Post by blodhgarm on Mar 4, 2010 21:49:43 GMT -5
Your username:Blodhgarm
Character's name: Qhorin Lesley
Character's age:37
Character's attitude: Normal. He is the product of his environment and so can't be held to blame for what he is. He is polite when politeness is required, he is funny when a joke is needed, and he is angry and savage when that it called for. He is ready for the moment and likes being in control but like every human he has his breakdowns and makes plenty of mistakes. The one thing that stands out though is that he is acrually a little kind to his slaves. He feels his merchandise shoudl be cared for. Yet its a double bladed knife when it comes to that. Since he is so nice when a slave tries to rebel he takes it as a personal offense and carries out their punishment to the highest degree.
Character's Race: Human
Character's appearance:Five to seven years ago:
Now he looks almost the same except a little bit fatter and thinner hair. 5'10"
Character's allegiance: Empire
Weapons: A giant large black whip, a simple sword, and his tongue cutter( a knife). Because he is a slaver he doesn't wear armor and isn't some assassin or dominant warrior.
Other Info: Has a pocket in his shirt where he keeps a hankercheif. He dislikes dirt and has OCD so he actively cleans everything around him. He also loves order and so will start rearranging things against his will. Its quite pathetic when you see him by a stream washing his hands for hours after murdering a disobedient slave. You can't remove thjat from your soul no matter how hard you try. Also suffers from insomnia. His symbol is the twisted horns normally burned on one's chest.
History:
A minor household in the Empires noble structure. His family helped Galbatorix when they could but others had the money and the assets to help better making them a liked family but one often overlooked. They could probably rise in his eyes( and they want to so bad) if only their household was filled with familymemebers who could actually get somewhere in life. Their laziness and ineptitude has kept them to becoming failure at merchants, small inn owners, and sellswords. Except at the warrior thing they normally die. Its just something they shouldn't really continue on that path.
Of course Qhorin never liked his family from his parents to his uncles and cousins and so doesn't really like associating with their history and keeps to himself. He tried to teach himself and so has only a fifth graders reading level but is almostt an expert with his and others money. Its one of his talents and you can hardly find someone who knows trading, money, or anything to do with finances better than he does.
Schooling himself wasn't even the hard part rather Qhorin had always been a large boy and so wasn't all to athletically gifted and yet pushed himself to become something he was not. he became faster, quicker, stronger, clever, reactionary, and a man to be reckoned with. With those skills he was able to fit more easily into life and got his first job as a sellsword.
He stayed a sellsword from his nineteenth birthday to his 26th when he finally got tired of his little quibbles with the varden. His people died, their people died and he was slowly noticing that habbits he had as a kid were becoming more evident. He'd polish evryone's armor repeatedly, lay them in order, and spend lots of time trianing and then cleaning. Tired of that he decided to do something a little less violent and more of a free ride. All it took was a little advice from his friend Daniel. A slaver had just died and a caravan needed a new leader. He gladly filled that position and has tripled te size of their intake and their profits.
Role Play Sample:
" Why, why, why!" His advisers backed up steadily knowing how he got when he found out when he was betrayed. It always pushed him to the limit, knowing the care he gave them and yet the trouble they gave back. They owed him their healthy lives and yet he never got their thanks. The thanks he deserved and the thanks he would hear from that traitor's mouth before he ripped the b*stards tongue out and stamped it to the closes tree to warn the others what was given when one didn't stay in his place.
" I'll be out in a second." They scampered out and he gripped the wine bottle next to him. He looked at it for a second and then put it down. He didn't want the creature to smell the drink on his breath before he died. That would be to much mercy. His face contorted into a frown he placed the bottle down and then went to go outside when he turned back and stared at the bottle. He was sure that it was off from its orginal position. He gently touched the edges and started moving it around. Finally it passed his test and he gently lowered himself from his carriage twenty minutes later.
He walked down the line of his slaves not even bothering to nod to anyone of them. No his light brown eyes were hardened and icy as he slowly counted off the slaves as he passed them and counted off his steps at the same time. The two math problems going off in his head and calming himself down. Yet he could never be relieved of his anger. The boy would pay.
His guards were circled around a huddled form and they slowly parted when they saw him coming. One of the guards was grinning and Qhorin found out why when he looked upon the basically unmarred body of his slave. They had finally learned to control themselves, they had waited for him. I'll have to raise their pay. it was a disgusting thought but he'd live with it. Good help was so hard to find. " Thank you. One of you stay to hold him the others keep the slaves in line." They followed his orders.
Qhorin fell close to a knee, his knee three inches from the ground, and looked at the bowed man. " I care only a little for what you have to say at this moment. What I care for more is what you will say at the end of this." Qhorin strained impossibely close so his neck muscles were bulging and his mouth was close to the man's ear. " I wanna hear thank you," his words were a scathing whisper. " And I will hear it."
The man looked up hate in his eyes and spat forcefull full in Qhorin's face. As slowly as possible Qhorin lifted his hankercheif from his pocket and wiped his face. Now that it was dirty he threw it to the ground and then turning against his slow movements he reached back and whipped out the knife always strapped within his waistband. "Well you'll change your mind." The gaurd ripped the man from his bowed position and threw him to the ground hoding him down with armor and muscles making his squirms seem insignificant. His face showing an almost wicked carelessness he raised the blade and went to the man's bare shoulder. " You don't deserve my insigna."
The screams were loud and filled with pain. Everyone but those calloused against it shivered but soon when the tongue was taken it became quiter and yet worse. That noise you didn't understand became a mental picure and some gagged. Yet everyone knew it was almost done, Qhorin got what he wanted. All that was coming now was the stamping of his parts and then the ritual cleanings. It would slow them but bother about it and have your tongue stamped alongside the slightly skinned corpse.
Character's name: Qhorin Lesley
Character's age:37
Character's attitude: Normal. He is the product of his environment and so can't be held to blame for what he is. He is polite when politeness is required, he is funny when a joke is needed, and he is angry and savage when that it called for. He is ready for the moment and likes being in control but like every human he has his breakdowns and makes plenty of mistakes. The one thing that stands out though is that he is acrually a little kind to his slaves. He feels his merchandise shoudl be cared for. Yet its a double bladed knife when it comes to that. Since he is so nice when a slave tries to rebel he takes it as a personal offense and carries out their punishment to the highest degree.
Character's Race: Human
Character's appearance:Five to seven years ago:
Now he looks almost the same except a little bit fatter and thinner hair. 5'10"Character's allegiance: Empire
Weapons: A giant large black whip, a simple sword, and his tongue cutter( a knife). Because he is a slaver he doesn't wear armor and isn't some assassin or dominant warrior.
Other Info: Has a pocket in his shirt where he keeps a hankercheif. He dislikes dirt and has OCD so he actively cleans everything around him. He also loves order and so will start rearranging things against his will. Its quite pathetic when you see him by a stream washing his hands for hours after murdering a disobedient slave. You can't remove thjat from your soul no matter how hard you try. Also suffers from insomnia. His symbol is the twisted horns normally burned on one's chest.
History:
A minor household in the Empires noble structure. His family helped Galbatorix when they could but others had the money and the assets to help better making them a liked family but one often overlooked. They could probably rise in his eyes( and they want to so bad) if only their household was filled with familymemebers who could actually get somewhere in life. Their laziness and ineptitude has kept them to becoming failure at merchants, small inn owners, and sellswords. Except at the warrior thing they normally die. Its just something they shouldn't really continue on that path.
Of course Qhorin never liked his family from his parents to his uncles and cousins and so doesn't really like associating with their history and keeps to himself. He tried to teach himself and so has only a fifth graders reading level but is almostt an expert with his and others money. Its one of his talents and you can hardly find someone who knows trading, money, or anything to do with finances better than he does.
Schooling himself wasn't even the hard part rather Qhorin had always been a large boy and so wasn't all to athletically gifted and yet pushed himself to become something he was not. he became faster, quicker, stronger, clever, reactionary, and a man to be reckoned with. With those skills he was able to fit more easily into life and got his first job as a sellsword.
He stayed a sellsword from his nineteenth birthday to his 26th when he finally got tired of his little quibbles with the varden. His people died, their people died and he was slowly noticing that habbits he had as a kid were becoming more evident. He'd polish evryone's armor repeatedly, lay them in order, and spend lots of time trianing and then cleaning. Tired of that he decided to do something a little less violent and more of a free ride. All it took was a little advice from his friend Daniel. A slaver had just died and a caravan needed a new leader. He gladly filled that position and has tripled te size of their intake and their profits.
Role Play Sample:
" Why, why, why!" His advisers backed up steadily knowing how he got when he found out when he was betrayed. It always pushed him to the limit, knowing the care he gave them and yet the trouble they gave back. They owed him their healthy lives and yet he never got their thanks. The thanks he deserved and the thanks he would hear from that traitor's mouth before he ripped the b*stards tongue out and stamped it to the closes tree to warn the others what was given when one didn't stay in his place.
" I'll be out in a second." They scampered out and he gripped the wine bottle next to him. He looked at it for a second and then put it down. He didn't want the creature to smell the drink on his breath before he died. That would be to much mercy. His face contorted into a frown he placed the bottle down and then went to go outside when he turned back and stared at the bottle. He was sure that it was off from its orginal position. He gently touched the edges and started moving it around. Finally it passed his test and he gently lowered himself from his carriage twenty minutes later.
He walked down the line of his slaves not even bothering to nod to anyone of them. No his light brown eyes were hardened and icy as he slowly counted off the slaves as he passed them and counted off his steps at the same time. The two math problems going off in his head and calming himself down. Yet he could never be relieved of his anger. The boy would pay.
His guards were circled around a huddled form and they slowly parted when they saw him coming. One of the guards was grinning and Qhorin found out why when he looked upon the basically unmarred body of his slave. They had finally learned to control themselves, they had waited for him. I'll have to raise their pay. it was a disgusting thought but he'd live with it. Good help was so hard to find. " Thank you. One of you stay to hold him the others keep the slaves in line." They followed his orders.
Qhorin fell close to a knee, his knee three inches from the ground, and looked at the bowed man. " I care only a little for what you have to say at this moment. What I care for more is what you will say at the end of this." Qhorin strained impossibely close so his neck muscles were bulging and his mouth was close to the man's ear. " I wanna hear thank you," his words were a scathing whisper. " And I will hear it."
The man looked up hate in his eyes and spat forcefull full in Qhorin's face. As slowly as possible Qhorin lifted his hankercheif from his pocket and wiped his face. Now that it was dirty he threw it to the ground and then turning against his slow movements he reached back and whipped out the knife always strapped within his waistband. "Well you'll change your mind." The gaurd ripped the man from his bowed position and threw him to the ground hoding him down with armor and muscles making his squirms seem insignificant. His face showing an almost wicked carelessness he raised the blade and went to the man's bare shoulder. " You don't deserve my insigna."
The screams were loud and filled with pain. Everyone but those calloused against it shivered but soon when the tongue was taken it became quiter and yet worse. That noise you didn't understand became a mental picure and some gagged. Yet everyone knew it was almost done, Qhorin got what he wanted. All that was coming now was the stamping of his parts and then the ritual cleanings. It would slow them but bother about it and have your tongue stamped alongside the slightly skinned corpse.
