Name: Rixord Vorren
Alias/Nicknames: Rick
Birthdate: September 27th, 343
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Appearance:
Height: 185.5cm (6'1")
Weight: l73lbs (77.5kg)
Eyes: Emerald green, flaked with dashes of silvery-white
Hair: Thick, fluffy, jet black. Generally styled in to a dorsal fin shape.
Identifying scars: A small (4cm long), prominent white scar marks Rixord's chin. The result of an unprovoked attack.
Marks or Tattoos: The Vorren family signet is carved in to the right shoulder of all of it's family members. Though they are an unimportant family, they have always believed they would rise to greatness some day. The signet is a simple tri-pointed shape with two more small, curved points branching off each arm.
Personality: An unwavering sense of justice pushes Rixord to always help the needy, no matter what their plea may entail. Burning determination to always be the best also means that Rixord is extremely competitive, going to any lengths to better himself and improve upon his abilities. Although not the most intelligent of people, Rixord's determination makes him a difficult opponent to overcome, often meaning that one must render him unconscious or dead in order to achieve victory over him.
Alignment: Neutral Good.
Political Alignment: Howldoner
Languages Spoken: Avarin
Job/Class: Fighter. Having very little capability toward a "normal" job or way of living, Rixord fights (Often in shady back alleys) in order to support himself. Though dangerous and unstable, it is all he has known due to his father's obsession with strength and physical dominance, which would also explain Rixord's lack of intellect and over-powering stature.
Inventory: At the age of 16 Rixord's father passed away, leaving the wraps he would always wear when fighting. These became Rixord's most prized possession, a way in which to feel close to his father once again. Now those wraps rarely leave his hands and are certainly never absent during a fight. Perhaps he believes they will bring him luck.
WEAPON: N/A
ARMOR: N/A
ITEM:
Talents: Though lacking intelligence, choreographing a fight has always come naturally to him. Analysing an opponent and finding their weakness.
Skills: Exemplary boxing ability, honed over the years by constant training.
Background/History:
Raised in a poor family with a father hell-bent on creating a fighting machine and a mother subdued by years of aggressive, obsessive drive, Rixord was damned to a life of toiling. From an early age his father forced him in to training, forced him to fight. Being an only child, due to his mother's inability to have children after Rixord, his father's obsession had only one direction. Over the years he was made strong, forged in to a weapon through the fires of battle, odds stacked against him and fights unfairly biased. It was a tough life, one that required sheer determination and a will to live that out-shone all else. How ever, Rixord's father's obsession soon became his own. He craved more strength, more dominance, which led him to build himself to become a towering fort of domineering power. He never learned to read, nor write. In their place, he learned to read people and write the script of victory. Instead of mathematics he learned to calculate his adversaries next move, how to outwit and outclass them. He soon became a force to be rivalled with.
At age fourteen his mother left, unable to bear seeing her son become his father's image. She died soon after. His father had fallen ill the year before, leaving him bed bound and unable to support them. As such, Rixord began his life as a fighter. He would place bets against others in their neighbourhood home of Earlford, meet with them in shady locations (Often followed by groups of avid spectators) and fight until one of them were rendered unconscious. His early career was not successful. The men he fought were older than him with more experience. As a result of this, all of his family's savings (What small amount there was) were soon gone and his training became more intense. Unable to accept the fact that he could be beaten he drove himself even harder, frequently pushing himself to the point of complete exhaustion and causing himself to faint. After a few months of hard living and scraping by, he began to challenge others again. With no money to offer as a bet he instead offered his family possessions. The men he fought then were younger than those he had fought before, closer to his own age. The kind of people looking for a thrill, believing themselves to be brutal fighters. They soon learned that they were not.
What Rixord earned was not much at all, but it was enough to get by on. His training continued and as he grew older he began to see the injustices happening all around him. Men stealing, people left on the street to wither and die... it sickened him. His sense of right and wrong urged him to help those he saw in desperation, those wronged by men with seemingly no conscience. When he was someone being beaten, he would intervene, helping where he could. If a woman had something stolen from her he would chase the thief down, retrieve what was stolen and return it. He was soon established as a vigilante peace keeper. His new found status left him even more exhausted though, forcing him to fight more often in order to feed the homeless and hungry. It was taking it's toll on him, leaving his mind weary and his fighting sloppier than usual. He began to lose more and more fights, leaving himself further out of pocket and eventually back to where he had started. No money, no food and a father who's condition had only grown worse.
The day he turned 16 his father beckoned him to his bedside, telling him to bring a knife with him. He did as ordered. "Today, my son, you become recognised as a true Vorren." with that he began to carve in to Rixord's right shoulder, a tri-pointed symbol with two smaller, curved points branching from each arm; the Vorren family signet. They were too poor for tattoo's, so scarring it in to the flesh had to suffice. His father died 3 months later, leaving Rixord alone. It wasn't an entirely bad thing, his father had suffered much over the previous 3 years and now he had only himself to provide for. He was being recognised as more of a prominent fighter, someone worth pitting one's self against. With that prestige came more money, bigger fights, and more trouble. One evening, after taking a sizeable profit from a fight, he was making his way home when a rather unsavoury looking character approached him. "You just cost me a lost of money, that reward money is mine!" a knife flashed from the man's pocket, aimed directly at slashing down Rixord's face. Exhausted from the fight, he reacted slightly too slowly and the blade caught his chin, splitting it open and causing blood to trickle on to his jacket. Instinct and years of training kicked in immediately, forcing him to pivot to the outside of the man's blade arm leaving him open to attack. Rixord's right hand swung up in a vicious but controlled arc, finding it's target directly in the middle of his attacker's face. Evidently, the man was not much in the way of sturdy nor capable in combat, because with a single punch he was lifted from his feet and left moaning feebly on the floor, disoriented from the impact. Rixord quickly fled, not wanting to be there if any of this man's friends turned up to help.
Since then his life has been a constant. Training, fighting, helping the needy. His reputation continued to grow, the fights becoming tougher and more profitable, the calls for aid from the weak more frequent.
Past Storylines:
- Title:
- Date:
- Location:
- Participants:
Merit Purchases:
Locations:
-
-
Titles:
-
-
Magick:
-
-
Items:
-
-
Alias/Nicknames: Rick
Birthdate: September 27th, 343
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Appearance:
Height: 185.5cm (6'1")
Weight: l73lbs (77.5kg)
Eyes: Emerald green, flaked with dashes of silvery-white
Hair: Thick, fluffy, jet black. Generally styled in to a dorsal fin shape.
Identifying scars: A small (4cm long), prominent white scar marks Rixord's chin. The result of an unprovoked attack.
Marks or Tattoos: The Vorren family signet is carved in to the right shoulder of all of it's family members. Though they are an unimportant family, they have always believed they would rise to greatness some day. The signet is a simple tri-pointed shape with two more small, curved points branching off each arm.
Personality: An unwavering sense of justice pushes Rixord to always help the needy, no matter what their plea may entail. Burning determination to always be the best also means that Rixord is extremely competitive, going to any lengths to better himself and improve upon his abilities. Although not the most intelligent of people, Rixord's determination makes him a difficult opponent to overcome, often meaning that one must render him unconscious or dead in order to achieve victory over him.
Alignment: Neutral Good.
Political Alignment: Howldoner
Languages Spoken: Avarin
Job/Class: Fighter. Having very little capability toward a "normal" job or way of living, Rixord fights (Often in shady back alleys) in order to support himself. Though dangerous and unstable, it is all he has known due to his father's obsession with strength and physical dominance, which would also explain Rixord's lack of intellect and over-powering stature.
Inventory: At the age of 16 Rixord's father passed away, leaving the wraps he would always wear when fighting. These became Rixord's most prized possession, a way in which to feel close to his father once again. Now those wraps rarely leave his hands and are certainly never absent during a fight. Perhaps he believes they will bring him luck.
WEAPON: N/A
ARMOR: N/A
ITEM:
Talents: Though lacking intelligence, choreographing a fight has always come naturally to him. Analysing an opponent and finding their weakness.
Skills: Exemplary boxing ability, honed over the years by constant training.
Background/History:
Raised in a poor family with a father hell-bent on creating a fighting machine and a mother subdued by years of aggressive, obsessive drive, Rixord was damned to a life of toiling. From an early age his father forced him in to training, forced him to fight. Being an only child, due to his mother's inability to have children after Rixord, his father's obsession had only one direction. Over the years he was made strong, forged in to a weapon through the fires of battle, odds stacked against him and fights unfairly biased. It was a tough life, one that required sheer determination and a will to live that out-shone all else. How ever, Rixord's father's obsession soon became his own. He craved more strength, more dominance, which led him to build himself to become a towering fort of domineering power. He never learned to read, nor write. In their place, he learned to read people and write the script of victory. Instead of mathematics he learned to calculate his adversaries next move, how to outwit and outclass them. He soon became a force to be rivalled with.
At age fourteen his mother left, unable to bear seeing her son become his father's image. She died soon after. His father had fallen ill the year before, leaving him bed bound and unable to support them. As such, Rixord began his life as a fighter. He would place bets against others in their neighbourhood home of Earlford, meet with them in shady locations (Often followed by groups of avid spectators) and fight until one of them were rendered unconscious. His early career was not successful. The men he fought were older than him with more experience. As a result of this, all of his family's savings (What small amount there was) were soon gone and his training became more intense. Unable to accept the fact that he could be beaten he drove himself even harder, frequently pushing himself to the point of complete exhaustion and causing himself to faint. After a few months of hard living and scraping by, he began to challenge others again. With no money to offer as a bet he instead offered his family possessions. The men he fought then were younger than those he had fought before, closer to his own age. The kind of people looking for a thrill, believing themselves to be brutal fighters. They soon learned that they were not.
What Rixord earned was not much at all, but it was enough to get by on. His training continued and as he grew older he began to see the injustices happening all around him. Men stealing, people left on the street to wither and die... it sickened him. His sense of right and wrong urged him to help those he saw in desperation, those wronged by men with seemingly no conscience. When he was someone being beaten, he would intervene, helping where he could. If a woman had something stolen from her he would chase the thief down, retrieve what was stolen and return it. He was soon established as a vigilante peace keeper. His new found status left him even more exhausted though, forcing him to fight more often in order to feed the homeless and hungry. It was taking it's toll on him, leaving his mind weary and his fighting sloppier than usual. He began to lose more and more fights, leaving himself further out of pocket and eventually back to where he had started. No money, no food and a father who's condition had only grown worse.
The day he turned 16 his father beckoned him to his bedside, telling him to bring a knife with him. He did as ordered. "Today, my son, you become recognised as a true Vorren." with that he began to carve in to Rixord's right shoulder, a tri-pointed symbol with two smaller, curved points branching from each arm; the Vorren family signet. They were too poor for tattoo's, so scarring it in to the flesh had to suffice. His father died 3 months later, leaving Rixord alone. It wasn't an entirely bad thing, his father had suffered much over the previous 3 years and now he had only himself to provide for. He was being recognised as more of a prominent fighter, someone worth pitting one's self against. With that prestige came more money, bigger fights, and more trouble. One evening, after taking a sizeable profit from a fight, he was making his way home when a rather unsavoury looking character approached him. "You just cost me a lost of money, that reward money is mine!" a knife flashed from the man's pocket, aimed directly at slashing down Rixord's face. Exhausted from the fight, he reacted slightly too slowly and the blade caught his chin, splitting it open and causing blood to trickle on to his jacket. Instinct and years of training kicked in immediately, forcing him to pivot to the outside of the man's blade arm leaving him open to attack. Rixord's right hand swung up in a vicious but controlled arc, finding it's target directly in the middle of his attacker's face. Evidently, the man was not much in the way of sturdy nor capable in combat, because with a single punch he was lifted from his feet and left moaning feebly on the floor, disoriented from the impact. Rixord quickly fled, not wanting to be there if any of this man's friends turned up to help.
Since then his life has been a constant. Training, fighting, helping the needy. His reputation continued to grow, the fights becoming tougher and more profitable, the calls for aid from the weak more frequent.
Past Storylines:
- Title:
- Date:
- Location:
- Participants:
Merit Purchases:
Locations:
-
-
Titles:
-
-
Magick:
-
-
Items:
-
-
Last edited by Rixord on Thu Apr 18, 2013 3:40 pm; edited 1 time in total
