Post by Garrett on Apr 19, 2007 20:12:16 GMT -5
Name: Tier Anasazi
Age: 24
Height: 6'7
Weight: 270 lbs
Species: Human (Nietzscheian)
Background:
"Rest is the enemy of the sword."
-Irkanois Saying
The Irkanois, the civilized ones. A proud and magnificent people. Centuries ago, disillusioned by the filth and corruption they witnessed at the heart of the governing powers they were sworn to uphold, they broke fealty with the Kashgari High Ones and departed to Kara Kum, to a new life in the highland fields of Dasht-e Kavir and Dasht-e Lut.
Now their only protection is their reputation. Know throughout the world as the bravest and most fearless people ever to walk the earth, battle is a way of life, a tradition, an ingrained part of their very being. Children are taught to ride and hunt from their first tottering steps, marriage is sealed by a ritual bloodletting across a Shaman's sickle.
But for several moons now, the tranquility of the Steppe has become increasingly disturbed. Strange signs have been noted in the sigh of the wind across the grasslands. When night falls, the empty plains of Dasht-e Kavir are prowled by shadows and demons. Warriors vanish soundlessly in the night; women and children bind their tent-flaps shut while elders quake in silence and Shamans scry phantoms of bloodthirsty enemies and invaders from the north.
An unsettling vision has appeared in the dreams of the elder Dabaghiyeh. A chosen warrior, the vision said, one from the tribe mist travel to the sacred Stones of the Ancestor in Kashgar. One must be sent to ask about the source of these strange disappearances and if possible, to seek aid from the distant forefathers.
Tier is the chosen one. A warrior of the line of Arran, strong and valorous, proven in combat, loyal to tradition and to the way of the ancestors. A Hero to the young of the tribe and a figure of respect among his peers.
It is the ninth day of the eleventh moon at the closing of the year. The cold is starting to draw in and the yellowed grasses of the Steppes crumble and splinter under the blast of the northern wind. Bearing the hopes of his people, Tier, Chosen One of the Irkanois, sets his foot on the trail that will lead to a most unexpected future...
Personality:
Skills: Is obscenely accurate with artillery (Longbows, balistae, cannons, and the like)
Weapons: Never one to bottle up his anger, Tier prefers to change into battle with his two-handed sword or axe flying. Its length and weight make it an ideal companion to one who fights best when the blood frenzy is upon him. The use of both hands on his sword prevents the use of a shield. Fortunately, he doesn't really need one - when he's in full swing, no-one can get close enough to score a hit.
Armor
The people of the plains learn from a young age that free movement is the best form of defense. Whenever he can find any, Tier wears the light flexible armor manufactured by the Barbarian leather masters in the West that protects but does not hinder him in battle.
that-bloody-penguin.deviantart.com/art/Tier-Anasazi-67361482
Age: 24
Height: 6'7
Weight: 270 lbs
Species: Human (Nietzscheian)
Background:
"Rest is the enemy of the sword."
-Irkanois Saying
The Irkanois, the civilized ones. A proud and magnificent people. Centuries ago, disillusioned by the filth and corruption they witnessed at the heart of the governing powers they were sworn to uphold, they broke fealty with the Kashgari High Ones and departed to Kara Kum, to a new life in the highland fields of Dasht-e Kavir and Dasht-e Lut.
Now their only protection is their reputation. Know throughout the world as the bravest and most fearless people ever to walk the earth, battle is a way of life, a tradition, an ingrained part of their very being. Children are taught to ride and hunt from their first tottering steps, marriage is sealed by a ritual bloodletting across a Shaman's sickle.
But for several moons now, the tranquility of the Steppe has become increasingly disturbed. Strange signs have been noted in the sigh of the wind across the grasslands. When night falls, the empty plains of Dasht-e Kavir are prowled by shadows and demons. Warriors vanish soundlessly in the night; women and children bind their tent-flaps shut while elders quake in silence and Shamans scry phantoms of bloodthirsty enemies and invaders from the north.
An unsettling vision has appeared in the dreams of the elder Dabaghiyeh. A chosen warrior, the vision said, one from the tribe mist travel to the sacred Stones of the Ancestor in Kashgar. One must be sent to ask about the source of these strange disappearances and if possible, to seek aid from the distant forefathers.
Tier is the chosen one. A warrior of the line of Arran, strong and valorous, proven in combat, loyal to tradition and to the way of the ancestors. A Hero to the young of the tribe and a figure of respect among his peers.
It is the ninth day of the eleventh moon at the closing of the year. The cold is starting to draw in and the yellowed grasses of the Steppes crumble and splinter under the blast of the northern wind. Bearing the hopes of his people, Tier, Chosen One of the Irkanois, sets his foot on the trail that will lead to a most unexpected future...
Personality:
Skills: Is obscenely accurate with artillery (Longbows, balistae, cannons, and the like)
Weapons: Never one to bottle up his anger, Tier prefers to change into battle with his two-handed sword or axe flying. Its length and weight make it an ideal companion to one who fights best when the blood frenzy is upon him. The use of both hands on his sword prevents the use of a shield. Fortunately, he doesn't really need one - when he's in full swing, no-one can get close enough to score a hit.
Armor
The people of the plains learn from a young age that free movement is the best form of defense. Whenever he can find any, Tier wears the light flexible armor manufactured by the Barbarian leather masters in the West that protects but does not hinder him in battle.
that-bloody-penguin.deviantart.com/art/Tier-Anasazi-67361482