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Sep 22 2016, 09:35 PM
Name: Rottz

Age: Fifty FOURK

Gender: ORK

Race: ORK

Sexuality: ORK

Allegiance: ORK

Occupation: ORK NOB SHAMAN

Appearance: Rather large for an orc nob, Rottz stands perhaps seven and a half feet tall, with lighter green skin and standard orc red eyes. His overall appearance is fairly standard, when it comes to facial features and physique. Its his outfit and equipment that mark him as... odd for an orc.

Equipment: DA LITTLA PAINBRUSH: A small, dagger-length paintbrush used to paint utilities, such as stronger armor and weapons, or picture prayers to Gork and Mork that do different things.

DA BIGGA PAINBRUSH: A bastard sword sized paintbrush used in combat. "Paints" wounds that function like blunt damage. Can also fling paint for a ranged attack that also functions as blunt damage.

DA PAIN CAN: A large metal can filled with whatever color painthe happens to need the most at the moment. Mostly a blunt weapon, but also can collect "in-greedy-untz" to make more paint. Rather comical, really. Nobody really knows how it functions. He says "IT JUST WORKZ." Mostly used with DA BIGGA PAINBRUSH.

DA PAIN PALLIT: A simple wooden painter's palette with a wide variety of paint colors. Used with DA LITTLA PAINBRUSH, he can paint up a variety of utilities.

DA PAIN THINNA: A powerful, noxious, and acidic chemical used for splash effect. Can effectively damage armor, cause chemical burns, blind, and silence a single foe.

DA PAIN'IN AYPRUN: A thick leather apron backed with metal plates. Holds his equioment, save for DA BIGGA PAINBRUSH. Functional armor in conjunction with shoulderpads.

Skills: Various styles of PAIN'IN, with various MEATY-UMS. Functions as a combat style as well as an artistic form. Herbalism, alchemy, and various tactical wits accompany his repertoire of PAIN'IN ti make him an oddly effective leader.

Magic: Because the abilities are so strange, they may as well be considered magic by most means.

EVRY ORK NEEDS A FREND: Uses DA LITTLA PAINBRUSH to paint a shoddy picture of a gretchin that lasts for a few minutes or until attacked. It does no real damage but can muddy up armor, weapons, and machinery

A BIG OUCHY: Swings DA BIGGA PAINBRUSH to paint an elongated contusion that can cause internal bleeding. Paint slung from this has the impact of a good, solid punch from an orc.

ORCS DON'T MAKE MISTAKES: Painting a picture of Gork or Mork on a friendly ranger orc allows that orc's next shot to be a powerful, 100% accurate shot.

WE JUST AV APPY AXIDENTS: A painted picture of Gork and Mork inspires extra strength in an orc's attack, and for the next few minutes, no attacks miss, but may hit random other targets.

GORK AND MORK PORTRITS: A picture of either Gork or Mork that will either turn into a pitfall trap or conjure a forceful blow from an unseen, giant fist as an enemy nears proximity.

Personality: An "EKSENTRIK" orc, Rottz enjoys painting. Many try to claim that this seemingly human activity is wimpy and weak, but he turns their argument moot by saying it includes one of his favorite words: pain. Thus, while he does take artistic liberty in his war band's decor, it is effective. Orcs donning armor painted in renaissance oils or watercolors find their morale improved for having flashier bits to fight with. He takes a great deal of pleasure in painting "NAYTCHA" scenes, beautiful landscapes littered with bodies and spattered with blood.

Despite his odd hobby, he's as hard and orky as any other prpud nob if not harder and orkier to enforce his colorful army.

History: Nob Rottz started off his life like any other good orc. Strong, fighty, choppy, and looty. He lived a standard orc life until an attack on a Reiklandic village scored him loot that struck a different fancy. Pretty pictures filled his loot sacks, painting supplies, too. A human captive explained what they were and told him how to use them. That human was dragged off to the camp and gave Rottz lessons for food and an extended life span. Once Rottz was confident in his skills, he killed the human and mailed his remains back to his next of kin. Nobody really knows why he bothered, but it's said that he did it to uphold his part of a bargain for the lessons.

To feed his EKSENTRIK habit, he learned how to apply it in combat, and how to scrounge up supplies from enemy remains. He gets his blues from people with blue eyes, greens from dead gretchin, reds from blood (he paints a lot of sunsets and fires), and so on in sich ridiculous fashion. Modern painters from other cultures are always skeptical of his ways, but respect his works nonetheless.

His talents have grown him into a powerful nob, and he aims to become his own warboss, inspiring KULTCHA in other orcs.

Player Name: unendingdream

Feedback Format: Skype
Sep 8 2016, 11:28 AM
Name: Ylva Mountainbreaker

Age: 36 As of 2503

Gender: Female

Race: Norscan Human

Sexuality: Asexual

Allegiance: Khornate Chaos

Occupation: Chosen of Khorne

Appearance: To sum it up: Tall, red-headed, and crazed. Her build is thickly athletic and powerful, muscular from constant wear of heavy armor, with thick arms and legs from endless battle. Her skin is pale pink, as if more lightly sunburned than a tan, and covered in countless impressive scars. Her hair like an auburn cascade of blood and fire, frizzy, frayed, and thick around her shoulders, often hanging in front of her eyes. And those eyes are wild, often wide, with the pupils dilated in the center of her green irises like strange eclipses in a bloodshot sky. Her forehead has the rune of the Blood God carved into it and cauterized shut again, leaving it a prominent scar she has no intention of hiding. Her teeth are yellowed, with runes carved into them.

Her regular speaking voice is raspy and broken. This is from her powerful, daemoniac battlecries, roars, and shouting commands. In battle, her voice booms like monstrous thunder, almost inhuman.
Equipment: Her most immediate gift is a suit of heavy plate armor blessed by Khorne that fits her perfectly, and is rarely removed save for the treatment of wounds if severe enough to incapacitate her.

Ylva sports a wide array of axes. On both hips, she carries single-handed war axes. Strapped to her chest are four overlapping heavy throwing axes. Her sabatons each have one light throwing axe strapped to them, and her pauldrons each have two light throwing axes strapped to the front and sides. Their straps keep her from throwing them quickly unless she takes the time to grab multiples, and at any given time she has one of her war axes and one of her throwing axes equipped. When entering the fray, she will always have her greataxe equipped until it is no longer convenient to fight with it, at which point she often will plant it in the ground and fight around it like a banner.

Khorne recently granted her the use of a juggernaut. This juggernaut was chosen by her when it attacked her, only for her to grab its head and jam its eyes in with her thumbs. She has trained it to obey her every command, hear her voice alone as guidance. Its name is Hollowskull.

Skills: Ylva, as an infallible servant to Khorne, is immune to such things as fear and terror, and sadness. Her dedication leads her to be capable of backing her vicious words with proof in action, making her presence immense, intimidating those against her, and inspiring those beside her.

In her immunity to fear, she is powerfully resilient, and with the adrenaline that pumps through her, she is nearly immune to pain, and rarely will flinch aside from momentum of movements heavy enough to affect her powerful build and stance.

She is impeccably skilled with axes, these being the only weapons she has ever used. War axes, heavy throwing axes, and greataxes all move in her hands with the ease and fluidity of a baton in the hands of a conductor. She refuses to use any other weapons outright.

Ylva Mountainbreaker is as powerful as her name sounds. The constant use of heavy weaponry and armor has lent her a powerful body, a killing machine in its own right.

Ylva has always had a knack for command, and thus is a capable tactician and strategist in battle. Not so much otherwise.

Her size and armor keep her from moving quickly in a single location aside from the spot she stands in. But when she takes a charge, her momentum is comparable to a train's, and it can be difficult to stop her without comparable size and force.

Magic: Ylva has received few gifts from Khorne in the way of blessings, in a sense, and that has been fine for her. She needs no mutations, only to kill more efficiently. Thusly, at different times in battle, especially when it is thickest around her, she may be triggered into a Berserk state of mind, with increased accuracy in her attacks, as well as heavily augmented physical strength and resilience.

Personality: Ylva is an intense person to be around. Having been a servant to Khorne for so long, she has come to express her angry and violent emotion without constant bellows and roars outside of the battlefield. She is often quiet, keeping to herself as she obsesses anxiously over her next opportunity to fight and kill. This anxiety, obsessiveness, and tension all makes her a poor conversational partner when discussing matters that are not Khorne, gore, and combat. She has little to no care for anything that will not give her the chance to express violence, and more often than not, will move to silence those seeking her word about any topics she deems irrelevant.

In battle, she is explosive, awesome, and deadly. She moves not for flashy execution and maiming, but to kill as quickly and efficiently as possible, for there is no need for obnoxious ritual or revelation in overkill. Her every move is aimed to kill as quickly as possible, and when a kill cannot be confirmed immediately, her goal becomes immense damage in every swing of her blade, shuffle of foot, and gnash of tooth and nail. She has eaten throats, clawed out eyes, and bashed skulls in with her own until the very bone was exposed. This is the gift of her anger, and she loves it.

The emotion she experiences in the tide of battle is more than a combination of anger and happiness, and more than bloodlust and ecstacy. It is purest passion. She thinks clearly, and moves quickly. She speaks loud, voicing the most effective commands and tactics in the battle from her surroundings.

History: Ylva was born as Ylva Palemoon to an unsung tribe in an indeterminate reach of the cold wastes of Norsca. She was raised as a warrior, and early in her childhood, perhaps around the age of nine or ten, she beat a bear to death with a woodcutting axe, screaming Khorne's name almost incoherently for stealing her hunted kill. After she was discovered dancing around its burning corpse in victory, roaring and chanting loud enough to wake the dead, she earned a name that kept with her until early adulthood.

Ylva Bearfire.

At age thirteen, she knew she would need to keep her lineage strong, and began to seek a suitable husband. She was never impressed, as she insisted it be somebody who could best her in combat. She was strong, though, and her search lasted for years as she took part in countless intertribe wars and raids. By age sixteen, she found her husband, but he could not keep up with her bloodlust in combat, and in one raid, she slew him out of anger when he was slow to kill a rival family's children. She adorned her favorite war axe with his jaw, and cutting his skull in half with a grind stone, she adorned her makeshift pauldrons with his head, and for a time, his teeth were her ear rings, pierced with dwarven screws from visitors to a village they raided.

Age seventeen, and she had made a name for herself amongst other tribes in the wastes as the woman who bathed in blood. This title was a truth, as after every successful raid in the preceding months, she began to collect corpses to drain for her baths around the unceremonious funeral pyres of her fallen comrades, those she deemed beneath her, but good enough to follow her command. She reeked of death.

Eighteen, and she had decided to dedicate herself to her apparent god. Thus, she carved his rune into her forehead, and with a hunting knife, again into her teeth, once for each of the first twenty kills she made in his name. Khorne accepted this, and she joined the armies of Chaos.

Age twenty one, she had fought valiantly and proved herself a leader amongst the Khornate Berserkers she fought alongside. She earned her next name here, in a raid on a dwarven mountain town. Her leadership proved truly impressive, with her team of berserkers and a few squads of troops breaking resistance with ease. Each kill was in Khorne's name, and it was ecstacy to her. The success of the attack, and several preceding raids, earned her the name of Ylva Mountainbreaker, as well as her suit of armor.

Ylva was given the title of Chosen years later, though which of her many successful raids and battles had earned it, none could say. It seemed more that it was the myriad of tales she had spawned. Stories soread amongst those she inspired on the field of battle. Stories of her accuracy, how she could fell ten soldiers on her own without a sweat. Stories of being shot by dwarven guns and shrugging them off, breaking the rifles over her foes' heads. Stories of how she would eat people in the middle of battle. She was becoming a legend. She could lead battalions effectively, her voice like a raging storm. She was surely Chosen.

Not much later, she was gifted her own juggernaut. When the beast attacked her, she put its eyes out and beat it to submission with her bare hands. Relentless torture eventually made her voice the only sound he could trust, for as long as he did exactly as she commanded, she would not shame him.

And so, now, at age 36, she had become a small legend, growing. Her name would soon become the siren heralding the end, sang by the Empire...

Player Name: Dream

Feedback Format: Thread, please

RP Sample:

Shurseth makes note of the tattoo and nods as she sketches it.

"Well, alright, then. I'm sure the couriers I send will be able to find them," he said with a nod and smile before he takes the papers, folds them up, and sticks them in a little metal box before returning them to his satchel.

"Then, without further ado, we will head back to my wagon, and begin prepping for the job tomorrow!" He shakes her hand with a big smile. "It's an honor to hire you as the first true employee to Red Mountain Labor! I look forward to spending a great deal of time and work with you."

With another excited smile and nod, he heads out the door to his wagon with her presumably following behind him. As they walk, he glances back at her and speaks.

"They won't fit you quite as well as the furs I'll put together for you tonight after we finish, but I have a set together that I wear when I work up around Dawnstar, Winterhold, and Windhelm. It's obnoxiously cold there compared to where we are, so this here Falkreath weather feels much nicer to me, so I don't need it so much."

They arrive at his huge wagon, and he effortlessly hops the two steps to get inside from the back. With the yank of a pulley, the canvas cover rolls up onto the top of the frame, and the turn of a crank flips the walls around to display the weaponry he presumably crafted himself, flawless steel sabers, longswords, war axes, lucernes, and other weapons, all beautiful and deadly with edges that gleamed with an almost unnatural light in their perfect sharpness and shape. Each seemed to display either traditional Nord patterns or the simplistic Dunmer lines. The flip of a smaller lever on each frame wall dropped small trays down that revealed kitchenware that was just as beautiful and flawlessly crafted as the weapons above.

"It's a bit showy, but I figure while I'm over here, I'll put my wares on display," he said as the guard he originally hired to watch the wagon gawked in awe at the spread of perfection on the wagon, muttering impressed curses to himself.

Shurseth popped open the seats of the carriage and fumbled around inside them, pulling out metal toolboxes before realising the seats and setting the boxes on them at the end of the wagon, so that when he hopped down, he could reach up and bring them down to the steps to sift through them in turn. He plucks a large, round roll of a thin tape measure out of one and hooks it to his trousers. A little more sifting, and he pulls out a charcoal stick.

"Do you know measurement in units for length? The metric system?" Shurseth looks at her curiously.
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