[Approved by Rumour] Ronan

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[Approved by Rumour] Ronan

Postby Ronan » Tue Nov 21, 2017 11:45 am


Alias: Griplock, Grey Titan, Steel Gorilla

Age: 58

Race: Mixed (Eídisi-Human)

Date of Birth: 24th of Zi’da, 659

Marks: Curse of Vaelus: Hated

Factions Joined: Scalvoris Elements

Languages Spoken: Fluent Common, Broken Ancient Language


Hiding in plain sight is something that would be impossible for him. Born of an Eídisi father and a human mother, he managed to land right in between both races, mixing their obvious physical traits to the worst result. The blue skin, originally fair and light, has suffered under the sun, tanning and darkening to a darker shade. While he wasn’t born with Eídisi scars that mark most of their race, simply living and surviving has left him with more than enough of them to match. This, by itself, would not have been a problem. There are plenty of Eídisi with darker skin colors in the world. It’s the combination with his mother’s hair color that makes it a horrible choice. A light, sun bleached, yellow blonde mane, speckled with grey runs down from his head to halfway his shoulder blades. Various attempts in the past to darken it with all sorts of homemade remedies has turned his hair into a permanent black and blonde mix that possibly draws even more attention. Even then, these things combined might be things you could hide from the world but when you stand a head taller than most other humans and are about twice as large as them, remaining unnoticed is impossible. Several decades of a gladiator lifestyle and heavy manual labor have left him with a massive build of muscles and scars. From the way he walks to the way he interacts with people, he oozes combat readiness.

Having been born and bred in hostile environments from the moment he could walk and talk, he’s learned not to form connections with others. In the beginning, everyone he met was there to test things on him and hurt him and when he was sold to the arena, people he opened up to died in the ring or were put opposite to him in the fights, turning them from friends to enemies in an instant.
This same life, the constant survival in the arena, also taught him that the best way to end violence is with the most brutally efficient and gory display possible. Tearing a man’s arms from his body and clubbing him to death with it is a sure-fire way to keep others from trying to fight you, giving you more time to recover after a fight.
His first taste of freedom, however brief, had come at the cost of a lot of gold coins. Before that point, he’d never truly understood its value. With a first introduction to money being the price for ending the constant fighting in the arena and his freedom, he quickly developed a need for more. He’ll do a lot just to get his hands on more.
Much like a beast, the arcs of fighting and surviving the arena has created a deadly combination of reflexes, muscle memory and intuition. More often than not, he’ll fight purely on instinct, feeling or sensing his opponent rather than observing them. This has resulted in some sort of an automatic pilot at times where he’ll draw so deeply on his instincts that barely anything resembling a man remains. His nickname as the ‘berserker’ is tied strongly to this ability.
Having seen a lot of fights and traveled for quite some time as well as simply having lived for so long, he is quite experienced at life, a veteran some might say. There are very few things within a city that truly surprise him and he’ll always have some piece of knowledge to share in regards to life’s problems and woes.

When life starts with nothing but pain, cold and darkness, anyone coming out on the other end would ultimately be changed, damaged even. He is definitely no different. Born to a disinterested Eídisi father and a slave mother, he never knew either of them. Perhaps he did, at one point, but life erased anything resembling memories about the both of them. His only reminder of them lies in reflective surfaces, where the ‘best’ of both of his parents mixes into a horrible outcast.

His first memories were of darkness and cold, the cell where he lived under the arena in Rynmere. His first pain came from the slave brand being pressed into his skin. Luckily for him, his owner at the time saw more use in a fighter who didn’t show immediate signs of slavery on his face. The brand was placed on the left side of his breast instead, where clothes or armor would hide it while fighting. Not that his owner would let him forget his status as a slave. When you’re five arcs old, there is very little you can do to prevent the change from human to barely more than a beast or a tool at the hands of certain people.

While other children learned to read and write and went out to play with friends, he learned to punch, to feel pain and to win fights. Aside from himself, there were quite a few other children owned by the man. The ones that could win got better treatment and the ones who lost went to sleep hungry and with twenty new lashes on their back. Arcs passed in this manner, training, fighting, pain and hunger. Over time the lashes hurt less, the punches that connected bruised less and what little flavor food had died as well.

His first public fight was one big, messy defeat on his end and he still remembers the shame, pain and hunger he felt for the next several trials. Ashamed of his own defeat and having let his owner down, he poured himself into his training. If he had to choose between himself or any of these other kids when it came to the pain and hunger he would damn well make sure it wasn’t going to be him. Maybe this was the point where the berserker started. The fight where it happened first, or at least the aftermath of it, is still burned into his mind. He’d gone out to fight, as always, facing some other kid. Sometime during the fight, as the blows kept raining down on him, the pain and the potential for more hunger snapped something inside of him. The next thing he remembered was sitting on top of a bloody pulp, his weapon and shield thrown aside somewhere and his gloves dripping with blood. He vividly remembers pulling a tooth out of the leather and flicking it aside.

With that bloody display and victory, his life got a little better. His food portions got bigger and he spent more time outside, training with other fighters, people he’d never seen before. He wielded swords and spears, hammers, axes, shields and all sorts of exotic, sometimes even cumbersomely so, weaponry. During all this trial and error trying to find something that fit him, he began to understand that he was here to stay. He’d fought his way out of the dark and cold cells and into the sun lit training grounds.

The revelation that fighting well led him from darkness into the light almost toppled his world right over. This knowledge strengthened his belief that doing well for the master was the best thing he could possibly do. How benevolent was the man that was proud enough of him to bring him out here, where all these other fighters were training? That this move came with more training and stricter rules in his life were things he chose to overlook back then.

The life of a prized fighter was good. Over the arcs he earned himself his own room, barely more than a closet, with the added, and often envied, bonus luxury barred window with a view outside. While he wasn’t anything remotely like the undefeated champion of the ring, he began to win more fights than he lost and over time a trend started to develop. He would be prepared with weapon and shield, or a combination of weapons and thrown items and sent out to fight only to watch him lose them during the fight and end it with his fists. The more he got used to them, the more it happened until he was simply presented with a pair of steel gauntlets one time. The fight ended with spectacular results and his life changed equally spectacularly.

He was called before his master, who was in the presence of another man. At the time, he didn’t really understand what was going on but the unknown man gave money to his master, lots of it, and he was told to leave with the new man to meet his new master. While the feeling of betrayal was present in the pit of his stomach, the outside world and the wonders out there quickly replaced that feeling with excitement. His new master was well dressed and smelled much better than anyone he’d ever met before.

His new home came with four or five other fighters. Two of them seemed happy to meet him while the other three kept their distance. He felt much more akin to the latter three than the first two. Before, any fighter smiling at you was a fighter about to stab you in the back. In his new household, or stable as his master called it, all of his training was focused on the use of the steel gauntlets he was given. He learned to wield them in combat, punching people, grabbing whatever he could get hold of and throwing them down to finish them off. Every other trial, he spent time outside, guarded, training at the arena with one of the trainers there. Some of the things he was taught resonated well with him while others didn’t and over time, he started mingling his skills together in a form that worked for him.

The steel gauntlets were as much his defense as they were his offense. Blocking weapon strikes with uncanny precision and then following up with hits to exposed areas. If there were no exposed areas he’d simply make them by grabbing shields or weapons, arms, legs or hair and pulling or pushing until he got through. He probably spent as much time getting bandaged and healing up as he did actually fighting but he did the latter with a lot of success. The other fighters in the stable all had similar results and training schedules.

Arcs passed and what had started as distrust towards the other fighters slowly turned to camaraderie. They were, after all, comrades in arms. Especially the two who had greeted him smiling, he managed to befriend. One night, after they’d drunk a bit too much, celebrating this or that victory, they formed a bond of brotherhood, swearing to live and die together. As if the immortals had overheard them, the youngest of the three was put up to fight next against an opponent they all knew he wouldn’t be able to win against. He tried to take his place, as his chances were marginally better, against someone soon to own a gladiator title but his master wouldn’t let him. He never did ask why.

The fight ended with the result they all expected. Barely ten trials after they had formed a bond ‘to live and die together’ one of them had died. The fight had been more a cat toying with his prey than anything else and in the end their friend had died a mess of cut off limbs, blood and tears. Definitely not how a real fighter should go out. While he seethed and swore vengeance to the high heavens, his friend, Quan sat in silent contemplation. They drank less than the last time they had been together and spoke even less. At the end of the night, Quan spoke up and offered him an oath, one of blood and promise. A bond of blood that neither of them would ever raise their hand against the other and a promise to do everything they can to keep each other safe. He distinctly remembers seeing the shimmering silver tattoo on his friend’s side at the time. It would be arcs before both these oaths would find themselves suddenly and abruptly ended.

The seasons came and went in training and fighting and life took on a routine turn. One trial, the master invited him to come along. Curious, he joined him and with some guards and servants they went back to the arena. It was the first time he could experience the fighting from this side. He didn’t really understand the appeal, he’d much rather be down there, fighting himself. During the conversation he had with his master, the man kept asking him what he thought about fighters and who was going to win. His instincts quickly found him a single person out of the group and he pointed him out. While his target didn’t win, he fought well and at the end of the fighting had managed to survive the tournament. Several bits later, he watched his master count out the money needed to buy this young man.

When it had happened to him, he had not understood what was going on. It had been arcs since then and he had learned much about the world. The buying and selling of arena fighters was as much a trade as the slave or fish trade. It wasn’t until that moment that he realized that perhaps he, too, could buy a fighter and free them. He could keep up his end of the oath to Quan by buying him and never letting him fight again. He carefully broached the subject towards his master, asking him if it was possible for him to keep some of his winnings for himself. When he was asked why, he tried to think of a good reason without telling him that he wanted to buy out a fellow fighter from his own master. Before he could come up with something, his master laughed and clapped him on the back, mentioning something about girlfriends. He didn’t really understand but he’d gotten the permission.

Fighting became about more than just winning. With trial and error he learned how he could increase the amount of money he earned by placing bets on himself to win. He never told Quan about it as he saved up little by little. It took him several more arcs before he’d managed to put together as much money as he thought he needed. After that first outing with his master, he’d joined him on a few more over the arcs, often times calling out the winners or better fighters for him and watching them get bought. He learned to roughly estimate value depending on how he thought about a certain fighter and how much his master paid for them in the end.

His big break came when he was listed for the seasonal match. The monetary reward was top of his list and he was sure that that, combined with all the money he’d saved up, he would be able to buy Quan and keep his oath to him. The seasonal match came closer and the trial of the fight, he gladly joined the many fighters in there. He still clearly remembers the moment before the fight. Several other fighters were around him and he could see and hear some of them praying to whatever immortal they figured would save them. He still blushes thinking about the cheesy line he delivered to them in regards to their praying. It involved only needing to pray to one immortal: the immortal of bloody, gory victory and that it would be silly for him to pray to himself.

The fight was messy and chaotic and most of his opponents, especially the early ones, were simply thrown out of the ring rather than beaten to a bloody pulp. The final two opponents he fought did prove their worth but facing the berserker they both ended dead or broken at his hands. When he regained his own mind, coming back from his berserker state, he did find himself more wounded than normally. Blood was seeping down his chest and legs from various cuts and breaks in his skin. His gauntlets, as usual, were dripping with blood and bits of human. The fight was over and won. He received both the gold and the title with pride and went to see his master as soon as he was presentable and gotten all his gold together. The rest is one big blur and haze. He only remembers standing outside of the house much later, the flickering of flames as they consumed the house. He was holding a ring of keys in one hand and watched the other fighters quickly leave, their chains unlocked on the ground in front of him. He couldn’t recall anything of what happened, no matter how hard he’d try in later arcs. He had no idea where Quan was, he hadn’t been amongst the fighters leaving the scene.

Before he could go back inside to try and find anyone still alive, the guards arrived and managed to subdue him. The long fight in the arena had taken more out of him than he had anticipated. They found several bodies, some fully burned other clearly recognizable, dead at the hands of someone with big fists. Only one person came to mind and he was quickly detained and judged. During the entire trial, whenever he tried to tell people things he felt sick to his stomach, as if he was about to throw up and could barely tell them he didn’t know what had happened before actually throwing up.

He was judged to the mines, where he would work until his death. The first few trials were horrible for him. He got sick from his wounds and suffered heavily from them for quite some time afterwards. It took the most part of the season for him to simply get back on his feet. Only half aware of the next few arcs, he worked trial in, trial out, hauling rocks and metals from underground to the top. He only had one thought, trying to find Quan. What had happened to him? He slowly got back to his old strength and things took a turn for him when he was invited to join one of the fights in the mine’s arena. He spoke very little, often feeling ill whenever he tried to tell people he was a Gladiator from the arena or that he didn’t really know why he was here.

It definitely resembled the first few years of his life once more. Dark and Cold and Pain. The fighting was much easier, of course, having a life of training and experience to back him up now. Whenever he won, he earned himself a gold coin. After a while, the fighting scene increased and he was allowed to fight on location. Nothing resembling the grand arena of Rynmere but he got to see some sights. Arcs came and went, new masters followed them, coming and going, bought, sold, bought, sold. Monetary rewards went from single gold pieces to dozens of them over the course of time. His last master was younger and friendlier than any of the first ones. He was more interested in the stories and training he could provide for him than in actually putting him up for fights. Only because he kept asking for them did he agree. When he finally presented him with all the money he’d saved and asked for his freedom, the man, to his surprise, actually agreed.

He wandered the world for several arcs, seeing the world away from the Rynmere arena and found himself spending the last of his purse when arriving in Scalvoris.

Marks Section
Abilities : The Hated of Vhalar are no longer able to lie. Forced to follow their word and honor their oaths, the character will find that they are no longer capable of dishonesty to others or breaking their word once given. Any attempt to do so will overcome them with nausea till the correct course of action is taken. This ability also allows them to know a lie if they speak it. If a Hated of Vhalar speaks something that is a lie, even if they are unaware, the same nausea and revulsion will overcome them. This simple advantage will overcome even Exalted level marks to obscure the truth.
Knowledge : 

The bag of gold was heavy in his hand. While other men would want to hear the sound of the coins in their hands, Ronan was too focused on the task at head. It had been several arcs since he’d come up with the plan. He absent mindedly rubbed his free hand over the slave mark on the left side of his torso. He still hadn’t gotten used to not covering it up. When he’d been younger, the mark had to be hidden at all times, no matter whether he was locked in his dark, cold cell or out in the sand, fighting some other kid who was trying not to get punished. It had been arcs since his master had bought him and he’d simply kept hiding it all that time. As he had just been washed and his wounds taken care off, the seasonal arena fight had been difficult, he hadn’t had the time to put on something to cover the slave mark just yet.

Excited wasn’t really the word he would choose to describe himself right now, motivated, driven or focused did come to mind. Quan would be free, safe from harm just like he had sworn on his oath and bond. The other fighter had with the master longer than Ronan but the two had managed to find a way to bond and had grown close over the arcs. They had celebrated victory, discussed loss and mourned the death of their third brother together. But he would be safe from all that once he bought Quan from the master.

Ronan stopped in front of the door leading into the master’s chambers, quickly checked himself that he wasn’t bleeding all over the master’s rugs and furniture. His wounds had been bound and taken care of by the very talented doctors the master employed. Once he was sure he wasn’t leaking red liquid all over, he knocked on the door. Even at the lowest point of his strength, the door still shook under the impact. Years of training to go all out and win made it difficult to hold back outside of the fights. There was a moment of silence before the door opened.

”Ronan? What are you doing here?” One of the master’s many guards looked out the door, slightly up to look him in the eye. ”I would like to speak with the master about something urgent.” A quick glance up and down and the guard nodded. ”Wait here for a moment, I’ll go see if he can see you now.” The door was left open slightly as the guard moved inside. Ronan could hear voices coming from inside but he couldn’t make anything out. Soon, Quan would be safe and Ronan could go about his life with one less worry.

The guard returned a few bits later and opened the door fully. ”I’m sorry, he’s busy talking with Quan about his next fight. You’ll have to come back later.” His eyebrows raised in surprise at the words. Quan’s next fight? He wasn’t due to fight for another dozen trials or so. ”That’s what I’m here to talk about. Let me in.” The guard shook his head and started to close the door. ”Just come back later, Ronan, he’ll be finished then.” The door was pushed further closed and almost fell into the lock. Hesitating for but a trill, Ronan suddenly burst forth, putting his mass and strength against the door.

The guard on the other side got bowled over as the door suddenly pushed back inward, against him. There was a yelp of surprise as Ronan stepped into the room. He could hear the voices up ahead stop as he strode right in. There were four more guards here as well as Quan and the master. The master was seated behind his desk, looking at Ronan who’d just come barging into his office. He’d never actually seen Ronan disobey an order and the look on his face would have been priceless had Ronan even bothered to register it.
”I want to buy Quan!” His words were straight to the point, no use for manners or beating around the bush. Quite similar to his fighting style, actually. There were surprised faces all around him. Ronan made a point of not looking at Quan, who would never agree to something like this. The master was the first to regain his posture and stood up from his chair, in an attempt to reach roughly to Ronan’s chin. ”Is that why you’ve been saving up all your money all this time? And here I thought you’d found yourself a girlfriend or something.” Ronan shook his head, quickly. ”I want to buy Quan.” He repeated his words, with less shouting this time.

”Ronan, you don’t understand. Quan’s got a big fight coming up, everything has been arranged already. I would lose a lot of money if he suddenly stopped fighting. I couldn’t se-…” The master almost jumped back as Ronan smacked the bag of gold on the desk. There was the distinct sound of cracking between all the ringing of gold on gold inside the bag. ”This should be enough for all the costs. I just need to protect him.” Ronan said as he pulled the bag open. Several gold coins rolled and as he pushed the bag to the side, a stream of gold clattered over the desk and onto the ground. The master, with his mind on the money, quickly guessed he had more than 2000 gold lying on his desk right now. He could buy two new fighters, younger and faster than Quan, and still save some of it but…

Ronan didn’t know enough about greed, money or what people were like in the outside world to recognize the face of a greedy man coming up with a plan to not only get the money but keep his goods as well. The master smiled as he nodded and started to put the money back into the bag. He was calm about, smiling, quietly gathering his money. He left a few coins lying on the ground, perhaps for later or perhaps because he was above bending over for money and slowly tied to bag shut. Where Ronan had carried the bag with one hand, the master had to use both to move the bag from the desk to his safe.

He put the bag away and closed the safe before turning back. ”Congratulations on buying Quan, Ronan. You can go now.” For the first time since entering, Ronan looked at his blood brother, relief obvious on his face. Quan was looking back at him both surprised and happy. They turned to leave and Ronan was about to put a hand on his brother’s shoulder when the master spoke again. ”Just you, Ronan.” Both men turned to look at the master. Whatever smiling he had been doing before was gone and he simply stared at the both of them. His guards were shuffling and Ronan picked up noise from the hallway as well. ”Quan and I have a fight to discuss.”

”What do you mean? Quan is mine now, he’s free. He doesn’t have to fight anyone.” The master shook his head, sighing lightly as if he had to explain something simple for the hundred time to a child. ”Well, Quan belongs to you now, that’s true. But you’re still my slave and everything you own belongs to me. Quan will fight and you will fight and the both of you will make me a lot of money or die in the sand.”

Ronan couldn’t believe what he heard. The master had always been a kind enough person, considering they were his property. Life had become much better when the master had come into his life and Ronan knew he owed a lot to him. He’d never seen the master do anything like this. Of course, the smiling. Fighters who smiled at you were ready to stab you in the back. How could he forget. The master wasn’t a fighter in the pit but when it came to money, he most definitely was. This was the smiling backstab.

The berserker within had only ever come out in the sand in the arena, fighting others who were there to live or die. It was the first time in his life he could feel the rage rise up in him outside of a fight. He took a step forward and two of the guards were between him and the master in a trill. ”Quan and I are walking out of here this very moment. If you feel the need to punish me, I’ll be back once Quan has left and you can go ahead and throw whatever you’ve got at me but Quan is free. Stop us if you can.” Ronan glared across the desk at the two guards and locked eyes with the other two in the room as well.

Across the table, behind his guards, Ronan could see the master’s anger rise on his face. He spluttered and flustered and finally managed to shout at him across the table. ”You dare threaten me! In my own home? After all I’ve done for you? Lock them up!” He shouted at the guards. They hesitated, they’d been around for long enough to know exactly what Ronan and Quan could do. Their survival wasn’t assured in this fight. Before they could react, Ronan had grabbed the edge of the desk with one hand and, with bulging muscles, shoved it aside, sliding it across the floor. Suddenly, what little defense had been between the master and him was gone, leaving only the two guards.

But before he could act on his intentions, Quan took the desk’s place. ”Stop it, Ronan. You’ll gain nothing from killing him. I know what you did for me and that is enough, let’s just go.” Ronan looked from the master at Quan and back. The smile on his face erased what little will Ronan had and replaced it with unbridled berserker rage. He took a large step forward and threw his punch, aiming it between the two guards straight for the master’s face. It didn’t quite reach as something blocked him. Someone had locked his arm with Ronan’s, keeping him from punching the master into the wall behind him.

He tried to shake them off but another was on his back in a moment. He reached back and grabbed them by the back of their armor, pulling him off and to the side. A shield connected with his face from one of the guards in front of him and he staggered back. There were black spots dancing across his vision as he focused on whoever had just attacked him. The other blocking his fist was still locking down one of his arms. He could hear people shouting around him and at him but he didn’t register any of it. When a sharp blade pierced his lower back and buried itself into even the voice disappeared into the swirling red.

He spun around, the one on his arm suddenly letting go. With the back of his fist, he smashed the attacker behind him into the wall. The man’s skull was wedged between Ronan’s fist and the edge of the door opening. An instant later, the edge of the door opening cracked his skull and sunk in deeper. With a sigh, the man went limp against the wall, slowly sliding down it, leaving a red, messy line down it. He pulled the weapon out of his back and tossed it aside. He had no need for silly things like that. His fists would take care of anything standing in his way. Ever.

Another shield came up to him but he stepped to the side of it and grabbed it. He pulled it quickly, the guard holding onto it was thrown off balance and he smashed it into the man’s face. A second grab had his head in a vice and he connected two punches with the man’s face before dropping him to the ground. The sickening crunch of his head underneath Ronan’s foot didn’t register with the berserker. If anything it would have only spurred him on more. Someone tried to stab him from his left and Ronan stepped back, dodging the blow. His hand, large as it was, suddenly snaked out and grabbed the man by the wrist. He pulled him forward and only got angrier as the man’s dagger cut him across the arm. He connected his knee with the man’s stomach and before he could finish him off another jumped him, once more trying to lock down his arms. Ronan reared back and smashed his forehead into the second one’s face. The grip on his arms loosened and he grabbed the man, kicking him on the side of his knee to unbalance him.

As the second one stumbled left, Ronan gripped him by the neck and pulled down while grabbing between his legs and pushing up and lifted him off the ground, using his legs to push the man up high. The one who’d cut him across the arm with the dagger tried to get up but before he could, Ronan towered over him, holding the second man up like the skull crushing boulder he was. The first one tried to stop his impending doom by holding his hands out and Ronan impaled the second one the man’s sword and dagger, crushing the one underneath under his weight. With only the master and two guards left, Ronan could finally focus on what he’d come here to do. He charged both the guards and planted his shoulder in one of them, pinning the master between him and the safe behind him. He pulled back his arm and landed his elbow in the second guard’s face. He sunk to the ground without a sound.

The sound of wood breaking accompanied the guard he’d charged as he spun around and threw him into the wooden desk. That one of the cracking noises was the man’s neck didn’t register with the berserker. Only the master remained and Ronan didn’t even need to try. The man was used to luxury and having guards and fighters do the heavy work. With one hand he gripped the man’s throat and lifted him off his feet, his back against the wall, his feet kicking against the steel of the safe. With rhythmical punches to the master’s face, Ronan continued to work the man’s skull over long after he’d died and gone limp in his hands.

When he finally dropped the dead body of his former master to the ground, Ronan turned to overlook the carnage. Dead bodies everywhere, he couldn’t see Quan anywhere. But there was another person in the room. Kneeling near the man he had impaled on the other’s weapons, someone else was in the room. Ronan rushed forward, deep in his berserker state. He had to save Quan from everyone here. He threw a low punch, trying to uppercut the man but his blow was stopped mid swing by the man. He could see his lips move but the words never registered through the red.

Ronan leaned back and threw a straight this time. For a man who had spent his entire life among equally tall, muscular men and who’d only ever had to look down on others outside of the arena, the fact that he had to aim upwards in order to hit the man’s chin should’ve told him something. It didn’t. The new opponent grabbed him by the wrist, turned and pulled Ronan off balance. Ronan want tumbling through the blood and piss of dead man before coming to a stop. He pushed himself up and jumped forward. He brought his fist back to crash into this new opponents face but the man simply stretched his arm out and caught him mid-air, gripping him by the throat.

At first he tried to swing at the man but his reach was longer than Ronan’s and the more he swung the less breath he had left for himself. The berserker red started to make way for the black of unconsciousness. Slowly, certain words started to make it through to gladiator, barely enough for him to make any sense of. Along with his words, the man’s curly blonde hair also managed to register itself to the slowly choking fighter. ”….Blessed Vaelus… brother…bond…Cursed.” A burning pain shot through the left side of his face, shoulder and arm before he was thrown right across the room into a solid wall. As he slipped into unconsciousness, Ronan could see a hazy glimmer of silvery water near the impaled corpse as the last opponent knelt back down next to him. His mind shifted to the silvery tattoo Quan had gotten at some point during their time here. Was Quan safe?

The feeling of dry hotness woke him up and Ronan stirred from the blood he’d fainted in. Flickering flames were consuming everything around him and the heat was pressing on his skin. The blood on him had hardened and cracked from the heat and he pushed himself off the ground. From outside he could hear shouting and he quickly looked around. There were dead bodies everywhere. That one looked like the master. He couldn’t tell by the face, which had been caved in to obscurity but the clothes were unmistaken. His eyes fell on the key ring on the belt and he quickly stumbled over, uneven on his feet. He had to get everyone out before the fire got to them. Where was Quan?

Ronan stumbled, keys in hand, out of the office and into the open training yard. The fire had spread far across the buildings and was consuming the roof and licking along the stone pillars of the walkway. Ronan hurried over as best he could, still uneven on his feet. Where he could, he used the walls to keep him upright until he got to where the fighters were kept. While he’d long ago proven he had no interest in running away anymore, others were not so trusted and were kept under lock and key at night. Trying to focus his vision on the keys on the ring, Ronan picked one at random and tried to open the gate, nothing. The next one was also wrong. From inside he could hear the other fighters shout for help, trying to break open their cells as the roof above them burned.

The final key did fit and Ronan threw open the door. He went from cell to cell opening doors with the keys he had, trying to keep track of which ones worked and which ones didn’t. Ronan pushed the last of the men outside as the back of the roof collapsed down and the heat washed over his back and shoulder. Coughing and stumbling, their legs locked together by chains, Ronan led the other fighters out of the training area and into the street. Another few bits of fitting keys to locks and everyone was free. They all looked towards the fire or at Ronan, wondering what to do next. ”Go! You’re free to go. Go!” He burst out as they didn’t move, waving wildly with his arms as if they were attached puppies reluctant to go back home. ”Go!” At first, only one of them actually moved but the rest quickly followed. The sound of the Rynmere watch running down the street quickly overcame the roaring of the fire as it burned the last of the wood in the house.
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Posts: 66
Joined: Tue Nov 21, 2017 8:17 am
Location: Scalvoris
Race: Ithecal
Profession: Elements Troop/Gladiator
Renown: +22
Character Sheet


Postby Ronan » Thu Nov 23, 2017 9:27 am

Knowledge & Skills

SkillPoints AcquiredTotal Points SpentKnowledgeProficiency
Unarmed: Steel Gorilla 50/100 (NA:FT) 11 Competent
Strength 50/100 (75/251) 11 Competent
Endurance 25/100 (25/251) 8 Novice
Medicine 5/100 (5/251) 5 Novice
Intimidation 5/100 (5/251) 0 Novice
Discipline 5/100 (5/251) 1 Novice

Combat : Combat: Blades: They often cut both ways
Unarmed: Steel Gorilla Ingredients: Grapples, broken bones and steel gloves (SP)
Unarmed: Steel Gorilla: Ground Pound (SP)
Unarmed Combat: How to throw a punch (RM)
Unarmed: Straight kick to create distance
Unarmed: Knee kick to unbalance
Unarmed: Forehead punch to topple unbalanced opponents
Unarmed: Gauntlets allow you to grab sharp weapons
Unarmed: Elbows are good follow ups to missed punches
Unarmed: Knee to the stomach to disable a guy quickly
Unarmed: Keep punching, for good measure
Unarmed: Elbows make good weapons too
Unarmed: Low to High, the uppercut
Physical : Endurance: Tighten up and lean into the punches (SP)
Endurance: Time heals all wounds (RM)
Endurance: Pain is temporary (RM)
Endurance: Turning with the punches to lessen damage
Endurance: Withstanding many smaller cuts to land a good punch
Endurance: Keep going on willpower alone
Endurance: A power nap and then we're off again
Endurance: Living through seemingly endless, cursed torture
Strength: Lifting a statue is out of the question
Strength: Anger to lift a crate sized rock
Strength: All the rage in the world doesn't replace nutrition and sleep
Strength: Lift from the legs (SP)
Strength: Squats (RM)
Strength: Common Push-ups (RM)
Strength: Lifting an adult up under the arms
Strength: Carrying another man
Strength: Holding a man upside down
Strength: Unbalanced = Easier to lift
Strength: An enemy shield is a good weapon
Mental : Deception: Faking an opening in your own guard
Detection: How not to keep an eye on people in front and behind you at the same time
Detection: Sensing followers
Discipline: Stay focused (RM)
Etiquette: No friends without white lies
Medicine: Put pressure on the wound (RM)
Medicine: Jar of Sealing Jelly to stop your bleeding
Medicine: Bitterness to cure bleeding?
Medicine: Curing bloodloss by taking blood from someone else
Medicine: Bloodloss causes hallucinations
Persuasion: Trying to convince others to follow your plan
Persuasion: Not everyone will do what you want them to do right away
Persuasion: Using your massive size to back up threats.
Magic : 
Marks : Vaelus: Cursed: Lying makes you sick
Vaelus: Cursed: Lie to find the one truth
Ronan : Ronan: Berserker (SP)
Ronan: Old man pit fighter
Ronan: Won your first Scalvoris arena fight
Ronan: Berserking makes it hard to hear
Ronan: Cursed of Vaelus
Ronan: Oathbreaker and Bondbreaker
Ronan: Your blood doesn't clot
Ronan: Killed his Blood Brother
Ronan: Cursed by an immortal
Ronan: Curse marked?
People : Amar (NPC): Young and Strong
Amar (NPC): Lost his first fight to you
Amar (NPC): Almost victorious?
Amar (NPC): You gave him your winnings in secret
Anida (NPC): Owner of the Four in Hand
Anida (NPC): Not a lot of foresight
Anida (NPC): Can put together a fighting ring
Bren (NPC): Green Hooded healer
Bren (NPC): Still young
Bren (NPC): Saved your life, probably twice
Faith: Golden Robed healer
Faith: Came to save you in the middle of the night
Faith: Probably saved your life
Faith: Gave you someone else's blood
Faith: Stayed with you all night
Faith: Knows you are cursed and didn't help
Faith: Can see ghosts
Faith: A very special woman
Mixie (NPC): Took care of you after the fight
Mixie (NPC): Attracted to you?
The master (NPC): Dead
The master (NPC): Changed by money?
The master (NPC): Not who you thought he was
The master (NPC): Soft from luxury
Quan (NPC): Fellow fighter
Quan (NPC): Bought out?
Quan (NPC): Where is he?
Quan (NPC): Worth about 2000 GN
Quan (NPC): Broken Bond, Broken Oath, Broken Friend
Quan (NPC): Blood Brother
Quan (NPC): Taunted you at your deathbed?
Immortals : Vhalar: Overpowered you as if you were a child
Vhalar: Unbeatable?
Vhalar: The face of the curse
Vhalar: Runes of the curse
Vhalar: The Immortal that cursed you
Vhalar: The Patron
Vhalar: The Harvest King
Vhalar: Greatest Foe
Vhalar: Curse spreads like the decay of Fall
Scalvoris Elements : Elements: Scalvoris Military
Elements: Four different units
Elements: Require 20 trials of training per Element
Elements: The Land Assistant
Elements: Sent you to guard the Order of Adunih
Locations : Scalvoris: Elements Hall: Location
Elements Hall: Friendly Receptionist
Scalvoris: Lacks an arena
Four in Hand: Located on the outskirts of Scalvoris
Four in Hand: Bar, restaurant and casino in one
Four in Hand: Potential for a fighting ring
Four in Hand: Owner and Mixie: Future colleagues?
Four in Hand: Owner: Blue skin, blonde hair
Four in Hand: Owner: A tough woman
Four in Hand: Mixie: Happy to be there
Four in Hand: Back Alley fighting ring added.
Farmstead: One trial from Gunvorton and Scalvoris Town
Immortals' Tongue: Shrines to all the immortals are here
Others : Luck: Things don't always go according to plan
Nature: Muddy, snowy, bloody earth is slippery.

Skill Point Ledger

Thread or Skill NamePoints AwardedPoints SpentRunning Total
Starting Package 500050
Human RB: Unarmed: Steel Gorilla 25 25 50
Strength 0 25 25
Endurance 0 25 0
Intimidation +5 (RM) 5 5 0
Discipline +5 (RM) 5 5 0
Medicine +5 (RM) 5 5 0
[Elements Hall] Earth, Wind and Fire. And... Ronan! 10 0 10
[Four in Hand] Money for nothing, punches for free. 10 0 20
[Trial for Fire: Guarding the green. 10 0 30
[Four in Hand]Ready, fight! Wait, no, not yet. Now! Fight! 10 0 40
Curse of Vaelus 10 0 50
[Order Outpost] Hanging by a thread 15 0 65
Unarmed Combat 0 25 40
[Immortals' Tongue] Snow is my greatest foe 15 0 55
Strength 0 50 5

Mixed Race -10 -10
Mixed Race in Scalvoris +10 0
Elements Troop +10 10
[Elements Hall] Earth, Wind and Fire. And...Ronan! +5 15
[Four in Hand] Money for nothing, punches for free. +10 25
Trial for Fire: Guarding the Green +9 34
[Four in Hand]Ready, fight! Wait, no, not yet. Now! Fight! +2 36
Curse of Vaelus -14 22
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Posts: 66
Joined: Tue Nov 21, 2017 8:17 am
Location: Scalvoris
Race: Ithecal
Profession: Elements Troop/Gladiator
Renown: +22
Character Sheet


Postby Ronan » Thu Nov 23, 2017 9:27 am

A small, 400sq ft. house at the edge of Scalvoris town, near the gate leading to the Tower and Gunvorton. The inside of the house would pass for the dictionary’s definition of Spartan. It has a bed with a chest at the end of it, a small table, two chairs, some eating utensils and a fireplace for both cooking and heating up the place. Next to the door is a smokey, cracked window that provides some light but blocks most of the vision in or out.

  • One simple set of clothing [SP]
  • One set of toiletries: Soap, brush, razor, toothbrush, toothpaste [SP] (Kept at home)
  • One waterskin [SP] (Kept at home)
  • Two sets of eating utensils [SP] (Kept at home)
  • Tinderbox [SP] (Kept at home)
  • A pair of plate Gauntlets Lost here
  • First Aid Kit (Kept at home (unless specified))
  • Belt
  • 5 4 Jars of Sealing Jelly

Prized possession: None


100 GN [SP] +100 GN 100 GN
Plate Gauntlets -20 GN 80 GN
First Aid Kit -22 GN 58 GN
Belt -1 GN 57 GN
5 Jars of Sealing Jelly -5 GN 52 GN
Trial for Fire: Guarding the Green +50 GN 102 GN
Vhalar: Arena Fighter Wage +28 GN 130 GN
Vhalar: Elementals Wage +16 GN 146 GN
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Posts: 66
Joined: Tue Nov 21, 2017 8:17 am
Location: Scalvoris
Race: Ithecal
Profession: Elements Troop/Gladiator
Renown: +22
Character Sheet


Postby Ronan » Thu Nov 23, 2017 9:28 am

Thread List

Memories : 
Vhalar 717 : 114th [Four in Hand] Ready, fight! Wait, no, not yet. Now! Fight!
Ronan tries to convince the owner of the Four in Hand to let him start a fight club in her establishment.
118th [Four in Hand] Money for nothing, punches for free.
Ronan's debut fight in the prestigious Scalvorian Fighting Ring at the Four in Hand.
119th [Elements Hall] Earth, Wind and Fire. And... Ronan!
Ronan goes to sign up for the Elements and receives his first assignment.
120th-123rd Trial for Fire: Guarding the Green
Ronan is tasked by the Elements to guard a healer of the Order on his trip to Gunvorton and back.
123rd [Order Outpost] Hanging by a thread
Ronan is brought into the Outpost wounded and is taken care of by Faith who informs him he carries an Immortal's curse.
Zi'da 717 : 1st-26th
Ronan is stuck in bed in the Order, recovering from his last trial of the previous season.
36th [Element Hall]Night of lies
Ronan is working Almund as a Flame Trooper recruit and helps out with some interrogations.
55th [The Four in Hand] Hit Me With Your Best Shot
A new challenger arrives while Ronan is just recovered from his last trial of the previous season.
68th [Immortals' Tongue]Ice, Wind and... Immortals?
After learning he's cursed, Ronan heads to IT to find the one responsible for it.
71st [Immortals' Tongue]Snow is my greatest foe
Ronan continues his hunt for the immortal that marked him.
User avatar
Posts: 66
Joined: Tue Nov 21, 2017 8:17 am
Location: Scalvoris
Race: Ithecal
Profession: Elements Troop/Gladiator
Renown: +22
Character Sheet

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