Character name:
Sylvan Ravenhead,
Character source:
Original.
Character history:
Darkness. Always seeking to consume the Light. Since the ancient times, the world of Villielaimia was torn asunder by the eternal war waged by the creatures of the Darkness, the Baalan (sentient arachnids), and children of Light, the Elaimet (sentient mammals). At one time in history of Villielaimia, Baalan were driven out to the eternally shrouded in night part of the planet. Since then, Elaimet kept the creatures of Darkness at bay.
Sylvan was born a wolf, in a family of feudal lord of Ravenhead. As a wolf boy from a noble bloddline, he was to be brought up as warrior, with his only goal in life to wage war on the enemies of Lupus Empire, whose vassals they were, and occasional Baalan menace. During those times, the Ravenhead castle prospered and Sylvan was sent at the age of five to the best warrior training establishment of their region – Orden Ogan (Order of Fear). There the young pup spent almost twenty years of his life.
The order was training its disciples in ways of waging war through many different methods and means, but each aspirant was meant to dedicate his life to mastering only one or two of them. Sylvan dedicated himself to swordfighting and assessment.
Years were hard on the bright-eyed pup. Constant training and hardships that he was put through to forge his body and soul. Regular patrols and skirmishes with the Baalan. Internal competition and fights for dominance between the order’s students. Yet through all this his smile and laughter persisted. It would be much later that his naïve outlook on life would be shattered by the unforgivable bloody reality of waging war.
And wage he did. The wolves and catkind never really got along, and on his 20th birthday the inevitable happened. Lupus Empire was attacked by a large force of neighbouring Felinid Kingdom, populated by various felines. Elder students of Orden Ogan went to repel the intruders along with the real warriors of the order, jomsvikings, and empire’s army. This was the first time Sylvan killed a non-baalan, the notion as repulsive to him as cannibalism. He had to, though, to protect the other inhabitants of the empire.
It was during these times that Sylvan really understood the burden he was carrying on his shoulder as a warrior. Because it was not just for a living. Lives of others depended on him fulfilling his duty, not simply trying his best. The wolf knew he wasn’t the strongest, or the smartest. He wasn’t the best magician, since he wasn’t actually able to control his spiritual energy on his peers’ level. But he has seen time and again that one didn’t have to be one of those in order to be the winner when it came to war. On the brink of the start of his third decade, Sylvan renewed his dedication to the art of war, aiming to become one of the best warmasters and earn the title of Man-o-War.
Eighteen years later the war between Lupus Empire and Felinid Kingom was still raging on. Sylvan, now a commander of his own warpack, was stationed back at the place of his birth, the Ravenhead castle. Located near the south-eastern border, surrounding fields and villages could become a target of small felinid bands. The wolf, still considered young in a race with almost three hundred years of life expectancy, became known as a warsinger (a battle mage, inspiring and strengthening his comrades with songs) and a master swordsman. His family though could not recognise Sylvan after seeing him for the first time in almost thirty years. Gone was the smiling and laughing boy who could not sit in one place. In his place stood a passionate warrior, fierce killer and a cunning deceiver, who was fated to stand among the highest commanding officers of Lupus Empire in the course of several deacades.
But fate, that untrustworthy bitch, got other plans. What no one expected, was a five thousand strong felinid army to invade the Ravenhead. The castle burned, its defendants giving their all in order to buy a few minutes more for surrounding civil population to get as far away from the catkind menace as possible. Heavily injured in an arrow salve from felinid crossbowmen, Sylvan was directing his men from the western tower through his warpacks thought-speakers and supporting his men in the only way he could – strengthening their resolve and prowess as a warsinger. Still, there were only a hundred and thirteen wolves in his pack, and even with the help of volunteers, they were outnumbered forty to one. Their path was set, they would all head into the house of death that day.
Sylvan was the last wolf standing, the castle of his ancestors burning around him, the blood of felinids pooling at his legs and their decapitated bodies lying in piles on the tower’s stairs. The wolf was leaning on the wall, chest heaving, lungs trying to get as much oxygen from the heavily smoked air around as possible, his greatsword clutched firmly in his hands. Even despite the constraints of narrow staircase, none of the opponents could rival his swordsmanship. He was already dead and, Sylvan knew it. But he would go undefeated by a mortal being. A small respite in the face of the oncoming flame, but still enough to bring a vicious smile to his muzzle.
These days, castle Ravenhead stands abandoned and desolate, a testament to the fight that took place there. Many bards will tell you the story of Ravenhead castle’s hold, and as is often the case, their tales will differ. But one common detail to those stories is always the end of the castle’s last heir. As he was burning down in the western tower, the wolf was singing. His throat parched and sore from the smoke. A song that was, is and will be forever sung by the wolves after battles well fought in remembrance and celebration. A song that you, my friend, might know. For surely you have heard “Raise your Horns”?
Physical Description: (originals only)
Teeth. Sharp white fangs that fill the maw of a tall black furred wolf are usually the first aspect of his features to gain attention of someone meeting Sylvan for the first time. Next comes the understanding of a fact that one has to crane his or her or its head in order to look the wolf in his golden round pupiled eyes, either disinterested or full of passionate fire. For standing seven feet tall, even though his build was considered to be on the slim side, Sylvan poses a rather intimidating figure. Especially once you comprehend that a real wolf is standing in front of you, elongated muzzle, long sharp nails, fangs of a predator designed to tear into flesh. The wolf’s body is covered with an inch long fur colour of a black raven’s feathers, reason for the family name, and his head sports a long “mane” that the wolf takes very seriously, spending half an hour during his morning rituals to make sure it is as pointy as possible without supporting carcases. Another notable feature are his red eyebrows.
In his clothes Sylvan prefers garments that don’t restrict his movements and provide some form of defence at the same time. Usually, this means trousers with sewn in metal plates, a vest with a chainmail over it. Grey leather cloak along with dragonhide boots complete this outfit.
Stats:
ATK:3
DEF:1
SPD:2
TEC:4
Starting Proficiencies:
Physical Strength – 1000 OM
Buff Proficiency – 400 OM
Starting Powers:
-
Starting Moves:
Twin nodachi (curved single edge longsword. Requires Physical Strength) – 600 OM
It is said that curved swords were the pinnacle of swordsmithing art in Villielaimia. Specifically designed to slash and cut, rather than simply hack and thrust, they were the choice of master swordsmen. Especially sought were the blades forged by tanuki masters of eastern kingdom of Kukonlaulu, known as katana or nodachi. Nodachi was essentially a longer version of katana with slightly less curvy blade, designed for further reach and fit for battles against cavalry.
Sylvan’s pair of nodachi are identical, with customised hilts, handle length of 17”, blade length of 50”, width of 1.6”, and overall length of each nodachi 67” or 5’7”. Both blades are slightly curved. Their sheaths rest at wolf’s right side, and are specially crafted to release the blades from the top, since dragging such long swords, even with his height advantage, is a huge hassle. The nodachi are named Gorefather (used for right hand) and Gorechild (used for left hand). Wolf uses them to land speedy and variable series of attacks, aimed at maiming his opponents unprotected parts. His favourite target is usually foe’s neck and face.
Special ability: Fusion. Both nodachi are put together in order to conjure through magical means a single double-edged straight greatsword with 20” long handle, blade length of 80” and width of 10”. This weapon is designed for pure strength two-handed hacking attacks against heavily armoured opponents, though can also be used in thrusts.
I confirm that I have read and agreed to the Rules of Conduct. This I swear upon my honor.
Sylvan Ravenhead,
Character source:
Original.
Character history:
Darkness. Always seeking to consume the Light. Since the ancient times, the world of Villielaimia was torn asunder by the eternal war waged by the creatures of the Darkness, the Baalan (sentient arachnids), and children of Light, the Elaimet (sentient mammals). At one time in history of Villielaimia, Baalan were driven out to the eternally shrouded in night part of the planet. Since then, Elaimet kept the creatures of Darkness at bay.
Sylvan was born a wolf, in a family of feudal lord of Ravenhead. As a wolf boy from a noble bloddline, he was to be brought up as warrior, with his only goal in life to wage war on the enemies of Lupus Empire, whose vassals they were, and occasional Baalan menace. During those times, the Ravenhead castle prospered and Sylvan was sent at the age of five to the best warrior training establishment of their region – Orden Ogan (Order of Fear). There the young pup spent almost twenty years of his life.
The order was training its disciples in ways of waging war through many different methods and means, but each aspirant was meant to dedicate his life to mastering only one or two of them. Sylvan dedicated himself to swordfighting and assessment.
Years were hard on the bright-eyed pup. Constant training and hardships that he was put through to forge his body and soul. Regular patrols and skirmishes with the Baalan. Internal competition and fights for dominance between the order’s students. Yet through all this his smile and laughter persisted. It would be much later that his naïve outlook on life would be shattered by the unforgivable bloody reality of waging war.
And wage he did. The wolves and catkind never really got along, and on his 20th birthday the inevitable happened. Lupus Empire was attacked by a large force of neighbouring Felinid Kingdom, populated by various felines. Elder students of Orden Ogan went to repel the intruders along with the real warriors of the order, jomsvikings, and empire’s army. This was the first time Sylvan killed a non-baalan, the notion as repulsive to him as cannibalism. He had to, though, to protect the other inhabitants of the empire.
It was during these times that Sylvan really understood the burden he was carrying on his shoulder as a warrior. Because it was not just for a living. Lives of others depended on him fulfilling his duty, not simply trying his best. The wolf knew he wasn’t the strongest, or the smartest. He wasn’t the best magician, since he wasn’t actually able to control his spiritual energy on his peers’ level. But he has seen time and again that one didn’t have to be one of those in order to be the winner when it came to war. On the brink of the start of his third decade, Sylvan renewed his dedication to the art of war, aiming to become one of the best warmasters and earn the title of Man-o-War.
Eighteen years later the war between Lupus Empire and Felinid Kingom was still raging on. Sylvan, now a commander of his own warpack, was stationed back at the place of his birth, the Ravenhead castle. Located near the south-eastern border, surrounding fields and villages could become a target of small felinid bands. The wolf, still considered young in a race with almost three hundred years of life expectancy, became known as a warsinger (a battle mage, inspiring and strengthening his comrades with songs) and a master swordsman. His family though could not recognise Sylvan after seeing him for the first time in almost thirty years. Gone was the smiling and laughing boy who could not sit in one place. In his place stood a passionate warrior, fierce killer and a cunning deceiver, who was fated to stand among the highest commanding officers of Lupus Empire in the course of several deacades.
But fate, that untrustworthy bitch, got other plans. What no one expected, was a five thousand strong felinid army to invade the Ravenhead. The castle burned, its defendants giving their all in order to buy a few minutes more for surrounding civil population to get as far away from the catkind menace as possible. Heavily injured in an arrow salve from felinid crossbowmen, Sylvan was directing his men from the western tower through his warpacks thought-speakers and supporting his men in the only way he could – strengthening their resolve and prowess as a warsinger. Still, there were only a hundred and thirteen wolves in his pack, and even with the help of volunteers, they were outnumbered forty to one. Their path was set, they would all head into the house of death that day.
Sylvan was the last wolf standing, the castle of his ancestors burning around him, the blood of felinids pooling at his legs and their decapitated bodies lying in piles on the tower’s stairs. The wolf was leaning on the wall, chest heaving, lungs trying to get as much oxygen from the heavily smoked air around as possible, his greatsword clutched firmly in his hands. Even despite the constraints of narrow staircase, none of the opponents could rival his swordsmanship. He was already dead and, Sylvan knew it. But he would go undefeated by a mortal being. A small respite in the face of the oncoming flame, but still enough to bring a vicious smile to his muzzle.
These days, castle Ravenhead stands abandoned and desolate, a testament to the fight that took place there. Many bards will tell you the story of Ravenhead castle’s hold, and as is often the case, their tales will differ. But one common detail to those stories is always the end of the castle’s last heir. As he was burning down in the western tower, the wolf was singing. His throat parched and sore from the smoke. A song that was, is and will be forever sung by the wolves after battles well fought in remembrance and celebration. A song that you, my friend, might know. For surely you have heard “Raise your Horns”?
Physical Description: (originals only)
Teeth. Sharp white fangs that fill the maw of a tall black furred wolf are usually the first aspect of his features to gain attention of someone meeting Sylvan for the first time. Next comes the understanding of a fact that one has to crane his or her or its head in order to look the wolf in his golden round pupiled eyes, either disinterested or full of passionate fire. For standing seven feet tall, even though his build was considered to be on the slim side, Sylvan poses a rather intimidating figure. Especially once you comprehend that a real wolf is standing in front of you, elongated muzzle, long sharp nails, fangs of a predator designed to tear into flesh. The wolf’s body is covered with an inch long fur colour of a black raven’s feathers, reason for the family name, and his head sports a long “mane” that the wolf takes very seriously, spending half an hour during his morning rituals to make sure it is as pointy as possible without supporting carcases. Another notable feature are his red eyebrows.
In his clothes Sylvan prefers garments that don’t restrict his movements and provide some form of defence at the same time. Usually, this means trousers with sewn in metal plates, a vest with a chainmail over it. Grey leather cloak along with dragonhide boots complete this outfit.
Stats:
ATK:3
DEF:1
SPD:2
TEC:4
Starting Proficiencies:
Physical Strength – 1000 OM
Buff Proficiency – 400 OM
Starting Powers:
-
Starting Moves:
Twin nodachi (curved single edge longsword. Requires Physical Strength) – 600 OM
It is said that curved swords were the pinnacle of swordsmithing art in Villielaimia. Specifically designed to slash and cut, rather than simply hack and thrust, they were the choice of master swordsmen. Especially sought were the blades forged by tanuki masters of eastern kingdom of Kukonlaulu, known as katana or nodachi. Nodachi was essentially a longer version of katana with slightly less curvy blade, designed for further reach and fit for battles against cavalry.
Sylvan’s pair of nodachi are identical, with customised hilts, handle length of 17”, blade length of 50”, width of 1.6”, and overall length of each nodachi 67” or 5’7”. Both blades are slightly curved. Their sheaths rest at wolf’s right side, and are specially crafted to release the blades from the top, since dragging such long swords, even with his height advantage, is a huge hassle. The nodachi are named Gorefather (used for right hand) and Gorechild (used for left hand). Wolf uses them to land speedy and variable series of attacks, aimed at maiming his opponents unprotected parts. His favourite target is usually foe’s neck and face.
Special ability: Fusion. Both nodachi are put together in order to conjure through magical means a single double-edged straight greatsword with 20” long handle, blade length of 80” and width of 10”. This weapon is designed for pure strength two-handed hacking attacks against heavily armoured opponents, though can also be used in thrusts.
I confirm that I have read and agreed to the Rules of Conduct. This I swear upon my honor.
A predator's heart
Knows no remorse
It lives for the hunt
Knows no remorse
It lives for the hunt
![[Image: ZJRz8.jpg]](http://s8.uploads.ru/t/ZJRz8.jpg)
