⚠ <b>Name:⚠ </b> Draken Steele ⚠ <br>
⚠ <b>Caste:⚠ </b> Dawn⚠ <br>
⚠ <b>Anima:⚠ </b> Metallic Man⚠ <br>
⚠ <b>Concept:⚠ </b> Mercenary Captain Revenge ⚠ <br>
⚠ <b>Exp:⚠ </b> 16 (spent 16)
⚠ <b>Attributes:⚠ </b>⚠ <tt>⚠ <br>
Strength 3, Dexterity 5, Stamina 3⚠ <br>
Charisma 3, Manipulation 2, Appearance 2⚠ <br>
Perception 3, Intelligence 3, Wits 3⚠ </tt>
⚠ <b>Abilities:⚠ </b>⚠ <tt>⚠ <br>
Caste Abilities ⚠ <br>
Archery, Brawl, Melee 5, Thrown 5, War 4 ⚠ <br>
Favored Abilities ⚠ <br>
Athletics 3, Awareness 3, Dodge 3, Resistance 3, Survival 2⚠ <br>
Other Abilities ⚠ <br>
Lore 1, Linguistics 2, Medicine 1, Socialize 1 ⚠ <br>
⚠ </tt>
⚠ <b>Backgrounds:⚠ </b> Artifact 3, Manse 3, Resources 1
⚠ <b>Virtues:⚠ </b>⚠ <tt>⚠ <br>
Compassion 1, Conviction 3, Temperance 2, Valor 3⚠ </tt>⚠ <br>
⚠ <b>Virtue Flaw:⚠ </b> Heart of Flint (Conviction)
⚠ <b>Willpower:⚠ </b> 6⚠ <br>
⚠ <b>Health:⚠ </b> -0,-1,-1,-2,-2,-4,Incap⚠ <br>
⚠ <b>Essence:⚠ </b> 4⚠ <br>
⚠ <b>Essence pool:⚠ </b> 18/43()
⚠ <b>Charms:⚠ </b> ⚠ <br>
⚠ <b>Athletics⚠ </b>⚠ <br>
Stryck Wiki⚠ <br>
⚠ <b>Melee⚠ </b>⚠ <br>
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⚠ <b>War⚠ </b> ⚠ <br>
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⚠ <b>Equipment:⚠ </b>⚠ <br>
-Orchalcium Breastplate ⚠ <br>
-Orchalcium Daikclaive ⚠ <br>
-Grappling Hook, 100ft of rope, Backpack, Clock, Change of clothes, Flint, Tinder, Rations, Torch
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⚠ <b>Combat:⚠ </b>⚠ <br>
⚠ <b>Base initiative⚠ </b>: 8⚠ <br>
⚠ <b>Soak⚠ </b>: 3B/1L/0A ⚠ <br>
⚠ <b>Dodge⚠ </b>: 7(10)⚠ <br>
⚠ <b>Attacks⚠ </b>:⚠ <br>
Seven Stars Sword: Spd 11, Acc 9(12), Dmg 5L, Def 9(12)⚠ <br>
Bare Hands: Spd 7, Acc 5(6), Dmg 2B, Def 5(6)
⚠ <br>Tall and slightly lanky, he stands a hand taller then your typical Realms man. A cloak pulled tightly around him obscures his features. From under the hood, you can see only traces of his jet black hair and haunting blue eyes. His cloak also conceals the gold portions of his buff jacket, hiding the golden chain away from prying eyes. It couldn’t quite hide the massive sword that hug in its stealth across his back, nor the multitude of knives that he had stored about his person. His face was that of a man not yet thirty, yet there was a disturbing gauntness to him, as if all that made him a person had been sucked slowly out of him, leaving only a shell to walk on. His eyes seemed partially glazed, as if both here and somewhere else.
⚠ <br> He is a man on a mission, driven in no uncertain terms to take revenge for his men and stop the coming holocaust. He is cold and distant now, his friends’ memory still knawing at him.
⚠ <br>(Told from first person, It sounded better in my head that way) “My past used to be a mystery I couldn’t solve, now it’s a horror I can’t escape. I pin my hopes on the future, because to look backward is to be consumed by my failings and the cruel trepidations of fate.”
Where I was I born? Who are my parents? What am I doing here? These questions and a thousand more, I cannot answer. My memory begins in a ditch on the side of the road, a sword clutched in my hand and armor on my back. By rough estimation, I would say I was around 16 then, yet I cannot recall where those 16 years had been spent. I just laid there staring upward, wondering what to do when I was noticed by a recruitment talon from the Red Piss Legion (or Equivalent). They thought that I was just a well armed drunk, and without a memory I could hardly argue. I found myself pressed into service almost immediately.
From there it was panicked basic training, which I took to like a duck to water. It provided structure, direction, and knowledge, where I had none. My skills became quickly apparent, as I swiftly defeated by instructor during a practice combat. I joined the light infantry, and managed to distinguish myself quickly. This earned me a transfer out of the Legion of Drunks and into one that took itself seriously, the 15th.
I was light infantry again, my blade cutting down the Realms enemies with great abandon. Along the way, I grew close the rest of my Scale. Fighting has a way of bringing people together who normally would give each other the time of day. We fought battle in the North, fighting Wyld Barbarians and Fair Folk. I discovered that I was good at leading men, and over the years that I battled, leadership fell to me as a matter of course. By the time I was reaching my 30’s, I was in charge of my wing (the highest a non-exalted could really hope for).
But then things fell apart. We were informed that the House who had supported us could no longer afford the cost of our Legion. The Wings were to be absorbed into the other two legions that they supported or cashiered all together. I could have that. I told myself I was looking out for them, but in truth I was afraid of loosing the only family I had. The mercenary company seemed like a good idea. Mercenaries could choose their contracts, were always in demand, and even non-exalted could excel in there midst. They were good men and well trained, so it was no surprise that they found initial success amongst those who wanted Legion but couldn’t get the whole thing.
Then came the contract from House Ledaal to accompany a few of their men on a raid near Thorn (which had yet to fall). No one was really familiar with Abyssals or the Shadowtowns then. He marched out with full company into the desert, to the place where their opponents had been sited, disturbing the grave of an Athenama that had been discovered and guarded a year previous. We arrived at the sight to find the tomb opened and the grave goods lay on the ground scattered about like they had stones to be left on the ground. Then it happened. All at once dead things rose out of the ground like a twisted child’s toy. They slew the Dragon Bloods first, strike them in an instant before they could react. At the sight of their champions slain, and the dead rising like some terrible story from the First Age, my men did the only thing any sensible person could. They paniced. I tried to hold the line, to rally them to arms, but it was too late and soon I was dragged down by corpses. I was sure that this was the end. But strength began to burn with in me, and I grabbed the closest thing to me, the golden sword from the tomb. It was massive but seemed light as a feather in my hand. I rose up slashing, sending corpses flying, trying to get back to those who I had failed so badly. But by the time I could reach them, they were slain to a man. Three gaunt figures in blackened armor were walking the battle fields, slaying the wounded and taunting the dying. They should have been looking up but they were enjoying themselves too much. Had I been angry I probably would have cut them down with out thinking, but I was beyond anger now. The pain had given me a clarity that I had never known, and I struck them down swiftly. But I left just enough unlife in them to making the next 3 days very painful for them and very informative for me.
Afterwards, when they were naught but ashes, I set about burning the bodies of the fallen. I took with me those grave goods as well as a personal memento from each of the soldiers (to give to their families) and started my journey back to civilization. I visited each of the families in turn, giving them the share of bounty that we had received and my condolences (which till this day seem hollow). I then wrote a letter to Ledaal, telling of the phyric victory of their warriors and of what I had learned from the those I had tortured. I send it along with the armor and effects of the two dragon bloods they had sent us to guard and my apologies. I would have lapsed into sorrow, but the nightmares made it all too clear that my task is not yet over. I must journey to Nexus, I must gather an army capable of fighting this scourge and I must wipe this threat from the face of the world