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Post by antonios on Oct 4, 2011 16:18:13 GMT
Mister Administrator, Sir, could you please change the name of this thread to CharGen: Pyry Kolkko. I will go with Mr. Vesa's suggestion there. No more name changes once the game starts, promise. From the next post: instants from the Gaunt One's life. I hope I will have time to write more after skills, talents, money and equipment are set (meaning: when poor Pyry is set in stone). I don't know whether tomorrow or these days that I won't have net as readily accessible you plan on setting how we know each other and what makes us friends/acquaintances/fans of the same ice-hockey team. Barbarians are closed people and distrustful even of well-meaning mages. So the hockey-team thing might need some extra thought.
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Post by antonios on Oct 4, 2011 16:20:03 GMT
The child picked up the wooden trinket. 'Hey, leave that down!', shouted the gaunt child. The other child looked annoyed. 'It's mine! I found it lying down!' 'No you didn't!', retorted the gaunt child, panting from running. 'I left it there a while ago. My dad carved it for me'. 'Your dad's dead', said the other child. 'And you are ugly'. The gaunt child was furious. 'He was alive when he carved it! And you are stupid with big ears!', he shouted. 'Your dad died because you are ugly!' 'Give me my toy back!' 'Your dad died like a woman!' 'Give me my toy back now and go away!'. The gaunt child started shoving the other one. 'Your dad was cursed by magic! You are cursed!' 'No he wasn't! He was ill!' 'Then why didn't the healer heal him? He died cursed! He wasn't a man! You aren't a man!' The gaunt one attacked. The two boys slipped down on the mud. They were punching and kicking, fighting with the fury of young bulls but with hits so ineffective they couldn't harm themselves even if the sun decided to stand still. 'It's mine! Mine!' The other boy let the toy go. 'It's just a stupid piece of wood. You can have it! You are cursed and dishonored like your dad! My daddy says so! My uncle says so!' The boy started backtracking, afraid of a new retaliation. 'And you are filthy and a coward!' The gaunt one picked a hefty handful of mud and slung it to him, hitting him in the back as the other boy was running away. He had his toy back. But there was nothing more he could do.
It was warm under the blankets, but the boy was shaking. It wasn't cold; he was afraid. His sister was already asleep, her body warming him. 'Mother'. 'Mother', he whispered, clenching his grip tighter on her waist. 'What is it big boy?', said his mother, almost half-asleep. 'Are we cursed by wizards?', he said with a hesitant voice. 'Of course we aren't!', said the mother in a soft, soothing voice, caressing his blonde hair. 'We never had anything to do with them'. 'Then why do the others say we are cursed?' 'Because they are mean my love. There are many mean people in the world, you know'. 'Did dad die like a woman'? The boy feared the answer. 'Did he seem like a woman to you?', half-whispered the woman. He turned around, and saw that in the twilight her fiery eyes were looking at him intently, at peace. 'No..', the boy said. 'But why did he die?' 'Because he was ill'. The woman shed a tear, but in the dancing shadows of the room the boy did not notice. 'And why didn't the healer do something?' 'Because she couldn't.' The woman sensed new questions coming up. 'Because not everything can be done. No fisherman can catch all the fish. No hunter can kill all the game. No bard can know all the songs'. 'Is the healer mean?' The mother smiled in the twilight. It's easy for small children to get confused. 'No, she is not. But she doesn't know everything and she couldn't help your dad.' 'Nobody could? Can I become a healer?' 'Don't say that. This is a woman's job and not for a man like you'. 'But… nobody? Nobody?' 'The Gods could'. The woman shed another unseen tear. 'Why didn't they?' The boy was ready to start crying. 'Because they wanted your dad with them'. The boy stayed silent. 'Now your dad is with them. In the divine glaciers, with furs and food and jewelry that would buy kingdoms. You will go there too. But to do that, you do what your mother tells you and you pray. And right now, your mother says that you should sleep,' she said with a playful tone. She kissed him on the forehead and tightened the blanket above all three of them. The boy closed his eyes and prayed to the gods. He prayed, and prayed, and fell asleep before he even really started. The night was peaceful.
The pretty girl was crying loudly. 'What's going on here?', exclaimed the mother upon entering the hut. The boy was looking around, perplexed. Unapologetic, yet guilty. 'He killed Pupu!', the girl shrilled. It was impossible to stop the sobbing. 'What?! You killed the dog?!', she shrieked. The boy cowered back instantly. 'A snake bit him! He was lying on the floor, flapping himself around! He was foaming mum!' 'I hate you! I hate you!', shouted the girl with the rivers of tears. Now the mother noticed the blood stain on the floor. Her son had indeed slit the dog's throat. 'Where… Where did you put him?' The boy was almost in tears. 'I burnt him outside'. So that was the lingering stench she smelt while coming back to the log. She slapped him hard, twice and thrice and more until her hands hurt and his cheeks were the red of a blooming raspberry. 'Why do you have to be so stupid? Why?'
His mother would sing. She sang well, songs of love and fame and fortune, of high mountains and never ending travels, and he would hear her while doing his chores. But he would never forget the day he saw the man who played music. He wasn't strong, nor well built. His beard was sparse and his face looked boyish with the freckles ('freckles!', he though). But he sang with a deep voice, sweeter and fuller than pine honey, and had this weird-looking instrument in his lap, producing sounds with his fingers that nothing else can. And the gaunt one gaped during all his song playing, and he promised to himself that one day he would learn to play and sing too.
'Mum? Is that you?' There was no reply. He shouted again. 'Mum?' 'Hei Pyry!' She was still far from the log, yet she was smiling. 'What's wrong now, my Snowstorm?' 'I don't know. It's kind of hazy when I look too far away'. Her heart raced. But she didn't show it at all. 'Ah, so it came'! She smiled. 'What came?', he asked, troubled. 'Nothing. It's normal. Just like your dad. He wasn't too good in seeing that far either, you know?' 'I thought he was a great archer'. 'He was. But because of practice and intuition. And maybe luck. But he wasn't as sharp eyed as the ravens in the sky. Hey, why are you sad now?' 'I will never be a good archer.' 'There is a trick though!' 'What trick?' She pulled out a knife with an ancient handle. Wasn't it the one his grandfather had crafted his mum? 'I want you to find me the crack on its handle'. He looked at it for a few moments. Indeed, there was a minor crack, no longer than a scratch. Only somebody looking for it would have seen it. 'That's easy, it's right here.' 'Easy for you! I have never seen it in my life! 'What? But it's right there.' 'And I can't see it. You can. See now, that is not so bad!' 'No', he said smiling. 'I guess it isn't'.
The smell of acrid smoke in the log only added to the tension. 'No', exclaimed the burly man. The gaunt man, standing like the other, tensed even more. He bit his tongue. They were looking intently at each other. 'Why?', he said, almost swallowing the word. The burly man narrowed his eyes. 'Because you are stupid and ugly, that's why!' 'I brought you triple the dowry, and all these deers I killed and skinned mys-' 'I told you no, boy! My daughter will not get a man as ugly as you!' 'But she loves me!' 'No she doesn't!' 'You are lying!' The gaunt man had crossed the line. 'A measly boy calls me a liar?', shouted the burly man, his hawkish eyes burning. 'How dare you dishonor me?' 'I came for your daughter', shouted back the gaunt man, 'and I brought triple the dowry! It is you who dishonors me!'. It all happened in an instant. The burly man, enraged, reached for the great axe hanging from the walls of the log. The gaunt, young man almost gaped by the unexpected move and would have surely been dead had the burly man wanted to strike him down. But he didn't. Because the burly man shoved, no, forced the axe upon the other's chest. 'You filthy rat! You hedgehog! You leave my log right now!' The gaunt man thought he was hit. But there he was, still in the middle of the log, the burly man shoving him out, and him, miraculously having in his arms and chest the other man's great axe. 'This is my father's axe! You hear me, orphan chicken? My FATHER'S! It's worth the animals! Get out, GET OUT, and never talk to my daughter again!' The gaunt one's eyes had gone watery. He stumbled back. 'But… I don't want your axe! I want your daughter!' He was partially trembling, still holding awkwardly the great instrument against his chest. 'You are stupid, boy! Stupid! Brave and stupid at the same time', and the man didn't stop for an instant shoving the gaunt one outside the log while shouting, 'because how much has love blinded you to stupidity to come and ask for my daughter, MY daughter, when your mother turned me down 17 winters ago?' The gaunt one fell down on his back outside of the log, the great axe always on his chest. He scrambled backwards and started running, turning to look at the man every few steps. A tear dropped on his cheek. The burly man, with watery eyes himself, shut the door with a bang. And the snow continued falling.
The gaunt man was already asleep. His mother was sitting next to him, caressing his shoulder. She didn't wish to cry. But she was visibly shaking. 'My only son', she whispered to the sleeping man. 'I love you and I would kill for you. Yet everyday I pray to the snow and the winds to make you think and judge your actions'. Her voice was breaking, unheard as it was. 'You are strong and swift and sturdy, hardworking and benign… but I pray and I pray that you think, think before you act. Because asking for his daughter was the wrong thing to do. The wrong thing. And you said nothing to nobody before doing it.' The woman wept. 'You can do better than your dad. But first you have to live. And a fool can be easily parted from his life'. She let go of him and held her face while silently sobbing. A tear fell on the blade of the great axe that lied on the floor. The gaunt man was dreaming of the gods laughing at his expense. And while sleeping, he was muttering a prayer.
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Post by HackMonkey on Oct 5, 2011 6:54:45 GMT
Great story Ant. I haven't seen a character background done as 'snapshots' like that before. I think you've captured some of the Hoarlander spirit there.
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Post by antonios on Oct 5, 2011 8:33:15 GMT
Glad you liked it! [there can also be a one-paragraph dry version for you lads to know all the facts, dates etc] There will be more, when more details are out. And now to the physical description.
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Post by antonios on Oct 5, 2011 10:03:43 GMT
The dwarf and his companion were looking at him from the benches outside that tavern overlooking the open market.
'How sick is that man over there or what? And the guards let him inside the walls?', said the black bearded man. The dwarf swallowed another big gulp of his beer. 'Nay, he ain't nowhere sick. But people say he been cursed by wizards. His father died from nuthin'. He just burned away, like 'em candles. He was dying for months. BURRRRP!' 'Even more so! A cursed son of a cursed man inside the walls! And the guards let him!' A couple of other people stopped talking and looked wearily at the two companions. 'Don’t get your spirits up and don't start shouting, you fool. 'sides, that's airtalk. Mean nothing and I ain't believin' it. The lad's neither ill nor cursed.' 'And how do you know?', half-whispered now the black bearded man. 'The dwarf gods told you in the latrine?' The man laughed alone, revealing his yellow and black teeth. 'I have seen 'im gulp as much beer as I do, ya moron! Somebody twice as big as him but as stoopid as yer face told him that he didn't have it. Them clansmen don’t take it lightly, ya know? So the Gaunt One, Kolkko in his language, tells him with this thick speech of his, 'you talk from your ass and you fart from your mouth! Like the women you talk! But I’ll drink you this small barrel here in one go and you'll give me what's on that fat pouch of yours. Because that's how men settle, and you go nowhere before that's done.' You should 'ave seen the other guy's face! He wanted to rip him. Three men were holding him!' 'I wonder why…' 'But Kolkko thear said again, 'you have honour? Or just talk?' and the burly man couldn't do anything because he was challenged. So he shouted 'you can't drink half of that you son of a hare, you sickly chicken!'. And Kolkko looked at him with this face, mocking him, and suddenly got serious… and you won't believe what he did next.' 'He farted from his left ear?' 'He prayed'. The black bearded man laughed heartily. 'You are making this up. This is incredible! Hey, another beer for the dwarf storyteller here!' 'I am making up nuthin' thear being other men too! He said a small prayer in his own speech, grabbed the barrel and started drinking. And finished it in one go! He burped loudly, put the barrel in its place, and went on to leave. The people around didn't believe their eyes! The burly man was dead in his tracks. Even the men holding him had dropped their jaws!' 'Ok, so he can drink. So what?' 'So what?! As he was leaving, passing next to the burly round guy, he shoved him, grabbed his pouch and ripped it from his belt!' 'Oh man'! The black bearded man was giggling. 'It was a riot! The burly guy hurls himself on Kolkko, everybody backs up because it's a honour thing now, you see?, and bangs him straight in the face with his head!' 'Hehe, he got what he deserved!' 'You don't get it! The blow was mighty but Kolkko thear hadn't flinched at all! The man thought Kolkko was falling, so started slapping him in the face, the way you hit a woman, to humiliate him. He slapped him some foar or five times, hard enough to decapitate 'im. And the other guy was takin' it, doin' nuthin'!' 'That's why he looks stupid to me…' 'So the other man stops, kinda wondering… and Kolkko hits him with his knuckles, straight in the face! Man fell like a log! With one single blow!' 'Bullcrap!' 'As I see you and you see me. And Kolkko hear, nose bloodied and all, and nobody going near him, asks with that accent, but rather timidly for what had just happened', and the dwarf has another gulp of beer, laughing for what's coming up, 'how much for that beer I drank?' Hilarious!' 'Hahaha, this Kolkko has spirit!' 'And some people are laughing from nervousness, and some didn't know what to do, and the owner says something I didn't hear, and Kolkko opens the pouch and throws him some coins. And walks away!' 'Maybe the boy has balls then, with the beer and the fight and all'. 'I think he is good. But other people don't. And many think he is sick or cursed, because of his dad and his mum and his frame and al-' 'What about his mum now?' 'She didn't remarry a man that wanted her. Or anybody else. She stayed a widow, at the age of twenty two you see? She must be more than fourty now! That's bizarre even for them clansmen and their weird customs.' 'She out of her mind too? A woman without a man?' 'A tough woman, at that. And if these, these… barbarians are tough, I am told their women are even worse. So I am not judging and I say, if she didn't want to remarry, good for her. But people look at them suspiciously and talk bad. That’s why he is shunned. That's why when he comes to the market, he sells less than his tribesmen. But if you ask me, he will have a chance one day. Maybe somewhere people don't know him.'. 'Let's buy him a drink, maybe he can say nice stories'. 'Don't be stoopid again, now. I said I ain't believin' nuthin' of what the clansmen talk about, They treat the Gaunt One wrong. But you think that I'll go out and start befriending the men they avoid? And to whom will I sell my wares then? It's not only business here, you fool. It's honour!'
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Post by HackMonkey on Oct 5, 2011 14:43:15 GMT
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Post by antonios on Oct 5, 2011 15:53:36 GMT
Thanks! Thing is, I started from writing a small text (no more than half a page long) of how the guy usually looks (clothes, charms, equipment etc), so that Vesa and Martin have a constant reference of what their characters see at any given point. Then I realised that even though I don't have him statted, not having him equipped means that I can't describe the visual reference. So I thought of presenting how others see him. For the description I will wait for him being ready. Also, if you know of any depositories of pics that might help on the visuals, feel free to send links.
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Post by antonios on Oct 11, 2011 20:44:28 GMT
Pyry in 5 minutes without literature
21 years old, a skinner and tanner of a northern Hoarlander tribe. His father died at the unlikely age of 25 from intestinal cancer, something that no Hoarlander or Frithlander could have ever guessed. Since the condition troubled him for more than a year and had obvious symptoms (inability to eat and drink in the amounts Hoarlanders do, tiredness, vomiting, rectal blood etc), his illness and death were attributed to manhood-stealing magic. Pyry was only 4, his sister being 6 and their mother 21. People started shunning the widow and her children. From the rumours and social pressure Pyry becomes more religious than most of his people and despises magic as much.
Even though she is a pretty woman and a character to behold, Pyry's mother refuses to marry another tribesman who (honestly yet secretly) loved her and finally asked her. A scandal for the tribe, the widow is just but ostracized from her peers. It is the intervention of the elder that castigates her behaviour, but at the same time condemns the clansmen for their ungodly manners. The issue was buried, never to be raised again. The family of Pyry is an active part of the tribe, yet always carries the aura of cursed or unwanted. It is no coincidence that the elder asked Pyry to apprentice next to the master skinner at the age of 10, a position that few would envy due to the terrible stench and social stigma it carries. Brisk and unthoughtful (to his mother's chagrin who attributes it to youth) Pyry falls for the only daughter of the man who loved his mother; she falls for him too. Unaware of the past and at the rather old age of 19 he asks her from her father. He is treated by an explosion of outrage and pathos, in which he receives his beautiful skeggöx. Baffled by the man's impossible yet honourable behaviour (and failing to understand that in his eyes the man saw the son he could never have with his mother), Pyry finally appears to understand that his future might not be exclusively within the tribe, since he will be forever shunned. Not only for what he is but for what his mother, his father, or his still unmarried sister also are.
Since then he is adopting a more open approach to life. He often volunteers to sell the Hoarlanders' trade at the town markets and bazaars, and has been seen alone in the woods hunting not to satisfy concrete needs like his tribe has always done, but to be away from everyone he knows so that he can meet people he doesn't, like hunters and rangers. There is some sadness in his eyes when beholding his beautiful woman-never-to-be, but time heals everything; Frithlandish women are picking his interest (and he theirs, even though he probably doesn't get it yet). His timid journeys have made him two Frithlandish friends. But are they to be trusted? Especially the mage?
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