Post by The Glass Ninja on Jan 17, 2015 12:48:43 GMT
Name: Vaul Blackiron
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Nationality: Sythin
Appearance:
Vaul possesses unusually dark hair for a Sythin, some saying it was obvious eastern or Anthari ancestry which had darkened his pigment. His eyes, however, are the startling blue of his western brethren. He's not tall - standing at 5'8, but his shoulders are broad and strong. The heavy plate he wears is a testament to that.
Class: Warrior
Bio: Vaul was born to a Jerem Blackiron of the Silver Guard and his wife Larriana - a healer. They made their home in one of Sythin's many northern Forts, vigilant against the attacks of Horseborn and the other enemies of the great human kingdom. It is, perhaps, this location which truly set Vaul on the path he eventually found.
The fort was attacked. The darkness of night covered the assault as fire and blood spread across the fortification - it had come as a surprise to the warriors stationed there, and their scrambled rush for weapons and armour left them vulnerable. A hail of arrows cut down Jerem and scattered his squad, their plate barely buckled. Larriana had barely roused herself when fire began to rain down on the medical billets; the more civilian section of the fort was already in flames when young Vaul awoke screaming. His mother, ever brave, snatched him from his crib and charged through flame to deliver him to safety.
The attack had stopped as quickly as it begun. The cost was relatively light - a few injuries, a few dead. However, Vaul would never forget his own personal tragedy - his father, dead from an arrow through the neck, and his mother from the burns she had sustained saving him. It was by sheer luck that a caravaneer running supplies from Sythin took pity on the boy and brought him back to the relative safety of the coast. The orphanage he found himself in, however, was no place for pity.
As soon as he could walk and talk, he was given work. Chores, errands, and training became his daily life for several years - the owner of the orphanage was a retired soldier, and he knew that his kingdom needed more troops no matter what. The old man had taken it upon himself to provide whatever support he could. Harsh training and years of education forged Vaul's soul into his namesake - iron.
Teenage rebellion, however, crushed his patron's hopes of him joining the silver guard. An argument with the masters of the orphanage forced him to leave in rage, stealing a horse and heading east. What he found there was only more war; the Orcish hordes hunting after the mercantile peoples that lived there.
By, what he considers, sheer luck Vaul found a place for himself. A company of mercenary cavalry took him as one of their own, and soon enough he had his first taste of battle. The Flying Companions, as they called themselves, fought for money all across the east, defending the more vulnerable of the refugees fleeing the inhuman evils hellbent on the death of humanity. For six years, the company fought all across the world - even finding themselves in the north, conducting counter charges against Horseborn raiding parties, and working in the south with Anthar spearmen to crush their foes.
He found his place both as a warrior, and the apprentice to the company smith - reshoeing horses, fixing wagons and repairing armour and blades became his life outside of combat. That, and drinking with his comrades of course. The life was tough, but they were saving people, and being paid to do it - that was as close to content as Vaul ever got.
The company fell apart after a catastrophic battle - caught by surprise and crushed between two Orcish warbands they were cut down by arrow and spear. Most of the survivors felt blessed by the gods; even though they knew they were gone. Having fought with his 'brothers' for a good six years, the then twenty two year old Vaul was confused and injured- he returned to the only sanctuary he could remember. The Silver City.
Two years later, he prepares himself to head to the Northern Front. He will defend his people and his home till the last breath.
Other:
Nicknames: Little Smith, Half-Blooded, Mule
Equipment: Plate armour, heavy round-shield, broadsword, smiths hammer, basic provisions.
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Nationality: Sythin
Appearance:
Vaul possesses unusually dark hair for a Sythin, some saying it was obvious eastern or Anthari ancestry which had darkened his pigment. His eyes, however, are the startling blue of his western brethren. He's not tall - standing at 5'8, but his shoulders are broad and strong. The heavy plate he wears is a testament to that.
Class: Warrior
Bio: Vaul was born to a Jerem Blackiron of the Silver Guard and his wife Larriana - a healer. They made their home in one of Sythin's many northern Forts, vigilant against the attacks of Horseborn and the other enemies of the great human kingdom. It is, perhaps, this location which truly set Vaul on the path he eventually found.
The fort was attacked. The darkness of night covered the assault as fire and blood spread across the fortification - it had come as a surprise to the warriors stationed there, and their scrambled rush for weapons and armour left them vulnerable. A hail of arrows cut down Jerem and scattered his squad, their plate barely buckled. Larriana had barely roused herself when fire began to rain down on the medical billets; the more civilian section of the fort was already in flames when young Vaul awoke screaming. His mother, ever brave, snatched him from his crib and charged through flame to deliver him to safety.
The attack had stopped as quickly as it begun. The cost was relatively light - a few injuries, a few dead. However, Vaul would never forget his own personal tragedy - his father, dead from an arrow through the neck, and his mother from the burns she had sustained saving him. It was by sheer luck that a caravaneer running supplies from Sythin took pity on the boy and brought him back to the relative safety of the coast. The orphanage he found himself in, however, was no place for pity.
As soon as he could walk and talk, he was given work. Chores, errands, and training became his daily life for several years - the owner of the orphanage was a retired soldier, and he knew that his kingdom needed more troops no matter what. The old man had taken it upon himself to provide whatever support he could. Harsh training and years of education forged Vaul's soul into his namesake - iron.
Teenage rebellion, however, crushed his patron's hopes of him joining the silver guard. An argument with the masters of the orphanage forced him to leave in rage, stealing a horse and heading east. What he found there was only more war; the Orcish hordes hunting after the mercantile peoples that lived there.
By, what he considers, sheer luck Vaul found a place for himself. A company of mercenary cavalry took him as one of their own, and soon enough he had his first taste of battle. The Flying Companions, as they called themselves, fought for money all across the east, defending the more vulnerable of the refugees fleeing the inhuman evils hellbent on the death of humanity. For six years, the company fought all across the world - even finding themselves in the north, conducting counter charges against Horseborn raiding parties, and working in the south with Anthar spearmen to crush their foes.
He found his place both as a warrior, and the apprentice to the company smith - reshoeing horses, fixing wagons and repairing armour and blades became his life outside of combat. That, and drinking with his comrades of course. The life was tough, but they were saving people, and being paid to do it - that was as close to content as Vaul ever got.
The company fell apart after a catastrophic battle - caught by surprise and crushed between two Orcish warbands they were cut down by arrow and spear. Most of the survivors felt blessed by the gods; even though they knew they were gone. Having fought with his 'brothers' for a good six years, the then twenty two year old Vaul was confused and injured- he returned to the only sanctuary he could remember. The Silver City.
Two years later, he prepares himself to head to the Northern Front. He will defend his people and his home till the last breath.
Other:
Nicknames: Little Smith, Half-Blooded, Mule
Equipment: Plate armour, heavy round-shield, broadsword, smiths hammer, basic provisions.