan member try to jump him when least expected. This is why he heard something most people would have missed, turned slightly, and drew both swords. He spots the motion, and identifies it as non-human, with just barely enough time to interpose the point of his sword between the hurtling body and himself. The wraith, a black feline form weighing a good 500 lb, manages to swerve enough that it didn't get impaled through the heart, and commenced clawing -- shredding Frenil's left leg and left half of face (luckily missing the eye), right shoulder and knee. With his right hand, he brings a sword underneath the wraith's neck and slashes. It dies with a sigh. A laugh bubbles forth as he surveys himself. I never thought I'd be grateful to be short. If I were any taller that would be my intestines instead of my blood on the ground. Good thing he missed anything critical in my knee and shoulder. The thought ended in a grim grin. He rolls the wraith off, binds his wounds quickly and efficiently, ignoring the pain with a pride shared by all Ashen Lands nomads. One of his blades he leaves in the wraith -- it had snapped uner the impact (another laugh, better it than me). Building up speed slowly, and trying to be as undetectable as possible, he heads towards the camp. As he encounters the first of many dead sentries, he decides to head to where the horses were kept, first. When he finally arrives, undetected, he comes across a shock -- one of the unicorns was killing the horses. Why are they doing this -- part of his mind shudders. His mount had managed to escape the horn so far, one of the last three, but this time his mouth doesn't react to the grim smile inside himself as he notes his luck. He runs at the best speed he can muster, which isn't that great, giving no reaction to the pain as he leaps onto its back, his last sword drawn as soon as he lands. [David has modified the tale so Frenil shot arrows at the wraiths from a distance, but I've left the original writing sample as it stands.] There is going to be no way to harry it -- it is faster than Clouddance. So how do I accomplish anything....? Aha! He resheathes his sword, then charges the wriath while it is busy mutilating another horse -- Starfire, Sranten's mount. It turns before he is upon it, but Clouddance swerves perfectly, avoiding the horn, as he leaps with almost the last of his energy, and collapses on the wraith's back, barely clinging on. The wraith swerves with impossible speed, in the opposite direction from what he expected it to, and lashes out with its hooves before Clouddance could get past, catching her in the head. Fury and anguish give him the strength to claw his way up to the right spot, and, quickly, before he gets thrown, bring down his sword at the exact spot necessary to kill it. As it dies the wraith succeeds in tossing him, and he knows no more. ... You can tell the rest of the story. He broke his shoulder in the fall, and got a light concussion. When he recovers enough to explore, he finds that another unicorn was killed by his clan -- which he finds hilarious. He realizes that the unicorn was killing horses because it had already killed all the people. Barely coherent, he gathers a couple weeks worth of supplies, another sword, and a shortbow, adn walks for a week or so until he hits the black wall, where he collapses, delirious, to be found by a scout, and brought in to be healed. One last detail, his name, translated figuratively means something along the lines of 'the green-eyed runt', but literally means Green (actually an unusual conjugation of green) son of a left-handed (or half) man. He won't complain about the twists it undergoes due to language or dialect, though he will laugh.
Brownie Points
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