Post by Ammodytes on May 8, 2013 15:03:19 GMT -5
Name: Silvar Ammodytes
Age: 30
Race: Human
Appearance : Silvar stands at 1.80 meters tall. He has long dark-brown hair and brown eyes, his eyebrows are thick and his nose is quite big. His braided beard is black and long, his teeth are spotless and his lower jaw is wide. His hair, moustache and beard are ornated with rings. He has a broad back and thick arms, his palms are wide and he has a large stride. He usually wears a long blue-gray cloak with ivy patterns, bound at the waist by a silver belt. Completely covered by the cloak is a chainmail dress over a white cotton shirt; his leggings and boots are made from leather. A sharp eye will catch a silver ring on his thumb, with the engraving of a horned viper coiled around a sword.
Likes/Dislikes: Beer, wine, tobacco, cheerful men and beautiful women all make him happy. He never backs out of a brawl either. He dislikes lack of education and is easily offended by a poor selection of words. Dirty nails, greasy hair, bad breath and soiled clothes disgust him, but this is not true for stains of blood and mud on a battlefield.
Armour/Weapons: Silvar has two sets of armour, the chainmail dress that he wears on casual occasions and a steel plate armour that he only wears before a major battle. He also carries a heather shield, but only when he is in his light chainmail and he wonders into dangerous areas, the shield is strapped to his back and can be quickly placed on his left arm.
His most trusted companion is his longsword. The blade rests in its scabbard, strapped to the silver belt on his waist. Depending
on his armour he has two fighting styles. When in plate armour, he holds the sword with both hands and relies on brute force to chop and pierce his opponent. When in casual clothing, he holds the sword in the right hand and the shield in the left, preferring swift swiping attacks while blocking weapons and projectiles with his shield. However, he does love to improvise during a fight.
Weakness: He is a big man, and big men are slower than the small and the swift. This becomes even more obvious when he is in full plate armour; his sight and hearing are also limited by the steel helmet. A heavy warhammer can bend his chest-plate and leave him without breath, or crush his skull and break his neck.When in light armour he is vulnerable to arrows, bolts and throwing knives; this of course if he doesn’t have his shield, or is attacked from the flank or the rear. He does not have any magical powers.
History: Silvar was born in the noble Ammodytes family. His father, Argun Ammodytes was a knight and part of the kingdom’s war council. His mother, Nina, was a strong-minded and beautiful woman, people often rumored that she knew more about strategy than her husband did. Being noble, Silvar was taught to read, write and fight from a tender age. He loved every part of his education and training, mostly because of his mother who had a great talent for explaining. His father was very tough on the young man, sword play often ended with Silvar running to his mother to patch up his injuries. After turning 12, his father would take him to the library and make him read history and military doctrine.
Tragedy struck the family when the boy was 14, his mother fell ill and passed away in a matter of days,. the boy was not allowed to see her before she died, out of fear that the only heir of the family would also get sick. From that day on his father changed, the tough old man disappeared as Argun tried to fill the role of both parents. Family tradition and values were now daily lessons for Silvar. He understood that the family sigil, a horned viper coiled on a sword, represented not only strength, but also wisdom and prudence. “The viper has its home in the mountains, among large rocks, the same way that nobles live in castles. It sits there quietly, unlike the loud birds and wolves that draw attention on themselves. It strikes fast when angered and has no mercy.”
For his 16th birthday, Silvar received the most precious gift from his father, the longsword Berus. Argun told his boy, with the same harsh voice that he used when Silvar was younger, to never lose sight of his blade, for a knight’s life and honor depend on it. Those were the last words that the old man spoke to his son. During the birthday celebration Argun drank a lot of wine, he was taken to his chamber to rest, but he never awoke from his slumber. His death was mysterious and some people spoke of poison, but no culprit was found.
Silvar was too young to become the head of the family, so his uncle, Stroder Ammodytes, was named tutor over the boy until he reached 18 years of age. Stroder was distant towards his nephew, but this didn’t matter to Silvar. The young man was now bitter and lonely. He spent many days in the training room with his sparring partners. The sound of steel clashing turned to symphonies in his mind. He could hear his father’s voice in the bashing of shields and weapons. Reading and writing also took up a lot of his time, anything to take his mind out of the empty world he was living in.
The great day arrived when Silvar turned 18. There was a great feast organized by his uncle. During the ceremony the family ring was given to the new head of the family -Silvar Ammodytes- . As was the custom, heavy drinking followed and Silvar soon felt very dizzy. As he stumbled towards his room, he vomited next to his door and then collapsed on his bed, fully dressed. Near dawn, he awoke at the sound of his door screeching, he turned to see a masked man with a dagger standing at the entrance. The assassin charged with the blade pointed at the young man’s chest. In a lightning-fast response, Silvar rolled out of his bed on the opposite side of the attacker. He drew his sword and lunged over the bed, piercing the skull of the assassin through the right eye. Blood gushed and the attacker collapsed.
Silvar was in a state of panic as he stormed out of his chamber and wanting to call the guards. The puddle of vomit he had left when he returned from the feast was still there. Next to it was a dead rat that had tried to eat some of the remains. It was clear now: his drink had been poisoned, but because he regurgitated there was not enough poison in him to be fatal. Somebody noticed this and sent the assassin to finish him off. The fear in the young man’s heart was overwhelming. Who could he trust? Who wanted him dead? There was no time for this, he feared that he would end up like his father, so he crept out of the mansion and stole a
horse, riding out of town with nothing but the clothes on his back and his precious sword and ring.
He rode fast and hard, trying to get as far away as possible, to some place where he would not be recognized. Upon the second day he reached a distant town. He removed his ring so it wouldn’t draw attention. He went to the local inn where he started looking for work. When asked what he could do, there was only one thing that came to mind: fight. A group of mercenaries had past there the day before; Silvar caught up to them and asked to join. Seeing that he was a strong lad and he could fight, he was easily accepted.
Later the mercenaries discovered they had struck gold with this boy. Silvar was not only a good fighter, he was also an
excellent strategist and tactician. He knew how to set up ambushes and how to smoke out entrenched warriors. It was here that the young man learned to smile again. The constant exposure to danger meant that the mercenaries valued their lives in a way that Silvar had never seen before. Every day after a successful battle there were lots of drinking, laughter and of course, women.
Twelve years later the mercenaries disbanded, they had become rich and some were getting old. Silvar was disheartened, this had been his family but now it was falling apart. Seeing he was depressed, an old mercenary asked him if he didn’t have any unfinished business to attend to. The memories of his death-burdened birthdays flooded his mind, and in that moment the decision was made: he would return home.
During this time, it had become obvious who had most to gain from the death of Argun and his son. Stroder had been named head of the family, after the mysterious disappearance of Silvar. Stroder changed the family sigil to a hawk and was knighted, soiling the reputation of the clan and wasting its money.
Silvar gathered his equipment, bid farewell to his friends and companions, and made his way home.
Other: Silvar has two horses, on one he rides, the
other is smaller and carries his equipment.
Accepted
Age: 30
Race: Human
Appearance : Silvar stands at 1.80 meters tall. He has long dark-brown hair and brown eyes, his eyebrows are thick and his nose is quite big. His braided beard is black and long, his teeth are spotless and his lower jaw is wide. His hair, moustache and beard are ornated with rings. He has a broad back and thick arms, his palms are wide and he has a large stride. He usually wears a long blue-gray cloak with ivy patterns, bound at the waist by a silver belt. Completely covered by the cloak is a chainmail dress over a white cotton shirt; his leggings and boots are made from leather. A sharp eye will catch a silver ring on his thumb, with the engraving of a horned viper coiled around a sword.
Likes/Dislikes: Beer, wine, tobacco, cheerful men and beautiful women all make him happy. He never backs out of a brawl either. He dislikes lack of education and is easily offended by a poor selection of words. Dirty nails, greasy hair, bad breath and soiled clothes disgust him, but this is not true for stains of blood and mud on a battlefield.
Armour/Weapons: Silvar has two sets of armour, the chainmail dress that he wears on casual occasions and a steel plate armour that he only wears before a major battle. He also carries a heather shield, but only when he is in his light chainmail and he wonders into dangerous areas, the shield is strapped to his back and can be quickly placed on his left arm.
His most trusted companion is his longsword. The blade rests in its scabbard, strapped to the silver belt on his waist. Depending
on his armour he has two fighting styles. When in plate armour, he holds the sword with both hands and relies on brute force to chop and pierce his opponent. When in casual clothing, he holds the sword in the right hand and the shield in the left, preferring swift swiping attacks while blocking weapons and projectiles with his shield. However, he does love to improvise during a fight.
Weakness: He is a big man, and big men are slower than the small and the swift. This becomes even more obvious when he is in full plate armour; his sight and hearing are also limited by the steel helmet. A heavy warhammer can bend his chest-plate and leave him without breath, or crush his skull and break his neck.When in light armour he is vulnerable to arrows, bolts and throwing knives; this of course if he doesn’t have his shield, or is attacked from the flank or the rear. He does not have any magical powers.
History: Silvar was born in the noble Ammodytes family. His father, Argun Ammodytes was a knight and part of the kingdom’s war council. His mother, Nina, was a strong-minded and beautiful woman, people often rumored that she knew more about strategy than her husband did. Being noble, Silvar was taught to read, write and fight from a tender age. He loved every part of his education and training, mostly because of his mother who had a great talent for explaining. His father was very tough on the young man, sword play often ended with Silvar running to his mother to patch up his injuries. After turning 12, his father would take him to the library and make him read history and military doctrine.
Tragedy struck the family when the boy was 14, his mother fell ill and passed away in a matter of days,. the boy was not allowed to see her before she died, out of fear that the only heir of the family would also get sick. From that day on his father changed, the tough old man disappeared as Argun tried to fill the role of both parents. Family tradition and values were now daily lessons for Silvar. He understood that the family sigil, a horned viper coiled on a sword, represented not only strength, but also wisdom and prudence. “The viper has its home in the mountains, among large rocks, the same way that nobles live in castles. It sits there quietly, unlike the loud birds and wolves that draw attention on themselves. It strikes fast when angered and has no mercy.”
For his 16th birthday, Silvar received the most precious gift from his father, the longsword Berus. Argun told his boy, with the same harsh voice that he used when Silvar was younger, to never lose sight of his blade, for a knight’s life and honor depend on it. Those were the last words that the old man spoke to his son. During the birthday celebration Argun drank a lot of wine, he was taken to his chamber to rest, but he never awoke from his slumber. His death was mysterious and some people spoke of poison, but no culprit was found.
Silvar was too young to become the head of the family, so his uncle, Stroder Ammodytes, was named tutor over the boy until he reached 18 years of age. Stroder was distant towards his nephew, but this didn’t matter to Silvar. The young man was now bitter and lonely. He spent many days in the training room with his sparring partners. The sound of steel clashing turned to symphonies in his mind. He could hear his father’s voice in the bashing of shields and weapons. Reading and writing also took up a lot of his time, anything to take his mind out of the empty world he was living in.
The great day arrived when Silvar turned 18. There was a great feast organized by his uncle. During the ceremony the family ring was given to the new head of the family -Silvar Ammodytes- . As was the custom, heavy drinking followed and Silvar soon felt very dizzy. As he stumbled towards his room, he vomited next to his door and then collapsed on his bed, fully dressed. Near dawn, he awoke at the sound of his door screeching, he turned to see a masked man with a dagger standing at the entrance. The assassin charged with the blade pointed at the young man’s chest. In a lightning-fast response, Silvar rolled out of his bed on the opposite side of the attacker. He drew his sword and lunged over the bed, piercing the skull of the assassin through the right eye. Blood gushed and the attacker collapsed.
Silvar was in a state of panic as he stormed out of his chamber and wanting to call the guards. The puddle of vomit he had left when he returned from the feast was still there. Next to it was a dead rat that had tried to eat some of the remains. It was clear now: his drink had been poisoned, but because he regurgitated there was not enough poison in him to be fatal. Somebody noticed this and sent the assassin to finish him off. The fear in the young man’s heart was overwhelming. Who could he trust? Who wanted him dead? There was no time for this, he feared that he would end up like his father, so he crept out of the mansion and stole a
horse, riding out of town with nothing but the clothes on his back and his precious sword and ring.
He rode fast and hard, trying to get as far away as possible, to some place where he would not be recognized. Upon the second day he reached a distant town. He removed his ring so it wouldn’t draw attention. He went to the local inn where he started looking for work. When asked what he could do, there was only one thing that came to mind: fight. A group of mercenaries had past there the day before; Silvar caught up to them and asked to join. Seeing that he was a strong lad and he could fight, he was easily accepted.
Later the mercenaries discovered they had struck gold with this boy. Silvar was not only a good fighter, he was also an
excellent strategist and tactician. He knew how to set up ambushes and how to smoke out entrenched warriors. It was here that the young man learned to smile again. The constant exposure to danger meant that the mercenaries valued their lives in a way that Silvar had never seen before. Every day after a successful battle there were lots of drinking, laughter and of course, women.
Twelve years later the mercenaries disbanded, they had become rich and some were getting old. Silvar was disheartened, this had been his family but now it was falling apart. Seeing he was depressed, an old mercenary asked him if he didn’t have any unfinished business to attend to. The memories of his death-burdened birthdays flooded his mind, and in that moment the decision was made: he would return home.
During this time, it had become obvious who had most to gain from the death of Argun and his son. Stroder had been named head of the family, after the mysterious disappearance of Silvar. Stroder changed the family sigil to a hawk and was knighted, soiling the reputation of the clan and wasting its money.
Silvar gathered his equipment, bid farewell to his friends and companions, and made his way home.
Other: Silvar has two horses, on one he rides, the
other is smaller and carries his equipment.
Accepted
