Post by maxodis on Dec 8, 2008 15:18:25 GMT -5
(( I hope I can accurately recreate this one. It's been about 6 years since I last used him. :/ ))
Name : Redin Outmir
Age : (( I'm operating under the assumption that the ratio of years to seasons is 1:1, please correct me if I'm wrong.)) 34 seasons
Gender : Male
Species : Weasel
Marital Status : Widower
Position and Home : Redin Outmir is a self-proclaimed "novice artisan". He has some knowledge of woodworking and smithing, but has never taken the time and effort to refine his skills enough to consider himself creditable. He has often stated that he will, when he gets too old to do much else, take the time to learn more about his craft. He has, to his name, a plot of land with a humble dwelling he built himself in the deep recesses of southern Mossflower, but he prefers to roam within the refines of Mossflower wood and sleep out in the night for months at a time, only returning to his home to see to it that the sad little structure doesn't rot and collapse on him when he least expects it.
Strengths : He has lived all of his life in Mossflower woods, only straying from it's embrace perhaps three times in his entire life. As a result, he has committed a large amount of the landscape to his memory, and on a whim, can in most situations, locate a large source of fruit. He owned a heavy polearm at one point early in his life, a halberd with a scythe on the reverse end. The beast of a weapon weighed no less than 120 pounds, which he had wielded with some difficulty in the twenty-odd years he had it in his possession. He has since lost his polearm, and now settles for a claymore, which he finds less cumbersome than his polearm, but awkward with the lack of fluid movement. He also carries a short bow that he made himself, that he does not yet talented at.
Weaknesses : He can be quite dense and tactless, which often gets him into conflicts. He bore the brunt of many physical and emotional stresses during the course of his life, and he fears that they are catching up to him at an early age, despite his good health and fitness.
Alignment : Bad (( Though he is less of a villain and more of an anti-hero ))
Appearance : Redin does not have any particularly outstanding features. He is slightly above average in height, well toned muscularly, but compact. His fur is a dulled crimson hue with a slightly yellowed undercoat. Here and there on his torso, and more specifically, his forearms, there are old battle scars that have half-healed. On his left arm is the remains of a branded symbol, though time and the occasional fit of rage has marred it's original shape to that of a ragged diamond with some indecipherable rune in the center.
Personality : He has always suffered with his sense of morality, between what he feels is the appropriate thing to do in a situation and what is the "right" or moral option. This internal conflict often manifests itself in his obstinateness, as he would rather keep to the side of morality that his instincts tell him than stop and consider the consequences of his actions, for should his instinctual decision turn out to be the least desirable, it would bring to question every other choice he has had to make in his life. He has a smoldering hate for stereotypes, as he has always had conceptions that he lacked free will, that his birth set his destiny to one that would bring destruction and ruin trailing the path he assumed he was setting for himself in life. Though he often acts like a "vermin" would, he lives in complete denial, claiming that if he is to commit a horrible act, he would do it because he chose to, not because he was simply "just another vermin". He is, as a result, the forever cynic. At times, he will lose his reason and reject everything around him, often when his beliefs are in danger of being shaken. He has made few friends, whom he trusts little, but remains loyal to, if only to have a solid foundation on which to stand when the rest of his mind is in turmoil. He distrusts and dislikes most creatures that could be defined as "good", despising what he believes to be their misconceptions of morality, of his position on the scale of morality, and their belief of the principle of black and white. He sees in their eyes that he will never amount to anything than the pain of others. He feels the same disgust of other creatures not unlike himself, vermin, who effectively epitomize what he sees is that evil, unalterable destiny that he was born with.
History : He does not remember his early childhood, either though amnesia or extreme mental effort at forgetting it. As soon as he was able to fend for himself, but before he had cast off the naive notions of the world that most young ones have in their heads, he set out on his own, living off the environment, keeping to himself, enjoying the small pleasures in his life. His early interactions with "goodbeasts" left him horribly confused and more often than not, physically injured. He began to believe their words that were driven into his soul, began to believe he was a plauge upon the earth, a scar marring the otherwise perfect beauty of life, an abomination, all due to his birth as a Weasel. Seeking respite from the conflicting pains that tormented him, he shut out their words, retreating deep inside his own conscious in a desperate hope to maintian his sanity. His reason and morality unwittingly became the reflection of what others saw him as, and he found himself absorbed into a band of other vermin who survived by making periodic raids on the major roadways of Mossflower and other bandit groups. He came to lead them, after a time, and expanded their operations. At some point, he took a mate and had children. His wife was not chosen for her appearance, or her nature. There was no attraction between Redin and the female in question. He had long since cared for anything, yet...some deep emotion would nag at him as he would glance dully into the stricken eyes of creatures who had lost their loved ones in front of their eyes. He found himself laying immobile, staring at noting, mind blank, yet raging within. Taking a mate seemed to suppress the wild distraction that would periodicaly interrupt his thoughts. Having children suppressed them further. Their births were insignificant to him. They didn't seem completely real to his conscious, as if their creation was not in any way his doing. His spouse was ambitious, and would urge him to make large leaps in activity, all the while stubbornly reminding Redin that his son was to be his heir. She had been insisting that he find an out-of-the-way area and set up a base of operations for years. Redin wouldn't hear it. One particular night, some sort of conflict erupted between the two. He lost his reason and beat her to death to keep her silent. He then beat his son and daughter within an inch of their lives and left them to rot at the bottom of a ravine. Soon after, the horde (who were poorly organized and sided with Redin's spouse on the matter of setting up a base of operations) rebelled against him, uprising against their lord in a violent surge. He made it out alive of that horrendous melee, mangled and broken of mind more than body. Seasons passed, his sense of purpose dead, living for nothing, gazing at the birth and death of the sun and despising his life, his fate. He met one similar to him, a creature who had tormented and taunted him in his past days with the horde. He had tried countless times to have her killed, often sending those who served under him to capture her to their deaths. He had tried himself to secure and silence the elusive creature, but he found he met the same failure. Though he did not acknowledge it as such at the time, he began to regard her with a hunter's respect. She vanished when he found himself outcast from all he'd known his entire life. He had, for a time, forgotten her existence. At some point, he ran blindly into her. Their meeting was a stunned one, which quickly turned wary in light of their former encounters. At that time, she was being pursued by one with villainous intent, bent on spilling her blood. Conflicted for only a moment, Redin stubbornly stepped into the situation, defending the wounded enigma while claiming that if she were to die, it would be by his paw, none else's. After the antagonist lay dead, Redin had found that the cloaked figure had made a silent exit. Many encounters later (often beginning and ending with the same results), he learned of her, and she of him. She called herself Sleetfang, and claimed to be a ferret (Though underath such a heavy cloak it was quite some time before he was sure.) Their mutual respect grew, and upon it, their friendship was founded. She is one of the select few individuals whom he would call a friend. With his companions, he had embarked on many ventures, often at their side, but at times, on the other side of the steel. He drifted from their company years later, preferring the tranquility of uninhibited thought that comes with solitude. He found a plot of land in the section of Mossflower that he knows best, and built a small house, which he almost never occupies.
Codeword : (( Forgot to add this in. )) Martin the Warrior.
(( Oh man. I need to revamp this one day, it's horribly fragmented. ))
Name : Redin Outmir
Age : (( I'm operating under the assumption that the ratio of years to seasons is 1:1, please correct me if I'm wrong.)) 34 seasons
Gender : Male
Species : Weasel
Marital Status : Widower
Position and Home : Redin Outmir is a self-proclaimed "novice artisan". He has some knowledge of woodworking and smithing, but has never taken the time and effort to refine his skills enough to consider himself creditable. He has often stated that he will, when he gets too old to do much else, take the time to learn more about his craft. He has, to his name, a plot of land with a humble dwelling he built himself in the deep recesses of southern Mossflower, but he prefers to roam within the refines of Mossflower wood and sleep out in the night for months at a time, only returning to his home to see to it that the sad little structure doesn't rot and collapse on him when he least expects it.
Strengths : He has lived all of his life in Mossflower woods, only straying from it's embrace perhaps three times in his entire life. As a result, he has committed a large amount of the landscape to his memory, and on a whim, can in most situations, locate a large source of fruit. He owned a heavy polearm at one point early in his life, a halberd with a scythe on the reverse end. The beast of a weapon weighed no less than 120 pounds, which he had wielded with some difficulty in the twenty-odd years he had it in his possession. He has since lost his polearm, and now settles for a claymore, which he finds less cumbersome than his polearm, but awkward with the lack of fluid movement. He also carries a short bow that he made himself, that he does not yet talented at.
Weaknesses : He can be quite dense and tactless, which often gets him into conflicts. He bore the brunt of many physical and emotional stresses during the course of his life, and he fears that they are catching up to him at an early age, despite his good health and fitness.
Alignment : Bad (( Though he is less of a villain and more of an anti-hero ))
Appearance : Redin does not have any particularly outstanding features. He is slightly above average in height, well toned muscularly, but compact. His fur is a dulled crimson hue with a slightly yellowed undercoat. Here and there on his torso, and more specifically, his forearms, there are old battle scars that have half-healed. On his left arm is the remains of a branded symbol, though time and the occasional fit of rage has marred it's original shape to that of a ragged diamond with some indecipherable rune in the center.
Personality : He has always suffered with his sense of morality, between what he feels is the appropriate thing to do in a situation and what is the "right" or moral option. This internal conflict often manifests itself in his obstinateness, as he would rather keep to the side of morality that his instincts tell him than stop and consider the consequences of his actions, for should his instinctual decision turn out to be the least desirable, it would bring to question every other choice he has had to make in his life. He has a smoldering hate for stereotypes, as he has always had conceptions that he lacked free will, that his birth set his destiny to one that would bring destruction and ruin trailing the path he assumed he was setting for himself in life. Though he often acts like a "vermin" would, he lives in complete denial, claiming that if he is to commit a horrible act, he would do it because he chose to, not because he was simply "just another vermin". He is, as a result, the forever cynic. At times, he will lose his reason and reject everything around him, often when his beliefs are in danger of being shaken. He has made few friends, whom he trusts little, but remains loyal to, if only to have a solid foundation on which to stand when the rest of his mind is in turmoil. He distrusts and dislikes most creatures that could be defined as "good", despising what he believes to be their misconceptions of morality, of his position on the scale of morality, and their belief of the principle of black and white. He sees in their eyes that he will never amount to anything than the pain of others. He feels the same disgust of other creatures not unlike himself, vermin, who effectively epitomize what he sees is that evil, unalterable destiny that he was born with.
History : He does not remember his early childhood, either though amnesia or extreme mental effort at forgetting it. As soon as he was able to fend for himself, but before he had cast off the naive notions of the world that most young ones have in their heads, he set out on his own, living off the environment, keeping to himself, enjoying the small pleasures in his life. His early interactions with "goodbeasts" left him horribly confused and more often than not, physically injured. He began to believe their words that were driven into his soul, began to believe he was a plauge upon the earth, a scar marring the otherwise perfect beauty of life, an abomination, all due to his birth as a Weasel. Seeking respite from the conflicting pains that tormented him, he shut out their words, retreating deep inside his own conscious in a desperate hope to maintian his sanity. His reason and morality unwittingly became the reflection of what others saw him as, and he found himself absorbed into a band of other vermin who survived by making periodic raids on the major roadways of Mossflower and other bandit groups. He came to lead them, after a time, and expanded their operations. At some point, he took a mate and had children. His wife was not chosen for her appearance, or her nature. There was no attraction between Redin and the female in question. He had long since cared for anything, yet...some deep emotion would nag at him as he would glance dully into the stricken eyes of creatures who had lost their loved ones in front of their eyes. He found himself laying immobile, staring at noting, mind blank, yet raging within. Taking a mate seemed to suppress the wild distraction that would periodicaly interrupt his thoughts. Having children suppressed them further. Their births were insignificant to him. They didn't seem completely real to his conscious, as if their creation was not in any way his doing. His spouse was ambitious, and would urge him to make large leaps in activity, all the while stubbornly reminding Redin that his son was to be his heir. She had been insisting that he find an out-of-the-way area and set up a base of operations for years. Redin wouldn't hear it. One particular night, some sort of conflict erupted between the two. He lost his reason and beat her to death to keep her silent. He then beat his son and daughter within an inch of their lives and left them to rot at the bottom of a ravine. Soon after, the horde (who were poorly organized and sided with Redin's spouse on the matter of setting up a base of operations) rebelled against him, uprising against their lord in a violent surge. He made it out alive of that horrendous melee, mangled and broken of mind more than body. Seasons passed, his sense of purpose dead, living for nothing, gazing at the birth and death of the sun and despising his life, his fate. He met one similar to him, a creature who had tormented and taunted him in his past days with the horde. He had tried countless times to have her killed, often sending those who served under him to capture her to their deaths. He had tried himself to secure and silence the elusive creature, but he found he met the same failure. Though he did not acknowledge it as such at the time, he began to regard her with a hunter's respect. She vanished when he found himself outcast from all he'd known his entire life. He had, for a time, forgotten her existence. At some point, he ran blindly into her. Their meeting was a stunned one, which quickly turned wary in light of their former encounters. At that time, she was being pursued by one with villainous intent, bent on spilling her blood. Conflicted for only a moment, Redin stubbornly stepped into the situation, defending the wounded enigma while claiming that if she were to die, it would be by his paw, none else's. After the antagonist lay dead, Redin had found that the cloaked figure had made a silent exit. Many encounters later (often beginning and ending with the same results), he learned of her, and she of him. She called herself Sleetfang, and claimed to be a ferret (Though underath such a heavy cloak it was quite some time before he was sure.) Their mutual respect grew, and upon it, their friendship was founded. She is one of the select few individuals whom he would call a friend. With his companions, he had embarked on many ventures, often at their side, but at times, on the other side of the steel. He drifted from their company years later, preferring the tranquility of uninhibited thought that comes with solitude. He found a plot of land in the section of Mossflower that he knows best, and built a small house, which he almost never occupies.
Codeword : (( Forgot to add this in. )) Martin the Warrior.
(( Oh man. I need to revamp this one day, it's horribly fragmented. ))
(though I believe "conscious" is an adjective 
). *Accepted*